The Cost of Living (14 page)

Dad’s not
listening. Dumb bastard, he’s too scared to go outside. Why can’t he just admit
it? We all know it. He’s just trying to save face and all Mom does is pander to
him. I’ve had enough of this bullshit.

The
back door’s secured with a padlock and chain but I know where he keeps the
keys. He thinks he’s so smart, but I’ve known about the little metal cash-box
at the back of the bottom drawer since I was a kid. I’m outside before he’s
even made it downstairs.

I
just stand there for a second, breathing in the air. It smells foul –
full of death, decay and disease - but at the same time it’s fresher than the
recycled hot air and bullshit that’s filled the house for too long. I grab a
felling axe - one of the so-called weapons Dad’s left lined up and untouched
for weeks – then head out. I should have done this a long time ago...

The
first one looks like it used to be a woman, but it’s so fucked up it’s hard to
tell for sure. It’s an absolute fucking mess, all charred and burned down one
side, its clothes melted and fused into its flesh. One side of its scalp is
covered with long, greasy hair; the other side’s bald and raw, skin shrivelled
and dry. It lurches towards me, skidding in the muddy grass, and I swing the
axe around and virtually take the fucking thing’s head clean off its shoulders.

Christ,
that felt good.

Next
one up used to be a big bastard. Its massive body is saggy and pear-shaped now.
Gravity’s dragged its insides-out and its stomach and legs are swollen. It
tries to go for me but it’s so bloody slow it’s untrue. I just side-step it and
watch it stagger past. It keeps moving for another three or four steps before
it even realises I’ve gone. It tries to turn around but I’m too fast and I bury
the head of the axe in its spine. It drops to the ground, legs paralysed. Still
moving but going nowhere fast.

The
last two dumb fuckers are still stuck down at the far end of the garden. I
hardly look at the third one as I hack it down. The fourth is stuck, its
tattered jacket snagged on a broken branch. Stupid thing leans forward and
tries to reach out for me with numb, grabbing hands. There are no more of them
about, so I don’t kill it for a second. I walk right up to it – as close
as I can get without it reaching me – and stare straight into its face. There’s
nothing there. Not a bloody flicker of emotion. I can’t believe we’ve let these
things take over. I know it’s the infection that’d done all the damage but I
still reckon I could get rid of hundreds of them and not even break a sweat.

I
lift up the axe then swing it down and crack the skull of this one open like an
egg.

‘The
fence,’ Dad shouts. At least he’s made it outside. Chicken-shit is still at the
other end of the garden, though, hiding in the shadows of the house. ‘Block
it!’

‘You
block it,’ I shout back, though I know it’s all down to me. I could wait for
him to come down and do it himself but the place would be full of corpses by
the time he’d psyched himself up, and I can’t be bothered with all this
pointless pissing about.

The
metal swing and climbing frame I used to play on when I was a kid are still
here, despite the fact they haven’t been touched in years. I pull the climbing
frame over onto its side and drag it through the long grass. I wedge it into
the gap the bodies came through. That’ll hold the fuckers back. They don’t have
any strength. They’re like Dad: weak and powerless and pointless. The
similarities are remarkable. They’re out there, we’re stuck in the house. We’re
all as dead as each other.

What
the hell’s he doing now? Mom’s trying to pull Dad back inside but he’s standing
over the fat corpse, ready to spear its head with a garden fork.

‘Go
on then,’ I tell him. ‘Do it.’

‘Keep
your voice down,’ he says, looking up for a second. He swallows hard and
shuffles his feet like he’s trying getting himself into position. The corpse is
still moving. It reaches out with a numb arm. Dumb, dead bastard.

Mom
tries to pull Dad away again.

‘Come
on, Stuart, leave it. Let’s get inside.’

I
stand my ground, and the fact I’m watching seems to really piss Dad off. He
lifts the fork higher but I know he won’t do it. He hasn’t got the balls.

‘Go
on, Dad,’ I say again, egging him on. ‘Put it out of your misery.’

The
corpse reaches out for him then over-balances and flops onto its back like meat
on a butcher’s slab. It looks up at dad with cold, dead eyes. It probably can’t
understand why the useless fucker hasn’t done anything yet.

‘You’re
full of shit,’ I tell him. ‘If you weren’t such a coward we wouldn’t be stuck
here now.’

Tired
of waiting, I stamp my boot twice on the dead fucker’s face. The massive corpse
twitches and shakes, then lies still.

‘Don’t
go in the house with those boots on,’ Dad shouts after me as I walk away.
‘Gabby, don’t let him take anything infected inside.’

#

‘I know it’s
hard, love, but think about what you’re saying...’

‘No,
Mom,’ I tell her, ‘
you
think about what
you’re
saying for once.
He’s kept us locked away in here for almost a month and for what?’

‘We’re
still alive,’ she says, wiping away a tear and hoping I haven’t noticed.

‘You
call this living? This is barely existing. This is no different to what those
damn things are doing outside.’

