by Joe McKinney
Then somehow I’m out. I pick myself up, and now I’m standing on a small square area of flat roof. There are already too many of us up here. A couple of people have either jumped or fallen. It’s not very high and I’m sure I’ll survive the drop if I have to, but I don’t want to go down there. I’m at the very edge of the building now and there’s a vast crowd of dark, shuffling bodies below me. I try to get over to the other side but I can’t. The constant stream of people fighting to get out of the community centre pushes me back towards the edge and I try to stop myself but I know I can’t and they—
#
Kate landed in the middle of the crowd of cadavers, their empty bodies breaking her fall. Winded, she scrambled to her feet and began to run, disappearing into the municipal park behind the community centre. Around her, other people scattered in all directions. The autumn evening was cold and a patchy fog added to her disorientation. She kept running, moving away from the community centre, heading deeper and deeper into the darkness, but she couldn’t keep going long. Kate was undernourished, out of shape, and terrified. For a while she slowed to walking pace before finally giving into her exhaustion and stopping completely. She found a children’s playground which had been hidden by the mist and sat on a swing and held her head in her hands. In the near distance she could hear the dying screams of the people she’d left behind.
Alone.
Terrified.
Too tired to move.
#
Kate James spent her final day in Northwich. She cowered under a slide until morning when the daylight left her hopelessly exposed. Her every movement attracted the attention of hordes of obnoxious bodies. She made it as far as a nearby house, but when she closed the door she realised she’d only succeeded in buying herself a little time. There were already crowds outside. The end result would inevitably be the same. This house would eventually go the way of the community centre.
At nine o’clock in the evening, sitting in complete darkness in the attic of the nondescript semi-detached house, halfway down a similarly indistinct street, Kate gave up. It was too much. She took the headache tablets she still carried and every other packet of pills and bottle of medicine she could find in the silent house, and swallowed enough to be sure she wouldn’t wake up again.
OH NO, NOT YOU AGAIN
Somehow I survived when everyone else died. Don’t know how that happened. It’s not like I did anything special. It’s not like I am anything special. I’m just different. That’s what they used to say, anyway.
On that Tuesday morning I watched the rest of the world fall around me and there was nothing I could do. Looking back, I keep asking myself if I should have tried harder – or maybe tried at all – but I don’t think it would have made the slightest bit of difference. One or two folks I might have been able to help, but hell, millions died. At the time I was terrified, not thinking straight. I kept telling myself, any second now and I’ll be gone too… It didn’t make any sense that they’d all been infected and I hadn’t. Mind you, it’s been a long time since anything’s made much sense in my life.
So I went back to the flat and shut myself away. The chaos outside quickly turned to silence, then back to chaos again when the dead began to walk. It was like a bad movie. I’d stare from the window and laugh at them for a while, watching them tripping over and walking into things, then I’d remember, this was real.
The phones worked for a few days, but they were useless anyway. No point trying to make calls when there was no one left to answer. I tried every number I could think of just in case: my parents, my sister, friends, work colleagues, Cassie. It hurt hardest when she didn’t answer. We’re still on good terms, even though we’re not together anymore.
I got ill after Cassie and I split up, really ill. I was out of circulation for the best part of six months. I’m totally over it now, but it still hurts when I look back. It’s funny; I can look outside at the dead bodies walking, literally falling apart in front of my eyes, and I don’t give them a second’s thought. But when I think about that night… our last night… it still creases me up with pain.
I guess what hurts the most is knowing she was right to leave me. I was never going to be the man she wanted. She and Martin were always better suited, even though it still pains me to admit it. I really should have seen it coming, though. More to the point, I should have tried harder. Christ’s sake, I introduced them to each other, even though I knew they’d get on. What a bloody fool! And then he started coming to the flat more often, then too often, then turning up when I wasn’t there and making lame excuses. I think I’d worked it out pretty early, I just didn’t want to do anything about it, you know? I kept thinking, if I don’t ask and she doesn’t tell me, I can’t get hurt.
Bloody moron.
There was this thing I learnt during a session on my back-to-work rehabilitation course after my illness. They called it Path of the Heart, or some-such new-age rubbish. Basically, the idea was this: sometimes in life you’re inevitably going to come up against things you don’t want to deal with, generally huge, make-or-break decisions like splitting up with Cassie, that kind of thing. So when one of those moments presents itself, you’ve usually got a few choices. You can either deal with it head-on, or avoid it and take the easier option. But the thing is, if you avoid really important decisions like that, they inevitably come back around and bite you on the backside at some point further down the line. You just keep going around in circles, never moving forward, until you finally man up and do what you have to do. You have to follow the path of your heart. I know it sounds corny as hell, but I’m beginning to believe it also happens to be true. If I’d confronted Martin way back when, maybe Cassie and I would have still been together.
