Autumn: Disintegration (16 page)

“No one’s trying to force you to do anything, Caron,” Jas said, his voice a little calmer, quieter and less emotional than the others. “All we’re saying is that we can’t afford to take Ellie with us. If you want to stay here and nurse her then that’s up to you.”

Caron didn’t answer at first. She stared angrily into the darkness, her mind filled with so many painful thoughts and impossible decisions that she couldn’t make sense of any of it.

“When did you last check on her?” Lorna asked. Again, Caron didn’t answer. She tried asking another question. “Have you seen her this evening? Did you go up there after the bodies first got through this morning?”

“I haven’t seen her for hours,” Caron eventually replied, having to force herself to spit the words out. “I haven’t seen her since early this morning.”

“Why not? I thought you’d—”

“I’m too scared,” she admitted. “I don’t want to go in there anymore after what happened to Anita, all right? I don’t want to catch what she’s got.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Harte said under his breath as Caron’s sobbing filled the room.

“The longer we leave this, the worse it’s going to get,” Jas said. “If the germs don’t get us then those bastards outside will. Look what they did to Stokes.”

“Poor bastard didn’t know they were there until they’d got him,” Webb said from where he’d been sitting on the floor next to the arm of the sofa. He swallowed hard and hoped that the others were sufficiently wrapped up with their own problems not to notice his sudden nervousness.

“You’re right,” Hollis agreed. “We’ve all seen it. Their behavior is changing. They’re more aggressive, and they’re working together.”

“So where would we go?” Gordon asked, begrudgingly beginning to accept that leaving now looked like their only option. Silence.

“In the summer,” Driver suddenly announced, “I used to drive the two-twenty-two out of Catsgrove.”

“Fuck me, Driver,” Harte gasped. “I didn’t even know you were in here!”

“He’s always in here,” Lorna muttered angrily. “Lazy bastard never goes anywhere else.”

“What were you saying?” Hollis asked, trying to pick out Driver in the darkness.

“I used to drive the two-twenty-two,” he repeated. “Day trips to the coast.”

“What? You want to go to the seaside? You’re a fucking idiot,” Webb cursed.

“On the A197 out of town,” he continued, unfazed, “you pass this bloody huge exhibition center. Make a good place to go, that would. Out in the country. Loads of space. Nothing else for miles.”

The room was suddenly, completely silent. Even Caron had stopped crying to listen to Driver and think about his suggestion. Hollis wondered why he’d waited until now to speak up. Whatever the reason, he was glad that Driver finally had.

22

After a sleepless night and an hour spent collecting her belongings from her flat, Caron climbed the stairs to the room where Ellie laid. Her nervousness increased with each step she took. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to be coerced into doing this. She clutched a polyethylene bag full of drugs in her hand but didn’t know whether she’d be able to use them. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to go into Ellie’s room this morning. The stench had been appalling when she’d last checked on her. She’d made a halfhearted attempt to clean her up but the mess had been too severe. Ellie’s bedding was heavily soiled but, as Hollis had pointed out, the poor girl was bound to be long past the point of caring now. It would have caused her more distress to get her up and clean her than to leave her lying in her own shit.

The cold wind blew through an empty window frame, gusting into Caron’s face like a slap across the cheek. She walked down the final long, dark corridor and reached the door to Ellie’s flat. She was too scared to go in, too scared to stand outside and too scared to go back downstairs without having seen her. She could hear the others out in the car park, loading their supplies into the bus and one of the vans. She didn’t want to leave, but she definitely didn’t want to stay either. When she’d looked out the window first thing this morning the barrier at the foot of the hill had all but disappeared, obscured from view by hundreds of bodies which had managed to drag themselves across during the long hours of the night just ended. Only the steep slope had so far prevented them from getting any farther.

Closing her eyes and struggling to hold her nerve, Caron cautiously pushed the door open and looked inside. No movement. No sound. She tiptoed into the flat and peered through the bedroom door. Still no movement. Christ, the smell was worse than she remembered: the stagnant stench of sweat, vomit, and excretion mixing with the ever-present wafts of death and decay drifting in from outside. Was Ellie dead? She wasn’t moving. Maybe it would be better for all concerned if she’d gone in her sleep. Caron took a few steps farther into the bedroom, the drugs gripped tightly in one hand, a handkerchief held over her mouth and nose with the other.

“Ellie,” she whispered lightly. “Ellie, honey, are you awake?”