‘Your
father has done all he can to keep us safe. He’s made sure we’ve got enough
food, he’s kept the house heated, he’s kept the place secure.’

I
try not to shout because it’s Dad I’m angry with, not Mom. ‘All he’s done is
prolong the inevitable. Doesn’t matter if we’ve got enough food for another
day, another week or another year, when it’s gone, it’s gone. What are we gonna
do then?’

‘By
then things might be better. There might be other people who—’

‘Just
stop and listen to yourself, Mom. You’re repeating
his
bullshit
and you know it. Things aren’t going to get any better, no matter how long we
leave it. We’re just waiting to die here.’

‘Don’t
say that...’

‘It’s
true. Stand up to him, Mom. Show some backbone. He won’t listen to me, but
you’ve still got a chance.’

She
shakes her head and my heart sinks. Mom would have been twice the person she
was if she’d put Dad in his place a long time ago. He’s a stupid old bastard,
stuck in his ways. He’s stayed still while the rest of the world has changed.
Even now I can hear him downstairs in the garage yet again; checking,
double-checking and triple-checking the supplies and helping himself to a little
extra while he’s there. I know what he’s up to. He knows as well as I do that
we’ve only got a few days left. He talks about weeks, but he’s fooling no one.

Deep
breath. Tell her what I’m planning.

‘Mom,
I’m leaving.’

She
starts to protest but it’s like I’ve punched her in the stomach and all she can
do is open and close her mouth like a fish, not saying anything.

‘You...
you can’t...’

‘I
can’t stay here. I checked this morning and there are nowhere near as many of
them out behind the house. I reckon I can get through them.’

‘But
you just can’t...’

‘I’m
going to try and find other people like us, then I’ll come back for you.’

‘No,
love...’

‘And
even if I don’t come back, your supplies will last longer without me. I’ll find
stuff outside. There will be loads out there.’

‘But
what about the disease?’

‘I’ll
be okay. You’ve seen how slow they are. As long as I’m careful and I don’t hang
around, I reckon I’ll be fine.’

‘When?’

‘First
thing tomorrow.’

You try and do
the best by everyone but sometimes you can’t do right for doing wrong. I told
Stuart about what Nathan was planning – I had to – and the
inevitable fight followed. I’m stuck in the middle between two unstoppable
forces on a collision course and I don’t know what to do for the best. Whatever
I decide, someone gets hurt.

Nathan’s
right about Stuart, though. He’s gone and got us trapped here and I can’t see a
way out. There are too many of those things outside the gates now, and the way
he parked all those cars and vans means we can’t get away easily. I lie awake
all night, every night worrying about what we’ll do when the food runs out. I
keep my eyes closed when Stuart wakes up. I don’t want him to worry. He’s got
enough on his mind.

But
Stuart’s right about Nathan too. He’s a typical teenager – as
bloody-minded and impulsive as his dad was when we first started going out
together. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to make him see someone else’s point
of view, he won’t listen. He’s stubborn and he’s made his mind up and that’s
all there is to it. I could spend all night talking to him but it wouldn’t make
any difference, he’ll still leave in the morning. But I know, his dad knows
and, I think,
he
knows he won’t last five minutes out there. There are
millions of bodies outside - millions of them! All it takes is for him to come
into contact with just one and he’ll be infected. I can’t stand the thought of
him walking around out there like them, all alone. I saw it take so many of my
friends when this all started. I thought Stuart might have caught it last week
when his stomach started playing up, but I know that was just nerves. He should
have told me.

‘Need
any help in there, love?’ Stuart shouts. I can’t help smiling to myself. As
practical as he thinks he is, he’s never been any use in the kitchen. Couldn’t
boil an egg!

‘No
thank you, love. It’s ready now.’

I
glance in through the open door. Nathan’s listening to music on his headphones
and Stuart’s compiling another one of his endless lists of all the food we
haven’t got left. He makes me laugh! He thinks I don’t know, bless him. He’s
been helping himself to extras since we first locked and bolted the doors.

‘Here
we are...’

The
smell of the hot food is strong enough to make them both stop and look up. I
hand them their bowls and they stare at the stew like it’s the first hot meal
they’ve had in years, not weeks. Stuart looks from the bowl, to me, to Nathan,
then back to the bowl again.

‘Bloody
hell, Gab... where did this come from?’

‘You’re
not the only one who’s good at stockpiling, Stu. I’ve got my own supplies. It’s
only tinned meat, but I’ve been holding it back for a special occasion. We’ve
all had a tough few days and I thought this might help.’

It
seems to have done the trick. Nathan’s taken off his headphones, Stuart’s put
down his pen and they’re both tucking in. It’s lovely to see them both eating
so well. For a minute I just sit back and watch them.

It
only takes a few minutes.

Nathan
drops his spoon and clutches his gut. This is the bit I’ve been dreading.

‘Mom...
I...’

