It'll Come Back... (9 page)

Kate could hear her ragged breath and the whoosh of her leather boots tearing through fields of thigh-high oilseed rape – the yellow plants so headily fragrant, they made her head spin. Sticky pollen clung to her skin and clothing. A tall hedge up ahead forced her back onto the road. Panting, she glanced left and right as she emerged through the trees, but she saw no sign of the Dead on the country road. She saw no sign of the living, either.

Gasping for a drink – she’d left her backpack back at the car – and clutching her side, her fingers massaging a stitch there, she broke into a loping jog, the
thump thump
of her feet against the tarmac and the roar of the wind past her ears providing the only sound other than the chattering of the birds overhead.

She came to a house, its worn bricks covered in lichen, and its white painted window frames grey from the fumes of the heavy traffic – the number 16 bus included – that usually rattled through the village of Denton.

Up ahead, Kate spotted a bicycle lying in the middle of the road. She lumbered on, the stitch in her side slowing her down. As she drew up to the bike, she saw that blood splattered its silver frame, and the tarmac around it had been stained crimson. The bike’s last rider didn’t get off by choice.
No matter
, thought Kate,
their loss is my gain
.

She leant down and grabbed the bike’s handlebars and stood it up, not even cringing as her hand touched cold, sticky blood. It smelt sweet and tangy. Kate swung her leg over the bike, just that little bit too high for her, and rode off. She still had a lot of ground to cover before she got home.

Kate peddled furiously, her teeth gritted and her eyes flicking left and right for anything that may leap out on her. But the way remained clear. When she reached the next village, having been peddling for what felt like hours, she spotted a group of around six Dead in the car park outside a pub. Sweat flew from her brow and her thigh muscles burned as she gripped the handlebars and put every bit of effort into moving the peddles faster and faster. The Dead staggered towards the road when they heard her approaching.

Kate kept her eyes on the road ahead as she whooshed past the Dead, leaving them to swipe at the air in her wake. She rode on, swerving around abandoned cars and the occasional Dead, until her stiff legs couldn’t ride any more. She stopped peddling and let the bike carry on under its own momentum for a while. Then she tried to stop it but at first she couldn’t move her fingers in order to grasp the brake – so tight had she been gripping the handles that the skin over her white knuckles looked fit to split, while her fingers had locked into position. Once she got them moving again, she clasped the brakes and squeezed, until the bike screeched to a stop. Kate grimaced at the noise, hoping not to attract the Dead.

Jumping off, and shoving the bike to the ground, Kate ran on. She had to dodge a few Dead – with no weapon, she couldn’t afford to stop and fight. On she went, drawing closer and closer to home.

Kate, her skin pale and covered with sweat, stood at the corner of a shop on the High Street, looking across a Dead infested road to the flat above a café that she shared with Andrew. She thought back to the last conversation she’d had with Lucy in the car, shortly before they had crashed. She snorted as she replayed the young girl’s statement, ‘You must be happy together to last that long’.
Happy… yeah, we were happy
, thought Kate.
I
thought
we were happy
.

Kate emerged from the corner and began limping across the street. She ignored the Dead that staggered aimlessly. They, in turn, ignored her. She let herself in through the front door to the flats and, closing it behind her, she began to climb the steps up to her flat. In the hallway outside, she paused for a moment.

‘I thought we were happy,’ Kate said to herself in a barely-there voice, ‘right up until last Sunday night when I discovered that text on your phone from Sarah. My heart broke when I read it. But, you know what, Andrew? I don’t know what hurt more, that you cheated, or that it was with my best friend.’ Kate wiped a tear from her cold, clammy skin. She took a deep breath. ‘You have no idea that I know, and I’m going to keep it that way,’ Kate said in a whisper as she edged towards her front door. ‘It doesn’t matter now. She’s probably dead anyway or at least sort of dead. It’s just you and me again, Andrew.’ Kate placed her fingertips on the front door. ‘And I can make things right,’ she whispered to the wood.

Kate pushed her key into the lock and turned it. Opening the door, she called down the hallway, ‘Andrew?’

‘Kate? Kate! Kate, is that you?’ came the response from deep inside the rented flat.

‘Yes, Andrew,’ she replied, shutting the door behind her.

Kate staggered down the hallway, her heavy feet catching on the thick shag pile carpet that she hated so much. She lurched past the living room door, the kitchen, the bathroom, and paused in front of her bedroom. The door was ajar and she gave it a push. Inside the room she saw Andrew dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweats laying on his back on their king size bed. The bed was positioned by the large bay fronted window, and through it, Kate could see the Dead lumbering aimlessly on the street below.

Andrew, his leg in a plaster cast and propped up on a couple of cushions, had been staring out the window, but as she entered the room, he turned to gaze at her, his tight features relaxing with relief.

‘You made it. You made it home.’

‘Yes, Andrew. I’m home, darling.’

Kate dragged her feet towards the bed where she sat on the edge and gazed at Andrew, her husband. The man she had spent the last seven years of her life with. Had loved for every day of those seven years. She leant across towards him, reaching out a hand to touch Andrew’s cheek.

‘You came back for me.’

‘Of course.’

‘You don’t look well – are you okay?’

‘I’ve spent the day fighting for my life, Andrew. Anyone would look like shit after that.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry. I’m a fucking idiot. What’s it like out there, Kate? I can’t get hold of anyone on the phone. The TV stopped broadcasting hours ago.’

‘It’s like hell on earth out there. The things I’ve seen, Andrew. You wouldn’t ever want to see what I’ve seen. What those things out there have done to people.’

‘I thought I was going to be alone.’ Kate watched as a tear ran down Andrew’s cheek. He wiped at it and then rubbed both his eyes with his fingers. When he took his hands away, Kate could see how red and moist his eyes were and she felt pity for him. ‘I thought I would die alone up here. I wouldn’t make it out of this flat with this thing on my leg,’ he said, nodding to his cast.

‘You won’t be alone anymore,’ said Kate, rubbing the side of his arm. ‘And you don’t need to go anywhere. I’ll take care of you.’

‘How-how did you get home?’

‘Shear fucking luck. It wasn’t easy.’

‘How did you get past that lot down there?’ Andrew nodded to the Dead infested street below.

Kate swung her feet up onto the bed and lay down next to Andrew. He turned as much as he could with his leg cast and Kate nestled into his back. They both lay facing away from the window and the death on the darkening streets as night began to fall.

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ said Kate, rubbing her cheek against the back of his shoulder. ‘I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I love you, Kate,’ said Andrew. His voice sounded sleepy.

Unseen by Andrew, Kate lifted the sleeve of her top to inspect the patch of raw skin beneath. It had happened in the car. She didn’t know if it had been Edith or Phil, it made no difference. But she knew it was a bite. She could see the teeth marks imprinted in red around the broken skin. It wasn’t deep and there was little blood but a bite’s a bite.

‘Me too, darling. I love you too,’ said Kate as she rolled her sleeve over the wound. ‘Sleep now. Sweet dreams, my love.’

Kate pressed herself into Andrew’s back.

‘You feel like ice,’ he said to her without turning round.

‘I’m okay,’ said Kate but she could feel her body trembling as the infection raged through her. It wouldn’t be much longer. Even so, she couldn’t help a little smile of satisfaction as she spooned Andrew.

What did they say,
Revenge is a dish best served cold
…

***