IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  “They are entitled, yes,” said Cathy, jabbing her index finger towards the people of Bately. “And as Council members, we are too. But why, I wonder, should you be? What proof do you have that you can actually cure the Affliction, anyway?”

  “Ah,” said Jeremy, his smile as wide as ever before. He turned, theatrically, to the sick that stood before him. “The proof? Well, I am the proof.”

  Cathy and Paul stared at him, confused.

  “You see, friends, I myself was once sick. I, too, was a ’wraith. Until, that is, I found the cure.”

  The crowd gasped.

  Chapter 5

  A Place Unlike Home

  Adrian’s grip around her wrist was strong, almost painful.

  Alice followed him, as they fled the chaos of the square behind them. She observed his skinny neck, his pointy shoulder-blades shifting nervously beneath his jumper. His face was turned, but she knew something was wrong, she could sense it.

  The road was quiet, and no one was about. The grey sky weighed heavily on the scene, like some sort of stark warning.

  Ady was scanning the houses, their front doors, obviously trying to place his aunt’s one. Alice imagined things must have looked very different, before.

  And yet, despite the gloomy atmosphere, she could somehow picture this place as it used to be, bathed in the sun of a warm summer’s day. Children her age running around, playing games, while the adults sat in their gardens, sipping on iced drinks, maybe tending to a barbecue. There were still echoes of happiness, here. But they were distant.

  Adrian stopped, and stared at one of the homes. He looked perplexed.

  “Is this it, Ady? Your Aunt’s house?”

  He turned towards her. His smile was hesitant, embarrassed. For months, he had told her they would be safe, here, with Hellen and Angus and his cousin Toby. That this would be their home. Now, it didn’t look as welcoming as she had pictured it, and Adrian was aware of this. They both stared at the front porch.

  Patches of grass crept out of the earth, brown, crooked, dead. It was like looking at the hair of some old, evil witch. An armchair had been dragged outside, in the middle of the small lawn. It was stained, dirty. Beside it, thrown carelessly on the ground, lay a few empty cans of beer. All the curtains of the house were drawn. A windowpane was smashed, and had never been repaired.

  Adrian held his breath, his lips twitching nervously.

  “Hey, I’m sure it’s fine,” she said, squeezing his hand affectionately, doing her best to sound upbeat. “Let’s knock. They’ll be happy to see you.”

  He smiled, awkwardly. “Yeah. ’Kay.”

  Adrian pushed the small garden gate open, and they both stepped inside. As they got closer, they heard a noise. A low whine, coming from the house. It gave Alice the shivers.

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know,” Adrian replied.

  They made their way to the front door. Whatever that noise was, it was coming from somewhere just beyond it.

  “Ah… Aunt Hellen?” he called out, tentatively. “Uncle Angus? Are you there?”

  No reply came. Just that soft, high-pitched whining sound.

  “Ady, the door – it’s open,” murmured Alice.

  They tried to peer past the thin slit, inside the room beyond it. Pitch black.

  Adrian lay his fingers on the door handle, and swallowed.

  She wondered whether he was thinking about that other house…

  That young man. The buzzing cloud of a thousand black flies dancing around him. His dead wife…

  She shut her eyelids, tight, and shoved those images away. When she opened them again, Adrian was looking at her.

  “All okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, sure. Let’s go in.”

  He nodded, and pushed the door open.

  * * *

  It was dark, inside. A wave of stale, rank air struck them, flowing through the open door.

  “Uhhhhhhhhhh–” The whine was louder, now. It came from somewhere on their left. They tried to pierce the darkness, but their eyes hadn’t yet adapted to the lack of light.

  There was another noise. Someone breathing. It was a slow, jerky sound, this time from their right.

  Adrian stopped. “Open the door a bit more,” he whispered to Alice.

  As she did, more light crept in, gradually revealing the contents of the room.

  There was a sofa, and someone sleeping on it. They saw a large belly, rising and falling unevenly. The man held a forearm across his eyes. His other hand was dangling off the sofa, his fingers resting on a old, tattered carpet below it.

