“What?” she pants.
“Well, perhaps they’ve escaped now there’s no one to look after them?”
“Don’t be daft. There aren’t any wolves around here—not even ones kept in a reserve like that one down south.”
“No, but you never know what crazy pets some nutters keep.”
“Oh, shut up! It’s not wolves,” she snaps and elbows him as he laughs.
They continue running, Finn keeping pace with Kyle as they turn into the High Street.
“There! Do you see the white awning halfway down?”
She squints into the half-light down the road, a single awning stands out along the street.
“Yes,” she returns.
“Can we walk now?” he asks her breath coming hard.
“Sure,” Finn returns and slows to a steady pace.
As they reach the awning the sun finally disappears, the sky a dark blue across the horizon. Finn cups her hand and presses up against the shop’s window. Shelves are stacked with boxes all neatly packed, untouched by the looters that plagued the town. “Guess they were only interested in the food and booze,” she says aloud, thinking back to the days when she’d seen those who could still walk fill their trolleys with food and bottles of wine and cans of beer. “You’d think the druggies would have had a go at breaking in though.”
“All the better for us,” Kyle replies as he pushes against the door. It opens easily.
“Wait!”
“What is it?”
“If the awning’s up, and the door opens, do you think whoever was working is still here?”
“Huh?”
“You know … they passed on whilst they were at work?”
“Dead, Finn. Do you mean are the dead in here?” he says ominously, arching his brows.
“For crying out loud, Kyle! This is creepy enough without you making it worse,” she replies batting at his arm in reprimand.
He laughs and smiles down at her.
“I’m not laughing!” he retorts with a half-smile as he pushes the door open and steps into the darkening shop.
Chapter Seventeen
The stench she expects to waft over her doesn’t come. The shop is muggy, warmed up by the sun shining against the window despite the awning, but the reek of death isn’t here. She looks around at the stacked shelves.
“We should grab what we can. There’s so much stuff that could be useful,” she says reaching for a bottle of shampoo and matching conditioner, then stepping across to the carousel laden with hair bands and fake nails. She picks up a brush.
“We’re not on a shopping trip, Finn.”
“I know but-”
“We know this place is stocked so we can come back another day.”
“Yeah, but what if someone else finds it first?”
“Don’t worry about that now. I don’t want to hang about here in the dark. Let’s get Cassie something for her shoulder!”
“Sure,” she returns, a touch irked by his reprimand, and puts the hairbrush and shampoo down on the shop’s counter.
Stepping behind the counter, she scans the neatly stacked boxes of tablets and medicines until she finds what she’s looking for. Grabbing a handful of packets, she turns to the counter and grabs one of the plastic bags underneath, flaps it then drops the packets in. Best not forget the shampoo, even if there weren’t many people around she still didn’t want to stink. A dog barks in the distance, the sound muffled by the glass. She looks up out of the window, the cars lined up along the street still visible in the gloom.
“Don’t worry. They’re miles away,” Kyle soothes.
“Sure,” she says turning back to the shelf of medicine and picking off two boxes of children’s liquid paracetamol.
“We should get some antiseptic and some sterile dressings and bandages,” she says as she takes more medicines from the shelf and drops them in her bag.
“Good idea. I’ll check over here.”
As she steps closer to the door that leads through to the medicine preparation area, a scratch sounds at the window. She freezes, her arm stretched out to reach for another box, and her chest tightens. The scratch comes again. She turns to the window, but her view is blocked by the displays of sun lotion and perfumes.
“Kyle!” she whispers. “Did you hear that?”
The scratch comes again. Louder, more insistent. Kyle stands stock still and turns to stare at her.
“Yes,” he hisses back, then steps out of the aisle towards the glass-plated door.
A whine then another scratch.
“It’s just a dog,” he says with relief, and walks towards the door.
“No. Kyle. Stop.”
“What? Oh, come on, Finn! It’s a dog for Pete’s sake, and a little one at that. Look for yourself.”