I took the easy option, trying to show Cassie how great I was instead of telling Martin how good he wasn’t. I did try… I made more of an effort around the house, tried to cook a few meals, that kind of thing, but I can see now it was never going to be enough because I was avoiding the real issues. To their credit, they both sat me down to tell me straight. She was lovely about it, saying she’d been trying to tell me things weren’t working out for a long time, but I didn’t buy that. And Martin? He was a man about it, but he made me look and feel like a bloody fool. I should have punched him in the face or showed some emotion, but I didn’t. Idiot. As it was, I just let Cassie go. I didn’t fight. Didn’t think it would help. Didn’t know if I could. I just stood at the window and watched them loading up the car. I even helped carry some of her stuff out.
Back to reality. Reality. That’s a bloody joke. I’m on my own, watching the dead population of Smithfield drag themselves around in circles outside. I’ve been shut in here for over a week now, and I’ve not set foot outside the building. I’ve survived so far by looting the other flats in the development: shutting dead neighbours in their bathrooms and bedrooms while I ransack their kitchens for food. I know I’m going to have to go out there eventually, but I’ll probably be okay for a while longer.
But there’s something I need to do.
It’s been eating at me for ages; a niggling, nagging pain, burrowing deeper and deeper. You see, I’ve been able to accept that they’re all dead out there, except for Cassie. I’m not naïve, I know she’s almost certainly gone the same way as everyone else, but I need to be sure. There’s a part of me wondering if she might somehow have survived like I have? And if she has, then what the hell am I doing sitting here when she might be alone and afraid over there? I keep putting it off, but I know I’m going to have to go over to Martin’s house eventually and see for myself. I won’t be able to rest until I know for sure. I can keep avoiding it, keep telling myself it’s too dangerous and that the chances of her having survived are too slim, but I know those are just empty excuses. One way or another, I need to find out. I need to man up. It sounds so clichéd I could genuinely vomit, but I need to start following the path of my heart.
#
Day nine. Finally going to do it. I�
��m on my bike, and I think it’s going to be the best way to travel – quick and easy to control. I’ll be quiet, and I’ll be able to ride through and around the dead, silently slipping through the narrowest of gaps. I’ve packed a few things and I’m ready to leave. I’ll be back here later, unless by some miracle I find her alive. Who knows where we might go…
The journey is as frightening as expected but, thankfully, it’s also passing quickly. I need to cover these few miles fast and with the minimum of fuss. Thank Christ for the speed advantage I have over the dead. They’re often so slow that they’ve barely even registered the fact I’m approaching before I’ve gone again.
There’s been little incident so far, save for when I was riding around the outskirts of Maryvale. I had to avoid an immense crowd of them, gathered around a factory building. I couldn’t work out why there were so many of them in one place, then it dawned on me it had to be other survivors – someone else like me. I didn’t hang around to find out if I was right. I’d rather be alone. I think I work better by myself. The only exception to the rule is Cassie. We made a good team, Cassie and me.
When the streets get too busy nearer the centre of town, I change my route. I’ll follow the canal for the last couple of miles. I wish I’d thought of it sooner. It’s far quieter down here on the towpath than it was up there. The only bodies I’ve seen have been in the canal. Some of them are swollen like fleshy balloons, full of dirty water. Others don’t look like they’ve been in as long. The one I can see now, being dragged along by the current, is still moving, flapping its arms like it’s waving at me. When it sees me on the side it starts to struggle, trying to get out of the murk like it doesn’t even realise it’s wet. It’s hard to believe how useless and stupid these things have become. A couple of weeks ago they were individual people with personalities and free will and dreams and aspirations. Now look at them. Bloody useless. They don’t even know what they are anymore, let alone who.
Dumb as they may be, they still scare the hell out of me.
Damn. There’s another one up ahead now, and this one’s not in the water, he’s on the towpath, blocking my way through. Shit. There’s a strip of grass verge along the canal-side, so there’s little chance of this one loosing his footing and falling in. I stop pedalling and weigh up my limited options as I wait for him to get closer. Maybe I should turn around and go back? Try and get back up to street level and take my chances with the crowds up there? Or do I just keep going and deal with the foul thing that’s slowly dragging itself towards me? And it occurs to me, we’re back to the bloody path of the heart again, aren’t we? I’ve got a problem to sort, and I can either face it head-on now or avoid it and soon end up having to deal with something much worse.
I reverse back, then stop again. Deep breath. Then I start pedalling, trying to build up as much speed as I can in the short gap between me and the dead man. My tyres churn the gravel and I grip the handlebars tight. I ride straight into him, head down, then brake hard and steer away from the water immediately after impact. I hear a colossal splash and look up in time to see the hideous corpse being carried away with the flow, dead arms flailing. Job done.
The path ahead now is clear.
#
There’s movement in Cassie and Martin’s house, and my heart’s thumping so hard I can hear it. I try not to get my hopes up, because I know it might not be her. If a door’s been left open, anyone or anything could have gotten inside. It’s most likely one of the dead, trapped.
This is it. This is what I came here for.
Just for a second longer I stay hiding in the porch of the house across the way, trying to clear my mind and focus on what I’m about to do. I feel like turning tail and heading back home, but I know I can’t. I have to do this. I have to see it through, otherwise I’ll never be able to move on. I’ll always be thinking, what if…? I have this memory of a beautiful summer’s day I once spent with Cass. We were out in the middle of nowhere, just the two of us, walking hand in hand through the sunshine without a damn care, talking about nothing of any significance. It was a perfect day. We couldn’t recreate it. Though I tried many times, it was never the same. The last time she got scared. There was a bloody huge thunderstorm and she started crying, telling me she just wanted to go home. He came around that evening. I knew something was wrong even then, I just didn’t know how to make it right again. It felt like the harder I tried, the less she wanted to be with me.
