One of Us Will Be Dead by Morning

by David Moody

  And Rachel reacts.

  Somehow, she’s still alive.

  She lifts one arm and reaches out for him. Barely any skin is left on the fingers that claw desperately at the air. Her badly burned torso has been cut to ribbons by broken glass, slashed as she made a frantic escape through the window. She manages to raise her head and look up, and Matt cowers away. Rachel’s face is a grotesque caricature of the one he remembers: her features are exaggerated and contorted with pain, skin alternatively blackened then raw, large patches of hair burned away to bald. Her eyes, though, are clear and full of hate.

  “Leave her,” Natalie says.

  Rachel tries to scream, but her insides are as fucked as her outsides. She lasts just a couple more seconds, then drops her head and takes her last scorched breath.

  “Where is she?” Matt asks, looking around, frantic now.

  “Who?”

  “Who d’you think? That bloody kid Louise. She’s not in the house.”

  Natalie peers in through the bedroom window, but she too can only see one other body. “Worry about it later. Right now we need to get safe and under cover.”

  “But we’re never going to be safe while she’s still alive.”

  “We’ll have more chance in the stores than out in the open.”

  Natalie grabs his hand and the two of them sprint, slip, and slide through the rain toward the stores building, pausing only to scoop up as much kit as they can carry between them.

  Ronan and Paul are waiting by the open door. “Get in,” Natalie shouts at them. “Get inside now!”

  Inside the building there’s nothing but dark. Fortunately she knows her way around. With outstretched hands she feels along a shelf to the immediate right of the door for the torch Ruth always insisted they leave handy in case the generator failed. She finds it with little problem, but the weak yellow glow is barely noticeable. Paul steps out of the way when she pushes past him looking for lanterns, and he inadvertently treads on the body of one of his former workmates. He looks down and sees Joy’s outstretched hand under his boot. That crack he just heard that felt like twigs snapping … that was her fingers. “Fuck,” he says, his mouth salivating like he’s about to throw up. “Fuck.”

  Natalie scans the room as best she can with the torch. “That’s not right.”

  “What’s the problem?” Matt asks, immediately concerned.

  “Someone’s already been in here.”

  “So what? It’s not exactly been kept under lock and key, has it? It could have been any one of us.”

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t just anyone. The place hasn’t been trashed. Whoever was here has been methodical. They knew what they were looking for.”

  “What about Rajesh?” Paul suggests. “It has to have been him, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess,” she says, agreeing because there’s a space on the rack where his kayak is usually kept, and the life jackets, spraydecks, and other kit he needed have also been moved.

  As their eyes become accustomed to the shadows in the stores, it becomes apparent that almost all of the floor space is taken up by the dead. Those left alive are having to tiptoe around the edges of the makeshift morgue. “What do we do?” Ronan asks nervously. “Can we move them up to one end?”

  “Get them all outside,” Matt says. “We need the space more than they do. Ronan, get the door and watch for the kid.”

  “What…?” he stammers nervously.

  “That bloody kid’s still on the loose. Look out for her. She’s an animal.”

  Matt bends down and puts his hands under Joy’s armpits, then drags her corpse outside. She loses a boot and her bare heel carves an arclike groove in the mud around to the side of the building, where he unceremoniously dumps her.

  When he gets back inside, Natalie’s managed to locate a couple of battery-powered lanterns. They illuminate enough for him to see that the others are just standing there staring at him. He tries to move one of the children that washed up on the beach, but this corpse proves more difficult to shift. The child’s rigid legs are entangled with the next body alongside it. Already panting with effort, Matt looks up at Paul. “Come on! Help me, for God’s sake!”

  Matt’s sudden outburst kicks him into action. Paul takes the child’s legs and helps carry him outside. Natalie puts down the lamp and starts to shift another of them. It doesn’t take long. The prospect of being attacked by Louise keeps the three of them working at breakneck speed.

