These days all the Four ever get is a tinned Christmas dinner: peas, new potatoes, green beans and, if they can scrounge it, a loaf of bread. It isn’t much, but it’s a tradition and it’s a day where they all get along. Beth wonders if the others will get Christmas dinner later.
‘We can spread a smile of joy...’ sings Preston softly.
‘Your capacity for song lyrics has always astounded me,’ Beth muses.
He shrugs. ‘Well, I don’t know much else.’
A stab of pain in Beth’s thumb makes her remember herself, and she rips it, stinging and bloody, out of her mouth. She is numb to the sight of it, but she knows it should make her cry. Preston is looking too, but he doesn’t shout like she thinks he’s going to; he just puffs on his cigarette.
‘Look, why don’t we just-’ she begins, but Preston cuts her off at the same moment.
‘Why didn’t you go Inland?’
Her gaze flicks up to his waiting eyes. ‘What?’
‘In the beginning,’ he elaborates. ‘You were this prissy little princess with her precious baby; you’d never gotten your hands dirty in your life. Why did you not just go inside where it was safe and warm and safety was guaranteed? Resume your life forgetting the rest of us.’
‘I don’t think I ever would’ve forgotten you.’
He smirks. ‘I have that effect on people.’
‘Yes, I think you do.’
‘Well?’
‘Oh. Um, I don’t know. I suppose it’s like you said. I’d never been in danger in my whole life. I lived in this little bubble with Des and my family. So when my life fell apart in the space of five minutes and you came to the rescue, I just thought...’
‘Yes?’
‘You won’t like it.’
‘I don’t like tinned bloody soup, but here we are.’
‘Okay... Well, you saved my life, not just once, but countless times. Meeting you in the pharmacy, being swept off and kept somewhat safe in the bunker... Don’t get me wrong, you put the fear of God in me, but Pres, I felt safe with you. I still do.’
‘Oh, for crying out loud-’
‘I mean it. Even today, after I was bitten, the first rational thought I had was “Preston will know what to do.” Because you do, you always know what to do, how to keep us alive. Some days I was scared you were going to kill me, but part of me always knew that I had to follow you. If anyone can keep you safe, it’s a murderous guy with an ill temper, right?’
He says nothing, just sighs and flicks away the finished cigarette. Sighing, Beth sticks her thumb back into her mouth. The metallic taste of blood invades her tongue and she swallows, disgust bubbling up in her as blood trickles down her throat.
The pain in her neck flares and burns, an itch rising in her shoulder at the same moment, and as she chews on her split thumb Beth wonders how this would go if she decided not to nip it in the bud. Does the combination of itching, burning and the strange bloodlust drive people to insanity, damaged beyond repair? Or is it the virus, seeping into the brain and eating away at humanity? Does it hurt, experiencing the transformation? The curiosity is fleeting, and Beth is glad she’ll never know.
Rolling his eyes, Preston grabs Beth’s wrist and yanks her hand away from her mouth, visibly revolted by the red rawness of her thumb. Blood trickles down to her wrist, and Preston snatches his hand away before it can touch him. He gets to his feet, and she knows it’s time. Making sure she still possesses her precious cards, Beth gets up too.
They move further still away from the barn, deeper into the small body of trees. Beth silently watches her thumb bleeding onto the snow as they walk, staining it a vibrant red. When they stop it’s as if they’re in a different world, populated by just the two of them, and she feels infinite, like this moment could last forever as he turns to face her.
‘I have so much I want to say,’ she whispers.
Preston raises the gun, and she stares down the barrel. ‘Close your eyes,’ he says.
She shakes her head. ‘I won’t die a coward.’
In that second she summons pictures of Gabriel and Kerry, of their temperamental pet cat, of Desmond and her parents, and she drinks in the sight of Preston. A small line has formed between his eyebrows in the tiniest frown.
‘Thank you for doing this,’ she tells him. ‘I mean, I know you hate me...’
‘I don’t hate you.’
She pauses. ‘I don’t hate you either.’