  “UuhhhhhhhhhhHHHHH,” came the whine again. Alice turned towards it.

  There was a staircase that led upwards, pictures hanging along the wall. The upper steps were enveloped in darkness, but, at its feet, lay a strange, crooked figure, wrapped in what appeared to be a blanket. She could see a hand sticking out, from beneath it.

  Adrian was looking around, confused, scared. He, too, turned towards the thing at the bottom of the stairs, and she felt him freeze.

  Suddenly, the man on the sofa gasped, and Alice snapped in his direction. He was still asleep. Maybe he was having a nightmare. She noticed there was something else, on the floor next to him. She squinted. It was something long, like a metal tube, or maybe a–

  A rifle.

  She held her breath, and tried to grab hold of Adrian, but in that exact instant, she saw him dart towards the figure on the floor.

  “Toby!” he cried, as he knelt by the twisted shape, his voice filled with concern. He looked up at her, eyes wide. “Ally, help me, we have to get him off the floor.”

  Alice couldn’t get her body to move. Adrian had called that scary thing on the floor Toby… then she remembered. Ady had said that his cousin had some sort of illness, that there was something wrong with him. Was handicapped the right word?

  That was it. The strange shape on the floor wasn’t a monster, it was Ady’s poor cousin. And he needed help. With a quick glance towards the man on the sofa, she ran towards the bottom of the staircase, by Adrian’s side.

  She could see him now, peering from beneath the covers. A wide, begging eye filled with tears.

  “Th-thrrstee,” the poor boy said.

  “He wants water,” said Adrian.“Let’s get him up first.”

  They slid their hands beneath his body, and gently pulled him up. She could hardly believe how light he was.

  The children propped Toby on the bottom step, his bony arm leaning against the banister. He had black, messy hair and large, gentle eyes. They were filled with what looked like a cloudy white mist, and scanned the space around him, randomly. He’s blind, she thought, as she tried not to stare at the ribs she saw pressing against the stretched skin on his chest.

  Adrian held a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Hey… hey Toby, it’s me… your cousin Ady. Remember me? It’s – it’s all okay.” As he spoke, Alice noticed his voice was broken, as if he were about to cry. He turned to her. “I think he tried to climb down the stairs, but he can’t really do it on his own…”

  They stood there for a second, and Alice wondered where they could find some water, in that decrepit house–

  “What the fuck are you two tossers doing here?”

  It was the fat man. He stood, his body swaying, like he was about to fall over. He held the weapon in his hand.

  Alice watched in horror as he cocked his rifle.

  And fired.

  * * *

  The crowd was dispersing.

  Paul and the others stood, huddled together, watching the old man walk off, accompanied by a chattering trail of Afflicted. Luke walked beside him, his eyes full of admiration.

  “He got what he wanted,” said Moore.

  Cathy stomped her foot in frustration. “Damn, it’s going to be a mess,” she said. “Can you imagine what this Council meeting will be like?” She shook her head. “This man, he’s–”

  “Dangerous,” concluded Moore.


  They slowly made their way back, towards the church.

  “Maybe he does have a cure,” said Mathew, thoughtfully.

  “Maybe,” replied Paul. “But even if he can cure our Afflicted, he doesn’t strike me as person who would do it for nothing.”

  “I agree,” said Moore. “He’s after something.”

  They silently considered the implications of this strange man’s arrival in their small town. Bately had been an island of hope, a place where things somehow did work, despite it all. So far, at least.

  Paul raised his eyes, and saw Claudio walking towards them. He looked confused, his tunic crumpled and stained. The look in his eyes frightened Paul.

  “Are the children with you?” Claudio asked, his voice desperate.

  “They were with you, weren’t th–”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” the elderly priest said, angrily. “But then everyone went mad, rushing towards that lunatic on the steps, and I got pushed to the ground. When I finally got up again, they were gone.”

  Paul felt his heart stop. The children, the ones he had vowed to protect, were missing.

  Then, they heard the gunshot.