Ellie still wasn’t moving. Caron crept a little closer, not wanting to get too near. Her foot kicked Ellie’s doll, sending it spinning across the floor. She cringed at the noise and squinted into the darkness. Ellie was on her side with her back to her and her torso uncovered. She still couldn’t see any movement. Was she breathing? Maybe she should try and touch her and check for a pulse or—

“Jesus!” she screamed with surprise as Ellie threw herself over onto her back with a sudden, painful groan of effort. Caron immediately felt disappointed that she was still alive, and then felt massive guilt that she’d actually wished the girl dead. She wasn’t sure whether it was because she’d hoped she’d been put out of her misery, or whether it was because she didn’t want to have to do it for her.

Ellie groaned again, half-opened her eyes and mumbled something unintelligible. Without realizing she was doing it, Caron backed away.

“I’ll get you some water,” she whispered, her eyes filled with stinging tears. She went through into Ellie’s living room and found a half-empty plastic water bottle sitting on a windowsill. Unable to take her eyes off the girl’s bedroom door, she crushed as many pills and capsules as she could manage, added them to the water and shook the bottle. For half a second she considered drinking it herself. That was stupid. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that. She looked at the bottle in her hand and wondered whether it would actually have any effect at all. Would it just make Ellie even more ill? Caron didn’t seem to be able to look after anyone anymore—would she be any better at killing them? She’d lost her son, then Anita, and now Ellie … What kind of a mother had she turned out to be?

Despite being high up, she could hear the others outside again, and that forced her into action. She wasn’t sure what she wanted any more but she definitely didn’t want to be left here. With nervous determination she walked purposefully into Ellie’s room, ready to get her to take the drugs. But she couldn’t do it. She found Ellie lying motionless on her back again, naked and soaked with sweat, staring up at the ceiling with wide, vacant eyes. Caron knew what she had to do, but she just couldn’t do it.

“Ellie, sweetheart,” she said quietly, gingerly putting her hand on the girl’s cold shoulder and shaking her slightly. “Take this, it’ll make you feel better.”

She raised the water bottle to Ellie’s chapped lips but couldn’t make her drink. In desperation she began to pour it into Ellie’s open mouth, but most of it simply ran down her cheek and onto the already drenched bedding. She didn’t even react to the temperature of the water. Caron knew she was as good as dead already.

The easiest option—the cowardly option—was to put the bottle in her hand and leave.

With tears running down her face, that was exactly what Caron did.

23

The barrier at the base of the hill had gone now, swallowed up by an unstoppable yet slow-moving tide of cold, dead flesh. Thousands of restless bodies, pushed ever forward by thousands more, had surged silently over the vehicles and rubble through the night. The stronger cadavers—those which had somehow so far avoided suffering any major physical damage—now crushed their weaker brethren beneath their rotting feet. The fetid remains of countless fallen figures had pooled and been compressed over time, allowing other corpses to trample over them and use them like an access ramp to scramble up over the blockade, following the lead of others. Whether driven by curiosity, fear, instinct, or hate it didn’t matter, they were moving ever closer to the living. And, as Hollis, Harte, and several of the others had noticed, while now compromised and able to allow bodies in, their barrier also acted like a valve, preventing those creatures inside from getting back out. Although none of them had, as yet, managed to climb the hill, it was inevitable that they would. Staying put and doing nothing was no longer an option.

Driver folded up his tattered newspaper and shoved it into the gap behind the steering wheel of the bus. He leaned out of his cab and watched as Jas and Harte struggled to load up the last few bags and boxes. They were already out of breath, having just stowed Jas’s bike in the back of the van after he’d decided he’d be safer traveling on four wheels with the others.

“You could get off your backside and help if you wanted to,” Harte sneered sarcastically.

“You’ve almost done it now,” Driver mumbled.

“Thanks for nothing,” he said as he stormed back off the bus. Harte’s bad mood was worsened not only by the panic and concern they all felt this morning, but also by the fact that they had managed to pack pretty much everything they owned into the bus and one van and there was still plenty of space to spare. They’d even decided to leave the other van behind. It was unreliable and had an oil leak, and the truth of the matter was they just didn’t need it. He suddenly felt hopelessly underprepared and ill-equipped for life away from the flats.

Hollis was walking away from the tall gray building, his arm around Caron’s shoulder. Gordon followed close behind looking typically awkward and uncomfortable. Jas moved to one side to let the three of them onto the bus. He waited for Caron and Gordon to disappear upstairs before speaking to Hollis.

