THEY ROT
The first book in a brutal new series of post-apocalyptia, brought to you by Kondor & Willcocks, two of the masterminds behind the wildly successful ‘The Other Stories’ podcast.
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Copyright © 2017 by Hawk and Cleaver
First published in Great Britain in 2017
All rights reserved.
www.hawkandcleaver.com
ISBN-13: 978-1542385862
ISBN-10: 1542385865
All work remains the property of the respective authors and may be used by themselves or with their express permissions in any way that they deem appropriate with no limitations.
No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover or print other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
Keep my Bones
The line bobbed and danced on a river long dirtied to the point of darkness. What once was a shimmering surface now an oily black, dotted here and there with the silhouettes of flotsam, jetsam, and corpses as the dead floated on by. Somewhere beneath it all, the food that Carter would catch.
He straightened his back in his chair, heard a click, slumped once more. A shape floated nearby, a small body, the face of a child long lost. The skin fallen away to reveal the sodden biology beneath. It was no more than ten feet away. He watched with a blank curiosity as the body bumped somewhere in the shadows, and the corpse rolled over onto its front, hiding itself from Carter. How long had it been dead for? Floating on a slow journey towards the open ocean? It had a ways to go yet, through the miles of rivers and streams, down to the Thames Estuary, maybe even down into the North Sea. Truth is the body wasn’t likely to make it all the way. It would probably find itself lodged in some tunnel or caught in the branches of some upturned tree, forking into the waters, grabbing ahold of what it could.
Trapped. Like they all were. Breaking down over time until the mouldered cells of flesh came away in the water, only to be sucked up by the summer sunshine, and hosed back down onto the hills and mountains. There the boy — or what Carter assumed was a boy, there was no real way to tell anymore — would find new life. In the plants that would grow, in the animals that would lap from the streams and water deposits, and into any foolish humans’ stomachs who didn’t take the time to filter their water properly. The boy would remain, finding his way into arteries, nestling into the marrow of their bones.
Carter lifted the thick muddied rags of his hood and nodded to the boy, now disappearing around the natural bend of the river, past a clump of reeds and out of sight.
“Farewell, young traveller,” he muttered, kneading the back of his neck with a calloused hand, careful not to disturb his line. But he need not worry, the black stainless steel pole remained perfectly still, its base buried a good foot or so into the thick mud of the Thames’ bank. “God speed.”
There came a small splash, and Carter looked up just in time to see the silver tail of a fish disappearing into the water, leaving a small ring of disturbance behind it. He grinned and licked his lips. On the other side of the bank were the great towers of the old city, spiking into the sky where low-hanging dark clouds hovered. Amidst the skyline, he could see The Shard building cutting into the sky like a jagged tooth. An anorexic pyramid that had once been the jewel on the crown of one of the great cities of the world.
I never did get to visit…
Not that he had ever really wanted to. That kind of thing was more Juniper’s cup of tea. She’d had lots of fancy ideas of London and the life that they would lead when they finally made their way from their home on the coast all those years ago.
“It’ll be an adventure,” she’d said.
“It’ll be a memory,” she’d implored.
“It’ll be fun.”
She’d been right in the end, he supposed. At least, until the screams started and the men with the guns came.
Carter looked over his shoulder and checked for signs of movement, the memories sending an all-too-familiar shiver up his spine. Though, really, he need not have worried. The rags that kept him warm day in and day out had served as a great camouflage so far. If anyone were to approach from behind, all they might see is an empty chair, two buckets, and a fishing pole left as a relic from days long gone. Carter looked up the muddied banks towards the derelict housing and the flats behind him. He eyed the windows, looking for any signs of life between the fungal green clinging to the walls and the dirty smoke that darkened the once-pristine, almost utopian, living quarters.
Empty. As per usual. Carter wasn’t sure if that made him happy or not, or even what he would do if he were to encounter civilised humans. His brief encounters with anyone since the rot came and the quarantine formed had been less than savoury. He had long since given up hope in the idea that he’d stumble across good-natured…
City-folk? What else to call them? Bad news back then, and worse now.
Carter’s stomach grumbled. He leant over to a large bucket with ‘Good’ written on the side in black marker pen and plucked out a small trout from the shallow water. He inspected the grey-pink gradient of the scales, glistening brilliantly even in the overcast skies. A quick inspection of the eyes — Looking good — and a final sniff of the thing before Carter was satisfied.
It wriggled as he brought its head to his dry lips and bit down through flesh and bone, jerking wildly as he gripped it in his teeth and pulled, hearing minuscule organs inside pop. Carter didn’t flinch. He was a pro at this. He masticated the eyes, bone, brain, everything into a paste and swallowing it with ease, feeling the clumpy texture work its way into his stomach.
The fish stopped moving.
He threw the headless body back into the bucket where it slapped against the two live ones. At one point it had seemed a cruel thing to do, throwing a headless body back into the presence of the living ones, but not anymore. The world had carved out any and all romantic empathy he may have had. Hell, he used to describe himself as an animal lover. A cat man, to be exact. He grew up around five of the fluffy creatures. He’d talk to them all in funny voices and roll around with them, giving all the kisses and cuddles he could. Had even had fish of his own at one point.
