Aftermath: The complete collection

by John Wilkinson

  Chapter SIX

  13/11/2027 - Time 16:20

  The snow had come down overnight, through the open roof and into the room we had slept in, but we had both been safely covered by the plastic sheets, which had two inches of snow sat on top. The embers of the fire were still smouldering, although the wood had long since burned out, but it had done its job, keeping us warm for the majority of the night. Before I went to sleep, I washed my arm and chest in the rainwater we had boiled. I’ve had no reaction to it, and believe it is safe to drink should we run out of water, at the moment we will just use it to clean and wash. Still wrapped in my blankets, I ventured outside to see what today’s walking conditions would be like. The air was clear of snow and the wind had dropped, but it was still bitterly cold. When Roy woke, I cleaned and redressed his hand, the blood had soaked through the tea-towel overnight, staining the floor around him, the wound looked like it had started the healing process though, with a scab forming over the top. We will just have to make sure its kept clean, if it gets infected he might lose the rest of his hand. It was too wet to make a fire with no lighter fluid, so we used the newspapers I had gathered from the café to insulate ourselves. I scrunched them up and pushed them into my boots, and taped whole sheets around my legs, arms and torso. We set off for the A702 without having eaten for twenty four hours, hoping to find something on route. The newspapers in our boots definitely helped keep our feet warm for longer, with the snow on the ground covering them. The journey to the A702 consisted of mainly fields separated by deadly quiet roads, small towns and industrial estates. The first obstacle we faced after setting off was a river that crossed the motorway. It was wide, maybe twenty yards, and too deep to cross from our position, we followed it for around half an hour, until we found a more manageable part. Large pieces of ice were following the current down stream, and the water was black and rough. We stripped to the waist, put our pants and boots in our rucksacks and carried them over our heads. All the newspaper from our legs and torso had to be removed, and put in our bags to re-apply later. The water was absolutely freezing, almost painful it was so cold. It was spraying up at us as we navigated the riverbed, I made small footsteps, each time making sure I had a stable footing. At the midway point, the river was just above my chest. The cold had started to take a hold of me, I could barely feel my legs. Looking behind, I could see Roy was struggling too, the pain in our legs was like a thousand pins stabbing at once. I had to concentrate to stay upright, every step seemed to land on a sharp stone, cutting my feet although I couldn’t feel them. As the water started to decrease down my legs, I stumbled to the embankment, followed by Roy. We dried ourselves and put our pants back on, I carefully put my cut and bleeding feet back into my boots and loosely tied them. We headed back towards the motorway, when it came into view we followed it to the right. Just before we reached the outskirts of Eaglesfield, we heard the sound of vehicles approaching. We were far enough away to watch without fear, a convoy consisting of eleven vehicles went past southward, the ash and snow thrown up into the air, lingered for some time, like an aeroplane trail. Eaglesfield resembled a town lost to a zombie outbreak, some streets looking untouched by the horror, the next had burned out cars littering the streets and houses bordered up, there was nobody cleaning this mess up. We walked along one row of terrace houses, the only clue of what had happened was a few flat tyres on the vehicles, everything else seemed normal. Looking up at the houses in the next street, with their curtains drawn, and windows bordered up, I wondered how many people were hidden away, trying to continue living, waiting for the help they must think was coming. Families desperately hiding their daughters or mothers, afraid of going outside. When we reached the outskirts of Eaglesfield, we saw first hand what was keeping the streets quiet. There was an old converted farm with seven houses renovated from its buildings. We were trying to cut across the property to get into the field it backed onto. As we drew nearer to the first building I could see what I thought was black ivy climbing up the outside of the building, but as I got closer, I realised it was the shape of a body. Cautiously we investigated, the body was of a man, maybe in his thirties, hung by the neck from an upstairs window. He was completely naked, his skin all black and shiny, there was a cardboard sign tied around his neck with rope which read ‘I made a pact against Mr. Torriero.’ The next house along had two elderly males hanging from the top windows, they too had cardboard signs around their necks with the same message written on. Altogether, hung from the seven buildings were the bodies of eleven men, all stripped, humiliated and beaten, before being put to death. We decided not to search the buildings, it didn’t seem right, but we still needed to eat, and we only had half a bottle of water left, we might end up relying on the boiled rainwater before I envisaged. We left Eaglesfield heading north, with still no sign of any snow in the sky. After a few hours walking, we arrived at another small town. As we walked past the road sign I brushed off the ash and snow, it read ‘Johnstone bridge,’ not a place with which I was familiar. A river came under the motorway and crossed our path again, possibly the Eden, I’m not sure, but we were happy to see it. We decided to stop before entering the town, taking a rest, and re-applying the newspapers we had removed when crossing the river. I took my boots off so I could warm my feet with my hands, the newspaper I pulled out of my boot was stained with blood from my cut feet, so I discarded it and stuffed some fresh paper down. We rested for twenty minutes, then continued into the town, the wind started to kick up the dusty snow top, there were no obvious footprints just more dead bodies. They had been there a while, piled on top of each other by the roadside, outside random houses. Similar to when I first surfaced, but these were frozen solid. There was an eerie atmosphere around all the towns we have visited, a feeling of despair, we left Johnstone bridge exactly how we found it, another town lost to the aftermath. Following the river parallel to the M6, we walked for hours past Moffat, until it turned into the A75. Shortly after leaving the river, the motorway split into two with land in the centre, surrounded by huge trees. It’s memorable due to its strange position. My dad told me it was owned by a farmer who wouldn’t sell his land when they built the motorway some sixty years ago, back when it was called the Preston by-pass. I had driven past on many occasions, and was sure there was a house at the centre. The land was completely surrounded by huge trees, hiding the property. I thought I could see a faint trail of smoke drifting into the black ashen sky from somewhere within the trees, but from our distance it was hard to be sure. With everything considered, it was our best chance of finding food and water, and somewhere to sleep, we hadn’t eaten for over thirty six hours and the water had run out earlier that afternoon. We were exhausted and frozen to the core, long icicles had formed on our dirty unkempt beards. I could see, further down the field we were presently walking through, what looked like the outline of a road, the snow had covered the terrain, but the rocks and stones at the roadside were still visible. We followed the path as it bent to the left towards the motorway, arriving at the entrance to a tunnel, half hidden with dead branches. Inside it was pitch black, I used my torch to help guide us through, when we came out of the other side, we were beyond the enormous trees. Stood forty yards ahead of us, was the property. It was a beautiful looking building with huge stone bricks and a slate roof, it looked a similar age to my parents farmhouse, it even had the same outside toilet. There were two smaller buildings to the right, surrounded by what looked like a vegetable garden that had been tended to recently, there were potatoes and carrots planted, I’m not sure how well they will grow with no sunlight, but someone was trying. We carefully made our way to the front of the building and climbed up the steps to the front door. I gave it aloud knock, brushed the ash off the window and put my face against the glass to peer inside, everything was silent, but it had definitely been lived in recently, everything lay in its rightful place. We were cold and hungry, but am not going to resort to stealing from other people, we are all in this desperate situat
ion together. We made our way around the side of the building and into one of the outhouses, which was full of electrical equipment, TV sets, a gas fire and a fridge and freezer, all stacked neatly on top of each other. We headed back outside and around the back of the house. There was a pile of branches piled high, leaning against the back wall, I suspected a supply of fire wood, but as we got closer I notice something behind it. I moved the branches to the side revealing a wooden hatch door, Roy took the padlock off, which wasn’t fastened, and I lifted the door up, leaning it against the back wall. It revealed a set of black, stone steps, which we climbed down to the door at the bottom. I tried the handle, it was unlocked so I pushed it open. Inside was dark, and I couldn’t see anything, but I could smell what I thought was fresh smoke. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I heard the sound of wooden chairs scraping across the floor, inside were women, quite a few of them, their faces disappearing into the darkness as they backed away from us.‘If you move I’ll blow your fucking head clean off’ said a voice from behind me. ‘Turn around real slow and face me, both of you.’ We slowly turned around to face the barrel of a shotgun, ten inches from our faces. ‘Walk back up those steps and do not turn around or it will be the last thing you do.’ I tried to stay calm as I walked up the stairs with my hands in the air, I heard the man behind us telling the females to calm down, everything was okay. At the top of the stairs was an old lady who moved to the side to let us pass, she looked in her seventies, with white hair tied up in a bob, dressed in gardening overalls, her face was lined like the rings of an old oak tree. ‘They don’t look like the other lot George’ she said, walking towards him. George was a striking looking man, in his seventies with a huge white beard and a bald head, he was dressed in an old worn set of bib and brace overalls, that had been repaired several times, and his cheeks were red and bulging. The couple looked like the kind of people who didn’t get much social interaction before the war. ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just shoot you both and bury you with the others?’