Day 4
Nicola climbed from the tent. She felt different – she felt angry.
Today she was mad. Mad at the world. Mad at everyone. She was left with a man who couldn’t support them. She was only nineteen, and she had to feed the whole family. She had to work long hours to pay the mounting bills. The government did nothing to help; they simply bogged her down with mindless paperwork and promises. And all the doctor wanted to do was prescribe her medication to help her cope – drug her up, and shut her up.
Why me? She screamed over and over in her mind, as she kicked against the stone wall. Her trainers didn’t even scuff the old stonework, she simply knocked moss away.
She noticed the dried blood on her jumper’s sleeves. She yanked it over her head and tossed it into the corner.
She needed to shout at somebody, to dump the blame on someone’s shoulders. Someone had to be responsible for everything.
God! She thought.
When her mother first became ill, she turned to God. Her mum had never even mentioned God before, as far as Nicola could remember. They never went to church. They never prayed before meals. God was as absent as their biological father.
Then as the illness progressed, and things seemed desperate, and in her delusional state, her mother would talk to God, having long conversations, as if filling in an old relative who had missed out years of a person’s life.
Nicola would sit by her mother’s bed and listen to the one sided mumbled conversation. They made her sad and angry at the same time.
As her mother got thinner and started to fade away, physically and mentally, Nicola became jealous that she was spending so much time talking to a God that obviously didn’t care. A God who was allowing her pain to continue. A God who did nothing for her family.
After, when she stood in the funeral home with an arm supporting her little sister, as the priest talked about ashes to ashes, and spoke of other outdated glorified things that had no meaning in today’s way of life, Nicola looked around at the statues and icons, draped in their gold and silver and rich materials.
Just stone and wood, she thought. No more able to help than a book written by mere, earthly men.
She had never believed in a God. She found it strange, later; when she gave it some thought that she could go from not caring, and not believing in religion, to hating it.
Now, as she stood facing the stonewall, she remembered her feelings and hatred, as she kicked as hard as she could – over and over, until her legs ached, and she fell onto the ground.
She lay in a pile of blown in leaves, looking up at the bowed ceiling. She cried some more as she flung her arms sideways, pounding on the compact soil. She rolled and kicked and twisted up her back, like a five-year-old having a tantrum. She screamed abuse at the gods and life, and how unfair it all was.
Nicola was cold. She only had on a long-sleeve shirt underneath her jumper, but she was too tired to move. She lay on her back and slept on the dirt and leaves, her tears creating wet patches in the soil. Then she would start again, kicking against the wall and thumping her shoulder against the ground.
By the time it was dark, and she crawled into the sleeping bag, she was covered in dirt and sweat, and ached all over. She fumbled in her bag and slowly pulled on a thick green woolen jumper.
She fell into a deep sleep, too tired to even cry.
9
Wednesday 19th December 2012
Day 5
Nicola’s throat was raw; it hurt to sip the water.
She was dirty and smelly, and her stomach ached because she was so hungry.
She sat in the tent’s entrance, rummaging through the bag, until she found the snickers bar that she had taken a bite from. She sat and slowly finished it off. Then she ate a tub of pineapple cottage cheese and some smooth peanut butter with her fingers.
In her heightened state, when she left the house, she had tossed in random food items. Luckily, because it was so cold, the cottage cheese was still edible.
She finished off the first bottle of water.
Nicola felt stupid for kicking the wall, and exerting so much energy thrashing and punching.
She looked at the patch of soil where she had tossed and turned. It looked like a mud snow angel among the leaves.
Then, without any conscious thought, she dropped upon her knees in the mud and started praying.
She churned up all the old recited prayers as a child, that she learnt in the assembly hall.
Please lord, help me. Make it all a dream. Let me wake up at home in bed and everything is normal. Let mum and Jasmine still be alive and happy. Let this all simply be a nightmare.
Forgive me for what I did to Colin, even though he deserved it. Forgive my unbelieving. Forgive my blasphemy. Give me the strength to continue. Give me the strength to believe.
After hours of kneeling, she crawled onto her belly, face down in the mud. She repeated her supplications over and over, like a mantra.
She ignored the woods outside and prayed with all her might.
She sung hymns that sounded out of place inside the stone hut.
“All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful: the Lord God made them all...”
She was amazed that after years of not hearing the songs, she could recall the words so effortlessly.
“Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird. Praise for the singing, praise for the morning. Praise for the springing fresh from the word...”
She sung the hymns for hours, repeatedly, with fragmented prayers inserted between them.
Nicola dozed off facedown, with her forehead pressed against the dirt. When she jolted from her sleep, she continued singing and praying.
She ate some more peanut butter and a couple cereal bars, then gulped down some water.
