by Ryan Casey
He shuddered at the thought. He didn’t even want to entertain the possibility.
He crept further through the woods. Heard that shuffling again. He’d resisted his daughter at first. Pushed back against her. He never thought himself capable of looking after her. He’d failed her already, after all. Before her mum took her life just over a month ago—what seemed like a lifetime ago, now—Martin hadn’t seen Ella for years as it was.
He’d come away to the Lake District with her for a bonding weekend. Her Grandma was sceptical, but she said it’d probably do Ella good to get away—especially with some of the problems she was going through with school, self-harm, depression…
Turned out a pretty damned unexpected turn of events after all.
He thought about Ella’s grandma. She was a good woman. Never really liked Martin, but then a lot of people didn’t.
He hoped wherever she was out there, she was okay. She was surviving.
But Martin didn’t hold out much hope. Probably why he and Ella didn’t speak about it all that much. ’Cause Ella realised the way this world was now, too. And it upset her. Of course it upset her.
He took another step forward. That shuffling intensified. Sunlight peeked through the trees. The air was still. He could smell something up ahead. A sweetness to the air. Morning dew. Sweat on his upper lip.
He pushed aside a branch in front of him and braced himself for whatever was ahead.
He froze.
There was a dog standing there. Whimpering. A Border Collie. Mean eyes. Snarling at him. Growling.
Its leg was stuck in a trap.
Martin felt a wave of nausea hit him right away. He’d never been a huge dog person. Liked them, just found the idea of looking after a pet stressful.
But seeing this dog with a trap around its leg right here depressed him.
Not only because it was in pain.
But because he knew there was a chance for a meal here, too.
He lifted his rifle. Swallowed a sickly lump in his throat. Told himself he was doing this for the good of the dog. It wouldn’t survive. He was putting it out of its misery. He was helping the damned thing.
He saw the dog’s eyes staring back at him. Whimpering. Begging.
A meal. That’s what he had to see it as. A meal that would go a long way. Forget the old conventions of society. This was food. And they were starving. His daughter was starving.
And Bruce… well, Bruce would eat anything, the daft sod. Morals didn’t apply where hungry dogs were concerned.
But as he stood there, finger on the trigger, ready to fire, he thought of this dog’s owner. Saw the blue collar around its neck. Couldn’t see the name from here, but he didn’t have to. That attachment. That human attachment just got to him.
So he lowered his rifle.
And he walked over towards that dog.
The dog growled and snarled back at him as he got closer. He got so close that he was within touching distance, and the dog began to bark. He knew he was mad for doing this. He knew he should just stay back.
But Martin sat beside it. He looked into the dog’s eyes. Saw the collar name now.
“It’s alright, Stanley. I’m gonna help you out here. Good job I’m a frigging softie. For your sake.”
Stanley’s growls intensified as Martin reached a hand towards the trapped paw. He knew he needed to be quick. He knew he needed to yank that trap away, then see to the wound as well as he could.
But he ran the risk of being bitten in the process.
And a dog bite wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to be dealing with in a world with no sanitation, no hospitals, nothing.
He looked Stanley in his eyes. Kept his hand raised, poised, ready.
And then he braced himself.
“You’re gonna be okay, Stanley. I’ve got you, lad. I’ve got you.”
He lunged his hand towards the trap and yanked it away right away.
What happened next seemed like slow motion.
The trap came free.
Stanley jumped out of it.
Martin went to grab him.
But then Stanley clamped around Martin’s wrist and sunk his sharp teeth right into his flesh.
Martin let out a cry. “Bastard!”
But no sooner had he cried out that Stanley was free of him.
Limping away, off into the woods.
Martin lay on the ground. Blood spurting out of his bitten wrist. Stanley disappearing into the trees.
“That’s what I get for saving you?” Martin called. “That’s my thanks? Really?”
“Serves you right for not shooting him,” a voice said.
Martin looked around.
Ella stood there.
Rat dangling from her right hand. Dead.
She lifted it up. Half-smiled. “I sorted breakfast, don’t worry. Found it in the deadfall. Need a hand there?”
Chapter Three
Martin winced as he dug the needle into his left hand, trying his damnedest to stitch up that bite wound.
It was late morning. He was back at the log cabin. Seemed a decent day. He could smell the rat Ella had caught cooking outside. It might only be a month since the world changed, but it was amazing just how quickly something as old-world-disgusting as a rat could actually turn into something quite appetising. He found his dry mouth watering. Kept on drifting off into its charred meaty smells.
Better than that crappy mac and cheese he’d made on the first night here, anyway.
Ella was decent at starting fires now. They had plenty of matches, but he’d taught her a few different methods, like the hand drill method, the fire plough, and a few others. He wanted her to be prepared, just in case. He wanted her to know a thing or two because she’d need to use that knowledge someday.
But at the same time, he didn’t want to throw her into the deep end. Not yet.
The world was a dangerous place. And the idea of throwing Ella into it filled Martin with fear.
