He cleared his
throat. "Why do you let some of the infected walk away? How come you don't
kill all of them?
I sat back
against the tree trunk. There was something sticking out from it into my back,
but I didn't move. The uncomfortable sensation made it easier to stay awake.
"Just a
case of conserving energy and making as little noise as possible. Don’t kill
something that you know isn't going to kill you, because it's a waste of time.
Plus, killing things at night attracts stalkers. They can smell blood being
spilt, even if it's the clotted stuff that leaks out of the infected.”
"So it's
not because you think they're still people?"
I almost
laughed at the thought. "Fifteen years ago they were people, kid. Those
days are long gone."
"I always
wondered what it was like to live back then. Moe told me you could get on a
plane and visit other countries."
I looked up at
the sky and thought about the last time I’d seen something flying up there. It
was seven years ago, when I was with Clara, her brother David and the rest of
the group. We'd seen a helicopter hover over us for a few seconds, and then it
flew away.
"Is Moe
your dad?" I asked him.
"Dad's
dead." said Justin. His words were automatic and sounded hollow, as though
it was an answer he'd been taught.
It made me
think of my parents. I wondered what had happened to them, how things had
ended. I liked to think that they'd died peacefully, but somehow I doubted it.
"Why did
you really want to come with me?" I said. “And don’t give me this ‘seeing
the world’ bullshit.”
He took a few
seconds to consider the question. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper.
"It's too confined there. They're just waiting to die, all of them. They
never think or plan, they just drink and smoke and fight. One day they're gonna
run out of food or someone's gonna leave the gate open and a load of infected
will get in. Either way, I had this feeling that if I stayed there, I was gonna
die.”
I nodded.
“You’re not wrong.”
Justin looked
at the ground. “I had a dream where Moe let one of the infected into my room
while I was asleep and it ate me."
I shook my head
slowly, though in the darkness I doubt Justin saw it. "It's not much
better out here," I said.
I was starting
to feel sorry for him. Sorry that he had been born into this world and had never
known anything else. At least I'd had something of a life before all this - I
had a job, a house, a beautiful wife. I was forty-two now, so I'd already had
twenty seven years on earth that I didn't have to spend worrying about being
eaten or seeing other people get eaten. This world was all Justin knew, and all
he'd ever know. I didn't blame him for wanting to leave town, because I felt
the same way as him. But that didn't change anything.
"Justin,"
I said.
The kid looked
up.
I stretched my
legs out in front of me. "As soon as we get to the farm, you're still on
your own. If it comes down to life and death along the way - between me and you
- I choose me every time. Don't ever forget that."
A thick cloud
hung above us in the night sky. Slowly rain started to drip down, hitting the
leaves of the trees in heavy patters and then falling onto us. It soaked into
my clothes and skin, and made me shiver. Despite being cold and wet, I was
thankful for the rain, because at least it helped me keep my eyes open.
Chapter 7
"Stop
being so stubborn."
Justin stood in
front of me and stared. I sat down on a rock and put my head in my hands,
ostensibly using the time to think, but really trying to snatch every second of
rest that I could. The kid was getting used to our long walks now and we had
fewer rest stops. It was amazing what a good night's sleep could do for you.
I didn't know,
of course, because I was sleeping only an hour or two a night. My body ached
like it was held together by cello tape. I rubbed my head and my skull felt
hollow.
"We have to
take the motorway, Kyle. I know what you're saying, but just trust me,” said
Justin.
The word
'trust' snapped me out of it. I lifted my head. "We don't have to go
anywhere except where I say so. The village is quicker."
We were on the
top of a grassy hill, high enough for the wind to collect and snap around our
heads. The view was spectacular; to our west was the Ribble Valley, a
collection of hills that stopped just short of being mountains, but none the
less attracted waves of hikers during the summer.
Clara and I had
climbed one of the modest peaks once, and I remembered having to stuff my
pockets with the contents of her handbag when the handle snapped. I could
remember it in minute detail, the smell of the grass as it cooked in the sun,
the feeling of the breeze on my freshly-shaved head. It was stupid that this
was the stuff I remembered, yet despite being together most of sixteen years
Clara's face was fuzzy in my mind. It was strange, the little memories that the
brain filed away and marked as relevant while forgetting other stuff. I felt
the top of my head and ran my hands through my now-thick hair, messy from
months without a cut.