She crawled into the sleeping bag. She lay staring toward the ceiling in the pitch dark. It was so dark it didn’t matter if her eyes were open or closed. She sung herself to sleep after saying the Lords Prayer.
10
Thursday 20th December 2012
Day 6
When Nicola woke up, she felt stupid for singing and praying. She felt like she had wasted her effort. She felt no different. She was still in the same situation.
She realized that this was her fifth day in the woods, and no one had come looking for her. She had not heard one single helicopter.
She was tired and sore, and so sad her soul ached to its very core. She smelt like she had been living in a rubbish dump for a month.
She ran a hand through her tangled red hair, and sat in the entrance to the tent picking leaves off her jumper.
It was time to go home and face the music. She couldn’t hide forever.
Slowly, she packed up the tent, and rolled up the dirty sleeping bag. She even tidied up the hut, picking up the rubbish and leaves. When she walked away carrying a large bag, with her bow and arrow case flung over her shoulder, the hut looked like no one had been there.
It took her twenty minutes of pushing through the undergrowth to make it to a public footpath – the case on her back caught on low hanging branches. Within another ten minutes, she was walking along Barton Drive towards her house.
She still didn’t know what the time was, due to her phone still being switched off. But she knew it was mid morning. However, there seemed to be no one around, as if everyone was locked away inside. It didn’t make sense.
Nicola loitered near a postbox a few houses away from her driveway. There were no police cars parked outside. There was no one watching the house.
She also knew; with her bright-red hair, she would be spotted within minutes of walking along her street. At present, her hair was tucked under an old beanie hat.
Looking as if she was about to walk past the bungalow, at the last second she jogged up the drive, disappearing down the side.
Nicola stood silently in the back garden, leaning her back against the
wall, listening.
Nothing.
No one was about.
She pulled a plant pot to one side and removed the spare set of keys. Within seconds, she was under the yellow tape that said crime scene, and inside the kitchen.
She stood still.
The bungalow was eerily silent. It smelt strange, with a tangy metal smell dominating. She realized it was the smell of blood.
She wandered slowly through the kitchen into the living room. There was a patch of dried blood on the floor where the TV cabinet was.
She looked over to the Christmas tree next to the large front room window. She forgot all about Christmas. She noticed the box next to the tree. Jasmine must have put it there ready to finish off the decorations with her on Sunday.
Nicola noticed there was black dust on lots of surfaces. She realized it was fingerprinting dust.
There was a set of stairs going up to her mothers and Colin’s bedroom. Jasmine’s and her bedrooms were at the back of the bungalow.
Strange, she reasoned, why I always call it a house, when technically it’s a bungalow. She was stalling, avoiding what she knew she needed to do.
Still carrying her bag, she walked and stood outside Jasmine’s bedroom, looking in. The bed sheets had all been removed, along with the mattress. There was more black dusting powder everywhere. The broken laptop and other smashed items were gone.
Nicola slowly closed the door. She didn’t want to go in. To her, it was a mausoleum, where she had put her sister to rest.
Her own room had black dust everywhere. Her bed was pulled apart, but nothing had been taken. Even her curtains were still pulled, where she had forgotten to pull them open when she left for work six days ago.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Nicola was confused that she could get into the house and walk around without anyone stopping her.
She dumped her bag and bow and arrows by her door and stripped off her dirty clothes, leaving them in a pile.
She walked naked down the hall. It felt refreshing not to have the dirty clothes clinging to her skin.
The bathroom had black dusting powder on the door handle; the taps, and cabinet handles. Apart from that, it was no different.
She knew it was a risk, but she stood in the shower for what felt like hours. She had never scrubbed herself so clean in her life. She washed her hair three times. She put conditioner in and sat in the corner out of the sprays reach, with her knees tucked up, letting the water wash over her feet.
She felt strange once she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off. Almost as if that was the last step – with the dirt and sweat poured the last ounce of her mourning.
As she walked back to her room, avoiding the windows, she noticed the clock in the kitchen read 1:46 PM.
She didn’t want to turn anything on in case someone outside saw the lights, or glow from the TV and called the police.
She opened the fridge. It still had everything in it.
Nicola didn’t know police procedure. It had been six days, but the power and water were still on. Maybe they needed a relative or someone to sort everything out. Maybe it was a lot of paperwork and took time. For all she knew, it could click off at any moment.
She returned to her room with a couple of cold hotdog sandwiches and a large glass of milk.
After consuming the food, and downing the refreshing drink, she hooked a blanket up over the curtains to make sure no one could see the light from outside. Luckily, her bedroom was at the back of the bungalow and there were tall leylandii trees around the back garden, screening off the neighbors to either side.
Nicola made her bed and curled up, warm and cozy for the first time in days. She didn’t bother with any nightie or bed clothes. She had been constricted in her clothes in the sleeping bag; it felt refreshing to be so naked and free.