  The teenage boy that Nils killed is next. They each afford him a little silent deference. Natalie still feels a pang of regret. They had nothing to do with any of the other deaths, but this one was different. The boy came to them looking for help, but they rounded on him and slit his throat before he had chance to speak.

  First in, last out. Vanessa’s is the final corpse they move. Matt takes her legs while Paul and Natalie take an arm each. Paul gags when he picks her up. Her split skull has emptied, the contents gluing it to the ground as they’ve dried, leaving a clump of hair behind. Her head feels unnaturally light.

  Outside, the relative order of the improvised stores-building morgue has been abandoned. The bodies have been left in a haphazard, tangled pile with Vanessa dumped on top. Paul is momentarily distracted: although he’s getting used to seeing corpses, the expressions on their faces are getting to him. It’s hard to see them fully because of their position and the increasing shadows of dusk, but he can make out enough to still be able to recognize the people he used to work with who’ll now never leave Skek. Colleagues. Memories. Friends (of a sort).

  “Get a move on,” Natalie tells him, with no room for sentimentality.

  “What?”

  “That kid’s on the prowl. Get inside.”

  “One kid, four of us,” he says, instinctively resorting to empty bullshit and bluster.

  “Yeah, and there were a lot more of us when we first got here, remember?”

  With that she’s gone, disappearing into the stores building. Outside there’s just Paul and the rest of Skek. The panic catches up with him fast and he follows her inside, convinced he’ll feel Louise’s tiny fingers ripping into his flesh at any moment.

  Matt busies himself inside. This place has been left relatively untouched over the last few days because, despite appearing outwardly functional and useful, in reality it isn’t. Over the last week there’s been barely any call for any of the kit that’s usually kept in here. Climbing tackle, kayaks and paddles, life jackets, other outdoor-activity equipment … none of it’s been of any use in helping them stay alive. Food, water, and heat are all they’ve needed, and those things are now in increasingly short supply. The stores building is drafty and cold, and their meager pile of scavenged scraps looks woefully insufficient in the middle of the bloodstained floor space.

  Paul’s left the door open. He goes to shut it, but Matt tells him not to. “Don’t. It’s the only way in or out. We need to be able to see her if she comes.”

  “When she comes,” Natalie corrects. “Did you see her? Killing us is all that matters to her now.”

  “But aren’t we just letting her know exactly where we are?” Ronan argues.

  “She probably already knows. And if she doesn’t, it won’t take a lot of working out. So the question is, would you rather have thirty seconds warning when we see her coming, or the three seconds we’d get if she comes in through a closed door?”

  Ronan has no answer to that.

  The slightest trace of light is still outside, but the brightest beacon by far is the burning bungalow. Flames continue to lick at the ruin, which is framed perfectly in the open double doorway. The concrete outer shell stands proud. Empty like a ghost.

  The four of them sit huddled together in the miserable light, closer to each other than they’ve been in a while. Closer to each other than they want to be. Almost touching. This building’s not particularly large, but because of its barnlike shape and vaulted roof, it feels bigger than it is. Voices and sounds echo in the space. It’s d
isorienting. Frightening. Imagined monsters are all around them in the shadows the light doesn’t reach.

  Natalie’s found a mallet that’s been left alongside some camping and shelter-building kit. She holds on to it like it’s the most precious thing she owns. It’s the closest she has to a weapon after losing the bow and arrow in the bungalow fire. She didn’t even think about it at the time because she was too busy focusing on staying alive. “So should we go and hunt her out, or do we wait for her to come to us?” she asks.

  “I say we wait until morning then hunt,” Matt says, a surprising calm certainty to his voice. No one argues. “We need to get rid of her. Eliminate the threat. Then once she’s dealt with, we sit tight and wait for Rajesh to come back.”