Below us was a
metaphorical fork in the road. One track would take us through a village called
Blackfoot, and the other route was on the M7C motorway. Given that I’d been
here before, I knew something of this place, and I knew which route to take.
Justin might have liked being the guide and telling me which direction to go,
but today I didn’t need him.
"I really
don't want to go through the village," said Justin.
I looked up at
him. With the tip of his right foot he scratched the back of his leg. He was
still wearing the raincoat that was so big on him in practically reached his
knees, and tucked into his belt at the front of his trousers was a hunting
knife that he had gotten from a hardware store in Vasey. The silver of the
blade was still gleaming. In contrast I looked down at my own, and saw the dirt
that collected in the ridges, and a blade so dull that it was more useful for spreading
butter that cutting. It would have to do. You could still use it to smash
through a skull if you used enough force.
"What’s
wrong with Blackfoot?" I asked.
"The GPRS
said take the motorway."
I shook my
head. "Course it did - they all say that because they assume motorways are
quicker. Only this time, I know more than that piece of crap. Going through the
village is better. It'll cut a day's travel at least."
Justin
scratched the back of his head. "Won’t it be dangerous in down there?
Won't there be more of ...them?"
"Nothing
we can't handle if you can learn to walk a little quieter."
Justin took a
few steps toward me and bent down. His face looked a little white. "Look,
Kyle. There's something else. I know this place too."
"How?"
Justin turned
round and pointed. I followed his outstretched hand and it led over past the
village and to the east, where there was a warehouse building about five miles
out. "Down there's a wholesaler’s. Our scouts used to come this way and
make runs - the place is still full of stuff. Only, they had to stop."
I strained my
eyes and tried to make out more detail on the warehouse – there was a sign on
the front, but it was too far away to read. If Justin was right, though, maybe
it was worth a look. A wholesaler that was still full of stock was a rare thing
indeed, and my mouth watered at the prospect of the things that might be there
– food, chocolate, beer, maybe even a whiskey.
"So why
did they stop?"
Justin shoved
his hand in his pockets. "There's a group that lives in this area. They
call themselves a family, but I never heard of a family who did the things they
do. They're hunters."
"What’s so
bad about that?" I asked. I'd caught and skinned more than a few rabbits
in my time in the wilds. You did what you could, and you ate what you could to
survive.
"They hunt
men,” he said, and tucked his chin into his coat.
***
The streets of
Blackfoot were dirty and empty. The whole place was so silent that not even the
wind dared make a sound. Despite the fact that Justin was probably talking
crap, I still found myself scanning the windows of the buildings and looking
out of the corners of my eyes to see if anyone was watching us. Hunters of men.
What a load of bollocks. I'd lived in the wilds long enough to know that men
did whatever it took to survive, which sometimes meant killing others. But
there certainly wasn’t a group out there making a game of it.
We walked as
quickly as we could without making any noise, and I had Justin walk close to me
to keep an eye on him. Like it or not, after we got a few miles out of the
village I was going to need him, because from then on I didn't know the way to
the farm. As soon as we got within spitting distance of it, though, he could do
whatever the hell he wanted.
There was a
rotten smell in the air, and somewhere in the distance I heard a feral dog bark.
I reached to my belt for my knife and gave the handle a tap. Dogs were a
problem whenever you got into a village or town. They ran in packs, five or six
beta dogs subservient to an alpha, and they were ridiculously aggressive against
anything that moved. Who thought that man's best friend would turn on him so
easily?
"How far
do we need to go?" asked Justin. He stared straight ahead, oblivious to any
danger, whereas I jerked my head from left to right trying to scan every
conceivable place an infected could be lurking.
"Through
the high street and straight on out of town. That way, we make a detour that
cuts out half the terrain that the motorway can't avoid."
"And what
about them?" he said, nodding to the infected that were in front of us.