She lay looking up at her lampshade. She didn’t cry. She thought being back at home would engulf her in emotions. However, the last six days had been such a rollercoaster ride, emotionally and physically, that her brain felt completely numb.
Nicola rolled over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
11
Friday 21st December 2012
Day 7
For a few seconds, everything was normal.
Nicola woke up slowly, stretching while tossing back the thick duvet. She stretched and yawned.
It was a whole new day.
Then everything came crashing back down.
It was like a slow computer booting up, and as the memories flooded back, so came the weight and depression.
Nicola punched the pillow, rolled and screamed into it. Her muffled shout slowly died away.
She swung her feet to the thick beige carpet. Leisurely she wandered over to the wardrobe and grabbed some loose jogging pants and a black, baggy tee shirt.
Nicola was at a loss.
What do I do now? Wait until someone turns up at the house and finds me? Or do I phone up and give myself in? Or walk down to the police station?
Her laptop was where she left it. She wondered why the police didn’t take it?
For all they knew I could have planned the murder over the Internet.
She decided that the police had something much more important to deal with, and she wasn’t high on their priority list.
She grabbed the laptop and scuttled back into bed, pulling the sheets up and sitting up with the laptop on her lap.
If they can trace my Internet usage, maybe they will just come and get me.
She was surprised to notice that Virgin was still providing the house with broadband.
She clicked onto Google Chrome.
Her first, almost automatic reaction was to log into Facebook.
Old habits die hard; she decided.
Instead, she clicked on the BBC News, to see if there was anything about her.
Every single story was related to the same thing – a virus outbreak that was consuming the world.
Nicola sat in horrified silence as she read through the stories one after another.
So far, seventeen countries had cases. Tens of millions in America alone were in a comatose state. Hospitals were at breaking point. Even football stadiums were full of people lying on cots, thousands together, spaced out on the grass under protective covers.
She flicked through a couple more stories.
So far, England was uninfected.
She was shocked to notice the timeline – everything started on the day Jasmine died.
Nicola spent the rest of the day reading everything she could find, and watching YouTube videos about the virus.
12
Saturday 22nd December 2012
Day 8
Nicola realized the night before that the world was too preoccupied to be worried about her. The police had other things on their mind at the moment. So, for the first time in seven days she had a hot meal.
The remains of a fry-up smeared the large plate. She was absolutely stuffed full of sausages, bacon, tomatoes, eggs, mushrooms, hash browns, and baked beans, with bread fried in the oil residue from all the meat, all covered in tomato ketchup.
It was the best thing she had ever eaten in her whole life.
She sat at the table, looking down at the plate.
Only five feet away were the dried patch of blood where she had killed Colin.
She felt nothing.
Something changed in the woods – something had clicked. She had used up every spare ounce of emotions on what had happened and what she had done.
The world had changed while she hid in the woods.
Somehow, someway, she knew everything was going to be alright. She couldn’t explain how she knew that, she just did.
It was almost as if the world had come into clarity. Everything now made sense. She was a survivor, and she would do whatever it took to survive, at whatever cost.
Nicola decided that she would stay in the house for a little while longer – it was the safest place to b
e. For now, no one would come looking for her.
She put the dirty dish in the sink and sat in Colin’s chair. She settled down to a day of watching the news, instead of reading about it, and watching her small fourteen-inch laptop.
Everything she saw confirmed her theory. The world had changed along with her.
13
Sunday 23rd December 2012
The Day the Virus Reached England
Day 9
Nicola crawled out of bed at 11 AM. She sat in her nightie, eating corn flakes while watching the morning news.
While she was enjoying, a lie-in the virus had reached the shores of England.
The BBC News was reporting that The Royal London Hospital had announced a young woman, Jessica Redfern, who had just returned from a holiday in Cancun, Mexico, was showing all the signs of the symptoms.
Nicola watched the events unfold.
Within three hours, another case was registered in Manchester.
Over the next eight hours, Great Britain was locked down, completely quarantining itself from the outside world – no planes or boats would be allowed to enter or leave. Even the Euro Tunnel was closed.
A little bit late for that, Nicola mused. The government should have locked the country down, stopping anyone from getting in. That’s like locking the safe after all the money has been stolen. Idiots!
She enjoyed seeing the queen give her speech, telling everyone to keep calm. The queen looked so small and dainty, like a plump dolly in her bright yellow dress and large hat.
Right, and I’m sure you’re about to be whisked away somewhere safe.
It was announced that a parliament session had passed a bill bringing martial law into effect. The army would be released onto the streets of Britain.
A curfew was also in effect. No one would be allowed to move about over the next three days. So for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day, people would be confined within their homes, under house arrest.
The Sixth Extinction & The First Three Weeks & The Squads First Three Weeks Omnibus [Books 1-10] Page 32
