by Luke Duffy
Sophie turned back to look at the horizon. By now, the blinding white light had faded and in its place, stood a glowing billowing cloud, reaching up from the ground and high into the air.
Sophie now comprehended what she was looking at and suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to vomit.
7
"Stand with your body square to the front, legs slightly bent at the knee, Sarah," Marcus commanded. He was using his 'instructor voice', a tone that had no familiarity in it regardless of the pupil's relationship to him. Even his wife, Jennifer, did not recognise him when he was teaching her how to use the weapons.
Steve's daughter complied with her uncle's commands. She gripped the pistol with both her hands, her elbows loose and her shoulders braced, with the weapon pointing at the small white square acting as their aiming mark on the wall in front of them. She focussed, awaiting his next instruction.
The foyer was silent except for the voice of Marcus as he called out commands, criticisms and praise. They listened and concentrated intently to his advice. They knew what would happen if they did not.
Marcus was not shy of having them do push-ups as punishment for failing to get a certain drill correct, or order them to begin a routine of star-jumps while they repeated the drill over again verbally, making sure that it was firmly lodged in their minds.
For Sarah and the other younger members of the house, it was fun, even the punishment, but a few of the adults found it insulting and degrading. Marcus decided that the best way around dealing with some of the more difficult grown-ups was to join them in their punishment. Sarah had watched in amusement on many occasions as Marcus dropped to the floor, joining the others, raising and lowering his body to the ground and reeling off, at the top of his voice, the actions that had been expected of the trainees.
"I would not ask anything of you that I would not be willing to do myself," was one of his many encouraging words of wisdom.
The children had come on quickly in the weapons training. Marcus was particularly impressed with how adept his own son, Liam, was with the rifle and the pistol, despite his young age. They had been taught the basics to begin with, weapon safety, and stripping and assembling for daily cleaning.
Safety was his biggest concern. It was fine having a weapon, but being able to handle it without accidentally killing themselves, or someone else, was of utmost importance and it was something on which Marcus and Stu refused to take prisoners. On a few occasions, people had been reduced to tears after being bawled out by them over unsafe handling of a firearm. A fight between Lee and Stu had once almost broken out when Lee had taken exception to Stu's reprimanding.
"You too, David, don’t lock your elbows. You will need them to give a little to counter the weapon's recoil when it fires," Marcus' voice echoed.
For months, Marcus, Stu and Jim had drilled the people of the house on how to care for and fire the weapons. From cleaning and loading, to unloading and dealing with stoppages. Some had quickly picked it up and after a month of daily instruction, demonstration, and practice, they were ready to be trusted to handle their own personally issued weapon. Lee was especially proud of the fact that he now sauntered about the park carrying his very own SA80 rifle.
Marcus was about to give the words of command for the next drill when the house began to shake all around them. The windows rattled and the floor vibrated beneath their feet. The children looked to him, fear in their eyes, searching for an explanation.
A commotion from the area of the stairs caught his attention. Carl was sprinting down the steps, screaming for Marcus to come and see something.
"What is it?" he asked in alarm as he grabbed his own weapons from the table. "What's happened, Carl?"
Carl was gasping for air. His eyes were like saucers and he had already turned and was running back up the stairs.
"You need to see this, Marcus. Come on," he called over his shoulder as he reached the top step and bounded down the corridor towards the door that led up to the roof.
Marcus took off after him. He could feel his throat seizing up as he dreaded the worst. 'They must have got in,' he thought to himself. 'They must be inside the walls.'
He had visions of reaching the sentry position on top of the house and seeing hundreds of wretched and horrifying figures staggering towards the house from all directions.
Others followed too, not wanting to be kept in the dark. Helen, Jake and Jennifer raced up the steps, close on Marcus' heels and out onto the roof.
Lee was standing close to the edge, his knees resting against the small wall running around the roof of the house, his binoculars glued to his face. As the door crashed open, he turned to see Carl returning with Marcus in tow.
Marcus moved towards him. He could see the look of alarm etched across Lee's features as he turned and faced Marcus, holding out the binoculars for him and pointing to the horizon.
"They’ve done it, Marcus," he murmured, still pointing into the distance with a look of disbelief. "They've gone and fucking done it."
Marcus took the binoculars and followed the direction of Lee's finger with his naked eye. He could see it, clear as day without any viewing aids. His blood froze in his veins and his guts twisted and knotted. In all his years in the army he had trained for it, but never thought he would actually see it, especially now. With all the governments gone and armies destroyed, it was the last thing he expected to see.
"Fuck," he whispered.
The mushroom cloud was still growing, reaching high into the atmosphere. It glowed from within as the massive ball of fire, dust and debris rose up like a terrifying monster over the distant landscape.
Jennifer was sobbing, holding her face in her hands, unable to look at the horrifying sight that stood before them.
"No, it can't be. No," she whimpered continuously into her hands, the tears streaming from between her fingers.