She steps out from behind the counter and peers out to the door. The glass is smeared where the dog’s paws have leant up against it. It whines again, brown eyes large and dark against its white fur.
“It’s one of them little designer dog types,” Lina says with a hint of disdain. If she had a dog it would be a proper dog—a wolfhound or one of those other gentle giants, not that she’d have a dog anyway—who wanted to spend their days picking up dog poop and wiping slather off their hands anyway. It does look cute though.
“Poor thing must be hungry,” Kyle says as he squats in front of the glass, his hand opposite the dog’s paw. It whines again and gives a little bark. “Aww! It wants me to open the door.”
“Oh, Kyle. We don’t have any food to give it though.”
“Perhaps we could find some,” he says looking intently through the glass.
“I guess, but we don’t have time right now. We need to get this medicine back to Cassie, and the kids are on their own,” she urges as he stands and pulls at the shop’s door. “Kyle!”
“I’ll just give him a little stroke, Finn.”
The door opens and the dog whines.
“What’s wrong little fella?” Kyle croons as he squats again. He puts out his hand and strokes the dog’s head. The dog sits quiet, raising its chin to be tickled.
“What do you think it is?”
“It’s a dog.”
“Hah! No, I mean what type of dog is it?”
“Looks like a cross between a Jack Russel and a Shitzu.”
Kyle snorts. “A shitty what?”
“A Shitzu,” she repeats. “It’s a Jackshit!” she laughs.
He giggles. “Or a shitty jack!”
“I think I’ve got enough painkillers and dressings now,” she says as he continues to stroke the dog. “We should get back.”
“Can we take it?”
“No, Kyle. I don’t want a dog at the flat. There’s not enough food to go around as it is.”
“But there’s dog food in the shop,” he says standing and reaching out to pick up the dog. It shifts away from him.
“Sure, but not enough even for a few weeks. Then what would we do?”
The dog growls.
“Oh! Kyle! Did you see it bare its teeth? Just leave it.”
“It’s just frightened,” he continues putting his hand out to stroke it once more.
Without warning the dog snaps its teeth around Kyle’s wrist, biting at the exposed flesh.
“Kyle!”
“Aagh!”
The dog snaps again, sinking its teeth deeper into his arm, and dangles, attached to the boy’s wrist as he stands.
“It won’t let go. Finn, help!”
She darts forwards as Kyle crouches again, letting the dog stand. The dog growls at her approach, latched onto his wrist, blood trickling from the punctured skin, and pulls back, pushing against its paws. She knocks the dog with her foot. Kyle yelps as the dog’s teeth jar. It bites down with grim determination.
“Aagh. Get it off!” he says with wide-eyed terror.
Desperate, Finn grabs for its jaws and digs her fingers into its mouth, pushing against the pointed teeth and pulls, her fingers hooked into its gums. The jaws
loosen and she yanks them apart. Kyle falls back, grasping his wounded arm to his chest.
“Bloody dog!” he spits.
Still holding its jaws apart, Finn throws the writhing, gurgling dog back out onto the street. It yowls as it lands, then flips onto all fours and stands for a second.
“Close the door!” Kyle yells as the dog bares its teeth once more and rushes at them.
“Jeez!” Finn exclaims as she grasps for the door handle and pulls it closed. The dog smashes against the glass then continues to scratch against the door. “What the hell!” Finn blurts, looking down at the rabid animal. “What is wrong with that dog? It’s going berserk.”
“I dunno Finn, but I’m bleeding. The damn thing’s cut through my skin,” Kyle says slumping to the floor.
“Let me look!” she says turning from the crazed dog and crouching down next to Kyle. “Looks bad.”
“Does it need stitches?”
“I dunno. It needs cleaning though. Dog bites are poisonous, aren’t they? Wait there. I’ll get some of the antiseptic stuff I grabbed for Cassie.”
“Hah! I’ll wait. I’m not going anywhere,” he says with grim mirth. “I can’t believe that dog. It just turned on me.”
