On the Third Day

by Rhys Thomas

  ‘I’m going to kill you,’ he whispered.

  Charlie’s brain tried to process what was happening. Another fist landed, this time on the other side of the face.

  ‘I haven’t done anything to you,’ he said, quickly and clearly.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. There is no reason. Remember?’

  When he was struck the third time a high-pitched tinnitus rang in his ears. His arms were pinned at his side and his face was exposed. He closed his eyes.

  The weight of the body on top of him was suddenly gone. There was shouting and the sound of a scuffle. Charlie opened his eyes. Three of the men who had been helping lay the matting were struggling with Mims. When he saw that Charlie was looking at him, he stopped struggling and smiled at him menacingly. His green eyes glinted in the white light of the clouds.

  ‘I bet you didn’t expect that,’ he said, grinning. ‘Look at you all. You’ll see. You’ll see what happens when the bad people come.’

  Fields helped Charlie up.

  ‘You’re cut,’ he said.

  The three men pulled Mims down the hill towards the car park. Charlie used his sleeve to clear the blood away from the corner of his eye. His thoughts were slowing but his body felt energized. A dull throb had started in his head. He looked up at the grey sky and at the tiny white flakes drifting slowly downwards, black against the clouds.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘It’s snowing.’

  The snow floated gently down in small flakes. The sea wind caught it in its breeze and spun it into swirling columns drifting inland. Edward and Mary watched it from their grandmother’s bedroom window.

  Edward took Joseph’s binoculars from the sill and peered through them. He had heard something in school about how snow was rare near the sea. They watched for a little while longer and soon the colours of the landscape began to fade. The green of the grass was bleached as the snow started to settle.

  ‘Come on,’ said Edward, ‘let’s go outside.’

  They ran downstairs and pulled on their overcoats and wellington boots and ran out of the front door into the snow. The wind had dissipated and now the snow fell directly down in straight, silent lines.

  ‘Listen to how quiet it is,’ Edward said.

  His little sister craned her neck forward and turned her head to listen.

  There was no sound of anything at all. Edward thought the fact that snow was silent was a wonderful thing. He looked up into the sky, leaning back so far that he had to put his leg out to stop himself falling. The snowflakes landed on his face, their only signal being the little cold patches on his cheeks. He opened his mouth and tried to catch them.

  ‘Look at that,’ she said. ‘They’re out again.’

  She was pointing down to the beach.

  Edward looked through the binoculars. The kids from the camp were playing football. A crashing sense of loneliness and boredom fired through him out of nowhere. He was starting to recognize more of them. As well as the tall blond one who seemed to be the leader, there was the fat one with brown hair and glasses who always went in goal, the little red-haired one who was the fastest of the kids, the skinny black-haired one who never tried, the black kid who was the best player.

  ‘Shall we go down there?’

  ‘Edward,’ she said in a high-pitched voice, ‘we’re not allowed.’

  Edward sighed. ‘Let’s just go.’

  Mary’s eyes widened at the suggestion. ‘Mum will kill us.’

  Edward shook his head. ‘Mum’s gone weird.’

  The little girl turned one corner of her mouth down when he said that.

  ‘Haven’t you noticed it? Come on, let’s just go. She won’t mind.’

  Mary was thinking it over. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the cliff path.

  ‘Come on.’ Mary gave little resistance. It told him that she wanted to go as well. ‘Just trust me,’ he said.

  The snow on the mud looked like sugar on coffee. Charlie’s face felt numb. Mims had caught him just above the brow and he could feel the blood pooling, pushing the skin out. He felt a sense of recklessness in him that wasn’t wholly unpleasant.

  There was a movement inside the campervan; Emily was home. He pulled the door open and she was standing over the small counter, flicking through the pages of an old magazine, her back to him.

  ‘You’ll never guess what’s just happened to me,’ he said.

  She didn’t move from the counter. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve just had a fight. Remember that freak I told you about? He . . . Em?’

  Emily closed the magazine and went over to the bed, throwing herself on to it without looking at him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Have you been crying?’

  She rolled away from him. ‘I’m OK.’

  Charlie sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on the centre of her back. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Have you seen the snow?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Hey,’ he whispered, and leaned in closer.

  Emily brought her face around, letting him see. Her eyes were red and her cheeks glistened in the pale light. He knew she didn’t like people seeing her like this and as she tried to smile, Charlie felt his chest stir. She looked so vulnerable.

  ‘I love you,’ she said, simply.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘Nothing. I just . . . you know. Sometimes it just hits you.’ She sat up quickly and turned away from him again. ‘So,’ she said, pressing the balls of her hands to her eyes and sniffing. ‘I’ve got a present for you.’

  She went back over to the counter, leaving Charlie alone. He moved his body up against the headboard. He wished she would open up like this more often. They still hadn’t spoken about her family, even after all this time. She just shrugged it off; it doesn’t matter, we’ll never know.

  She came back holding something wrapped in a paper towel.

  ‘Here,’ she said, trying to sound cheery. Her face looked different somehow, more lumpy.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Open it.’

  He took it from her and unfolded the bundle. ‘What’s this?’