"Where do you think that thing is?" asked Carl.
"It's south, I know that much, maybe thirty miles or so?" Marcus shrugged, staring at the tall fiery cloud. "Could be Chester or somewhere in that area," he said passing the binoculars back to Lee.
Jake and Helen were in shock. They stood silent, watching in a mixture of astonishment, fear and awe.
Jake was old enough to remember the threat of a nuclear war from when he was a child. He vaguely remembered the leaflets that were posted through their door by the local council, instructing them on how to build a shelter and what to do should the bombs fall. He also remembered the short government information broadcasts, explaining the effects of 'fall-out' and what to do if someone in the shelter succumbed to radiation poisoning. He recalled his mother and father, sitting for hours, discussing what they would have to do, and hearing his mother crying and sobbing through the night.
It was only in later years, as a young man and with the threat of nuclear war dying along with the Soviet Union, that his father told him about the difficult decision his parents had come to on the matter. If the country were to be swept by a nuclear holocaust, to prevent them from suffering and dying a slow and agonising death, they would die as a family, at the hands of his father.
Now, staring out at the monstrous glowing mushroom cloud, the words of his father rang in his ears.
"You should get inside and shelter in the basement," a gravelly voice said from behind them.
Marcus turned and saw Johnny Boots standing there, eating a bar of chocolate and watching the expanding cloud from the nuclear explosion. No one knew how long he had been there for; he could have been there from the beginning. No one ever knew where Johnny was or what he was doing. He drifted about the park as his own entity and now and then, he would make an appearance.
Marcus suddenly felt a sense of urgency coursing through him.
"He's right," he announced as he turned to the others. "Everyone, get inside. Grab as much food as you can and get the children in to the basement. Move," he ordered.
The sound of an engine and a beeping horn caught his attention. Ra
cing across the fields from the north, the old zebra coloured battered Land Rover raced towards them.
Gary and Sophie crashed through the large wooden doors to the house in a panic. More panic greeted them as they entered the foyer. People rushed about, carrying food, clothing and blankets while others herded the children towards the cellar door.
"Marcus," Gary called as he saw his friend carrying a large box of tinned food. "We need to secure this place."
"We're heading to the basement, Gary. We need…" Marcus began.
Gary was shaking his head. "No, I mean, yes, we need to do that, but we also need to make sure the house is sealed."
Marcus stopped, realising what Gary meant. He turned to Lisa as she passed him and gave her the box of food.
"Get to the cellar and keep everyone there," he ordered. "Lee, Steve, Jake and Carl, you're with me.”
Gary had already run to the kitchen and was filling buckets of water and gathering as many towels and blankets as he could find. He threw them to Marcus and the others.
"Here, soak them and block any gaps you find; doors, windows, vents…everything."
Marcus was impressed that the old man remembered some of the advice from the old Cold War information pamphlets.
"My boy," Gary began as he worked furiously to seal the main door, "I was in my prime back in those days and I remember it all." His voice was strained as he slapped down another wet towel to cover the gap at the bottom of the door.
"It was all we could think about because it was rammed down our throats twenty-four seven. We came so close to nuclear war," he said, turning to Marcus, holding up his thumb and forefinger, just millimetres apart, as an indication. "Now we're fighting flesh-eating dead people and nuclear fucking bombs."
8
He watched how they moved, their grace and beauty as they effortlessly crossed the ground and handled the objects that they carried. A certain delight in observing them seemed to rise within him as he compared them to the masses of lumbering, clumsy husks that swarmed the cities and towns.
He remained unseen, watching them from the shadows. The mouldy and threadbare curtains ensured that he would not be detected as he peered out through the filth-encrusted window of the third floor apartment.
All around him, the once stylish and comfortable interior that had been home to a young family, slowly decayed and withered with time. A layer of dust had settled over every surface, leaving everything looking opaque and dreamlike. The personal effects of the previous occupants lay scattered all around him; children's toys and books littered the floor while upturned furniture, and discarded clothing bore witness to the panic that had ensued and prompted the people to flee.
The pictures on the walls and bookshelves showed a happier time that no longer existed. The smiling children and parents now either hiding, or dead, after falling victim to the ever growing population of staggering ravenous creatures now inhabiting and roaming the world they had once known.
At first, he had felt urged to get away from the people he watched, to put as much distance between them and him as possible, but something tugged at him from deep within and he felt an overwhelming need to observe them and stay close by.
He remembered their leader; a man that could have easily put a gun to his head and ended his existence, but instead, had set him free, ignoring the objections of the others around him. The man had shown him compassion and understanding and did not view him as a threat. As a result, he had been led down to the gates and released, while the others like him had perished at the hands of their captors.
Andy remembered the events well. He recalled his feelings of utter contempt and disgust for the others he had been locked inside the cage with. They were as vile and wretched as any that he had come across. They saw and felt nothing of their surroundings or of each other. They shuffled from one side of the enclosure to the other in their revolting state as Andy stood back and watched.
