by Moody, David
CHAOS THEORIES
Three apocalyptic novels from the author of HATER and AUTUMN
David Moody
Infected Books
Copyright © 2020 David Moody and Infected Books
This collection copyright © David Moody 2020
All rights reserved
The right of David Moody to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organisations and events portrayed in these novels are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
STRAIGHT TO YOU
First published in 1996 by The Book Guild and in 2005 by Infected Books
This version first published in 2014 by Infected Books
STRANGERS
First published in 2014 by Infected Books
TRUST
First published in 2001 by Infected Books
This version first published in 2012 by Infected Books
Individual novel cover designs by Craig Paton
www.craigpaton.com
Box set design by David Shires
www.theimagedesigns.com
www.davidmoody.net
www.infectedbooks.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAOS THEORIES
STRAIGHT TO YOU
SUNDAY 27 JULY
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
STRANGERS
FORTY-EIGHT MILES NORTH OF THUSSOCK
1
THE NORTH ROAD OUT OF THUSSOCK
2
3
4
THE YOUTH HOSTEL AT GLENFIRTH
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
FIFTEEN MILES SOUTH OF THUSSOCK
FALRIGG
TRUST
FRIDAY. 4:17PM
Part i - ARRIVAL
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
Part ii - RELEASE
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
Part iii - ACCEPTANCE
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Part iv - CHANGE
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
Part v - CULL
43
44
EPILOGUE
Praise For Author
Books By This Author
CHAOS THEORIES
DAVID MOODY
STRAIGHT TO YOU
SUNDAY 27 JULY
Perspective affects everything. What matters most to one person may barely even register with another. Whilst one person’s world is being turned upside-down, so the person who lives next-door might sleep through their neighbour’s chaos, unaffected and oblivious.
In late July, two events occurred within the space of a few minutes. One would go on to affect billions of lives. The other tore Steven and Samantha Johnson’s world apart.
There’d been no alarms, no obvious cause for concern, but then, as a steady stream of gentle-voiced, well-meaning professionals told them afterwards, there rarely ever were.
She’d known something was wrong from the moment she’d woken up. Feeling for the baby’s movements had become as instinctive as breathing. Sam did it without thinking, pressing her hands against her tummy, waiting for kicks. And, until then, those unpredictable, fluttering reassurances had always been there. Even on occasion when she’d had to wait, lying still and trying not to think the worst, telling herself there was no need to panic, the baby had always shuffled and shifted eventually. But not this time. She’d waited and waited, convinced she’d soon feel something, not wanting to tell her husband, not wanting to worry him over nothing. She watched him watching TV, oblivious.
There came a point when she had to say something. She reached across and shook his shoulder, gently at first, then with much more force as she fought not to panic. ‘Can’t feel the baby, Steve,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he’s moving.’
They drove through hard, inclement, pissing rain and were at the hospital within fifteen minutes. He’d rehearsed this drive ready for when she went into labour, had it all mapped out in his head, every junction and every turn. Sam was seen immediately, ushered into a frightening, sterile room. Less than an hour after she’d first become concerned, the couple’s worst fears had been realised.
When everything that needed to be done had been done and Sam was resting, Steven left her bedside and walked to the car through the summer rain. It was coming down so hard it was like mist, leeching colour from everything. Dirty rivers ran down the sides of the roads, small lakes forming around overwhelmed storm drains. Steven didn’t care, didn’t even feel it. People stared at him as he leant back against the car and looked up into the grey and black clouds roiling overhead. He felt empty. Hollow. His mind was filled with fragmented thoughts but he couldn’t concentrate enough to make sense of any of them. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t feel... Seven and a half months of getting ready to be a dad, seven and a half months of talking baby to friends and family, seven and a half months of getting used to the two of them becoming three, seven and a half months of planning, decorating, hoping, dreaming... now nothing. Just a void. All of it gone, and no obvious reason why. No one’s fault, they said. It’s just the way it is. There’s nothing anyone could have done.
Steven sat in the car and made impossible phone calls. He spoke to Norman first, Sam’s dad. They argued, but then again, they always did. Norman never gave any ground, not even today. But the second conversation was even harder. His own parents. His mother could be infuriating. How many times did he have to tell her the same damn thing? We lost the baby, Mom. Sam miscarried.
‘You leaving, mate?’ the man asked when Steven got out to go back inside. ‘Only I’m picking up the missus and the kid and I don’t want them getting soaked. I had to park miles away.’
Steven just looked at him. ‘No. Sorry.’
‘The parking here’s a bloody joke. They want to do something about it.’
