Harold thumped the driving wheel. The car wouldn’t start, so we grabbed our most precious things and got out. There was nothing else to do. I wheeled Edward out of the back and I remember thinking
how the end of the world had finally arrived this day. I saw three of those dead things watching us. Harold gripped a baseball bat and Eleanor our hatchet. Juliana carried our biggest kitchen knife. I had a small knife in my pocket and nothing else, except Edward, the most defenceless of us.
An ocean of cars swam before my eyes, filling the space between us and the shopping centre.
Harold suggested we head to the right rather than past the cars where anything could hide. We moved as fast as we could. I pushed Edward, wishing I had more energy. In the end Juliana took over, being much stronger than I. We swapped knives and made our way. There was a strange aroma in the air. I now know it to be the scent of the dead. They smell of death, like rotting animals. It made me nauseous, but I became barely conscious of it. My heart roared in my ears, beating a rhythm to the sound of my feet.
We made our way swiftly past the monsters in the gardens of the houses, amid twitches of curtains and murmurs in the air that sounded like the sea but with a bass tone. I now recognise
it as the death song: the hunger of the dead.
We turned up London Street. I remember it well. Engraved on my mind it is. Towards the end the shopping centre stretched up in
view – our salvation – and my heart leapt, but hope soon drained away when I noticed the entrance blocked by the dead. I could have cried on the spot, yet I needed to stay strong. Eleanor moved between me and the monsters while Harold shifted alongside Juliana and Edward. The mall was not an option. I expected to see police, army or security guards, but saw none. Where were they? Only monsters lingered here and they sensed us in no time at all.
We ran.
Ahead, we crossed the A329, the only route past the shopping centre, hoping to spot another entrance. I feared cars would mow us down, but only five passed us by. Unlike the driver who had rammed us, they slowed down or swerved to make way. We ran while the dead followed. Their deathly song rose all around us and the smell of decay gathered like a fog.
I found myself deafened to everything, drifting in a world that seemed to have been muted. All I could hear was white nois
e in my ears, my heart pounding and my breath coming in sore gasps. I gradually slowed to a jog, yearning to be able to stop altogether. When I eventually did, all energy spent, Harold grabbed my arm and dragged me along. Eleanor grabbed the other. Harold wanted to carry me, yet I refused to slow him down.
Then they surged at us from the ot
her side. Ambushed.
Harold fought with the baseball bat. It had no effect on the gruesome creature until it fell and he crushed its skull. I watched as all sensation died in my body. Juliana hacked away with her knife and Eleanor with the hatchet. She sheered the arms off one corpse and
crushed its head. Blood, brains, the cracking of bone… Screeches filled my head but did not escape my lips. I struggled to shield Edward, my defenceless son.
Harold’s mouth widened in front of me. Words
were said that I could not hear. Juliana fell. Teeth, I remember teeth. Biting. Snapping. And blood. Crimson rose like water all around me. Gurgling noises left Edward as the thing tore into him. Screams ripped through the air, mixing with the most hideous howls. Then I was stumbling, running. Running? I fled while my son shrieked in pain. How could I? But I did not, I remember now: it was Harold and Eleanor who dragged me away.
Fingers
swiped at my back, at my arms. I see their eyes, so empty and streaked with red; hear their groans amid the shrieks. And then Eleanor was gone, sucked away among the grey corpses, pushing them back so we could escape. My daughter’s sacrifice…
My mind goes blank.
I remember the river, The Kennett, and a boat full of things, as though its owners had just stepped away; such colourful objects. Shock held me frigid, clutching me in its icy throes. I was not myself.
We will stay on this boat, Harold told me. This will be our safe place. Try to forget, he said, as though forgetting was an option.
I stared into oblivion and the silent face of death, tasted his dank breath and wished he would steal me away. Endless torment sounded delicious to me, for I did not deserve to live. Yet Harold told me otherwise. I remember believing him cold, wondering who this man was who could say these things after what had happened to our children, but I know now that he did not forget. Crushed by grief, he needed to save someone. He only wanted me to live.
Somehow I did.
Somehow I pretended to be me.
