by Perrin Briar
“We won’t be able to keep them here for long.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“The Lurchers will win, Anne. Eventually, they always do. Unless we take this pill.”
There were thuds on the roof – what was actually the underside – of the car. Others scratched at the glass windows, hollow shredded faces peering in.
“I’m not taking it,” Anne said.
“All right,” he said. “But once they’ve bitten us, we take them.”
The Lurchers growled and bumped into the car, fingers searching, prying, at the wreckage, the way a blind man finds the bathroom. One of them stumbled onto the broken windscreen and crawled inside. His top lip was missing, giving him the appearance of a constant sneer. He was pushed down into the tarmac, his face cut open by shards of glass. A Lurcher reached between the front seats with hungry hands.
Jordan and Anne kicked with their free feet and punched with their hands. Lurcher necks cracked and lolled at unnatural angles. Heads caved in and thick pus rolled down their features. Their bodies fell between the seats, clogging it up.
The Lurchers outside pounded at the windows. Spider web cracks spread across the windows under Lurcher blows.
A beautiful Burt Backerach tune played on the radio, kicked on by an oblivious Lurcher.
The Lurchers struggled to get through the gap between the front seats, clogged up by dead Lurchers. They grabbed the seats and pushed them apart to make more room. The seat dug deeper into Anne’s leg. She screamed.
Then she stopped. She pulled her leg free. The seat was torn from its moorings, the bolts sheared. A grey-haired Lurcher bared her teeth and gnashed at Anne’s freed leg. Anne brought it away and then kicked her in the face.
“Thank you!” she added.
Anne reached for Jordan’s hand. “We never get a break, do we?”
“No. But at least we’re together now.”
Jordan leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She reciprocated, kissing him back. She ran her hands through his hair. Her stomach twisted as the glass was smashed and they were exposed on all sides.
115.
They emerged from the woods and walked across the flat open farmland. They walked due east. The early twilight sky picked out the falling black spray of rain that was caught by the wind and flew at a forty-five degree angle onto the land below. The rain turned the dirt to sludge that sucked at their shoes. They squinted against the rain.
The world was dark and featureless. With nothing to help guide them they were blind. Jessie’s hair hung over her face. Stan brushed it back behind her ears. She shivered.
“We have to keep going, love,” Stan said. “We have to find somewhere safe.”
Stan took a step and bumped into something solid. The rain no longer patted him on the head. He stood in a square dry patch. He reached out in front of him and found there was a wall. It was rough and grainy. The rain bounced off a short shelf of roof that protruded from twenty feet up. There were gaps half an inch thick between the wooden boards. Stan pressed his eyes against them and peered inside, but couldn’t make anything out. Across the front door was a thick plank of wood.
“Jessie, stay here,” Stan said.
He braced his knees, which shook as he hefted the plank lock. It slid off the clasping strut and struck the sodden earth with a hollow thunk. He pushed open the door. It creaked with hinges that sounded like they would snap. Somewhere in the rafters a bird fluttered.
“Hello?” Stan said, voice shaking. “Is anyone there?”
His eyes acclimatized to the darkness. Half a dozen puddles pooled on the concrete floor, most swimming with a greasy film. The place smelled strongly of cattle. The rain made a muffled tapping sound.
Stan called Jessie in and closed the door behind her. He braced the door with a length of wood.
“Well, what would you like for tea?” he asked Jessie.
Jessie’s eyes moved to him. She rubbed the necklace between her fingers.
“Burger? Steak?” He opened his backpack and spread a blanket on a dry patch of floor. “How about a nice tuna sandwich?”
Jessie’s face twitched. Stan peered closer. A muscle in her cheek spasmed.
“Jessie! Are you doing that?”
The corners of her mouth turned up.
“A smile!” Stan said. “Jessie! Are you smiling? That’s incredible! Come sit down.” He eased her onto the blanket. “You must be feeling better. I’m going to make you the best tuna and stale bread sandwich you’ve ever had.”
He took out the bread and knife, and set about slicing it as thinly as he could.
He froze.
Outside, footsteps squelched in the mud.
Stan put his finger to his lips, unnecessarily quieting Jessie. He waited, listening. Another footstep. Closer this time.
Lightning flashed, casting dark shadows through the slats. There were two of them. Maybe more. The figures made their way toward the barn door.
Stan picked up a large jagged stone from the floor and clutched it in both hands. He crept up to the door.
The door bent inward, then pulled back. The bracing length of wood toppled over.
Stan raised the rock high up above his head. His skinny arms shook with the effort. After ten seconds Stan’s arms screamed in pain.
The figures outside pushed on the door. It swung open.
The figures came in.
Stan brought the rock down.
“Jesus Christ!” Stan said. His aim was off by four inches. The rock smacked the floor.
Stan grabbed Jordan’s arm as if he half-expected his fingers to pass through it.
“I thought you were… I thought…” Tears sprung into his eyes. Stan embraced Jordan and Anne, hugging them close.
116.