The street’s almost empty. I take advantage of the space to run over to the house. I lift my fist to hammer on the door, but before I can make any noise it opens inward and I fall through the gap. I’m facedown on the carpet in the hallway, and I hear the door slam shut and lock behind me. I know for certain that someone else alive is here with me now. Is it Cassie?
‘Eddie? Eddie, is that you?’
My heart sinks. Shit, it’s not her, it’s him, and somehow that feels like the cruellest trick. I pick myself up and turn around, clinging onto the vain hope she’s here too, even though I know she’s not.
‘Martin? Is Cassie…?’
‘She’s dead,’ he sobs, his face crumbling. He reaches out and grabs hold of me and I’m stuck in an awkward embrace with a man I despise. And then I break down too, because I know now that she’s gone forever.
#
I couldn’t have picked anyone I’d rather be stuck at the end of the world with less, but there’s no denying, the company is welcome. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed it. Everything has changed, I guess. We’re no longer in competition. We’ve both lost Cassie. He talks about her a lot, and I actually enjoy listening. In a weird way, it makes it feel like she’s still here.
‘We were at her sister’s the weekend before it happened,’ he tells me.
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Hard going, that was. I never liked Ruth.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Too stuck up for her own good. Judgemental.’
‘And Nigel’s an arsehole.’
‘Tell me about it! Supercilious shyster. Always talking down to you, you know? Like it was an effort to have to have anything to do with you.’
‘I thought it was just me.’
‘Cass said he was like that with everyone.’
‘What about her dad? What did you think of Ken?’
‘Ah, Ken was a good man. We got on well. I’d only been speaking to him on the phone the other day before it happened… We’d been making plans for him to come down and stay with us for a while.’
I can’t respond to that. I didn’t like Ken, and I don’t think he liked me. Martin opens another can of beer and slides one over. I’m not drinking. Can’t risk getting drunk, not here, not now. ‘Cheers,’ I say, then I tuck it down at the side of the chair with the others.
Martin raises his can towards a picture of Cassie on the mantelpiece. ‘She was bloody beautiful…’
‘She was,’ I agree. And then it occurs to me, there are important questions I haven’t asked yet. ‘Martin, what happened?’
‘What, to the rest of the world?’
‘No, to Cassie. I need to know. That’s why I came here.’
He pauses, drinks more beer, then readies himself to answer. ‘I was at work when all this kicked off. Obviously Cass was all I could think about. I mean, there were people dying in the office all around me – friends, people I knew well – but all I could see was Cass. I tried calling home on my mobile, but she didn’t answer. And I was thinking there might be a problem with the phones or she might not have hers with her… but all along I think I already knew she was dead.
‘It took hours to get back here. It’s less than twenty miles to the office, but I’m sure you saw it yourself – the chaos, the utter carnage on the streets. I drove as far as I could, then walked the rest. I waited outside on the doorstep for a bloody age. Couldn’t bring myself to take that final step, couldn’t come inside because I didn’t want to see her. As long as I stayed out there, I could believe she was still alive
…’
It hurts to ask, but I have to know more. ‘Where was she?’
‘In the back garden. She must have been out there reading when it happened.’
Each question gets harder. ‘And did she…?’
‘Did she what?’
‘Get up again? Start walking around?’
He sobs and holds his head in his hands. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I looked outside and saw her moving. It sounds crazy, but I thought she was okay, you know? I hadn’t seen any others at that point, so I thought I was wrong and maybe she hadn’t died, that she’d just been in some kind of coma. And then I felt terrible because I’d left her out there for days and it had been raining and…’
‘And what?’
His voice changes. The emotion is clear. It’s an effort for him to tell me this. ‘I went out and called to her, but she didn’t respond. I mean, she was looking straight at me, but it was like she couldn’t see anything. She was staring into space, looking at nothing. I went to her and I grabbed her hand and… and Jesus, she was so cold. Her skin felt unnatural and her eyes were vacant. I knew she was dead, but I still couldn’t accept what I was seeing.’
‘Where is she now, Martin?’
He gets up and walks to the window. A couple of corpses immediately notice him at the glass and start moving this way. He doesn’t react. He’s traumatized. We both are.
‘I didn’t want to leave her out there like that, so I tried to get her indoors. I wanted to make her comfortable. Sounds stupid, but I wanted to make her well. I couldn’t bear to see her suffering like that.’
‘Is she in the house?’
For a split-second I’m hopeful of seeing Cass again, but Martin shatters that. He turns around to face me, shaking his head. ‘I tried…’
Anger has replaced fear now. ‘What did you do?’
‘I couldn’t get her in. Couldn’t even get her up the steps and onto the patio. It was pouring with rain and she was soaked through and… and I just wanted her not to hurt anymore, you know? I wanted the torment to end.’