Steven couldn’t bring himself to res
pond. He was glad of the rain which camouflaged his tears. The other man had his coat pulled up over his head. He was about to speak again, but when the intensity of the rain lessened unexpectedly, he looked up. The grey sky lightened, and the temperature seemed to rise as if someone had switched on a fan-heater then almost immediately turned it off again.
‘You feel that?’ he asked but when he looked around, Steven had gone.
Any other day, any other time, and Steven might well have noticed the few slight atmospheric variations which signified the beginning of a cataclysmic change right at the very heart of the sun. But even if he had, he surely wouldn’t have cared today. The enormous star was as insignificant to him now as a dust mote. For Steven and Samantha, more than ninety million miles away, impossibly small by comparison, two fleeting lives among billions, their world had already been torn apart.
1
FRIDAY 26 SEPTEMBER
She watched him across the crowded garden. He looked more relaxed than she’d seen him in weeks, but maybe that was the booze. Did it matter? Probably not, she decided.
The lingering heat of this post-summer-summer was bizarre. Sam couldn’t remember the last time it had rained, nor could she remember the last time she’d been able to have a conversation with anyone which hadn’t revolved around the weather. It pissed her off: when it was wet they wanted sun, now they’d got what they’d asked for and all she heard them say was how everything was too hot or too dry. People were running out of superlatives, and the media had run out of clichés just as fast. All the usual favourites had been exhausted within the first week or two; the pictures of crowds of people on packed beaches, the stupid statistics about ice cream consumption and suntan lotion sales figures, the endless stories about the effect of the heat and lack of moisture on this crop or that crop or these animals or the other. To be honest, she was bored of it all. She wanted the weather to break just so she could talk about something else.
But, on the plus-side, at least talking about the weather gave people an excuse not to talk to her about that. The elephant in the room. The fact she should have been a mother by now but wasn’t.
‘You’ve gone quiet on me,’ Yvonne said, nudging Sam with her elbow, almost spilling her drink.
‘Sorry. Daydreaming.’
‘What about?’
‘This and that.’
They were joined on the fringes of the party by another woman. Sam thought she’d met her before. Her face was familiar but she couldn’t remember her name. A friend of Yvonne’s mom, she thought, or maybe an aunt? Whoever she was, it didn’t matter. She caught Yvonne’s eye and muscled in on the conversation uninvited. ‘We’re due another week of this heat at least,’ she said.
‘That’s what I heard too,’ said Yvonne.
‘I’m loving it,’ the woman said, grinning, and it was clear that she was. Her naturally light skin was dark brown, too dark, if anything. Over-exposed. It didn’t fit with her bleached blonde hair and blue eyes.
‘It’s all right for you, Marg,’ another woman said. It was Sheila, Yvonne’s mother. ‘You’ve got time to enjoy it. It’s not summer anymore, that’s what annoys me.’ Sam hid a smirk behind her drink. Sheila sounded like she thought someone was responsible for this, like the Met Office had got their scheduling all wrong.
‘You should write a letter, mother,’ Yvonne said, sarcastically. ‘Take it up with your MP.’
‘Don’t be facetious, Yvonne, it doesn’t suit you. I wouldn’t mind, but I spent a week in a tent in Wales in July with your brother and your father and it peed down with rain the whole time we were there. Didn’t have a single dry day. Now Liam’s back at school, your dad’s back at work, and the weather’s beautiful.’
‘Look on the bright side though,’ Sam said. ‘At least you get peace and quiet to enjoy it.’
‘Ah, but I can’t enjoy it,’ Sheila answered immediately, a reason for everything ready on tap. ‘It’s too much, this is. Relentless.’
‘Give it a rest, Mom, you’re never happy.’
‘It’s the nights that get to me most,’ Sheila continued, unabated. ‘I wouldn’t mind so much if it cooled down even a little at night, but it’s just as hot. Your father’s taken to sleeping in the nude, and I can well do without that.’
Judging from the expression on her face, so could Yvonne.
‘What about you, love?’ the other woman, Marg, asked Sam.
‘Oh, I’m making the most of it.’
‘Do you not work?’
‘Not at the moment. I’m on maternity leave.’
She regretted the words the moment she’d spoken them. Yvonne looked anxiously from face to face, trying to head off the inevitable but knowing she didn’t stand a chance.
‘Having a night off?’ Marg asked, taking a step back and looking Sam up and down, checking for a bump. ‘Someone got the baby for you? I know what it’s like. I remember when our eldest was born and we...’ Her words trailed away when she realised both Yvonne and Sheila were glaring at her. ‘What?’
