Autumn

46

Quarter to ten.

Michael was sitting in a chair in the corner of the bedroom with his eyes closed. He was tired and he needed to rest but there was no way he could sleep, not even for a second.

Emma sat on the edge of the bed where Carl still lay. She had taken care to position herself so that even though it was dark, she could still clearly see both men. She watched them anxiously in the dull light, waiting either for Michael to open his eyes and decide that they should move or for Carl to return to full consciousness. She was a little less worried about Carl now. He seemed much calmer. He was generally still and quiet, but his face now seemed relatively untroubled, almost to the point of appearing relaxed.

Taking care not to make any more noise than was absolutely necessary, she stood up and walked over to the window. Peering down cautiously into the yard below she saw that the seething mass of dark, heaving bodies remained. An apparently endless sea of bobbing, rotting heads. Hundreds and hundreds of them clamoured to get closer to the house and their sheer number was still the overriding concern because, individually, the corpses were slow and dumb. While she watched she saw five or six of them lose their footing on the muddy bank and tumble helplessly into the stream, unable to get up and get out again. She saw another one of them become caught on the jagged remains of one of the gateposts on the bridge, trapped and unable to move. The remnants of its ragged clothing had become snagged on a large wooden splinter but it couldn’t see how to pull itself free.

There was another reason why the bodies terrified her.

It was more than just their horrific appearance and the fact that their rotting flesh was host to many unknown and deadly diseases. Emma was morbidly fascinated and repulsed by the creatures because, less than a month ago, each one of them had been like herself. An individual. A person. A human being with a clear and identifiable personality and individual tastes, skills and beliefs. What scared Emma – what chilled her to the core in fact – was what these once ordinary, normal people had become. Chances were many of her friends and family had gone the same way. And who was to say that when she died, she too wouldn’t spend the rest of eternity dragging her decomposing body aimlessly around their dead world?

One or two of the bodies weren’t a threat. A group of between, say, ten and fifteen was a concern, but nothing they couldn’t deal with. But in the cold darkness outside the farmhouse tonight there she could see hundreds upon fucking hundreds of them.

‘No better?’ an unexpected voice asked from the shadows behind her, startling her momentarily. She span around quickly. It was Michael. He was up and out of his seat.

‘They’re still here,’ she replied with her heart thumping anxiously in her chest. ‘They’re still coming.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice low, sensing that he’d startled her. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump.’

She nodded and turned back to look out of the window again.

‘Do you think they know we’re in here?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I think they sense that there’s something different about us. It might just be because of the noise we make, it might be because of the way we move…’

‘But what do they want from us?’

‘I don’t think they want anything.’

‘So why are they here?’

‘Instinct.’

‘Instinct?’

‘Yes. Like I said, we’re different, that’s all. Whatever’s left of their brains is telling them we’re not the same as they are and they’re drawn to us. I don't think they mean us any harm, they just want to know what we are. If they react towards one of us, it’s because they’re looking out for their own safety.’

‘They think we’re a threat?’

‘I think so, yes.’

Michael took another few steps closer to Emma and gently put his arms around her. For a second she involuntarily recoiled at his touch. She meant nothing by her response. She wanted to be close to him but, at the same time, she wanted to be alone. Truth was she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.

‘I’m okay,’ she replied, turning round to face him but not quite managing to make eye contact. ‘I’m just tired,’ she mumbled, ‘that’s all.’

‘Sure?’ he pressed, not convinced.

She shook her head and her eyes filled with stinging tears.

‘No,’ she finally admitted, reaching out and grabbing tight hold of him. She pulled him closer and buried her face in his chest. ‘I don’t think we’re ever going to get away from this house.’

‘It’s going to be okay,’ he said instinctively and without any degree of conviction in his words.

‘You keep saying that,’ she sobbed. ‘You keep saying that but you don’t know if it’s true, do you?’

She was right. Michael knew as much and decided that it was better to say nothing. Still holding onto Emma tightly, he shuffled closer to the window and peered outside. As she’d already suggested, nothing out there seemed to have changed.

‘Come on, we’ve got to go,’ he a

‘What?’ Emma protested, pushing herself away from him. ‘What the hell are you talking about. We’re not ready to go yet…’

‘It’s not going to get any better,’ he said, his voice surprisingly calm and unemotional. ‘We could wait here for months but we’d be fooling ourselves if we think it’s ever going to get easier.’

‘But what about Carl?’ she nervously snapped. ‘We can’t leave here until he’s…’

‘You’re making excuses,’ Michael sighed. ‘We’ve both been making fucking excuses all night. We’ve just got to do it.’

She knew he was right and didn’t bother to argue. Truth was they had both been avoiding the inevitable. But suddenly Michael seemed determined to make a move, and she watched him with quickly mounting trepidation. There was a new found concentration and direction in his voice which she understood but which also frightened and disturbed her. She knew that this really was it. She knew Michael was right and that leaving was their only chance, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept or to deal with. She watched as he pulled a thick jumper over his head and tightened the laces on his boots.

Michael looked up and noticed the concern on her face.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

She nodded quickly but it was impossible to hide her fear. Her legs were heavy with nerves. She could hardly breathe.

‘Look, I’m going to try and start the generator,’ he continued. ‘There are fewer of them out the back and…’

‘What, only five hundred instead of a thousand?’

‘There are fewer of them,’ he continued. ‘I’ll see if the noise will distract them.’

With admirable strength Michael seemed to have switched off his emotions and was concentrating all his attention and effort on the task immediately to hand. He walked towards the door and then stopped and turned back to face Emma. He looked ready to say something to her but didn’t.

‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘No,’ he replied with brutal honesty, ‘but I can’t think of any other option. Now do me a favour will you and try and get Carl to wake up. Get him ready to leave. As soon as I’m back inside we’ll have to go for it.’

With that he turned and disappeared into the darkness leaving Emma alone, staring into the space where he had just been, trying desperately to make sense of the sudden confusion all around her.

Michael crept down the staircase, frightened that even the slightest noise might have a devastating effect on the vast crowd outside the house. Perhaps even something as insignificant as stepping on a loose, creaking floorboard would be the final straw that might whip the rotting masses into the frenzy that could see them forcing their way into the house.