Jordan and Anne changed out of their wet clothes. Jordan put on a bright Christmas jumper, while Anne wore a T-shirt with ‘Skater Dudette’ written on it.
A small pan, now empty, sat beside used paper plates. A single small candle that cast a meagre light flickered and almost blew into submission. The barn, though draughty and dark, felt cosy with the rain tapping on the roof.
Stan leaned back on his bed of hay. “Sorry to mention the white elephant in the room, but how in God’s name did you manage to get out of there alive?”
Jordan and Anne shared a look – a brief flicker of the eyes. “Nothing much to it really,” Jordan said. “I tried to move the car seat but it wouldn’t give. The Lurchers came and attacked and somehow managed to knock Anne free. They came in at us on all sides. We thought it was the end.” He rubbed the black bags beneath his eyes. “And it would have been if they hadn’t shown up.”
“If who hadn’t shown up?”
“Queenie and the others.”
Stan frowned. “Wait. You mean they saved you?”
Jordan nodded. “The Lurchers attacking us were pulled up, out of the car. They dangled, their feet kicking. There were loud screams and crunches and splatters of blood, and then they were tossed aside. The Lurchers kept at us, of course. They didn’t understand what was going on – neither did we, really.
“In the confusion, Anne and I escaped. We stopped at the edge of the woods and looked back. There were two distinct gangs of Lurchers. The first was the one that attacked us in the car. The other – Queenie’s group – was fighting the first gang. A tall figure turned and looked at us and smiled. It was definitely Queenie.”
Anne gave Jordan a curious look, but it was gone in an instant.
“We came out of the woods and followed your footprints, and that’s how we came to end up here, with our heads nearly bashed in by you.”
“Well,” Stan said, “about time we had some luck for a change, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t say it was luck. If Queenie could have grabbed us, he would have. But they were too busy with the other Lurchers.”
“Do you think they’re still after us?”
“Yes.”
“What do they want w
ith us?”
“I don’t know,” Jordan said. “But if we can get to our boat soon we’ll never need to find out.”
117.
The old barn creaked. Stan shot up into a sitting position, clutching a length of wood in one hand, looked around, saw nothing was amiss, then went back to sleep.
Anne listened intently to the night, relaxed as the wailing wind of nature continued its monotonous drone. Jessie grumbled quietly in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Anne gently laid Jessie’s head down, having been brushing her hair.
Anne got up and crept around the puddles and unpacked belongings. She joined Jordan at the barn door, where he sat with his whittling block in hand. He had carved out the front and back legs, mane, jaw line, and was now working on the tail. It was a horse and shaping up well.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
Anne shook her head. She watched him whittle for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t tell them,” Jordan said.
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“It would only worry them.”
“They should know.”
Jordan looked over at the sleeping figures. Stan snuffled in his sleep. “We don’t even really know what happened.”
“You don’t honestly believe that?” Anne said, studying his expression closely. “If you don’t believe it spoke, it won’t worry Stan or Jess. We can tell them.”
Jordan shook his head. “No.”
Anne watched his expression. “We both heard it, Jordan.”
“I heard a grunt. Babies make sounds we think are words all the time. They’re just babble.”
“It wasn’t babble.” Anne paused. “He said your name, Jordan.”
Jordan’s hand slipped and he cut his thumb. “Shit.”
“Are you all right?”
He sucked on the cut. “It’s not deep. It’s fine.”
“I’ll get some bandages,” Anne said, standing up.
“I said it’s fine.” Jordan’s tone was thick and confrontational.
“It’ll get infected.”
“No it won’t.”
“Just let me clean it.” She brought back a small bottle and started cleaning the cut. He was right – it wasn’t deep.
A moment of silence passed between them.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s fine.” She concentrated on what she was doing.
“It wasn’t clear – what he said. It could have been anything.”
“It was clear, Jordan. Queenie spoke to you.”
Jordan shivered.
“He said-”
“Don’t repeat it.”
“He said, ‘Jordy. Don’t go’.”
“No. It was just a grunt-”
“What did he mean by that, Jordan?”
Jordan looked at the floor. “He couldn’t have said that. I hadn’t heard it till I dreamed it the other day.”
“So you did hear what he said.”
Jordan shifted on the upturned bucket he sat on.
“But you did know about it. Don’t you see? This proves your dream isn’t a dream at all. It is a memory.”
“How do you figure that?”
“There’s no way Queenie could know about your dreams-”
“But he could know about my memories?”
“Maybe there’s something in your blood, some way he can see your memories, read them, transfer them somehow.”
Jordan made a face. “Like vampires?”
“Remember when Lurchers seemed ridiculous before all this happened? They might have some abilities we don’t know about.” She wrapped the bandage tight over the fleshy part of his thumb. “I’m not sure about all this blood reading stuff, but somehow they followed us. It took no small amount of intelligence to do something like that. They set a trap and rescued us. We think we’re going to be safe on the sea, but maybe the sea’s time has come. It’s about to become as unsafe as the land.”