  Chapter 6

  Angus

  Angus was wrapped in a thick, black sleep. That’s how it always was, when he’d had too much to drink. He’d lie down on the sofa, letting his mind sink into incoherent thought, waiting for the numbing touch of sleep.

  Sleep itself had changed. He never dreamed. Never woke up rested, invigorated. After seemingly random amounts of time lying there, he’d suddenly find himself awake, confused, still tired. He’d then drag himself off the sofa, feet shifting among the rustling cans of beer, the leftovers from his drinking session, and try and regain full consciousness. It was slow work.

  But this time, it was different. There were voices. At first, they entered his mind as if from afar. Echoing through the darkness of his dreamless slumber. He tried to listen, to make out the words. He heard a female voice. His heart skipped a beat – was it Hellen?

  Something inside him conjured up the notion that perhaps this, all of this – the meteorites, her sickness, her death – had been nothing other than a nightmare. A long, unforgiving one, but a nightmare nonetheless. In his drunken state, he told himself that perhaps that was the reason he never dreamt, any more – you couldn’t dream inside a dream, could you?

  Except, this wasn’t Hellen. Her voice was warm, deep, loving. This one was hushed, nervous. A conspiring voice.

  Conspiring against him.

  And then, there was the other. A male’s voice? Hard to tell. But it had the same secretive tone, same nervous whispering.

  A man and a woman?

  He suddenly realised what was going on. It was them. The priest and that nurse. They were back, and wanted to take Toby away from him. This time, for good.

  There must be something he could do. Find them, in that black mist. Suffocate their words. But all was pitch-dark, like sitting on the bottom of a cold black lake, in the dead of night.

  But these voices… they were coming from outside of that lake. From somewhere else. Somewhere outside his mind.

  He opened his eyes. His vision was blurry from sleep and beer. The voices spoke again. They were real.

  Angus slowly reached for his rifle. It was there, on the floor by his side, where he always left it. The cool metal was soothing, inside his sweaty, feverish hands.

  Doing his best to move silently, he raised the hefty weight of his body up, and looked around. There was light, inside the room – a pale luminescence that crept in from the door. Not enough for him see properly, though.

  There they were.

  Huddled up by the stairs, doubtless on their way up, to Toby’s bedroom. Angus felt rage boil inside his veins, pumping violently through his body.

  They were crouching, for some reason. Bent over like fucking monkeys. What were they doing? He wiped his eyes with his free hand, then tightened his eyelids, trying to wipe away the drowsiness. Trying to focus.

  There was something else, behind them, but he couldn’t quite make it out. A carpet, or a duvet cover, resting against the rail.

  What were these two bastards up to? Creeping inside his house, while he was having a well-deserved nap, plotting against him secretively, like the fucking cowards they were.

  Whatever it was, this was where it ended.

  He raised the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, rested his index finger on the trigger, and aimed. The sight at the end of the barrel swayed from left to right. He tried to hold it steady, but it wasn’t easy.

  Never mind. At this distance, he was sure he would hit them.

  But he wanted them to know he was about to blow their brains out. He wanted them to shit themselves, to feel the horror. To be aware they were about to die.

  He grinned a crazy grin, one that would have horrified his former self (where had that Angus gone? Something inside him wondered, but there was no time for that sort of bollocks, right now).

  “What the fuck are you two cunts doing here?”

  It was a question, but he had no intention of awaiting an answer.

  He contracted the muscles in his finger, ready to shoot. The trigger began to subside, bending backwards under the pressure. There was no going back, now.

  Then, he understood what he was looking at.

  That wasn’t a carpet, behind them. It was his son, Toby, wrapped in his blanket. He saw his eyes, wide, blind, terrified. Terrified of him.

  At the very last instant, Angus shoved the rifle aside, pointing up, towards the stairs.

  BANG!

  The deafening sound of wood exploding, glass shattering. Then, almost as deafening as the shot itself, came the silence.

  “NOOOOOOO,” he shouted, his broken voice tearing against his throat.

  Angus dropped the rifle and ran forward, towards his son.