He was an idiot for getting himself bitten by that dog. A damned idiot. As emotional an attachment as a bloody dog was, he should’ve shot it. Because this wasn’t a world for sentimentality anymore. It was a world where survival mattered more than anything else. A dog was a dog. Meat was meat. Food was food.
If Ella starved all because he’d been unfit to catch something for her… well, then that was on him.
And he could see that bloody dog limping back and pissing on his miserable grave too, just to prove a point.
“You should let me help you with that.”
Martin looked up. Ella sat there staring at him. She was thinner, somehow. Hard going ’cause she’d been damned thin in the first place. Her cheekbones were gaunt and prominent. Her long dark hair, greasy now, dangled down the sides of her head. Her skin was so pale. Her arms, one of which had a skull tattoo on it even though she was only fifteen, bore scars. Scars of a knife wound she’d taken a month ago, at the start of this sorry mess.
And other scars too.
Healing scars.
Martin shook his head. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You say it’s all about learning,” Ella said, Bruce lying on her lap in the lounge area of the cabin. Like any chocolate Labrador, his ears always perked up whenever he thought he’d heard the word “food” mentioned. Daft git. “But how am I supposed to learn if you won’t even let me help?”
Martin let go of the needle. His hands were too shaky to stitch himself up properly anyway. He’d just wash it and keep it bandaged up. Keep an eye on it. It might be an unsanitary world, but there were a few ways he could work on keeping shit clean. He’d removed the dirt from it, treated it with some antiseptic, and now he could just throw some dressing on it. It’d be fine. As long as it didn’t get infected.
He thought about what Ella said. “That’s not true,” Martin said. “I’ve taught you a lot of stuff. You caught that rat, didn’t you?”
“I caught it because it was stuck in a trap. A trap that you set.”
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Martin shrugged, dabbing some stinging alcohol over his wrist, wincing upon contact. “Learning’s a gradual process, Ella.”
“And what if something happens to you? What am I supposed to do then?”
“Just get off my case, okay? A bloody dog lived because of me. I took one for the team. Anyway. We’ve got a long day ahead. I want to check out that campsite a couple of miles down the road from us. Seen smoke rising from there a few times now. They might have some things we could use for ourselves.”
Ella shook her head and turned around. As she sat there, back to him on that sofa, he couldn’t believe how much like her mother she looked when she was annoyed.
He remembered being here with Sarah one day. Having a row over something stupid like the weather. The way she’d sulked with him all day, only to snap out of it when she made a joke of her own. That was always the way with Sarah. She was always the one to end an argument. Not you, no matter how hard you tried.
He smiled when he thought of her.
He missed her.
He got up from the dining table. Wrapped some dressing around his wrist. Tightened it up, hoped it would do the trick. He knew there was no point humouring Ella’s sulking. Best to just crack on like nothing had happened.
“Anyway,” Martin said. “When I’ve checked this camp out, I figure we should go out and practice some shooting today. I’ll show you how it’s done, then you can have a few shots. No blank rounds this time. See how you go. How’s that sound?”
Ella was silent for a while. Then, she finally spoke. “I don’t really want to.”
Martin frowned. “What?”
“I said I don’t really want to.”
Martin scratched his head. He’d gone from pretty much childless for years to looking after a teenage girl. Not an easy transition. But one he had to do his best at taking. “It’s not about what you want or not. It’s not about what any of us want or not. It’s about what’s—”
“What’s right. For survival. Blah blah blah. I know. But I know how to shoot. You’ve shown me how to shoot. Why can’t I come with you when you actually go hunting? Why can’t I come with you to this camp?”
“Because it’s not safe.”
“And you think I’ll be safer just cooped up here? You think if something happens to you, I’ll be a whole lot safer ’cause of all the great stuff you’ve taught me but never let me even properly practice? You think if we end up separated, I’m really strong enough to survive on my own? Really?”
Martin looked back at Ella as she sat there, leaning over the back of the sofa. “Ella, I’m just trying to do what’s right for you.”
“You should’ve thought about that before…”
She mumbled the rest. Sulked off the sofa. Climbed towards the wooden stairs, up to her room. Bruce followed closely behind, panting and wagging his tail.
And Martin knew he shouldn’t get riled up. He knew it shouldn’t get to him.
But he was tired. He was hungry. He was thirsty, and he was pissed off.
“What did you just say?”
Ella shook her head and went to barge past him.
So Martin grabbed her arm.
“Hey,” he said. “What did you just say to me?”
Ella looked up at him. Wide eyes.
Then she looked down at his hand gripping on to her.
“Get the hell off me,” she said.
But Martin kept hold of her.
“What did you say?”
She looked back up at him then.
And with a look of venom, she said the words that crushed him.
“You should’ve thought about that before you abandoned me and Mum.”
She yanked her arm away.
And then she stomped upstairs.
“The rat’s burning,” she said. “If you want some breakfast, you’d better go check on it yourself.”
Martin stood there as he listened to Ella’s footsteps pound up the stairs towards her bedroom.
Bruce looked back at him. Whined a little. Then followed Ella.
He heard them both step into her room.
Silence for a second.
And then Ella’s door slammed shut.
But those words kept on resonating around Martin’s mind.