  23

  They all have weapons now. Still sitting in the same spot as they were hours earlier, Natalie clings to her mallet while Matt tightly grips a small knife he pocketed in the kitchen of the bungalow. It’s more suited to peeling potatoes and chopping vegetables than self-defense, but it’s better than nothing. Just. Ronan and Paul both hold on to hand axes they discovered among the equipment stashed away in here. Paul cradles his like a teddy bear. They’re both asleep. “Ironic, isn’t it?” Matt whispers to Natalie. “The two with the best weapons are the two least prepared to use them.”

  “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

  Ronan stirs, reacting to the mumbled noise of their conversation. Matt waits a few seconds until he’s sure Ronan’s settled, then speaks again. “Why the hell did you even have axes here anyway? There aren’t any trees.”

  “I know, I know. I’m always telling Stuart he should get rid of them. He’s supposed to be doing something about them next month when he…” She stops when she realizes she’s talking about her friend as if he were still here, discussing a future none of them might have. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  “If we’d got a boat, we could disappear right now and leave these two behind. What do you reckon?” Matt says, trying to redirect the conversation. “We could be gone before they wake up, imagine that.”

  “It’s tempting. I reckon I’d do it too,” she says almost without hesitation. “Think you could get us back?”

  “Reckon so if you can get your hands on a compass. That’s all I need.”

  She gets up and searches through a plastic tub to her left, then sits back down and hands him a compass. “Orienteering kit.”

  “You sure you haven’t got a boat hidden in here too?”

  “I wish. There are more kayaks, but it’s not as easy as Raj made it sound.”

  “He didn’t make it sound particularly easy. Anyway, you get me a boat, and I’ll get you home.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “And what do you think we’ll find when we get there?”

  Matt stops and considers her question. “I think it’ll be as bad as we’re expecting. Probably worse. Doesn’t matter what the cause is, we’ve both seen how the panic spread here. Just imagine that ramped up by a factor of several hundred thousand.”

  “You’re probably right. I’d like to think we’re both wrong, but I know we’re not.”

  “Seems we’ve got as low an opinion of the rest of society as each other. Good to know.”

  “And I thought I was the only one.…”

  “Nope. You and me both. I’m just trying to have a little more faith in your mate Raj.”

  “He won’t let us down.”

  “You sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “I just hope Jen’s all right. You know I used to—” Matt stops speaking abruptly.

  It unnerves Natalie. She sits upright fast, and her sudden movement wakes the others.

  “What’s the problem?” Paul mumbles, still half-asleep.

  “Shh…” Matt gets up.

  “Matt, what is it?” Natalie’s voice is a loud whisper.

  “There’s someone outside.…”

  Ronan’s on his feet with unprecedented speed, immediately awake and alert. His ax is still gripped tight in his clammy hands. He squints into the darkness, certain he saw something moving. “It’s her. It must be.”

  “Stand your ground,” Natalie says. “Don’t go out there. Don’t risk it.”

  “Stick together,” Paul agrees, on his feet now too.

  The longer Matt stares into the impenetrable blackness outside, the less he can see.

  He takes another hesitant step forward, then stops.

  She’s here.

  There’s no doubt, no question. Her height gives her away. She stands in the doorway on the outer edge of the circle of light coming from the lamps and torches, illuminated enough to distinguish her outline, but protected by enough shadow to hide her intent.

  Ronan cracks. He runs at her before any of the others can react. He’s driven by a pent-up, hate-fueled fear the likes of which he’s never before felt. Though she’s been catatonic for days, he holds this evil little bitch solely responsible for the hell he’s been put through—the hell that’s claimed the lives of so many of his employees and destroyed his business and his world. He’s vaguely aware of the others calling out after him, trying to stop him, but he’s not interested in anything they have to say. He has to act. Finishing this is the only thing that matters now. She’s taken everything he had.…

  The girl comes at him just as quickly, arms outstretched almost like she’s begging him for help. Is this how she claimed her earlier victims? Did she fool them into thinking she was innocent and vulnerable, then murder them in cold blood?

  Ronan’s nervousness and doubt are all gone.