  He shoved the priest and the nurse aside. They were just unfocussed blotches, smears in his peripheral vision.

  Toby was shivering, his trembling hands covering his blind eyes.

  “Ohgodohgodohgod” he cried, as he knelt down beside him. “Toby, my dear, Toby, please God PLEASE–”

  There was no blood. Just fragments of glass and wood, that had showered down from the stairs.

  Angus wrapped the boy in an embrace, and held him tight. He rocked him, cradling him back and forth, tears pouring from his eyes.

  “Uncle Angus…?” came a feeble voice.

  He looked up, and for a second he thought he’d lost his mind. Where were the priest and the nurse? These were just two children. He couldn’t understand.

  “U-Uncle Angus… it’s me… Adrian,” the child said. His lip was quivering, his hands shaking with fear.

  Angus could just stare, trying to piece it all together. The girl was hiding behind the boy’s shoulders, peering over them in fear.

  Adrian?

  Yes, it was Ady, Hellen’s nephew. The one who lived in Switzerland. Was this really happening?

  Angus’s heart sank. He was as sober as he’d ever been, the drowsy effects of the alcohol suddenly gone.

  “Adrian?” he said, still incapable of believing his eyes.

  “Yes,” the boy sobbed. “We… we travelled from Switzerland… we wanted to be here with you, and Aunt Hellen.”

  A sea of pain and suffering flooded through the room, as Angus caught a glimpse of what these children had been through, of what their voyage must have been like. And all for nothing. This was no longer the happy house Adrian remembered from his childhood. Hellen was gone. To a great extent, he, too, was gone.

  As Toby cuddled up against his father, still trembling, Angus extended a hand. It was a delicate, tentative motion. With the tips of his fingers, he gently stroked Adrian’s cheek. At first, the boy winced, dodging his touch. But then, he stood still, and closed his eyes. Tears poured out, through his long, dark eyelashes. Angus could trace the features of his lost wife, in the boy’s delicate face. It hurt, to recognise
him. But it was a good kind of pain.

  “Oh, Adrian…”

  The boy reached up, wrapping his small, fragile fingers around the man’s large, dirty hand.

  They were all that was left of what once had been a large, happy family. One scattered across the world, but close nonetheless.

  Now, it was just the three of them – a sick boy, an orphaned child, and a drunk. They sat there for a few moments, secretly and wordlessly contemplating what had become of their lives.

  Adrian opened his eyes again. “Aunt Hellen… ?” he asked, and something in his tone suggested he already knew the answer to his question.

  Angus simply shook his head. Adrian looked down. He nodded quietly. Suddenly, Angus thought he looked a lot older than the child he was. The young girl sank her forehead in Ady’s shoulder, and began to cry.

  “I – I think he was thirsty,” said Adrian, laying his eyes on Toby.

  I was passed out drunk, and Toby climbed down, on his own. I left him there, dying of thirst, because I had too much beer.

  This thought made him sink into a swamp of self-loathing. “I must get him some water,” he said, but couldn’t yet move.

  Adrian’s gaze weighed heavy upon him. It wasn’t a judgemental gaze, just a sad one. An infinitely sad look he would likely never forget. As if peering through the boy’s eyes, Angus finally saw what he had become. Perhaps, now that Adrian was here, there was hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could change–

  The door burst open.

  * * *

  Paul kicked the door open, and rushed into the house.

  He could feel the adrenalin flooding his blood, a nameless fear gripping him. Cathy and Moore followed somewhere behind him.

  There they were. Alive, unharmed.

  The thought registered, but he didn’t have time to feel relieved. That would come later. Now, he wanted to grab them and take them out of there, and nothing else.

  They were all huddled around the steps. Angus’s poor boy was there too, wrapped in a blanket. Angus’s hand was on Adrian’s cheek, his eyes filled with tears. A rifle lay on the ground, beside them.

  Paul’s eyes drifted to the stairs behind them, where the wall’s wooden planks were now cracked and splintered, from the gunshot. A set of pictures was still hanging there, although most had fallen off.