118.
The air was clean and fresh the way it was the day after heavy rain. The muddy fields had been moulded and shaped into dirty dunes, thin rivulets winding their way downhill, forming long scars. Thin bird claw prints skittered down the hillside, barely denting the surface, and round cylindrical holes punctured half an inch deep were interspersed every two steps with airy wisps that could only have been a fox’s tail. Their human prints had been washed away.
“Do you know,” Stan said as he held up a branch and removed the shoots with confident strokes of his knife, “Mare and I used to have an old barn? We converted it into a nice little holiday home. People came from all over the country to stay there. Some really interesting folks, too. Last night was the first time I ever stayed in a proper one, though.” Stan jabbed the walking stick into the earth, pressing his weight onto it. He had an expectant look in his eye. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Ask you what?” Jordan said. He tightened the straps of his backpack. Anne was helping Jessie put on her own backpack across the way.
“What Mary said to me the day she died. I expected you to ask me last night.”
Jordan shrugged. “I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready to tell me.”
Stan smiled. “Thank you.”
They turned away from the barn and toward the vast empty fields that rolled out before them. Narrow dirt trails from decades of use wound through the bumps and mounds and hills like the blood vessels in a giant’s eye. Norfolk land was largely flat land, and there was little that impeded the sharp wind that whipped across the open expanse, blowing their clothes tight against their bodies.
“Well done for taking care of Jess, by the way,” Jordan said.
“Thanks,” Stan said. “But I’m bloody glad you’re back. An old fart and a girl who doesn’t know who she is don’t exactly make the best survival team.” He looked at Jordan. “Why do they want us so badly do you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there aren’t many people left.”
“So they chase everyone they find? Doesn’t sound right to me. Surely the number of survivors hasn’t got so low that they would be happy to cover twenty miles on foot? If they have, we’re in bigger trouble than we thought. If you ask me, I’d say they’re looking for something.”
“You think?”
“Only stands to reason, doesn’t it? Why else would they go to so much trouble?”
“Makes sense.”
“They’ll never stop, will they? Not till they get what they came for? If we can figure out what it is they want, we might be able to give it to them and they’ll leave us alone.”
Jordan nodded. He looked distracted. “You might be right.”
As the sun progressed across the sky local bitterns and Cetti’s warblers fluttered around them without a care in the world. Wild hares stood up on their paws, watched the party pass, and then bent back down to continue munching. A fence ran across their path and into the distance. There were special ledges built for ramblers to climb over it. Jordan hopped over, and then helped Jessie.
Every couple of hours Jordan led them up a rise to peer around at their location. The land met the sky on every side and turned to white oblivion where it met the horizon.
They didn’t stop to eat, electing instead to eat on the move. By mid-afternoon they came to a wide fast-flowing river that undulated with current, the wind brushing it and giving it wrinkles. Jordan scaled a hillock, put his hands over his eyes and peered around at their surroundings. He came back down the hill.
“The river bends up ahead,” he said. “We need to follow it this way and cross over at some point.”
The hard-packed dry earth turned a darker shade of brown and clung to the soles of their shoes. The river widened to twice its normal size and gave onto thick marshland. Pockets of mud sucked at their boots. They walked around the marsh, taking them half a mile out of their way up a slight incline. They looked out over the area around t
hem.
It was dark with marshland. Cranes stepped easily over the puddles, heads dipping into them at regular intervals. The larger pools shimmered with sunlight. The dry earth beyond it was a light brown spotted with green. It would take them hours to cross the marshland, if they didn’t get stuck in the attempt.
“Let’s keep going,” Anne said. “I don’t much fancy crossing that.”
On the other side of the marsh, the water filtered through the land, coalesced and reformed itself into a trickle that then became a river once more.
The sun was at its zenith when they came to a stop at a flint bridge that brooked the river.
“Let’s take a five minute break,” Jordan said.
Stan took a seat on a tree stump, groaning and complaining about the pain in his legs. A small clump of trees sat hunched to the right. Anne unshouldered her backpack and helped Jessie off with hers.
Jordan stood at the foot of the bridge looking across it. His shoulders slumped. “We have to turn back,” he said.
“What was that?” Stan said. He’d taken his boots off and was massaging his feet.
“I said we have to turn back.”
Stan sat up and looked at Jordan. “Why?”
“Come take a look.”
Stan and Anne stepped up beside Jordan. The bridge on either side reached out about four feet, and then abruptly ended in a series of jagged flint rocks that had been scorched black. The gap between them was a good forty feet.
Stan bent down and touched the scorched stones with his fingers. “Judging by the rocks it looks like some kind of fire or explosion might have done it.”
“How are we going to cross it?” Anne said.
“We can’t,” Jordan said. “We either have to keep going and hope there’s another bridge or turn back.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Stan said as he stood up. “What good will turning back do us? We need to keep moving. For all we know Queenie’s right behind us. How do we know there isn’t another bridge just up ahead?”
“I looked. There isn’t one.”