Hard as it was – and it was still bloody hard – Sam smiled and put her straight. ‘We lost the baby.’
‘Oh... oh, I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to...’
‘It’s okay,’ she said quickly, keen to minimise any awkwardness. ‘Seriously. It’s my fault. I should have been clearer.’
More apologies. Sam wished Marg would just shut up. She was relieved when Sheila ushered her friend away to talk to someone else. Yvonne touched her arm. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Like I said, my fault. Anyway, I have to deal with stuff like this. Everyone knew I was pregnant... I’m going to get questions, it’s inevitable.’
‘Must be hard, though.’
‘Course it is, but what else can I do? I can’t pretend.’
‘You sure you’re okay?’
Sam finished her drink, wishing she wasn’t driving so she could have had a shot of vodka in her Coke. ‘Yep, I’m fine. It’s all right, you know. I’m okay. It helps to talk about him.’
‘That’s cool. I mean, that’s healthy.’
Sam looked over at Steven again, crowding around the remains of the barbecue with a group of other alpha males. ‘What is it about men and fire?’
‘Keep’s ’em quiet, love. Don’t knock it.’
Sam laughed. ‘I’m not knocking it, I just don’t get it.’
‘How’s he doing?’ Yvonne asked.
‘You tell me.’
‘He looks all right.’
‘He’s half-pissed.’
‘But is he okay?’
‘He’s a typical bloke. He won’t talk about how he’s feeling. Doesn’t tell me anything. I keep trying to get him to go out with his mates and get pissed but he won’t. I think he thinks I need mollycoddling.’
‘Molly-what?’
‘You not heard that word before? Mom always used to use it.’
‘Weird.’
‘I just wish he’d open up more. I worry about him.’
A huge roar of laughter rose up around the barbecue. Steven was at the centre of it, showing off. He and another man were wrestling on the ground, egged on by others. Sam and Yvonne wandered over. ‘What’s going on, Roy?’ Yvonne asked a balding, middle-aged spectator who was swigging from a can of lager.
‘Boys will be boys,’ Roy said, jumping out of the way when Steven rolled his opponent over onto his back and almost onto his feet. Steven held the other man down until he submitted. Roy pulled him up, victorious.
‘Cheers, mate.’
‘Having a good time?’ Yvonne asked, brushing dust from his shoulder.
‘Excellent.’ He grabbed more food from a nearby table. ‘Wicked burgers, Von.’
‘You’ve got half of it down your shirt,’ Sam said, wiping at a ketchup stain. ‘That shirt cost a fortune.’
‘I never liked it much.’
‘That’s not the point. You finished dicking about now?’
‘I guess. Could do with another drink though.’
‘He looks happy,’ Yvonne said.
Sam watched her husband stagger away again. ‘This is the best he’s been. A few drinks and a bit of red meat and he’s almost back to his old self again.’
‘It’s good to see the two of you getting out and getting on with it. I’m glad things are okay.’
‘They will be.’
✽✽✽
Sam drove them back home to Madingly, on the outskirts of Cambridge. She stopped the engine and Steven was all over her. He was drunk but he could still read the signs. She’d been teasing him constantly since they’d left the barbecue. ‘I want to fuck you,’ he said, all tact and decorum stripped away by the booze.
‘I know you do. And if you’re lucky I might just let you.’
He was at the door, fishing in his pockets for his house keys, before she’d even got out of the car. ‘Lost my keys,’ he said, on the verge of panic.
‘Christ, Steve, how much have you had tonight? You didn’t take your keys, remember?’
Door unlocked. Inside. Alarm de-activated. He was ready and waiting for her before she’d even got her shoes off; shirt undone, tanned torso showing. She ran her hands over his chest then wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.
‘Hate to spoil the moment,’ she said, knowing she already had, ‘but I need to pee. Give me a couple of minutes then you can have your wicked way with me.’
He grinned, a child-like expression, and pulled her closer instead of letting her go. She didn’t resist. His hands explored her, over her clothes at first, then hitching up her dress, then inside her underwear. ‘I want you.’
‘I know you do. I want you too, but if I don’t go to the bathroom I’ll piss myself. Be a love, make us both a coffee and I’ll see you upstairs, okay?’
‘Okay,’ he said, and he reluctantly let go. He watched her disappear then went into the kitchen and made the drinks.
It was dark on the landing when he got upstairs. A little light spilled out from the bedroom, trickling across the floor, illuminating the door opposite. That door. Steven glanced at it, then looked away. He didn’t care if it never opened again. It wasn’t a spare room, it was surplus. Ready and waiting but unused.