  He held up a round, flat cake. It had a dusting of sugar on it that spilled on to his fingernails.

  ‘It’s a Welsh cake,’ she said proudly.

  ‘Well this is a nice surprise,’ he said.

  Emily laughed. She nodded to the cake expectantly.

  ‘Eat it.’

  ‘Where did you get it from?’

  ‘I made it with the girls this afternoon.’

  ‘What does it taste like?’

  ‘Eat it and find out.’

  There was a sad smile on her face. Charlie brought the cake to his mouth. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Is this the only one?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Charlie paused. ‘Have you had one?’

  Emily nodded and blinked quickly.

  ‘Liar,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a present for you.’

  Charlie sat up straighter. ‘Why are you so kind?’

  Emily brought her left hand up, put her middle finger and thumb together, into a circle, placed it near Charlie’s forehead and flicked.

  ‘Oi!’ said Charlie.

  ‘I’m kind to you because you’re my little retard,’ she cooed.

  Charlie laughed with an involuntary gasp. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  Emily sniffed again and wiped away the residue of her tears with her finger. Her eyes were clearing. She looked hungrily at the Welsh cake.

  ‘Half each?’ she said.

  Charlie felt a sudden emotion surge right through him, and he snapped the cake in two. It was delicious: buttery and sweet, soft and crumbly. There were currants in it that gave it a tangy edge.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he said with his mouth full, ‘that’s amazing.’ He adopted a Welsh accent. ‘It’s bloody marvellous, mun, dew dew dew.’

  Emily threw her head back quickl
y with a giggle, putting her hand over her mouth as she chewed.

  ‘Nice, aren’t they?’ she said.

  Charlie grabbed her and pulled her against him. She turned her body around so her back was to his chest. He kissed her cheek and they fell into a stillness, watching the flakes of snow land as grey blotches on the surface of the skylight. He had forgotten all about his fight with Mims.

  ‘Charlie,’ Emily whispered conspiratorially.

  ‘Yeah?’ he whispered back.

  She put her hand softly against his face.

  ‘That really was your Welsh cake,’ she said. ‘I ate mine before you came back.’

  They walked nervously out on to the sand. The snow was falling more heavily now and had started to gather up at the head of the beach in a thin white covering. The kids playing football saw the two children approaching and the tall blond boy looked at them for a moment. Edward felt the nerves jangling inside his body. This was the boy Edward had spent months watching through the binoculars.

  The boy seemed to be thinking about something, and then he held his arm into the air.

  ‘Fancy a game?’

  Edward’s relief came in a big sigh.

  ‘Come on, Mary,’ he said.

  The two children ran towards the makeshift football pitch, leaving footprints in the snow behind them. The blond boy walked over to greet them. The game had come to a stop. Some of the kids watched what was happening. Others stood around and talked amongst themselves.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  He sounded as if he was trying to be friendly but now, close up, Edward felt something cold about the way he was. He was taller than Edward and he looked at them through half-closed eyes that were watery and cool.

  ‘Hello,’ they answered together.

  ‘I’m Adam,’ said the blond boy.

  ‘I’m Edward and this is Mary,’ he said.

  ‘I’m Mary,’ Mary echoed.

  ‘Yeah, listen. Girls can’t play,’ Adam said, looking straight at Edward.

  It caught the boy off guard. Adam stood there, waiting for his reaction.

  The guilt for what he had done crept up inside him. It wasn’t just that he had disobeyed his mother by coming here; he had also betrayed his uncle, who had told him not to trust strangers. He had ignored both of them. He suddenly wished he hadn’t come down here.

  ‘Do you still want to play?’ said Adam.

  ‘Why can’t I play?’ said Mary in a sulky voice.

  ‘Because you’re a girl.’

  ‘But there are girls over there,’ Edward pointed out.

  ‘They’re watching. Your girlfriend can watch,’ said Adam. He tried to contain his smirk. His clear blue eyes regarded the two children.

  Edward turned to his sister.

  ‘Will you watch?’

  ‘I want to play,’ she moaned, and stuck out her bottom lip.

  ‘Come on, Ad, hurry up, for fuck’s sake,’ one of the kids called, the little red-haired one.

  Edward blushed. He didn’t like it when kids swore in front of Mary. Adam twisted the upper half of his body around.

  ‘In a minute.’ He turned back to Edward. ‘Are you playing or what?’

  He so much wanted to play. He’d spent months and months looking after his sister and he deserved a break. He wanted new friends. If Mary wanted, she could go and play with the other girls. She didn’t even like football anyway. She was just being contrary. These mechanisms of justification, reeling in the guilt, turned in his head until at last he was able to make his decision. He wouldn’t play for long.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, and he took the first few steps away from Mary. ‘I’ll play.’

  They played for over an hour but Edward couldn’t enjoy himself. He was torn between guilt and frustration. His sister could have played with the girls, but she had to try and spoil it for him by going back home. He was also thinking about the promise he had made to protect her. He did not know if that promise had been broken. He peered up to the top of the cliff, to see if she was up there, looking down on him, but there was no sign of her.