‘I know.’ The two-word sentence is filled with meaning, but Beth can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed. She’s glad he knows.
‘Remember your promise,’ she says in the same instant he pulls the trigger.
As her body crumples Preston remembers a promise he made to a small baby, and a promise he refused to make to that child’s mother. He stares at Bethany Singer’s lifeless body, her forehead bleeding into the snow, and he feels empty.
Beth’s Wish
Small black and blue snakes coiled in the bathroom sink as Preston watched Beth ruin herself. The razor buzzed menacingly against her emerging head as she sheared off more of her dreadlocks. Tears dripped off her chin and into the pit of snakes, but Beth made no sound.
Preston sat on the edge of the bath, smoking and scrolling through Andrea’s phone, which he’d borrowed without consent. It amused him, seeing this girl cry over something as stupid as her hair as bodies smouldered in the car park outside. Also it was lots of fun to watch her struggle shaving the back of her head. She’d been smart enough not to ask for help, he’d give her that.
As she shed her hair, Beth’s face seemed to grow more angular. Her jaw revealed itself from beneath the mass of locks, and shadows edged into her cheekbones. Her lips, already soft and plump, stood out even more, and a bar glinted across the top of her ear. She wore baldness well, he supposed, but Preston liked his women with hair. He’d tell her so later, too, basking in the crestfallen look on her face.
It was far too easy to upset this girl; something Preston would have lots of fun with if they were to live out their lives together. He wondered vaguely what she was like when she wasn’t moping about.
Swallowing nervously as the final lock of hair flopped into the sink, Beth lifted her eyes to meet Preston’s in the mirror. Without her glasses to break up her tear-stained face, there was an unfortunate likeness to an oversized baby that Preston struggled not to laugh at. But the uncertainty, the hope for approval in her eyes, was sobering.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘I think you just wasted fifteen minutes of your life.’
Beth’s face crumpled. ‘You told me to do it!’
‘Did I?’
‘Not two hours ago!’
‘Oh... Why do you listen to me?’
‘Well, Larry appointed you Leader, didn’t he?’ Beth wailed, slapping splayed hands over her patchy bald head.
‘Have you ever heard of a wise man named Larry?’
Releasing an exasperated shriek, Beth broke eye contact and turned away. Preston chuckled, and no longer able to be in a room with him, Beth stormed out of the bathroom. Resisting the urge to call after her and tell her she’d missed a spot, Preston followed her out, dropping his cigarette stub into the sink with the shed dreadlocks as he went, a slight burning smell wafting after him.
They found the others in the pub, sitting at the bar. Steve nursed a drink, Kerry scribbled in a notebook and Andrea chatted happily to Gabriel. Preston watched Beth join them, forcing a smile as Steve complimented her on her newly shaved head. They were illuminated by a pool of light supplied by the bar, a pool of light that Preston wasn’t in. The evening was young, but autumn demanded an early payment of daylight, though not all of it had yet been sucked from the sky. So Preston turned his back on the band of misfits in their dimly lit haven and wandered outside.
Clouds rolled over the navy blue sky and the smell of cooked meat rode on a light breeze. As gravel crunched underfoot, Preston wondered vaguely if he could catch infection from in
haling burnt Ailing parts. He could vaguely see smouldering silhouettes dotted around the bedding perimeter, not a living being in sight.
It was time to leave, he knew. He wouldn’t spend another hour here, in this purgatory. Somewhere along the road, the plan to take his life had faded, replaced by the need to find sanctuary. He’d find somewhere devoid of people, with little chance of ambush. Wasn’t that what he’d always wished for himself and David, after all? A life without interruption or rules, where they kept to themselves - that was what he’d wanted. He’d kept Kerry, he knew, because she had David’s face. He couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting the face that made him so content.
Gazing up at the clouds, he pictured David’s face in the clouds. Like Mufasa in the Lion King, he thought with a chuckle. What would David be thinking if he were watching now?