Tuesday, 18
Marla hesitated outside th
e therapist’s office while she glanced up and down the corridor. If anyone appeared she would have to knock, but if nobody did, perhaps she could simply wander away quietly. Feeling like a naughty child about to be found out, she was almost afraid her breathing would signal her presence. Then she rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Come in!”
She almost jumped.
Discovered anyway!
Cursing her luck, Marla turned the metal handle and walked into the room. To her surprise it was painted the brightest of greens, reminiscent of blades of grass beneath strong sunlight. A deep blue rug covered most of the wooden floor. Bookcases swept across an entire wall, packed floor to ceiling with hardbacks. Either side of the single window, a pair of dark green curtains hung undrawn. There was also a matching sofa and two armchairs, upon one of which was perched a bearded man with long, grey hair tied back in a ponytail. He turned his head and gestured for her to take the other chair.
When Marla hesitated, he stood and offered his hand.
“I don’t bite,” he assured her. “My name is Doctor Arnold Baker, although you can call me Arnold.”
“For a second I thought you were going to say Arnie,” Marla quipped, “and
then I would’ve had to laugh.”
“Like the actor?” asked the man, visibly unamused.
“No, definitely not, please take a seat.”
Marla shook his
pasty hand and sat down. The chair was extremely comfortable, and part of her wanted to pick it up and leave.
“I see every newcomer,” Arnold explained
, stroking his beard, “so don’t think for a second that you’ve been singled out. Not to say you aren’t special, because everyone is, but this is routine.”
Marla shifted in her seat
awkwardly. She shoved each hand between the arms of the chair and her thighs, unsure which position was most comfortable. Outside the room would have been preferable.
“I
gathered from the forms you filled in that you travelled all the way up from London, and you were wandering around for quite a while,” said Arnold.
She nodded.
“Was it distressing for you?”
“Well...” She coughed. “Y
ou could say that.”
“Unbearable?”
“We got through it.”
“We
…?” Arnold pressed.
“Me, Ellen, Tommy…
”
“Ellen,
your sister?”
Marla nodded, thinking he must already know that
detail.
“
Are you close?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you always been?”
She bit her lip.
“Yes… no, not always, but we are now.”
“Why were you not
always
?”
“I wasn’t around
much when she was younger, but how is this relevant? I really don’t need to be here.”
Arnold looked
Marla directly in the eye and smiled, which unnerved her. He was too direct. “These are only routine questions,” he explained. “I need to check your state of mind; get an idea of how everyone is. You’ve all been through quite a lot.”
“I
know, I guess, but will this take long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“I see.”
“You don’t like
being asked questions?”
“I didn’t say I
minded
…”
“You’re quite defensive. How do my questions make you feel?”
Marla squirmed, wishing the chair had a launch-out-of-the-window button. “Erm, I don’t know. You’re asking them and I’ll answer. That’s it. I don’t feel anything in particular about it.”
“Right,” continued Arnold. “
Tommy, is he a person you have known for a while? Are you in a relationship?”
“Is
it really necessary,” Marla asked, leaning forwards, “to know about my relationships?”
“Only if you think it is.”
“We are
not
in a relationship and I don’t think it is any of your business. We’re old friends.”
“Right, so h
ow have the last few weeks affected this
friendship
and your relationship with your sister? Has it caused a strain?”
Marla shrugged. “No, I think
it’s brought us closer together.”
“Indeed. I imagine it would. Were you in any… how can I say this… dangerous situations?”
She looked him in the eye. “You’re asking if we had to fight for our lives and if we nearly died? Is that what you wish to know?”
The
therapist did not respond and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, and yes,
of course we were,” said Marla, losing her patience. “And, yes, I had to save my sister at times. I think you meant to ask that.”
“Do you feel a responsibility to protect her?”
“Of course; she’s my sister.”
“Do you put her safety
before your own?”
Marla
paused. “That’s a funny question.”
“
And what do you think about that?” asked Arnold, crossing his legs.
“Okay,
I guess I have put her safety first. I’m older than her and I’ve seen things she hasn’t. I can cope with them.”
“You’re talking about your experience
s in the army?”
“Yes,
how did you…?”
“
You wrote it on your form and we have to do background checks on everyone.”
Marla nodded. “Ah
.”
“Did you feel you were
back in the army over the last few weeks, on the front line, so to speak?”
