Autumn

During the hours they spent together, Emma and Michael learnt about each other’s strengths, weaknesses, hobbies, interests, phobias and (now pointless) aspirations and ambitions. They talked about their favourite books, films, records, televisions programmes, concerts, musicians, actors, foods, politicians, authors and comedians. They learnt about other redundant aspects of each other’s lives – their religious beliefs, their political views and their moral standings.

They finally made their way up to the bedroom they i

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Carl spent many hours during the days which followed shut away in isolation in his attic bedroom. There hadn’t seemed to be much point in coming out. What was there to do? Sure he could talk to Michael and Emma, but why bother? Every conversation, no matter how it began, seemed to end with the three of them each drowning privately in complete and absolute negativity. They either ended up talking about how little they had left or how much they had lost. It hurt Carl too much to talk anymore. He decided that it was easiest for all concerned if he just didn’t bother.

His bedroom was wide and spacious, spa

Although twee and old-fashioned, the bedroom seemed to have been recently used. When they’d first arrived there Carl had decided that it had been used as a temporary base for a visiting grandchild, perhaps sent to the countryside to spend his or her final summer holiday on the farm. The furniture was sparse – a single bed, a double wardrobe, a chest of drawers, two brightly painted stools, a bookcase and a battered but comfortable sofa. On top of the wardrobe Carl had found a wooden box containing a collection of toys, some old books and a pair of binoculars which, once he’d cleaned the lenses, he had used to watch the world outside his window slowly rot and decay.

It was approaching half-past three in the afternoon and he could hear Emma and Michael working outside in the yard. He felt absolutely no guilt at not being out there with them because he couldn’t see any point in anything that they were doing. He was happy to sit back and do nothing. Okay it was boring, but what else was there to do? Nothing seemed to be worth any risk or effort.

He didn’t even know for sure what day it was.

He sat on a stool near to the window and, for a couple of seconds, tried to work out whether it was Friday, Saturday or Sunday. Back when life had been ‘normal’ and he’d been at work, each day had its own ‘feel’ and atmosphere – the week would begin with the dragging purgatory that was Monday morning and then slowly improve as Friday evening and the weekend approached. None of that seemed to matter anymore. Each new day was the same as the last. Yesterday was as frustrating, dull, grey and pointless as tomorrow would surely also be.

Today – whatever day it was – had been fairly warm and clear for the time of year. Perched on one of the wooden stools with the binoculars held up to his eyes he had been able to see for miles across rolling fields. The world was so still and free of distractions that, even from a distance, he could make out minute detail such as the dramatic tower and steeple of a far-off church. As the sun began to slowly fade below the horizon he watched as the colour faded from the steeple and it became an inky dark shape silhouetted against the light purples and blues of the early evening sky. Strange, he thought, how it all looked so calm and peaceful. Underneath the cover of apparent normality the world was filled with death, disease and destruction. Even the greenest and purest, seemingly untouched fields were breeding grounds filled with fermenting disease and devastation.

A short distance before the church Carl could see a straight length of road lined on either side with narrow cottages and shops. The stillness of the scene was suddenly disrupted when a scrawny dog ran into view. The nervous creature slowed down and crept breathlessly along the road, keeping its nose, tail and belly low and sniffing bodies and other piles of rubbish as it moved, obviously hunting for food. As Carl watched the dog stopped moving. It lifted its muzzle and sniffed the rancid air. It moved its head slowly (obviously following some out of view movement) and then cowered away from something in the shadows. The dog jumped up and began to bark furiously. Carl couldn’t hear it, but he could tell from its defensive body position and the repeated angry jerks of its head that it was in danger. Within seconds of the first sound the dog had attracted the attention of some fourteen bodies. With a vicious, instinctive intent and a new found speed, they surrounded the helpless creature and set upon it. Between them the corpses tore the animal limb from limb.

Even after all that he had seen – the destruction, the carnage and the loss of thousands of lives – this sudden and unexpected attack shocked Carl. The bodies were becoming more alert and more deadly with each passing day. They now seemed to be grouping together and moving in packs, animal instinct driving them on.

He couldn’t understand why Michael and Emma were bothering to make such an effort to survive. The odds were stacked against them. Where was the point in trying to carve out a future existence when it was so obviously a pointless task? Everything was ruined. It was over. So why couldn’t they just accept it and see the truth like he could? Why continue to make such a fucking noise about nothing?

Carl knew that there would never be a salvation or escape from this vicious, tortured world and all he wanted to do was just stop and switch off. He wanted to let down his guard for a while and not have to look constantly over his shoulder. In the dark hours he spent alone he came to the conclusion that he’d never again find such peace until his life was over. But even death no longer brought with it any certainty.

Outside in the enclosed area in front of the house Michael was working on the van. He had checked the tyres, the oil, the water level and just about everything else he could think of checking. The importance of the van to them could not be overestimated – without it they would be stranded. Without it they would be trapped at Pe

‘Next time we’re out we should get another one of these,’ Michael said as he ran his hands along the buckled driver’s side wing of the van. He made it sound as if they could just run down to the shops when they next felt like it. His casual tone completely belied the reality of their situation.

‘Makes sense,’ Emma agreed. She was sitting on the stone steps leading up to the front door. She’d been sitting there for the last hour and a half, just watching as Michael had worked.

‘Perhaps we should try and get something a little less refined,’ he continued. ‘This thing has been fine, but if you think about it, we need something that’s going to get us out of any situation. If we’re somewhere and the roads are blocked, chances are we’ll need to find another way to get away. We could end up driving through fields or…’

‘I can’t see us leaving here much. Only to get food or…’