  He knows he has to kill her.

  He swings the ax around and brings it down hard. It wedges deep into the side of her torso with a sickening thud. First blood to Ronan. The metal ax head chinks against her hip bone, and the child screams with a desperate raw noise that’s sad enough to break any heart.

  Any heart except Ronan’s.

  He’s been through too much to care anymore. Only now that he’s facing the killer one-on-one does he realize the full extent of how much he’s lost since arriving on Skek.

  She has to pay for what she’s done.

  He wrenches the ax free and swings it at her again. He misses and almost loses his footing in the mud. Panicking, he lifts the ax a third time and this time hits his mark. It thuds into her sternum. He lets go and she staggers away, the ax still wedged in her delicate chest. A choked cry. Gurgled breath. Arms flailing, grasping at nothing.

  She takes three more steps back, then stumbles. Slight recovery. Overcompensates and overbalances. Ronan watches with his fists clenched, ready to strike again if he has to. Two more backwards steps and she’s had it. No longer able to support her weight, her legs buckle and she drops in an dignified heap.

  Ronan turns to face the others, who remain huddled close to each other, subconsciously seeking the security and warmth the small group provides. The relief he feels is palpable, invigorating. “It’s over.” He pants hard with effort, throat dry. “I did it. I killed her.”

  Matt breaks ranks and edges closer. The girl might not be dead yet, he thinks. She nearly is, sure, but while there’s breath left in her body, she’s still a deadly threat. He’s wondering whether he should take matters into his own hands and finish her off or just let nature take its course. Her outstretched fingers are digging into the ground, clawing the mud. Involuntary or conscious movements? Just a death twitch? He steps around Ronan and stands over the kid with his hopelessly inadequate two-inch vegetable knife held ready in case she comes at him.

  She doesn’t.

  All movement stops.

  She’s dead now. No question.

  “I did it,” Ronan says again. “Things will be all right now.”

  “I’m not sure things will ever be all right.” Natalie notices Matt hasn’t taken his eyes off the girl’s body. “You okay, Matt?”

  He looks up, face ashen. “Ronan, what the fuck have you done?”
/>
  “What’s the problem?” Paul shouts, holding back, still keeping his distance. “Matt, mate, what’s up?”

  “It’s not her.”

  “What?”

  Matt clears his throat. He crouches down. Double-checks. “It’s not her.”

  “What do you mean?” Ronan mumbles.

  “What do you fucking think I mean?” Matt screams at him. “It’s not Louise. It’s Jayde Hazleton.”

  Natalie pushes past Ronan and drops to her knees. She knows—knew—Jayde better than any of the others did. She tries to hold herself together but lets out an involuntary sob. In a week of shocks and sideswipes and cruel twists and bitter blows, this is by far the worst. She can barely comprehend what’s just happened. “Fuck, Ronan … you … you killed Jayde.”

  Right now Ronan’s struggling to process anything. Instead, he simply shuts down. He stands his ground and stares into the darkness at the far end of the stores building, refusing to look anywhere else. Because if he doesn’t look, he thinks, he might be able to convince himself that this hasn’t happened, that he hasn’t done what they’re saying he’s done, that he hasn’t just murdered the wrong kid. His leg starts to twitch. Nervous muscle spasms. The harder he tries to keep it still, the worse it gets. “But it can’t be. She’s not supposed to be here. They said she’d gone. You told me she’d gone.”

  “You fucking idiot,” Paul says, edging closer and looking down into the wrong dead girl’s face. “You complete fucking idiot.”

  Ronan’s desperate now, reality finally sinking in. He can barely stay upright. He grabs hold of Paul’s jacket, hanging on to him for support, and screams into his face, “It wasn’t my fault. How was I to know? What the hell was I supposed to do?”

  “Not kill the wrong fucking kid, that was what you were supposed to do,” Paul yells back.

  “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know. I couldn’t see properly. I thought it was her.…”