  He wanted to leave so he could check that she was all right. He kept thinking of a reason to excuse himself but nothing came. There was something about the boys that unsettled him. They weren’t like the kids from home. They were faster and stronger and bigger.

  The snow fell more slowly, then turned to drizzle, and then stopped. Something was happening. The clouds in the sky started to thin and ribs of blue appeared. The kids looked up at it in wonder.

  Another of the strange sunsets was in progress, this one more startling than anything they had seen before. The sun was behind a thin bank of clouds that cut horizontally across the sky, the top and bottommost edges in perfect alignment with the sun’s own edges. It appeared behind the cloud as a chrome disc in the sky, bright but not bright enough that the children could not look directly at it. Edward couldn’t understand what he was seeing. There was something next to the sun.

  ‘What are they?’ said one of the kids.

  ‘It’s the colours of the rainbow.’

  The shadows behind the children were long and deep.

  ‘It’s so weird,’ said Adam.

  Edward watched in silence. He could not take his eyes off it. Next to the sun, strung out alongside it, were seven hoops of colour. They made hazy circles, each one the same size as the sun, each one touching the edge of the last. Seven hoops of colour.

  Some of the children started to cry in fear and ran back to the camp.

  ‘The marauders won’t like that,’ said Adam.

  ‘What are the marauders?’ said Edward.

  Adam gazed at him through his cool blue eyes, the lids low and smug.

  ‘The baddies,’ he said.

  Edward stared at Adam. Some of the other kids gathered round.

  ‘They live in the woods and eat human flesh,’ he went on.

  ‘And if they catch you, they cut your face off,’ said the little red-haired kid, whose name, Edward had learned, was Michael. He was twelve, like Adam, but he was much shorter than them, and he spoke with a very high voice, and very quickly.

  Adam said, ‘They only ever wear black clothes, and they have gas masks they never take off.’

  Edward was frightened now.

  ‘Do you know why they can’t take them off ?’ said Adam. ‘Because if they do, their skin will catch fire.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what that means,’ Michael, the red-haired kid, said.

  ‘You’re lying,’ said Edward.

  ‘Vampires.’ Adam paused, and allowed the word to settle in.

  ‘There’s no such thing.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Adam laughed. ‘So who killed Saul’s dad?’

  Edward looked at the little black kid. His head dropped when Adam mentioned his father.

  ‘He was on the salvage team that got attacked by them. In the middle of the night. We heard McAvennie – he’s our leader – say that they could fly, and they flew out of the trees.’

  ‘They ripped his head off,’ said Michael gleefully. ‘And drank his blood out of the stump.’

  Edward shivered. He looked at Saul again. The little boy, who was much younger than Adam and Michael, just stood there and let them say it.

  ‘They came from Transylvania as well.’

  ‘That’s why we’re having these sunsets,’ Michael said. ‘To scare them off.’

  ‘Have you not heard of them?’ said Adam.

  Edward had had enough. The seven circles of colour were fading.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘My mum said I had to get back for tea.’

  Adam and Michael glanced at one another and smiled.

  ‘See you later, Eddie,’ Adam said coolly.

  Edward turned back to the cliff face and ran up the path to the house. His skin was hot and he felt sick. He thought of the marauders and imagined them hovering outside his bedroom window in the middle of the night. He imagined their long fingernails tapping on the glass, testing it for
weaknesses, and he ran faster.

  His family were standing at the garden wall, looking at the sky. Their faces were glowing in the light. The colours on their faces kept shifting. Edward stopped on the other side of the road. He looked at Mary but she turned her eyes away from him. Edward shifted back to the sun, to see the hoops of light one last time, but they had already disappeared.

  Miriam was woken the next morning by the sound of cars. At first the noises did not register. She laid her head down on the cold pillow and tried to fall asleep. But then, as the minutes ticked past, she remembered the absence. The absence of sounds like that. The sound of so many cars was not normal. They just kept passing. As the clarity of wakefulness clicked through her she rolled on to her stomach and pulled herself up. The baby was so heavy now. Pulling the curtain back, out of breath from just the motion of rising to her knees, she looked out. There were two cars coming up the hill from the camp, both with great bundles covered in blue tarpaulin strapped to their roofs. The people were leaving. Something had happened. Miriam’s eyes followed the line on which the two cars were headed. She looked and as she did so she felt panic seize. Four columns of black smoke were rising into the sky, from the direction of the village.

  From this distance the bases of the black columns were nothing more than thin lines, but the higher into the sky they went, the wider they became, spreading out like great funnels. Her instincts told her immediately what had happened. What was happening. The men with gas masks were coming.

  The image of the man holding the flamethrower flashed across her. She remembered what Edward had said to her last night, what the kids were calling these men who were pressing inwards, who were almost here, and she closed her eyes: vampires.

  When the village came into sight, Charlie sat forward in the passenger seat and put his hands on the dashboard. He had never seen anything like it. This could not be Britain, he thought. The main street that ran through the centre of the village was lined with debris and burnt-out cars. The fronts of the houses were charred with black scars. The windows, the ones that weren’t covered with wooden boards, were smashed.