Autumn

‘But you never know, do you? Bloody hell, anything could happen. The only thing we can be certain about anymore is that fact that we can’t be sure of anything.’

Emma stood up and stretched.

‘Silly bugger,’ she smiled.

‘I know what you’re saying though,’ he continued as he gathered together his tools and began to pack them away. ‘If we stay here we could do pretty much anything. We could build a brick wall round the house if we wanted to. Really keep those bastards out.’

Emma didn’t respond. She stood at the top of the steps and looked down across the yard and out towards the rapidly darkening countryside.

‘Light’s fading,’ she mumbled. ‘Better get inside soon.’

‘I don’t think it makes much difference anymore,’ Michael said quietly, climbing the steps to stand next to her. ‘Doesn’t matter how dark it is, those bloody things just don’t stop. It might even be safer out here at night. At least they can’t see us when its dark.’

‘They can still hear us. Might even be able to smell us.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said again, looking into her face. ‘They can’t get to us.’

Emma nodded and turned to walk inside. Michael followed her through into the house.

‘Carl’s in, isn’t he?’ he asked as he pushed the door shut.

Emma looked puzzled.

‘Of course he’s in. He hasn’t been out of his bloody bedroom for days. Where else do you think he’s going to be?’

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘Don’t know. He might have gone out back. Just thought I’d check.’

She shook her head and leant against the hall wall. The house was dark. The generator hadn’t yet been started.

‘Take it from me,’ she said, her voice tired and low, ‘he’s inside. I looked up at the window and saw him earlier. He was there again with those bloody binoculars, face pressed against the glass. Christ alone knows what he was looking at.’

‘Do you think he’s all right?’

Emma sighed at Michael’s question. It was painfully obvious to her that Carl was far from all right. It was equally obvious that his temperament and stability appeared to be wavering more and more unsteadily each day.

Michael sensed her frustration.

‘He’ll come through this,’ he said optimistically. ‘Give him time and he’ll get over everything that’s happened.’

‘Do you really think so?’ Emma asked.

Michael thought for a moment.

‘Yes… why, don’t you?’

She shrugged her shoulders and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Don’t know. He’s really suffering, that much I’m sure about.’

‘We’ve all suffered.’

‘I know that. Bloody hell, we’ve had this conversation again and again. He lost more than we did. You and I lived on our own. He shared every second of every day with his partner and child.’

‘I know, but…’

‘But I’m not sure if you do. I’m not sure if I fully understand how much he’s hurting. I don’t think I ever will.’

Michael was begi

He watched as Emma took off her coat, hung it up in the hallway and then lit a candle and walked upstairs.

Left alone in the darkness, Michael listened to the sounds of the creaking old house. A strong wind had begun to blow outside and he could hear the first few spots of a heavy shower of rain hitting the kitchen window. In cold isolation he thought more about Carl and, as he did, so his frustration and concern continued to increase. It wasn’t just about Carl, he decided. The well-being of each of the survivors was of paramount importance to all of them. Life was becoming increasingly dangerous by the day and they couldn’t afford to take any chances. They all needed to be pulling in the same direction in order to continue to survive. For the first time since this had all begun it had stopped happening. It was begi

He knew that they were going to have to pull him into line.

Carl was their glass jaw. He was fast becoming their Achilles heel and every time they left the safety of the house he was dangerously exposed.

30

The earlier wind and rain had quickly developed into a howling storm. By half-past ten the isolated farm was being battered by a furious gale which tore through the tops of the surrounding trees and rattled and shook sections of the hastily constructed barrier around the building. Constant floods of driving, torrential rain lashed down from the ominous, swirling clouds overhead, turning the once gently trickling stream beside the house into a wild torrent of white water.

For the first time in several days the survivors had started up the generator. It had seemed sensible to presume that the noise of the squally weather would drown out the constant mechanical thump of the machinery. Sick of sitting in darkness, Michael had decided that it was worth taking the risk for a little comfort.

Relatively relaxed and oblivious to the appalling conditions outside, Michael, Emma and Carl sat in the living room together watching a video in the warmth of an open fire. Michael was quickly bored by the video – a badly dubbed martial arts film which he’d seen several times since they’d taken it from the supermarket in Byster – and yet he was pleased to be sitting where he was. Whilst what remained of the population suffered outside, he was warm, dry and well fed. Even Carl had been tempted down from the attic. Their evening together had provided a brief but much needed respite from the alternating pressure and boredom of what remained of their lives.

Emma found it hard to watch the film. Not just because it was one of the worst films she’d ever had the misfortune to see, but also because it aroused a number of unexpected and uncomfortable emotions within her. Whilst doing a good job of distracting her from everything that was happening around her for a time, the film also reminded her of the life she used to lead. She couldn’t really identify with anything – the characters, their accents, the locations, the plot and the incidental music all seemed alien – and yet at the same time it was all instantly familiar and safe. In a scene depicting a car chase through busy Hong Kong streets she found herself watching the people in the background going about their everyday business instead of the violent physical action taking place in the foreground. She watched the people with a degree of envy. How novel and unexpected it was to see a clean city and to see individuals moving around with reason and purpose and acting and reacting with each other. Emma also felt a cold unease in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t help but look into the faces of each one of the actors and think about what might have happened to them in the years since the film had been made. She saw hundreds of different people – each one with their own unique identity, family and life – and she knew that virtually all of them would by now be dead.

The end of the film was rapidly approaching, and a huge set-piece battle between the hero and villain was imminent. The filmmakers were less than subtle in their attention grabbing techniques. The main character had driven into a vast warehouse and now found himself alone. The lighting was sparse and moody and the overly dramatic orchestral soundtrack was building to an obvious crescendo. Then the music stopped suddenly and, as the hero of the film waited for his opponent to appear, the house became silent.

Emma jumped out of her seat.

‘What’s the matter?’ Michael asked, immediately concerned.