“If you’re asking
me whether I got confused, no, I didn’t. It’s totally different. ”
“Alright,” said Arnold, writing something down
on his pad. “Have you been experiencing any stress or anxiety as a result of your experiences?”
Marla scraped her hair back off her face and sighed. “How do I answer that? Yes, it has been damn scary and I didn’t know if we’d get
through it, but we did and I feel okay. I can cope with a lot.”
“
Aha, but how about your sister?”
“She’s fine
too. You’d have to ask her, but from what I see she’s good. She coped better than I thought she would.”
“So you doubt
ed her strength?” Arnold pressed.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Alright. I saw on your file that you were discharged from the army.”
“I resigned
, but what has this got to do with anything? I thought this was going to be a friendly chat, not the Inquisition.”
“T
here is no reason to get defensive. These are routine questions.”
“Fine, but h
ow many more do you have?”
“Were you angry when you were discharged from the army?”
She sighed. “I resigned. I was innocent of what I was charged with, but I am
not
going to talk about it. You can read all about it in my file probably. I was angry, yeah. Did I do anything stupid? No. I accepted what happened and moved on.”
“Did you kill anyone during the last few weeks?”
Marla blinked in surprise. “What?”
“Did you have to kill anyone?” Arnold repeated, looking her in the eye.
She held his gaze for a second, debating how best to answer. Images of the men by the lock wandered through her head. “No,” she said, deliberately and slowly, “the dead-lookers aren’t alive.”
He smiled. “Is that
how you refer to the infected?”
“Yes. Is that meant to
reveal something about my state of mind?”
“P
robably not, Marla. Please remember we are on your side. I should tell you that you’ll need to have a medical. We need to know how healthy everyone is and if they have any requirements.”
She shrugged, weary of the questions.
“
How did you find quarantine?” he asked.
“
Nice. Good to sleep in peace and I relished the quiet. I read a lot.”
“Have you been finding it easy
to sleep, considering your experiences?”
“Yes, surprisingly,” Marla answered. “
The rest has done me good, I reckon, although I’m itching to do something rather than sitting around reading. I’m thinking of asking to join the guard.”
Arnold glanced up
from his notepad. “Why would you want to do that, after everything that has happened to you of late? Wouldn’t you rather relax where it’s safe?”
She grinned. “I’ll get ca
bin fever in here and the army is the only thing I’ve known. I was also a good soldier, as you probably know from my ‘background check’.”
“Yes, I did read
it all,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad to hear you are sleeping well and not experiencing anxiety. Those are the things we would like you to inform us of, because then we can help. You referred to cabin fever jokingly, but we take it seriously here at Haven, as most people will not leave its confines.”
Marla laughed. “
I’m still having the same old nightmares, but nothing else. I know the dead-lookers can’t get in the building, so I can handle the recurring dreams.”
“Dreams?”
“Yeah, about the dead-lookers – I thought that’s what you meant?”
Arnold’s eyes widened. “You’ve experienced the dreams of the
undead?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“
God, since ages ago. My sister had them from the beginning and me about three weeks after. Or three and a half or something, but that’s nothing unusual.”
“Well, as a matter of fact
it is,” said Arnold. “Only a very small percentage of the population has experienced them, and yet you say you and your sister do?”
“Yes, we share t
he same nightmare down to the very last detail, almost. I didn’t take it seriously until I had them myself.”
“I see.”
The therapist hesitated, looking lost for words for the first time. “Right… and they are continuing?”
“Yep
, every night,” Marla replied. “But they’re water off a duck’s back now.”
Arnold
fidgeted and closed his notepad. “I think that will do,” he stated. “You seem perfectly fine to me. I apologise if some of the questions seemed probing, but they were necessary, unfortunately. We can’t take any chances in a confined space such as this.” He stood up. “You are free to go, but if you experience any of the problems I mentioned, please don’t hesitate to tell us and then we can help you. Do you understand?”
Marla
rose and smiled, relieved to be able to leave the room. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to do that,” she answered, despite having no intention of it. “Goodbye.” Once outside, she closed the door and breathed a deep sigh. Well, that went better than expected, she thought, striding hastily down the corridor.
Inside his room, Arnold
considered Marla’s attitude and her dreams, unsure of whom to inform first.