Death becomes death, Carter thought, until death is all you can see.
His stomach rumbled again, unsatisfied by the slimy morsel churning in his guts.
It’s Juniper’s fault, really. She hadn’t bothered to pack him any lunch that morning. A simple task she once loved. Handing him a wrapped-up sandwich, a bag of crisps, and a satsuma, all with a smile and a kiss. But, somewhere, over the years, her smiles had faded. Food stocks depleted, and there was only so much she could prepare for her little fisherman, wiling away the days at the riverbank, catching the proteins that would keep them alive that little bit longer.
She hadn’t even said goodbye to him this morning.
He sighed. Jimmied the line.
Maybe it was time to move on? Maybe enough time had passed that they could finally leave the city and make their way to the camps? It was a long trek, and the last time they had tried, they had encountered too many rotters to count, only narrowly avoiding death and finding their way into the safehouse they resided now. Dangers were aplenty, but maybe it would be worth it. If they could venture out into the countryside, perhaps they’d be greeted with a new home, some friends… maybe a cat or two.
He snapped out of his daydreaming when his line suddenly danced on
the water again. He gripped the rod in his hands and saw a sturgeon caught on the hook — a large one at that. It looked lively and strong. Big enough to feed Juniper for a week alone.
He was now thankful for the trout’s head he’d swallowed, feeling the energy boost it gave. The nutrients filtering down into his body. He angled the pole skywards and began to reel it in. The spooked sturgeon thrashed left and right.
“Oh, no yer don’t, yer lil bastard!”
Another yank and the tail splashed out of the water. It hovered in the air a moment, before slapping back down, spraying his exposed toes that poked out of his worn boots in cold water. Carter stood, dropping the tattered deck chair behind him to the floor. He planted his feet firmly on the ground for extra leverage and pulled at the fish. Its gormless face breached the oily surface as it erupted out of the water, flapping violently in the open air. Carter flicked the pole once more and swung the fish towards his makeshift jetty. It landed on the pallet-wood and fought hard to move back to the water.
Carter grinned stupidly, already licking his lips at the sight. It was a goddamn giant! He reached for the steel pipe tucked down into the rags around his legs — what must’ve once been a small cross-section of scaffolding bars — and slammed it against the sturgeon’s head. Once, twice, and again for good luck. Blood pooled on the jetty. The sturgeon gave up. Carter laughed victoriously.
“Yer lucky nob, Carter. Yer lucky nobber!”
Drawing his muddied sleeves upwards, he reached towards the tenderised fish, his bare hands chill in the river breeze. He stopped just an inch away. His fool’s grin turned to disgust, then horror as he saw the fine white strands that had punctured through the sturgeon’s torso and gills. He prodded the fish with his pole to get a better look at the eyes. Ah, you son-of-a-bitch… The eyes were hollow. More threads slithered out though the pink holes and wormed towards his hand.
Was there anything the rot hadn’t touched?
He yanked his hand away and shook his head in disgust. It was the same every time. In the excitement of the catch, he’d forget the increasing reality that even the fish weren’t immune. Though some (those lucky buggers in bucket number one) had somehow managed to avoid the spores, each day more and more fish were succumbing to the rot. Taken over and playing host to the myelin strands that spread like wildfire to survive…
Dropping the steel pipe, he turned and grabbed the giant mitt (he assumed it was used for welding or some such back in the day) from beneath his chair. He quickly scooped the fish up and dropped it into the second bucket — steel, with a lid. This one half-full of spore-ridden fish.
He placed the steel lid back over the bucket as threads slithered and grasped at the rush of cool air. He fastened a couple clips on the side. It wasn’t a permanent solution (those strands could find their way through almost anything), but it would keep them quiet and secure until he burned them later. Maybe he couldn’t eat these ones, but he could sure as hell stop them from infecting his waters.
A quick check of the darkening sky told him it was getting late. He sighed as he looked into the ‘Good’ bucket. It wasn’t a great haul, but he felt it would have to do. He began to wind in his line. The last thing he wanted was to be out here at night. Night time was a great time for things to creep up on you, and there was no way he was ever going to leave Juniper by herself at night.
At least, not anymore.
He looked once more at the towers of the old city. The great epitaphs that reached for the heavens themselves, symbolising nothing more than wasted time and false promises of a world that would always turn. At least, that’s what the television hosts and the newspaper honchos had said. Never could anyone have imagined this. Never would anyone have believed-
Something caught Carter’s eye. Along the bank to his left. Far enough away that it was no more than an inch tall to his vision. He pinched at his eyes, shook his head, and looked again. Maybe he was seeing things.
His heart stopped. A whimper escaped his lips. It was a man, that much was clear. His beard, similar to Carter’s own, reached down to his chest. He had younger eyes, though. Blues that pierced even from this distance. His legs disappeared behind the overgrowth. But even here, Carter could see the man’s hands. He saw the something sharp. The little light there was, glinting off its edge.