“They’re hungry, Kyle. Perhaps tasting your blood sent it over the edge?” she replies as she reaches into the back and pulls out the aerosol of liquid skin. She squints and holds the canister into the best light. Good. ‘Antiseptic on Application’ is writ large across the top. She reaches again into the bag and pulls out a pack of cotton wool and some liquid antiseptic.
“This could sting,” she says as she kneels next to him and unscrews the bottle. The dog barks.
“Shut up!” she shouts through the glass as she turns to look at the small dog outside. It barks again then disappears from view as she takes Kyle’s arm and begins to wipe away the blood.
“Hell! That does sting!”
***
Deacon pokes at the fire with the long and gnarled stick he’d picked up in the forest as they’d set the snares. He had to hand it to the boy, he knew how to survive and dinner was going to be courtesy of the wild rabbit he’d just caught. He watches as the boy pulls at the rabbit’s fur, pulling it off the dead animal with an expert hand.
“How’d you know how to do that?”
“My dad. He used to go out hunting … well, poaching. He had some odd ideas about stuff.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He said that in the woods the animals were free food. He hated the supermarkets and paying out for food he thought he should be able to get for free.”
“You can’t get something for nothing.”
“No, but he tried,” the boy grimaces as he pulls again at the rabbit’s fur. He picks up the knife from the table and cuts at the skin around the rabbit’s paws, gives a final pull and holds the skinned body up triumphant. “Just got to gut it now and it’ll be ready for the barbi!” he says smiling.
Deacon grimaces but looks on in fascination as the boy slaps the rabbit down onto the table and slips the knife along its belly then pulls out its guts. He does it with care, Deacon notes, holds the steaming mass gently in his hands, checks the innards, picks out the kidneys, then throws the rest on the fire. It sizzles in the heat.
“Don’t want that stinking up the place attracting the rats,” he says.
“Hell, no!” Deacon exclaims and looks around him to the ground.
The boy skewers the rabbit and sits it on the two Y-shaped poles in the fire then reaches for the squirrel.
“I think I’ll stick to the rabbit for my tea,” Deacon laughs as he looks to the squirrel dangling in the air, held by its bushy tail.
“You’ll change your mind once you taste it,” the boy says smiling.
“Hah! Maybe.”
Deacon looks from the boy and up to the darkening sky, the stars bright against the midnight blue.
“It makes a difference,” he says.
“Huh? What does?” the boy asks as he takes his knife to the squirrel.
“Not having any lights. There’s no light pollution, so you can really see the stars.”
He stops for a moment and looks up. “Yeah,” he replies. “It feels odd to think that there’s only us here to see them—that the rest of the world is empty.”
They both sit quiet for a moment.
“We’re not alone. We’re not the only survivors. I saw a woman and a load of kids on the road back there,” Deacon adds, nodding his head towards the road.
“Oh?” the boy says brightening. “We should find them.”
“No.”
“No? Why?”
“People … you just can’t trust them.”
“No, but you can’t survive on your own. We need to find other people and help each other.”
“Nah! I’m done with people,” Deacon says and falls quiet.
“If it wasn’t for me you’d have been eating air tonight,” he says tugging at the squirrel’s fur. “Perhaps you and me … perhaps we can help each other?” he questions, locking on to Deacon’s gaze then turning back to the fire. Deacon remains quiet.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he responds after a few minutes. The boy doesn’t answer. “You can come with me if you like,” he continues, his voice soft, apologetic.
The boy turns and smiles at him, the white of his teeth bright in the orange glow of the fire.
“Yeah,” he replies. “I would.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rick grunts as he wraps the cloth over the last body and grasps the end of the sheet. Sweat is beginning to form along his brow and with his free arm he wipes it away. The body count hadn’t been as bad as he thought it would be. Perhaps the residents had taken themselves to hospital, or returned home when the sickness began to ravage the town, but most likely the B&B was struggling just like every other business in the area. Whatever, he was relieved, bodies, particularly of overweight business men, were a struggle down those stairs.
