by Rhys Thomas
Even now the only thing that had really changed was that a framework had been taken away. Human behaviour was allowed to amplify. Perhaps he would follow Crowder after he left, wait until they came to a quiet stretch and blow a hole in his chest. He could treat it as an experiment, a test, for the more dangerous men that would come later. That was the sort of man he had become.
Yellow squares of light were set into the dark walls of the house. They made small, luminescent puddles on the garden directly below, cutting deep shadows into the bushes, describing the blackness in absolute. He closed the metal shutters over each of the windows and locked them.
After two revolutions of the house he was happy that nobody was lying in wait. He flashed the torchlight up and down the road. It illuminated the dry grey concrete and the green grass on either side, but it could not reach the huge backdrop of blackness beyond.
They put Crowder in Joseph’s room. It was the smallest of the four bedrooms; just a thin wedge between the bathroom and Joseph’s father’s bedroom that occupied the south-western corner of the house.
It was small and simple but, most importantly, it had a lock with a key that could be turned from the outside.
‘Are you going to be OK here?’
Crowder didn’t look at him as he rolled on to the bed.
‘Just leave me alone,’ he pouted.
Joseph paused at the door. ‘You know, we’re trying to be—’
‘What? Trying to what?’ He blew air out from between his lips. ‘You’re locking me in this room?’
Joseph stood with his hand on the door handle. ‘If you try anything, anything at all.’
Crowder turned on to his side, facing away. ‘Yeah, I get it, tough guy.’
His back was curved, not humped but bowed. He brought his knees up under his chin.
‘Listen to me, Paul.’
The man did not move. ‘Just leave me alone,’ his voice said slowly and sadly. ‘You’ve already said enough.’
There was a knock at Miriam’s door. She went across the room and opened it an inch. It was Joseph. The overhead light in the room flickered, died and came back to life again. Joseph’s head snapped up towards it. The glow in its centre burned white holes in his vision.
‘What was that?’ said Miriam.
The light beamed consistently now in its socket. The moment had passed.
‘A power surge maybe?’
There was no generator in the house. Joseph had rigged up some car batteries to electric sockets but if the electricity did die, they wouldn’t provide power for long.
‘Crowder’s in bed,’ he said.
He held up the small key to the bedroom lock.
‘Thanks for this, Joseph.’ She smiled.
Joseph turned the chair at the dressing table round and placed it in the centre of the room, facing Miriam. He could feel the paper of his father’s letter folding in his back pocket.
‘We have to talk about something,’ he said.
Her eyes narrowed.
‘I know you don’t want to think about it, but we have to.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘If I get ill—’
‘Not this again.’
‘Just listen, will you?’
She threw her hands up in submission.
‘All I want you to do is drive me somewhere where we’ll all be safe. You could take me to a hospital maybe, I don’t know. I know you think it will all be fine, but it won’t, and we need to make plans in case something happens. You know what happened to Father Moore, you know it. If I get ill then God knows what I’ll do. That man in the other room, he’s a wreck. Your instant reaction was to help him. Mine was to be suspicious of him. What do you think that means?’
‘You’re just being careful.’
He shook his head. ‘Why can’t you see it?’
‘If you’re such a bad person, then why are you being so kind? If your nature, or whatever, is so awful, then why have you done so much to protect us?’
He knitted his hands together in his lap. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? I do those things despite my nature, not because of it. I want you to be safe and I will help whilst I can but that doesn’t change the facts.’
‘You have no idea how stupid you sound when you talk like this.’
‘I know I do.’
‘Joseph.’ She fixed his eyes. ‘You helping us is your true nature. You’re getting mixed up in your head. You can’t tell what part of you is what.’
‘Stop trying to sugarcoat things. We both know the truth.’
He spoke loudly now. He was getting annoyed at her refusal to see things.
Miriam leaned forward. ‘There’s no point in you shouting. We’re not going to leave you.’
He closed his mouth and ran his tongue along the surface of his teeth. He waited for her to add something but she didn’t. It was up to him.
‘Well then, I’m finished.’
He sat back. Her face became suddenly serious.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’ He rose from his chair. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Joseph, wait.’
‘What’s the point?’ He stopped at the door. ‘You know what, Miriam?’ He glared at her. ‘If you don’t start wising up you’re going to land all of us in the shit.’
A look of hurt streaked across her features. Nothing had changed. She simply had not listened to a word he had said. It was almost as if she was wilfully refusing to accept the truth. It was clear to him now that she was not going to change her mind no matter what he said so he left the room with a shake of the head. He pulled the door closed and as he did the light on the landing began to flicker again.
Joseph lay on his side with his eyes open, staring at the blank wall next to the window. There was no moon tonight. He blinked. His lids were heavy. The children breathed gently in their sleep.
He checked his watch, not willing to believe it was happening. But it was. He heard it again and so he sat up, his muscles tight, glad he had brought the air rifle up here with him. Quietly, so as not to disturb the children, he pulled on his jeans, his shirt and his boots, took up the gun and eased the door open.