Two of them
stood in our path, and when they saw us approaching them they turned and
moaned. I tried to make out what they had once looked like, but fifteen years
after infection it was tough to see any humanity in them. Their faces were full
of sharp edges from where their bones pressed against their skin, and their
scraggly hair tumbled to their shoulders. They stretched out their arms, and at
the ends of their fingers long, dirty fingernails pointed at us. That was one
of the more disgusting things about the infected; the fact that their hair and
fingernails carried on growing after death.
"Is this
one of the times we ignore them?" asked Justin.
I reached for
my knife, took hold of the handle and pulled it out. I turned to the kid.
"Think about it. Which direction do we need to go?"
"Straight
on."
"And where
are they?"
"Straight
on."
I pointed my
knife at them. "Then this isn't one of the times we ignore them. You take
the smaller one on the left - he looks your height. "
I walked
forward, poised and alert. Justin kept pace with me, and when we got closer he
pulled out his knife. He held it at an awkward angle, almost at his waist,
which meant that he had more work to do to stab the infected in the head. I
held mine at head height and tensed my arm. Set on earning their meal, the
infected let out guttural moans and stumbled toward us. They were only metres
away now, and I could feel my pulse quicken in anticipation. I steadied my legs
and got ready to stab.
My infected
launched at me clumsily, hoping to grab onto some part of me with its outstretched
arms. It was tall and its belly was bloated, and it wore a ragged football
shirt. I stepped to the side and let it stumble past me. I reached forward and
grabbed the back of its collar, but the material was so rotted that it tore
clean out of my grasp.
To my left,
Justin cried out. I snapped my eyes on him and saw that he had lodged his knife
in the smaller infected's chest just below the collar bone, and he was trying
to push the straining monster away. I took three strides toward him, raised my
knife in the air and then planted it in the top of the infected's head, caving
in its skull a meringue. I let it drop to the floor.
Justin sank to
the ground, his eyes wide and his face a deathly white.
The infected to
my right growled. I turned toward it but it was already in my face, so close to
me that when it snapped its teeth I could hear the sound of them clacking
together. I took hold of it by the neck with my left hand, raised my right and
then brought my knife down into its skull. As the dead body fell to the floor,
I let a long breath escape my lungs. After a few seconds, I got myself
together.
"Did it
bite you?" I asked him.
He shook his
head. His face was pale and I could see that his hands were shaking. This was
the first time that I had ever seen the kid scared - he hadn't even blinked
when I'd strangled him back in the shack. I knew I should ask him if he was
alright, show a little concern, but I didn’t have time for that.
"Pull
yourself together," I said. "There will be more."
Sure enough,
behind us at the bottom of the high street a couple of infected had gathered
and were slowly picking up our trail. More would appear before long, I knew,
and soon we'd have a crowd of them chasing us. The chase itself wasn't a
problem, because they could never pick up enough speed to catch you. The
problem was that they were relentless. Once they got on your trail - that was
it. They wouldn't stop and rest, they wouldn’t sleep. They were driven by only
one basic impulse, and they would stop at nothing to get it.
"Pick up
your pace." I said.
We moved
quicker down the high street. I looked behind me and saw that the two infected
were now six. Ahead of us, the street twisted round a corner. I knew that round
it there was another short walk and then we were out of Blackfoot. I couldn’t
wait to leave.
I looked behind
us again. Now there were ten of them. Where the hell were they coming from?
"Just
round this corner then we're home free. Come on, speed it up. And don't look
back."
As soon as he
heard me say the words, Justin looked back. "Shit," he said.
We were moving
just short of a jog now. We travelled through the high-street and turned the
corner, after which we would be golden.
As soon as we
turned the corner though, I froze.
"Oh,
fuck," said Justin.
I would have
scolded the kid for his language, but his sentiment was right, because in front
of us was a giant makeshift barricade that completely blocked the exit to the
village. It stretched twenty metres from either side and was made of various
items of scrap metal - steel sheets, kitchen sinks, shopping trolleys - that
were arranged like a madman's game of Tetris. There was no way through it, and
there was sure as hell no way to move it.
Behind us, a
couple of hundred metres and closing, fifteen or so infected chased us.
"Now
what?" said Justin.
"Give me a
minute," I said, and put my hand to my forehead.
Justin stared
at the makeshift barricade that blocked us in. His eyes seemed to light up, and
a little of the colour came back to his cheeks. "There's a way
through," he said.