“What happened in there?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” he replied abruptly. “Don’t want to ask. Are we ready to go?”

“Think so.”

“Reckon she did it?” Harte whispered.

“Did what?”

“Finished her off?”

“Christ, you’re an insensitive prick,” Hollis said. “For Ellie’s sake I hope she did.”

“I’m not insensitive,” Harte protested. “I just want to know what happened.”

“Doesn’t matter what she—” Jas began.

“Just leave it,” Hollis interrupted. “We need to get going. Are you ready?” he asked, looking at Driver, who nodded but didn’t answer. Hollis got off the bus and jogged over to the van where Lorna and Webb were waiting for him. He climbed in and started the engine, keen to get moving.

“I reckon we should torch this place before we go,” Webb suggested, sitting in the back of the van behind the other two.

“What good’s that going to do?” Lorna asked.

“You’re a fucking pyromaniac,” Hollis said sadly, shaking his head in despair.

“I’m not, I just think—”

“No, you don’t,” Lorna yelled at him angrily, sounding unexpectedly furious, “and that’s the problem. You don’t think at all. You just bulldoze and bullshit your way through everything. Ellie is dying in there, and we’re leaving her behind. Isn’t that enough for you? Do you want to make sure you finish the job off by burning her to death? Christ, do you know what I—”

“Will you both just shut up!” Hollis shouted, slamming his fist down on the steering wheel. “Bickering like a pair of fucking five-year-olds. Just shut up!”

He swung the van around in a wide circle, then waited for Driver to line himself up behind. One last look at the dead—the farthest forward of them now beginning to creep slowly up the hill—then one last look at the towering gray block of flats, the closest thing he’d had to home since they’d all lost everything weeks ago. Strangest thing was, he felt worse about leaving this place today than he had when he’d last walked out of his house the day his world had fallen apart back in September. Staying there had never been an option. It had been full of memories of people, places, and everything else he’d lost. For a while, though, these damp and uncomfortable flats had given them all some security and a base from which they could try and rebuild their lives. All gone now. With Lorna and Webb still arguing he put his foot down and drove away.

*   *   *

Gordon pressed his face up against the glass, feeling his whole body shake with every rattling movement of the bus as it weaved through the carnage on the roads leading away from the flats. He sat on the backseat of the top floor. Caron sat opposite, her back to him, staring out the window on the other side. Harte was three seats in front, Jas another five seats ahead of him. Given the limited confines of their transport, they couldn’t have been much more spread out, not that this was unusual. Gordon used to travel by bus regularly and he considered it an unwritten rule to put as much distance as you could between yourself and any strangers. Today, however, these people kept their distance to avoid sharing their fears and concerns. A couple of days ago everything had been relatively okay. How had it all gone so wrong so quickly? Gordon glanced over at Caron. What was she thinking? She still had a plastic bag full of pills gripped tight in her hand. Who were they for? Had she not given any to Ellie? Did she intend taking them herself? Surely things couldn’t be that bad, could they?

Driver swerved left then right to avoid the blackened remains of a smaller bus which straddled the carriageway, dead passengers still visible inside. His own passengers were momentarily shunted up into the air as the cumbersome vehicle clattered up the curb then back down again. The sudden, jarring movement threw Gordon to the side and he banged his head against the glass. He rubbed the bump, closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate on the sound of the engine. Unexpectedly, and just for the slightest of seconds, everything felt reassuringly familiar. Just for a moment he allowed himself to believe that instead of driving away from the silent, skeletal remains of the city where he’d lived all his life, he was actually on his way home from work. He tried to convince himself that if he opened his eyes he’d see the comforting, familiar sights of his daily commute again. Any moment now the bus would slow down then stop as they joined the snaking queue of traffic escaping the city center. If he looked outside he’d see hundreds of people all making their way back home like him. Another fifteen minutes’ drive and he’d reach his stop. A ten-minute walk after that and he’d be home. What would Janice be cooking for him tonight? A piece of fish or a chop with chips? His mouth began watering at the thought of it. Christ, he hoped she hadn’t been experimenting. He hated it when she cooked what he called “exotic” dinners. He didn’t like pasta or rice or curries or anything like that, but he always forced himself to eat it. Maybe he’d have to do his usual trick and take the dog for a long walk tonight. One of those walks that involved stopping off for a burger and eating it on his way back through the park …