“This one’s ready,” he calls as Dan steps back into the room.
“Ok. Sorry, just had to get some fresh air. That kid …” he falters looking past Rick to the wrapped body on the bed.
“Yeah. The kids are the hardest,” he says in empathy. “This one’s going to be tough too.”
“Must be twenty stone!”
“Yep!” Rick agrees as he looks at the undulating cloth, the bloated belly of the man a balloon under the cloth.
“Looks like he’s got a space hopper stuck to his middle!” Dan exclaims.
Rick snorts at the ridiculous image, but doesn’t want to think about the man’s belly or the black, decaying lips of his face. “Let’s get him outside shall we.”
“Sure,” Dan replies as he steps further into the room and grabs hold of the other end of the sheet.
“One, two, three, lift.”
“Ugh!”
The body hits the floor hard.
“We’re going to have to drag this one. No way we can lift it,” Rick says as he pulls at the deadweight and looks through the doorway to the landing beyond. “Take it easy though—on the stairs.”
***
Lina looks back to Cassie in the back seat. Her face is pale and her eyes are closed, though she can tell she’s not asleep.
“You OK, Cassie?” she asks, instantly regretting her question. “I mean … I know you’re not OK, but … but you don’t feel any worse …” she trails off, biting her lip, frustrated that she can’t do anything. “My mum,” she says looking at the drying patch of blood on the woman’s shirt, “she was a healer, so … so I can help you get better. I know the herbs and stuff that can help your wound—and the ones that will make you stronger.”
Cassie’s eyes flicker open and she smiles up to Lina. “Thanks,” she returns, her voice hoarse.
“After they’ve got the bolt out … I can help with the wound,” she smiles in reassurance as Cassie’s eyes close once more.
Lina turns again to the front of the car and looks into th
e rear-view mirror then up to the open door of the hotel. Sitting here was certainly getting boring. She fidgets in her seat and checks again in the mirror. Where are they? A movement to her right catches her eye. Rick, his back to her, is at the bottom of the stairs struggling with another ‘wrapping’, heaving it down the final step then pulling at it to slide across the floor. She shudders at the thought of the parcel’s contents and turns away, biting down on her lip again. It feels swollen now, a growing lump of tingling flesh where she’s squeezed it between her teeth. Her mother would be nagging her to stop it if she were here. She sighs and looks again in the rear-view mirror. There they are! She turns to look out of the back rocking the car. Cassie groans.
“Sorry!” she says regretful of the pain she’s caused and looks down the road as Finn and Kyle run towards the car. She frowns as she notices Kyle clutching his arm to his body and opens the car door.
“You’re back! You were gone ages,” she calls as she stands at the open door and steps onto the path to greet them. “Kyle! What’s wrong?”
“A dog bit him,” Finn replies as she reaches her.
“It turned on me,” he says holding out his arm. “It was cute and fluffy until it bared its teeth and sank them into my arm!”
Dark bite marks pepper the pale flesh of his arm. The skin glistens in the moonlight.
“That looks painful,” Lina responds.
“It stings,” he replies, “but I’ll live,” he says returning a smile to her worried frown. “Have they cleared it out in there?”
“I dunno. They’ve been up and down the stairs with … with people wrapped in sheets. They’ve just taken one out back.”
“Come on, Kyle. Let’s go and find out,” Finn suggests as she steps towards the iron gate of the hotel’s entrance.
“Don’t be long,” Lina calls after them looking up and down the road, checking for signs of movement. She’d heard dogs barking earlier and if that’s what a small dog could do to you she didn’t want to get in the way of any of the bigger ones. They were bound to be getting hungry by now. She rubs the back of her neck and squeezes her shoulders as she checks one more time up and down the street then walks back to the car, slides gently onto the seat and slowly closes the door. A dog howls in the distance and she shivers.
The Savage Road: A post-apocalyptic survival series (A World Torn Down Book 2) Page 8