Carter did the only thing he could think of. He waved to the man. Hoping maybe he would take it as a sign of peace. He slowly began to assemble his fishing equipment, wrapping it in the blue tarp, never taking his eyes off the man. He grabbed the handle of bucket number one and slowly climbed the muddy banks, leaving bucket number two behind. He didn’t have time for that now. He’d have to burn it tomorrow. Not ideal but it would have to do.
His lungs burned and his calves ached as he reached the top of the bank and found the gravel path. His foot slipped, and he threw his hands down to catch himself, losing sight of the man for half a second.
There was a noise. Not quite a scream, but enough for Carter to snap his head back up and look down the river towards the man…
But he was gone. A short distance from where he stood, water rippled outwards in rings. Had the man dived in? Was he making his way through the waves, downstream, towards Carter right now?
Time to go, Carter thought, quickening in his step. There would be no sense in waiting for a stranger to re-emerge.
The path home was automatic to Carter by now. He passed under a steel bridge that smelled of damp rust and worked his way through a century-old industrial estate. The same path he always took. Piles of steel on either side. A rusty crane towering over, reaching into the water. Open garage doors full of pallets stacked with unused construction materials. A couple of dead bodies, little more than bone now.
Yet, still, as he tried to keep his ears open for any potential dangers, the man’s eyes burned in his mind. He felt an unfounded paranoia take over. What if there were more of them? What if that man was a scout, and he was tailing Carter right now? Studying his moves to inform the rest of the gang of where there were survivors. He could’ve been a scavvie… or worse…
Carter doubled his speed. Heart pounding. Pulse blasting. He ran past the corner shop with smashed windows, emptied of rations and goods. Through the alleyway that led out into the football and basketball park. An unused children’s climbing frame singing as the wind blew against it.
It’s okay, Juney, Carter thought. Nothing to worry about… Carter’s got it all under control. ’Til death do us part
Pictures of her face flashed into his mind. Pictures of pain. Of monsters hidden in shadows with blades thrust into her stomach. Of toothless grins and stale breath. He slapped himself across the face, leaping over a small fence, forcing the memories to shift and morph. Happy thoughts… just think of happy… An afternoon sat in a café in the city, traffic roaring outside, sharing stories of work over frappuccinos and muffins, the blistering summer heat blinding them through the windows. Their wedding day. Juniper’s auburn locks tied up in a decorative jumble of knots, white dress pooled around her feet. Her face smiling so much she complained her cheeks hurt. Her tear-filled “I do” as her father, Gary, walked her down the aisle. Friends sat out in the sunshine as Carter and Juniper were married in a beautiful painted-white gazebo out in the gardens of a century-old country house. Their vows they’d written for one another. Hers humorous and loving, all promises of unending love and cooked meals.
“You’ll never have to make the bed again,” she said with a tearful chuckle.
And Carter’s vows? His were much simpler than that. Inspired by old folk songs they’d listened to together on a bunched-up rug in their first apartment.
“Keep me, dear,” he said as he held onto her delicate hands. “When I’m tired and grumpy, old and fat, bald and angry. Just promise me that you’ll keep me, and I’ll keep you.” Her blue eyes on his. Her head tilting to the side. Full of love. Full of gratitude to be in the moment. “Our bodies, our love, our bones, forever together. Just please, pleas
e, dear, no matter what happens, keep my bones.”
Carter turned onto Tudor Close, past the festering overgrown gardens, and the broken down cars, long since looted for parts, and past the same yellow and red plastic kids’ toy car. He reached his own garden and dropped the blue tarp with his fishing equipment and the ‘Good’ bucket.
“Juniper!” he shouted, closing the door behind him and turning the lock. “Juniper!”
He scanned the living room.
“Juniper,” he said with a smile as he doubled over, hacking up phlegm and spitting it into the carpet. “Thank goodness… Thank…” He knew he had been silly to let his mind panic like that. She always did say that he had an overactive imagination.
“Too creative to be pushing carpets and rugs all day. Don’t worry baby, you’ll get your shot soon,” she had once said after Carter’s manager had been particularly pricky one day at work. “Things’ll change, you’ll see.”
Carter stroked Juniper’s hair and kissed her forehead. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She just looked at him with those big gorgeous eyes of hers, her stacks of books and photos piled either side, watching as Carter smiled and fetched in the catches of the day.
He soon forgot about the man on the riverbank, the sturgeon and its myelin strands, and it didn’t even cross his mind to let Juniper know what he had seen. There really was no point in worrying her. Instead, he snacked on the remaining body of the fish he’d bitten into earlier, mashing it into a paste before swallowing, and then tended to his evening duties.
Starting with the water butt fixed to the gutter pipes. He emptied the collection of rainwater out into three empty plastic bottles and took them inside, adding them to the collection, all ready to be filtered. Ideally, they’d have some sort of ultra-violet lighting system to clean the water but all they had was fire and cooking pans.
Keep My Bones Page 1