The house was silent. He peered along the landing and moved out. He went to his room. The door was open. The lock was hanging off where Crowder had unscrewed the plate. He threw the light and his eyes stung with the brightness. The room was empty.
Slowly, he went down the stairs. The cellar door was open, a thin angle of light spilled into the hallway. There were noises coming from within. Joseph cursed himself for being so foolish. He edged over the few feet of wooden floorboards with his breath held.
The familiar scent of damp and dust drifted between the door and its frame. Crowder was making no effort to be quiet. Joseph could hear the sound of boxes being dragged along the stone floor, being opened, being rifled through. His old anger urged him to charge down the stairs and attack Crowder but he controlled himself. Crowder might now be armed, he knew.
Joseph moved down the steps as quietly as he could. The night-time routines had taught him every creak and he descended in near silence. He looked down the barrel of the air rifle as he went. The room came slowly into view: the shelves of supplies, the sofa, the table. Crowder was kneeling in front of the low table, his back to the stairs, his head dipped into a cardboard box.
Joseph watched him for a few seconds. He could hear the stranger breathing. He knew he had to shoot him. There was no choice. All his talking, all the warnings he had given Miriam about how the time would come to defend themselves were resolving into something real.
The man in the cellar was a threat. He had disobeyed Joseph’s orders, ignored them, but that was not the only reason Joseph had to shoot him. Leaning against the table, easily within arm’s reach, was one of the shotguns.
The door to the gun cabinet hung open, the broken padlock on the floor in front of it. As he stared at a line of flesh beneath Crowder’s hair at
the back of his neck, magnified in the crosshairs, all became clear. He thought of the letter his father had written him, of what sort of a man he really was, of how Miriam believed him to be good, of how she would never abandon him, and he pulled the trigger.
Crowder yelped like a dog. He fell forwards on to the box and slapped his hand on to the back of his neck as if crushing a fly. Joseph flew down the stairs. Crowder recovered and instinctively reached for the shotgun. But Joseph was too fast.
His mind detached from any depth it had; any ideas of mercy were blocked. Blood pulsed through the veins inside his skull. He brought the butt of his rifle round like he was swinging a baseball bat, and smashed it into the side of Crowder’s head. The wood of the butt cracked under the force of the blow and Crowder’s body fell sideways on to the dirty concrete floor, where he lay still. His eyes stared straight ahead like he was in a trance; his mouth opened and closed with breath, like a fish.
Joseph dropped the air rifle on to the sofa and grabbed the shotgun. Crowder had already loaded it.
‘Why did you have to do this?’ Joseph screamed. His voice sounded high-pitched in his head, distorted by his anger.
He could feel Miriam and her mother’s presence behind him as they watched from the staircase, clutching the banister.
Crowder blinked. He looked spastic. Joseph felt a sudden and shocking pang of guilt. It shot up through the middle of him but he had to ignore it. He knew he was being watched. His body resisted but he moved over to Crowder anyway and put his boot to his neck, pressing down, pinning him in place. He aimed the shotgun at his face. There was blood on the back of Crowder’s neck where the pellet had pierced the skin. The man lay prostrate on the floor and Joseph thought that by striking him so savagely he had caused some permanent damage to him. The thought made his whole body feel heavy.
‘Focus, focus,’ he whispered. He was out of breath. Sweat formed at his forehead and under his chin. ‘Why couldn’t you just be a nice person?’
There were tears in his eyes. He had to make his point clear, not to Crowder, but to the women standing behind him on the stairs. A single, clear thought consumed his mind: he had to do this. They had to know what sort of a man he really was.
Crowder was making strange noises now. Joseph could feel the bones moving in his neck beneath his boot. They were so thin. The stranger looked pathetic with his arms at his sides, chest pressed into the stone floor, his head still. His face was red with blood and he was spluttering, trying to speak.
Joseph lifted his boot.
‘Please,’ Crowder begged. He stared straight ahead, at the shelves of boxes. He did not look at Joseph. ‘Please.’
‘Joseph.’ Miriam’s mother.
Hearing Crowder’s voice calmed him. At least he could still speak. He took his boot away and stepped backwards. He kept the shotgun trained on him.
‘What were you doing?’
Crowder blinked. He touched his neck where Joseph had been pinning him down.
‘Answer me.’
‘I don’t know,’ Crowder mumbled.
He was breathing heavily, gasping.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I was just . . .’ He trailed off. He started to cry again.
‘Joseph, please,’ said Miriam’s mother.
‘Stay out of this,’ he snapped, not taking his eyes off Crowder.
‘But he’s hurt.’
It only served to strengthen his resolve. ‘He was going to kill us.’
‘Don’t be so silly.’
‘Just stay out of it, for Christ’s sake.’
The old woman made a low gasping sound.
‘Get up,’ he said to Crowder.
Crowder used his hand to cover his face. ‘How has it come to this?’ he cried dramatically. ‘How can things be like this? What have I done? I wasn’t a bad person.’
‘Get up.’
