Autumn

‘Sit down,’ Philip said as he closed the door behind them and ushered them both into the living room. ‘Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable.’

Emma glanced down at the sofa next to her and decided to remain standing. It was covered with crumpled food wrappers, crumbs and other, less easily identifiable rubbish.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked politely. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so surprised to see you both. When I heard the noise of your engines I thought that…’

His words faded in volume as he disappeared into the kitchen to fetch drinks (despite neither of the survivors having taken him up on his offer). Glad to be alone for a moment, Michael seized the opportunity to speak privately to Emma.

‘So what do you think?’ he whispered.

‘About what?’ she replied.

‘About him,’ he hissed. ‘What do you think we should do?’

She thought for a moment. She knew what she had to say but didn’t particularly want to say it.

‘He’s a survivor and we should offer to take him with us,’ she said with obvious reluctance.

‘But…?’ he pressed, sensing that she wasn’t telling him everything.

‘But look at the state of this place,’ she continued, gesturing at their cold and stale surroundings. ‘Christ, this house is disgusting. It’s making me feel sick just standing here, and by the look of him he’s bound to be contagious, isn’t he?’

‘We don’t know that for certain, do we?’ Michael argued despite the fact that he agreed with her completely. ‘We’ve got to try and do something for him, haven’t we?’

She nodded dejectedly and then changed the sour expression on her face as Philip returned to the room, still talking.

‘…and after that when we couldn’t find him we decided that something was definitely wrong,’ he babbled, his voice tired. The little man paused and stood still to cough. It was a violent, hacking noise, like a smoker’s rasping early morning cough, and he struggled to catch his breath.

‘You all right?’ Michael asked.

Philip looked up and nodded, his face flushed and red.

‘Fine,’ he wheezed. ‘Just picked up a bit of an infection I think.’

He carried a circular metal tray which he put down on the table after brushing a layer of rubbish down onto the dirty carpet with a single sweep of his arm. He handed Emma a chipped mug and then passed one to Michael. Emma peered into her cup and sniffed it. It was undiluted lemon cordial. She glanced across at Michael who discreetly shook his head and gestured for her to put the mug down.

‘Do you know what’s happened?’ Philip asked.

‘Haven’t got a clue,’ Michael replied.

‘I searched the village but I couldn’t find anyone else alive. I can’t drive so I haven’t been able to get into town. I’ve just been stuck here waiting for someone to come,’ he stopped talking for a second and looked at Michael again. ‘Are you two from town? Are there many of you there?’

Emma answered.

‘We came here from Northwich just over a week ago,’ she replied. ‘And there are just the two of us now. We left a few people there but other than that we hadn’t seen anyone until we found you.’

Philip sank down into an armchair with an expression of bitter disappointment on his face.

‘That’s not good news,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve been stuck here waiting and I haven’t been able to do anything. My telephone’s not working and the electricity’s been cut off and…’

‘Philip,’ Michael interrupted, ‘just listen to me for a minute. Whatever happened here has happened right across the country as far as we know. Just about everyone is dead…’

‘I’ve seen some people,’ the little man whittered, not listening, ‘but they’re not right. They come when they hear me, but they’re sick. They bang on the door for hours trying to get inside but I just lock it and sit in the back room until they go.’

‘We think you should come with us,’ Michael continued. ‘We’re living in a farm house a few miles from here and we both think it would be better for you if you were to…’

Philip still wasn’t listening.

‘Do you know what makes them act like that? I really don’t like it. Mother’s not well and it upsets her when I tell her that…’

‘Your mother’s here as well?’ Emma asked.

‘Of course she is,’ he replied.

‘She can come with us,’ Michael offered. ‘We should get your things together and get out of here as quickly as we can.’

‘She won’t like leaving,’ Philip mumbled, ‘she’s lived here since she and Dad got married.’

‘Maybe you’ll be able to come back,’ Emma said, sensing that Michael was keen to get moving and doing her best to sensitively persuade Philip to leave.

Philip thought for a moment and then nodded.

‘You’re right,’ he finally said. ‘It’s probably for the best if we all stick together. I’ll go and tell Mum.’

With that he turned and walked towards a door in the corner of the room. Beyond the door was a narrow, twisting staircase which he began to climb. Emma instinctively followed but Michael stopped her.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Let me go first.’

Philip was already at the top of the stairs waiting breathlessly. As Michael approached he lifted a single finger to his chapped lips.

‘Be quiet please,’ he whispered. ‘Mum’s found all of this a little hard to deal with and I don’t want to frighten her. She’s very old and she’s not been well these last few months.’

Michael nodded and managed a half-smile despite the fact that the air at the top of the stairs was rancid and he could clearly hear the ominous humming of germ-carrying flies close nearby.

Philip pushed the door open slightly and stuck his head into his mother’s room. He stopped and turned back to face the other two.

‘Give me a minute with her, will you?’ he asked.

He disappeared into the room and pushed the door shut behind him but Michael followed immediately. Philip didn’t notice.

‘Mum,’ he said softly as he crouched down at the side of the bed. ‘Mum, there are some people here who can help us. We’re going to go back with them for a few days until things settle down again.’

Michael stood a short distance behind Philip. Emma cautiously entered the room and walked over to stand next to him. He leant down and grabbed hold of her arm. With tension and fear obvious in his voice he hissed at her to quickly go back downstairs.

‘Why?’ she quietly asked. She took a single step forward to get a better view of Philip’s mother and then covered her mouth with horror and disgust. Mrs Evans’ skin was discoloured and decayed, her hair lank and greasy. Flies buzzed around her decomposing flesh and were feeding on her constantly writhing body. Michael walked up to the bed and pulled back the soiled sheets which covered the old lady. Ignoring Philip’s protestations he stared down at her emaciated body. She was tied to the bed with strong ropes which were stretched tight across her stained night-dress. She’d been dead since the first morning.

‘I had to tie her down,’ Philip stammered anxiously. ‘She wouldn’t stay in bed. When the doctor saw her last he said she had to stay in bed until she was better…’

‘Philip,’ he sighed, ‘your mum’s dead.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ the little man scoffed, laughing with disbelief. ‘How can she be dead? She’s not well, that’s all. Bloody hell, how can she be dead you daft bugger?’

‘This has happened to millions of people, Philip,’ Emma said, fighting to keep control of her nerves and her stomach. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but most of the people who…’

‘Dead people can’t move,’ he shouted, resting his hand on his mother’s shoulder. ‘How can she be dead if she’s moving? Answer me that?’

‘Living people don’t rot,’ Michael replied. ‘Now your choice is simple, either come with us now and leave her here, or you both stay.’

‘I can’t go without Mum,’ he wailed. ‘I can’t leave her here on her own, can I?’

Michael took hold of Emma’s arm and gently pushed her back towards the stairs.