Preston shook his head. David wasn’t watching. You can’t watch anything when you’re buried in a park.
Yes, it was time to go. But Preston had to say goodbye first. His hand trembled as he reached into his jeans pocket for Andrea’s phone. There was no password, and the phone lit up at the simple touch of a button. He typed in the only number he’d ever memorised. It didn’t even ring before a voice spoke.
‘Hi, this is David Twain. I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’d like to leave a message I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If you’d like to make an appointment, please call my receptionist or book online. Thanks.’
A strange cramp had taken place somewhere in Preston’s chest, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.
‘Uh,’ he said finally, the sound choked and shaky. ‘I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t lame, isn’t that the worst? Maybe I should admit that I never actually went for a single job interview you set me up for. Also, the last pizza takeaway we had was stolen off the back of a Domino’s motorbike. I’m not sorry, though.’
Sighing, Preston looked once more up at the ever-darkening clouds. God, his chest hurt. He was going to give Steve an earful for his crappy pub food giving him heartburn. Come to think of it, his stomach hurt too. Everything seemed to. He pressed the phone harder against his ear.
‘I don’t know how to say the things I want you to know,’ he muttered. ‘I just need to keep going for now. There’s something... I don’t know what it is, but I need to see this through. I can promise, though, that when I’m done, I’ll lie down right next to you. I’ll be back for you. David, I...’
BEEP.
‘If you are satisfied with your message, please hang up now. If you’d like to rerecord your message...’
The mechanical voice didn’t get to finish her spiel; Preston hung up and removed the phone from his ear. For a moment he stared at the screen, which still displayed David’s now useless number. How many messages had his dead boyfriend amassed on his phone now? Were patients leaving him anxious appointment requests? Would Preston’s be the last message that number would ever receive?
Like a caress, the light breeze grazed Preston’s cheek and ruffled his hair. If he closed his eyes it could’ve been the fingers of a lover. He kept his eyes wide open and sank to the ground, crossing his legs. The dim light provided by the inn cast his shadow into the gloom, pointing directly at the little pink car that awaited him beyond the perimeter, one of its doors still open, almost like an invitation. He didn’t consider climbing into the driver’s seat and abandoning the others. For some reason he couldn’t imagine pulling out of this car park alone. Who would teach the baby how to say the names of the other Lord of the Rings characters if not him?
The baby was learning to walk now, and to Preston’s absolute delight, he seemed to enjoy telling his mother “No.” She’d tell him to eat his porridge: “No.” She’d ask him not to throw his cutlery: “No.” It was very entertaining to watch.
A sound from behind Preston alerted him to Beth’s presence. He’d become that accustomed to them, he knew them just by the rhythm of their steps. It was a strange comfort, though it sort of ruined the mystery of whether or not he’d be eaten from behind. Where was the fun in knowing?
‘Andrea’s been asking around for her phone,’ said Beth, taking a seat next to him. The sight of her bald head still alarmed him. ‘She thinks she’s lost it.’
‘I had to make a call.’
‘Not Larry again, I hope,’ groaned Beth, and Preston allowed her a smirk.
‘No, I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.’
‘That’s a huge shame.’
‘Just admit you fancy him, Bethany. He’s single if you’re wondering.’
‘He’s revolting.’ Beth paused. ‘Who were you talking to just now?’
‘No one,’ replied Preston with a shrug. ‘I called my therapist but he wasn’t there.’
‘Well I’m here, if you want to talk.’
Preston considered. ‘No, not even a little smidge of a bit.’
Beth nodded; she was obviously expecting such an answer. For a while they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The smell of burnt meat seemed to have faded – either that or Preston had gotten used to it now. The darkness was bringing with it a chill, however, that enticed Preston to move.
‘We should get going,’ he announced, but before he could fully rise Beth tugged him back down.
‘Sorry,’ she said in response to his frown. ‘I just want to ask you something, while no one else is here. I need a favour.’
‘I don’t do favours.’