Crowder sniffed and tried to sit up. Blood trickled down to the ground in quick drips, running down his temple from the gash where Joseph had struck him. He was shaky, supporting himself with one palm pressed against the floor, his arm fully extended. He placed his other hand at his temple. His movements were slow and child-like.
‘Stand up,’ Joseph said.
He felt Miriam’s eyes on him but he couldn’t stop. Not this time.
‘What are you going to do to me?’
‘Don’t speak. Just get up.’
Crowder took his hand from his temple and showed it to Joseph. The fingers were shiny with red, slick with it. There was so much blood. It ran down the side of his face in vast, dendritic lines.
There was movement on the stairs behind him.
‘No,’ he shouted. ‘You’re not going to help him.’ He stepped back from Crowder so that he could not lunge at him, and turned his head quickly towards the stairs.
‘We did as you said, and this is what happened.’
‘Let me help him,’ said Miriam.
‘No. You,’ he said to Crowder, ‘get up now or I will kill you right here.’
Crowder sighed. ‘Well, just do it then.’ He closed his eyes in submission. His head swayed lightly on its shoulders. Joseph thought he was going to pass out.
‘Get up.’
But Crowder said nothing and did nothing. Through his dirty beard and the grime there seemed to be a fractured peace on his face, a new serenity.
He grabbed Crowder roughly by the collar and pulled him to his feet. His body was light with emaciation, easily manipulated. Joseph pulled him towards the staircase. He saw the look of shock on Miriam’s face and it made the actions easier. The children had come to the top of the stairs. He could see their shapes in the doorway. It would have been better for them not to see this but there was no turning back now.
He threw Crowder on to the stairs.
‘Up,’ he said, prodding the shotgun aggressively into his back.
The shock of movement had given Crowder a new lease of energy. He scrambled up the stairs on his hands and legs. The protestations of Miriam and her mother were just background sounds, whirling eddies in the drumbeat pulse.
They reached the hallway and Joseph pushed the gun into Crowder’s back again and pressed hard into the skin. The scrawny figure made a break for the front door. He wobbled as he ran, too weak, using his hand against the wall as support. It left lines of his blood on the white paint. The children ran into the kitchen and shut the door.
Joseph followed Crowder out into the front garden. Pele stood at the gate. The dawn was coming. Crowder swayed drunkenly up the path towards the dog, swung open the gate and limped up the road in the direction of the village. His attempted escape would have been comical were it not for the fact that Joseph was not about to let him go like that. He watched the dark figure from the doorway of the house.
‘I hope you’re happy now,’ said Miriam, standing at his side, crying.
Joseph did not answer. He strode out towards the gate.
‘What are you doing?’ she screamed. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’
He had stopped listening. He needed to show them who he was. They had to understand. And this was the time to do it. He went round to the garage at the side of the house and pulled open the doors. He climbed into the car and started the engine. Miriam stood in his way and beat the bonnet with the flats of her hands. Her tears gleamed in the headlights. He drove past her and turned left into the road.
Crowder didn’t even try to run out on to the grass. When the headlights of the car illuminated his figure in a blaze of colours against the dying night he simply stopped and hunched his shoulders. Joseph eased to a halt in front of him and got out of the car.
‘In,’ he called, above the sound of the engine.
He didn’t move. Joseph remembered Crowder had a bag filled with his possessions and that it was still in the house. He would have to do without it. He couldn’t go back to the house now.
‘Get in the car or I’ll make you get in the car.’
He felt like he
was speaking to a child. In the headlights the blood on the man’s face was bright red. Dejectedly, Crowder moved towards the passenger door. Before he climbed inside Joseph said, ‘I could tie you up and put you in the boot but I won’t. Just don’t try anything.’
Crowder looked at him as if he was a bully, said nothing and got into the car.
‘We did try to help you, you do understand that?’
Crowder stared blankly at the road ahead. The wound on his forehead had stopped bleeding and the blood on his face was starting to dry.
Joseph had put the shotgun flat along the back seat, sure now that Crowder was no longer able to harm him. Crowder was scared of him.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ His voice was taut with nerves.
‘I’m not going to do anything to you,’ Joseph lied.
The engine rattled around them. They drove for several more miles. Crowder sobbed quietly into his chest. His hands were placed over his knees and when they passed the amber light of a street lamp, the mini mountain ranges of his knuckles reared up out of the dark. He was so thin.
They came to a widening of the road and Joseph pulled over into a truck stop.
‘Oh God,’ Crowder said quietly, to himself.
‘Out you get.’
Joseph reached behind him and lifted the shotgun.
Crowder was weeping now, but put up no resistance. He clambered out of the car and leaned against the metal crash barrier. Joseph got out the other side and directed Crowder to the front of the car. He did as he was told until he was standing once again in the white cones of the headlights.
The air was silent save for the leaves on the trees that blew in the breeze with quiet, whispering threats. The police would not come. Not any more. The world was over. It felt as if Joseph and Crowder were the last two men alive and this was the parting of the ways. The wind carried in it the essence of the apocalypse as it bent the tops of the trees beneath its weight and lifted swirls of dust off the road. There was nothing human about the world any more.
‘Go,’ he said.