Only when they saw the vibrant and animated figures on the outside, speaking and moving with a pace that they were unable to match themselves, did their drab and dull existence change. They would scream and assault the cage, shaking at the bars as they tried desperately to reach the men on the other side.
They attacked the barrier relentlessly and with complete disregard to the damage that they were causing to themselves. They were intoxicated with their desire to feed on the flesh of the living, regardless of the cost.
Andy did not know which he despised more, their shambling, incoherent and oblivious meanderings; completely unaware of what was happening or what was likely to happen to them, or their loathsome and terrifying reaction to the presence of their captors whenever they were in view.
He remembered the feelings that had surged through him during his captivity, as his thought process and emotions had developed far beyond that of most others like him. Terror had gripped him, as he had seen all too often, what the fast moving figures did to his kind. Usually, they would not hesitate to shoot or smash the heads in of the others that were like Andy. Being held in the cage, with the possibility of the others turning on him, or being shot by the ones on the outside, had filled him with an overwhelming dread, an uncertainty of his fate.
He watched as the others around him fell, one after the other, as bullets smashed through their heads. He felt certain that his turn was next. He had nowhere to hide and no way of defending himself. Instead, he had accepted his fate and a great sense of defiance had urged him to remain standing, watching his would-be executioners. That same reaction had earned him his freedom; the leader of his captors had seen something different in him.
Andy leaned forward and peered down onto the road below. Dozens of twisted staggering figures aimlessly roamed the littered and decaying streets. A collection of grey shadow like mangled shapes wandered and stumbled along with no clear intention of where they wanted to go. They would continue that way until something blocked their path and forced them to change direction, or something caught their attention. They were mindless and of no interest to him.
They were capable of nothing other than death and destruction.
He looked down at his body. He was in much better condition than most like him, he was aware of that. For a long time, he had been conscious of how delicate he had become and how easily he could be damaged. To that end, he had done what he could to protect himself. He avoided anything that could harm him, especially the others like the ones in the street below. He was careful of where he placed his feet, avoiding falling or damaging his brittle bones. He took extra care to protect the soft tissue of his hands and fingers.
After being set free, he had taken to carrying a means of defending himself. A tyre iron that he found in the garage of a house was his only companion, and he felt the need to use it on a few occasions, despatching the confused and dumbstruck creatures that came too close to him.
Andy grunted.
He looked back up and focussed on the living people that he saw beyond the protective walls. The shambling things below had no inclination that warm living flesh was close by, just beyond their reach.
For a long time he watched them. He witnessed the days shorten and the clouds form overhead, and the rustling leaves of the trees turn from vibrant green to bright oranges and yellows before falling to the ground.
All the time he remained at the window.
Andy also observed the people as they silently crept in and out from the walls, clearing the area of the lurching and revolting figures that encroached upon their home. He looked on indifferently as the things like him were silently beaten and killed with clubs and knives, then dragged to the side and discarded like the unwanted and dangerous garbage that they were.
He watched with curiosity as the skies became filled with birds flying south before the cold weather arrived. He stood witness as the rains came, heavier and longer than they had in previous months. Now, as the first light flakes of dazzling white snow slowly drifted down from the dark clouds, he continued to observe the bei
ngs beyond the walls of the army barracks.
The fast moving figures were busying themselves, loading trucks with equipment and people. They seemed to be hurrying, a sense of panic spread amongst them as they intensified their efforts.
The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight touched the rooftops of the city, Andy watched as the living people drove out from the barracks, heading away from the infested metropolis. Their engines roared as they raced for the outskirts; their guns chattered as they mowed down any of the swaying figures in the street that stood in their way.
As quickly as he could, Andy chased after them. At best, he could only manage a speedy hobble as he urged his decaying legs to carry him along the street. He did not understand why he needed to follow, but he was compelled to. They had spared him and he felt drawn to them, as though, in some way, they would be able to help him or give him something back that resembled his former life.
He staggered through the suburbs, barging the other figures out of his way as they lurched into his path. Before long, and inevitably, a crowd began to follow him. They saw his haste, and in their typical herd mentality, they latched onto him, wailing and moaning as they stumbled along behind him.
He was starting to feel panic rising inside him. He had been caught up in a similar incident before, becoming the attention of a whole city as they swarmed around him, almost tearing him to pieces. The memory of that day burned through his mind, filling him with fear for his own safety and continued existence. He knew that if they caught him, they would destroy him, rip him apart and leave him scattered across the surface of the street.
A dark shadow stumbled into his path. It turned and moved towards him, reaching for him and letting out a low questioning moan as it approached. Its face was swollen to twice its normal size. The green flesh of its cheeks looked ready to burst and its swollen black tongue flopped from its mouth. It continued forward, shuffling on unsteady bloated legs with its sunken and clouded eyes locked onto Andy.
