The Dying & The Dead 1: Post Apocalyptic Survival by Jack Lewis Page A
Authors: Jack Lewis
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taken the
sensible option and fled. She shook the tarpaulin and saw water bounce onto the
floor, and with one more tug she pulled it free. She rolled it up, tucked it
under her arm and moved away from the centre.
As she
ran over the splashed pavements, more of the infected lurched out of side
streets and alleyways. Their clothes were ripped and faded, and their hair was
slick with rain. All of them turned when they saw her, and she saw desire light
in their eyes as she passed.
As she
ran by a house near the outskirts she looked up, and a wave of shock ran
through her. In the bedroom window, just in view, was the head of a boy. He
seemed to be peering through a gap in a pair of shabby curtains. At first she
thought he might have been another infected, but he didn’t move when he saw her.
Instead he just watched, and Heather saw that didn’t have the same darkness in
his eyes as the infected.
A
group of infected closed in behind her. Ahead of her was the way out of the
village, and beyond it, sat underneath a grey sky, was the Dome. Somewhere in
between was her house, where Kim waited.
What
am I doing?
The
words formed in her mind, but they left just as quickly as she ran toward the
house. She stopped outside the front door, twisted the handle and walked in.
The hallway was painted black and a cold draught blew through the house. Framed
paintings lined the walls but it was too dark to make out what they were, and there
was a damp smell which seemed to grow stronger by the second. The house was
tidy, and in the darkness it looked as though the family had simply left and
gone on holiday.
She
walked up the stairs careful not to make her steps thud on the wood. Upstairs
she turned right and came to a bedroom door. The boy must have been beyond it.
She set the tarpaulin down on the landing and opened the door.
She
found the boy in the corner of the room. There was a bed in the centre but he
had taken the duvet off it and had cocooned himself so that only his head poked
out. On the floor around him were discarded apple cores, the flesh turning
brown. The boy’s eyes became saucers when he saw her, and he shrank back
against the wall. He was a feral child, with his pale skin and hair flattened
down on his scalp.
“It’s
okay,” she said.
He
moved his arms and the duvet fell away from him. She saw his clothes now. He
wore a jumper that was made to fit an adult many times his size. The grey
pattern was splattered with grime, and the sleeves that spilled over his hands
looked chewed.
She
realised that he wasn’t wearing his mask. Instead it was discarded on the floor
next to him. It was standard issue the same as Heather’s, so he wasn’t a Capita
student. The question was, where had he come from, and why was he alone?
She
reached into her coat and took out her AVS. She pressed the power and let the
device test the air. It blinked red in alarm.
“What
the hell are you doing?” she said. “Get your mask on.”
He
looked at his mask on the floor but didn’t move to put it on.
She
held the sensor out to him. “You know what this means, don’t you? Red means
virus. Put your mask on.”
The
boy spoke. At first his voice came out croaky, as though he hadn’t used it in
weeks.
“I
don’t need it.”
“What
do you mean?”
“I’m
immune.”
She
walked over and crouched in front of him. She reached out and put her hand on
his knee. The boy jerked it back.
“Where
are your parents?”
The
boy looked at the window. Night had taken over the sky, and the storm still raged
on. The infected seemed to have drifted by the house and were probably roaming
the streets looking for Heather.
“Where
are you from?” she said.
He
grabbed the duvet with shaking hands and pulled it close to him.
“You
need to come with me,” she said.
Her
words met a wall of ice and falling to the ground and the boy seemed frozen
sensible option and fled. She shook the tarpaulin and saw water bounce onto the
floor, and with one more tug she pulled it free. She rolled it up, tucked it
under her arm and moved away from the centre.
As she
ran over the splashed pavements, more of the infected lurched out of side
streets and alleyways. Their clothes were ripped and faded, and their hair was
slick with rain. All of them turned when they saw her, and she saw desire light
in their eyes as she passed.
As she
ran by a house near the outskirts she looked up, and a wave of shock ran
through her. In the bedroom window, just in view, was the head of a boy. He
seemed to be peering through a gap in a pair of shabby curtains. At first she
thought he might have been another infected, but he didn’t move when he saw her.
Instead he just watched, and Heather saw that didn’t have the same darkness in
his eyes as the infected.
A
group of infected closed in behind her. Ahead of her was the way out of the
village, and beyond it, sat underneath a grey sky, was the Dome. Somewhere in
between was her house, where Kim waited.
What
am I doing?
The
words formed in her mind, but they left just as quickly as she ran toward the
house. She stopped outside the front door, twisted the handle and walked in.
The hallway was painted black and a cold draught blew through the house. Framed
paintings lined the walls but it was too dark to make out what they were, and there
was a damp smell which seemed to grow stronger by the second. The house was
tidy, and in the darkness it looked as though the family had simply left and
gone on holiday.
She
walked up the stairs careful not to make her steps thud on the wood. Upstairs
she turned right and came to a bedroom door. The boy must have been beyond it.
She set the tarpaulin down on the landing and opened the door.
She
found the boy in the corner of the room. There was a bed in the centre but he
had taken the duvet off it and had cocooned himself so that only his head poked
out. On the floor around him were discarded apple cores, the flesh turning
brown. The boy’s eyes became saucers when he saw her, and he shrank back
against the wall. He was a feral child, with his pale skin and hair flattened
down on his scalp.
“It’s
okay,” she said.
He
moved his arms and the duvet fell away from him. She saw his clothes now. He
wore a jumper that was made to fit an adult many times his size. The grey
pattern was splattered with grime, and the sleeves that spilled over his hands
looked chewed.
She
realised that he wasn’t wearing his mask. Instead it was discarded on the floor
next to him. It was standard issue the same as Heather’s, so he wasn’t a Capita
student. The question was, where had he come from, and why was he alone?
She
reached into her coat and took out her AVS. She pressed the power and let the
device test the air. It blinked red in alarm.
“What
the hell are you doing?” she said. “Get your mask on.”
He
looked at his mask on the floor but didn’t move to put it on.
She
held the sensor out to him. “You know what this means, don’t you? Red means
virus. Put your mask on.”
The
boy spoke. At first his voice came out croaky, as though he hadn’t used it in
weeks.
“I
don’t need it.”
“What
do you mean?”
“I’m
immune.”
She
walked over and crouched in front of him. She reached out and put her hand on
his knee. The boy jerked it back.
“Where
are your parents?”
The
boy looked at the window. Night had taken over the sky, and the storm still raged
on. The infected seemed to have drifted by the house and were probably roaming
the streets looking for Heather.
“Where
are you from?” she said.
He
grabbed the duvet with shaking hands and pulled it close to him.
“You
need to come with me,” she said.
Her
words met a wall of ice and falling to the ground and the boy seemed frozen
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