Words that would forever haunt him.
You should’ve thought about that before you abandoned me and Mum.
Chapter Four
Harriet looked out at the city of Lancaster and wondered how the hell it hadn’t fallen to pieces yet.
It was morning. A pretty nice one at that. Weirdly, it was the nicer mornings that got to her more than the grim ones. It reminded her of what she might be doing in her former life. Trips to the park. The smell of cut grass. The sound of laughter. The cool taste of ice cream against her tongue. Enough to bring a smile to her face just thinking about it.
But then her smile faltered. Because that’s not the way things were now.
And Oscar was nowhere to be seen.
She’d got out of bed and found him missing right away. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened. Oscar had a tendency to wander off. He was only four years old, and he had attention deficit problems, along with a whole bundle of developmental issues. Meant she had to keep him close at all times. Keep an eye on him. She’d been planning on starting homeschooling him when the power went out and left everyone stranded. Her mum, a lawyer, told her she was making a terrible mistake. That she was being selfish and doing it for herself, not for her son.
She shrugged her off. She didn’t accept that conclusion. Especially from a mother who’d barely been there for her.
But she didn’t want to face the fact there could be a glimmer of truth in it, either.
She stepped out of the cold lounge, across the creaky floorboards of a house that didn’t belong to her. She headed towards the door, the smell of damp filling the air. Walked outside, dread already growing in the pit of her stomach.
She saw them right away. The same sight she always saw every morning. The blockade of stationary cars at either end of this stretch of street that they called “shelter”. The terraced houses lining the empty road, just like the one she stayed in. And the people at the top of the street. The police officers.
Batons and pepper spray always in hand, just in case.
She saw something else, too. Another familiar sight. People lining up, waiting to be supplied their rations. A hundred of them, at least. A bowl of warm porridge for each of them. Except those bowls were getting smaller every day. There was no sign they were getting any bigger any time soon, either. It didn’t matter how much the police insisted things were going to be okay; that things were “under control.”
It’d been a month now, and everything was getting worse.
She heard the arguing in the line. Saw the scraps kicking off. People who used to carry some extra baggage when Harriet first reached this street looked frail.
She saw someone topple onto their backside, porridge spilling over the ground. A couple rushing over to it, scooping its remnants up into their bowls. Desperation seeping through.
It hadn’t always been this way. When Harriet and Oscar first got here just five days after the lights went out, this place seemed like heaven. Harriet had just got in from her night shift at McDonald’s when the power went out. Dozed off after saying bye to Karen, the babysitter, who was watching Oscar. She didn’t love her job, but it brought the money in, and her priority in life was Oscar. She was twenty-nine now. She’d started a teaching degree a few years back, but then she’d fallen pregnant and put her studies on hold until she knew she could get back to it. Harvey, Oscar’s dad, was full of promises of supporting the pair of them, anyway. He’d encourage Harriet to get back to work, to go back to her studies, to better herself so she could ensure an even better life for herself and her son.
Only the prick walked out when Oscar was six months old. Met a younger, more attractive, less pregnancy-battered model.
So much for a lifet
ime of support.
But yeah. Things seemed alright when she first reached this place. Not perfect, but better than keeping herself and Oscar locked in her home while the streets went to shit outside. Looters raiding cars. People shouting at all hours.
And all the while, no contact with the outside world. No phones. No power. Nothing.
Lancaster was heavenly compared to that.
Harriet kept her head down as she rushed down the side of the street. She had a feeling she knew where Oscar was. She always told him to stay close and to never run off. But keeping Oscar under control was a whole challenge in itself.
He meant well. He was a good-hearted kid. Very loving. Very compassionate.
But when he got distracted by an idea, he’d pursue that idea to the end, whether it was finding worms to add to his “worm zoo” or exploring the surrounding streets in hopes of finding a working Xbox.
Harriet told him it’d take him far when he grew up, that drive.
For now, it was a pain.
But what could she do? Keep him locked away inside?
She went to take a turn down one of the side streets, keeping an eye on the scrapping, restless crowd, when she slammed into someone and fell back to the ground.
“Harriet,” the man said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. Here. Let me help you up.”
Harriet shook her head, a little dazed. She reached out her hand instinctively, let the man help her to her feet.
When she saw who it was smiling in front of her, her stomach sank.
“Peter,” she said. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Peter smiled back at her. He had short dark hair, a thick black beard. Had some serious weight to him. Always looked like he was smiling, even when it was inappropriate. His arms were laced with tribal tattoos. “It’s my fault. I should’ve seen you coming. What’s got you flustered, anyway?”
Harriet didn’t like Peter. She couldn’t explain it rationally. Hell, she was probably a little harsh towards him. But something unsettled her about him. He always seemed to be lurking around whenever Harriet thought she was alone. Always went over the top to try and do stuff for Oscar. Elaine, one of the women living in the same house as her, told her he fancied her, and that he was a sweet guy. But Jemma, another of her housemates, said he’d made a pass at her. Pinned his hands either side of her and only let her wriggle away when she threatened to tear his dick off.
