The Dying & The Dead 1: Post Apocalyptic Survival by Jack Lewis Page B
Authors: Jack Lewis
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in
place like he was posing for a photograph. She felt pity for him, and wondered
how he had come to be alone. She couldn’t leave him here. She reached put to
grab his hand, but he jerked away.
“You
can’t stay here,” she said, and grabbed for him again.
He
lashed out with his fingers, and she felt her arm burn. She saw that it was
covered in long red scratches. The boy moved further back into the corner, and
his body shook in the manner of a dog ready to attack.
Something
had damaged this boy. What had he seen that had made him this way? Where were
his family? He was a DC. That much was obvious. She thought about Jenny being
taken from her class. She thought about Kim at home. She couldn’t even imagine
her daughter having to live like this. So much pity flooded her chest that it
was hard to breathe.
Outside,
the infected still lurched down the street. They didn’t seem to know she had
come into the house, but there were enough of them now to be called a crowd.
This was when they were at their most dangerous, and if she waited much longer
there would be too many on the street for her to escape. The clouds in the sky
still spat down a torrent, and she knew that her plants at home would be taking
a hammering.
She
took a few steps toward the boy, but he grew more panicked with every inch
closer she got. She didn’t want to leave him, but nor could she stay. She had
her own life to think about. A daughter who would be lost without her, a crop
in their garden on which all their future hopes rested.
“Are
you going to come with me or not?” she said. “This is the only time I’ll ask
you.”
The
boy paused, thought about it, and then shook his head from side to side.
She
turned and walked out of the room, not giving the boy even a fleeting glance,
because she knew if she looked at him then she would break down. She was giving
up on him in the same way she’d given up on Jenny, but there wasn’t a thing she
could do about it.
“I’m
sorry,” she said over her shoulder.
She
stepped out of the room, out of the house, and into the cold.
4
Ed
He ran
out of candles months ago and he hadn’t bothered to replace them. There was
something comforting about the dark. It put a black sheet over the things he
wanted to keep hidden but at the same time couldn’t bring himself hide away. It
meant that he couldn’t see the smiling face of his father from a photograph on
the mantelpiece as he held the trophy he’d won in the Golgoth fishing
competition. It meant he couldn’t see the wool decoration his mother had
knitted which declared that “a house is not a home without love.”
Somewhere
in the house water dripped with the regularity of a ticking clock. Though the
window, in the distance, he could see the cylinder of the lighthouse stretching
into the sky. When was the last time he’d seen a light coming from it? Not
since he was a kid, probably. Long after it had fallen out of use, he and James
used to sneak up there and smoke poorly rolled cigarettes from the tobacco
they’d stolen from dad’s stash. Ed hated the feeling in his lungs as he breathed
it in, hated the rank smell that clung to his clothes, but he didn’t dare tell
James. He was scared that with the declaration his brother would withdraw, and
the time they spent together would be taken away.
The
wind screamed and the rain banged on the window like hands begging to come in.
From somewhere outside his house he heard the sound of a crash.
He got
up and went out into the cold night. The storm was something from a disaster
movie, a brooding sky building up a cataclysm to destroy the earth. Something
whizzed toward him, propelled by the wind. He ducked to his side, and his heart
skipped as it narrowly missed his head, blew passed his house and over the
cliff.
He
walked over to the cliff and saw the tide washing over the beach. The sea looked
wild, with twenty foot high waves
place like he was posing for a photograph. She felt pity for him, and wondered
how he had come to be alone. She couldn’t leave him here. She reached put to
grab his hand, but he jerked away.
“You
can’t stay here,” she said, and grabbed for him again.
He
lashed out with his fingers, and she felt her arm burn. She saw that it was
covered in long red scratches. The boy moved further back into the corner, and
his body shook in the manner of a dog ready to attack.
Something
had damaged this boy. What had he seen that had made him this way? Where were
his family? He was a DC. That much was obvious. She thought about Jenny being
taken from her class. She thought about Kim at home. She couldn’t even imagine
her daughter having to live like this. So much pity flooded her chest that it
was hard to breathe.
Outside,
the infected still lurched down the street. They didn’t seem to know she had
come into the house, but there were enough of them now to be called a crowd.
This was when they were at their most dangerous, and if she waited much longer
there would be too many on the street for her to escape. The clouds in the sky
still spat down a torrent, and she knew that her plants at home would be taking
a hammering.
She
took a few steps toward the boy, but he grew more panicked with every inch
closer she got. She didn’t want to leave him, but nor could she stay. She had
her own life to think about. A daughter who would be lost without her, a crop
in their garden on which all their future hopes rested.
“Are
you going to come with me or not?” she said. “This is the only time I’ll ask
you.”
The
boy paused, thought about it, and then shook his head from side to side.
She
turned and walked out of the room, not giving the boy even a fleeting glance,
because she knew if she looked at him then she would break down. She was giving
up on him in the same way she’d given up on Jenny, but there wasn’t a thing she
could do about it.
“I’m
sorry,” she said over her shoulder.
She
stepped out of the room, out of the house, and into the cold.
4
Ed
He ran
out of candles months ago and he hadn’t bothered to replace them. There was
something comforting about the dark. It put a black sheet over the things he
wanted to keep hidden but at the same time couldn’t bring himself hide away. It
meant that he couldn’t see the smiling face of his father from a photograph on
the mantelpiece as he held the trophy he’d won in the Golgoth fishing
competition. It meant he couldn’t see the wool decoration his mother had
knitted which declared that “a house is not a home without love.”
Somewhere
in the house water dripped with the regularity of a ticking clock. Though the
window, in the distance, he could see the cylinder of the lighthouse stretching
into the sky. When was the last time he’d seen a light coming from it? Not
since he was a kid, probably. Long after it had fallen out of use, he and James
used to sneak up there and smoke poorly rolled cigarettes from the tobacco
they’d stolen from dad’s stash. Ed hated the feeling in his lungs as he breathed
it in, hated the rank smell that clung to his clothes, but he didn’t dare tell
James. He was scared that with the declaration his brother would withdraw, and
the time they spent together would be taken away.
The
wind screamed and the rain banged on the window like hands begging to come in.
From somewhere outside his house he heard the sound of a crash.
He got
up and went out into the cold night. The storm was something from a disaster
movie, a brooding sky building up a cataclysm to destroy the earth. Something
whizzed toward him, propelled by the wind. He ducked to his side, and his heart
skipped as it narrowly missed his head, blew passed his house and over the
cliff.
He
walked over to the cliff and saw the tide washing over the beach. The sea looked
wild, with twenty foot high waves
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