‘I know, but...’ Beth cast a hasty look behind them. It seemed no one in the inn had stirred. She sighed. ‘Look, I know I agreed that Gabriel and I wouldn’t burden you, and I’ll stick to that promise. I just want to make sure that, if... For some reason...’
‘I’m not being your son’s godfather,’ snapped Preston. ‘If you kick the bucket-’
‘I don’t expect you to keep him,’ said Beth. ‘I just need you to make sure he’s safe - wherever you decide to take him.’
‘Have you packed all your crap?’
‘Promise me, Pres. Please.’
‘I don’t do promises, either,’ grunted Preston, getting to his feet.
‘Is that why you haven’t killed yourself?’
Shooting her a sharp look, Preston said, ‘Caught that one, did you?’
Beth stood too, crossing her arms protectively between herself and an angry-looking Preston. ‘I take it that’s why you’re trying to reach your therapist. If you’re depressed-’
‘Depressed,’ he scoffed.
Irritated, he turned on his heel, the gravel complaining underfoot, and made his way back towards the inn. Light drank him in as he re-entered the pub, and the temptation to stay and drown David’s echoing voice with alcohol was almost too much. As if reading his mind, Steve capped a half-empty bottle of gin and put it behind the bar, out of sight.
In the warm halo of light, Gabriel snored softly on Andrea’s lap and Kerry doodled in her sketchbook, whose empty pages seemed on short supply. It was a tranquil sight, a life for an alternate universe. Perhaps Alternate Preston had a head that wasn’t broken, and he’d fall in love with Andrea and have kids with wonky noses. Perhaps Alternate Gabriel would never have to hold a gun. These things certainly weren’t happening in this universe.
As if sensing Preston’s intention to leave, Ratbag scurried into the room and attempted to climb up his master’s leg. Chuckling, Preston scooped up his ugly little cat and deposited the beast on his shoulders, where Ratbag made himself quite comfortable, thank you very much. Beth also appeared, having hurried upstairs to collect their things, and she now stood in the doorway holding bags. Kerry looked up and, meeting their gazes, closed her sketchbook. Understanding passed between the three of them. They were finally leaving.
Steve wheeled his niece behind them as Preston led his misfits to their car, the cat draped over his shoulders and the baby cradled in his arms. He strode across the charred bodies unfazed as the others moved gingerly around them, wrinkling their noses in disgust.
It seemed the meaty smell hadn’t completely disappeared yet after all.
‘I wish I could persuade you lot to stay,’ Steve confessed as they piled into the car. ‘I suppose all I can say is good luck.’
‘Cheers, Steve,’ said Preston, and Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Sorry, did I get it wrong? Stavros, was it?’
Chuckling, Steve shook his head. ‘Take care of these three, Preston.’
‘Who else is going to?’ said Preston with a grin.
‘Then maybe drink the liquor you stole from my bar in moderation,’ said Steve sternly. ‘Drunk and responsible can’t exist in harmony, you know.’
‘Oh, you noticed. I’d apologise, but...’
‘You’re not sorry,’ chorused everyone else. Laughter ensued, save for Preston, who just shrugged.
‘Take care of yourselves,’ said Beth, ducking her head to see their hosts through Preston’s window, ‘and thank you for everything.’
The car grumbled to life, and they were off. The inn shrank behind them, and the girls watched it disappear as Preston drove. Their hair swayed in the breeze offered by the open window, and the growl of the engine drowned out Gabriel’s soft snores. Freedom felt like a lifted weight to Preston, and it felt lighter the farther he drove.
‘So where are we going?’ Beth asked, leaning her head back against the headrest.
‘First I’m going to get cigarettes,’ said Preston, and Beth rolled her eyes. ‘Then...’
He considered. For a while he just watched the road, lit here and there by scattered street lamps. It stretched ahead of them in patches of gold and black, watched over by the moon, and it was easy to picture, behind the clouds, the stars spelling out possibility.
‘We’re going home,’ Preston finally replied.
Where was home, though? That was something they’d know when they found it.
Moving On
After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four Page 31