He
rolls over to one side, falls off his chair, then starts writhing on the floor.
I’m so busy watching him that I don’t see it take Stuart. He grabs my wrist,
squeezing so hard that I yelp with pain.

‘What’s...
happening...?’

I
don’t know if he can hear me, but I owe it to him to explain.

‘Whatever
we do, love, we’re already dead. We’ve all known it for weeks, but both of you
are too stubborn to accept it. I had to do this. I didn’t have any choice. At
least this way we get to stay together. No more arguing, no more worrying about
supplies...’

Nathan
screams in pain and thrashes around on the dining room floor. Then he stops and
lies completely still. Stuart relaxes his grip on my wrist and slides off his
chair too. He convulses for a few seconds, then stops.

‘Think
about it,’ I tell them both as Nathan slowly starts to reanimate, ‘this is the
best option for all of us. The
only
option.’ I take a deep breath
then swallow the biggest mouthful of food I can manage. I chew it quickly and
force it down, desperate not to waste my last few seconds. ‘I took some blood
from the bodies in the garden and added it to the food. This way we stay safe,
we stay at home and we stay together...’

The
first wave of pain shoots through my stomach like an electric shock and it’s
all I can do to stay upright. I try to force more stew down but I can’t even
hold the spoon...

Hard
to keep talking. Have to try. Need them to hear this.

‘I
had no choice. It’s my job to... keep this family together.’

#

Ashbourne
Close is empty. There are no survivors here now, and the huge crowd of bodies
has disappeared. There’s hardly any noise, very little movement, no sign of
life...

Just three corpses remain inside number nine, isolated from
the rest of the dead world. Safe.

We wouldn’t have
made it to the end of the first week if it hadn’t been for Stuart. I used to
criticise him for being so anal: so pedantic, always penny-pinching. He was
always going on about the cost of living. It was bloody infuriating.

But
his attention to detail was what saved us. When everyone else was running
around terrified out there, fighting over the last loaves of bread on
supermarket shelves and stepping over the bodies in the aisles, we were safely
locked away.

Stuart
saw this coming. Smartarse even modelled it on his bloody computer. He showed
me how the outbreak would inevitably become an epidemic, then a pandemic, then
something worse. Typical bloody accountant. No emotion. He went out to the
cash-and-carry with the business card and brought back enough food and bottled
water to fill the garage. When everyone else finally caught up and started
realising the end really was nigh, he’d already cleared out the DIY store and
got everything he needed to make the house secure. By the time we’d locked
down, the rest of the world was in utter chaos. The germ spread through any
direct physical contact, so we cut ourselves off from absolutely everyone else.

Six
weeks, four days. That’s how long it’s been.

We
survived on adrenalin to begin with, living on our nerves. The girls were more
upset about the cat than anything else, but Stuart was right, she was a
contamination risk and she had to stay outside. After the first couple of weeks
it all went quiet out there – too quiet. The screaming, the helicopters,
the gunfire and the engine noise gradually all stopped. Then there was nothing.

The
next weeks were harder, but we kept ourselves busy keeping the kids distracted,
checking and re-checking the house was secure and rationing the supplies. Stuart
said he’d worked out how much food and water we’d need each day, and that we
had enough for a couple of months if we were sensible. I asked him what
happened after that. He didn’t have an answer.

We
knew we couldn’t think about anyone else, even if we wanted to. A woman tried
to get in once. Don’t know how she found us. It was hard leaving her out there,
listening to her screaming. I took the kids upstairs and tried to keep them
occupied. Stuart stayed down on the other side of the door, just in case she
got in. Her body’s still on the driveway.

The
girls and Stuart are really struggling now. I can’t let them see that I am too.
We’re all doing our best, but I don’t know how much more we can take. The
garage is half-empty, and we don’t have any way of getting more food. We can’t
risk going out. We’re fighting all the time now. Last night things came to a
head.

‘We
keep doing what we’re doing,’ he said, tears streaming down his face. ‘We
ration the food even more, and we wait.’

‘Wait
for what? There’s no one else left. And what about the kids?’

‘What
am I supposed to do?’ he screamed at me. ‘I’ve done everything I can for this
family. I’ve kept us all alive.’

I
held him as he sobbed. ‘I know... I know...’

‘I
know I’ve built us a prison here, but it was the only option...’

#

I
did it this morning while Stuart and the girls were still asleep.

I’d
been keeping some decent food back, and I cooked the best meal I could with the
little I had. Something I knew they’d all like. They ate every scrap, and for
the first time since this started, they were all happy: bellies full, nightmare
outside temporarily forgotten.

It
took about an hour for it to take them. Hannah first, then Sally, then Stuart.
I took what I needed from the infected body on the drive, and added it to the
food. And that was that. A little bit of pain, a short burst of fear, then it
was over. Far better than the alternative... the hunger... the panic... waiting
for the inevitable.

And
now, as I sit next to their still warm bodies and finish my food, I look at
them all and remember how much I love them.

Sometimes,
Stuart love, the cost of living is too high a price to pay.