The Cost of Living (7 page)

He
just shrugs. ‘I reckon that’s what they’re doing. They’re making a noise so
others know we’re here.’

I
don’t think he’s right, but I don’t want to take the chance. We’ve taken enough
risks already this morning. ‘We should get back to the house.’

‘It’s
not strong enough.’

‘What?’

‘The
barrier. They’ll get over it. Shouldn’t we try and make it stronger? They’re
not going to give up easily.’

I
point towards Clive and Christine’s house – the nearest plot to this
point. ‘That house is definitely empty. We need to get whatever we can from in
there and block all the gaps. Pile it up. Underneath too. We need to wedge as
much stuff as we can find under the cars, stop them crawling under or getting
over. Just stop them getting any closer.’

Between
us we carry a sofa from the house and dump it. Then we head straight back again
and fetch the next biggest piece of furniture we can easily move. Then again,
and again, and again. Once we’re done with furniture, we use whatever we can
find to plug all the gaps, making sure nothing can get through.

It’s
hard work, physically and emotionally, and though we’re both exhausted, by the
time we’re done we’ve a barrier that an army of fit people would struggle to
breach, let alone the poor sick bastards out there.

‘You
see why I couldn’t let you go out there,’ I tell Nathan, struggling to make
myself heard through the facemask. ‘You understand why we have to stay here
now?’

He
just nods. Words aren’t enough anymore.

Together
we stand on the top of the bank and look down over the dead world. There are
hundreds of infected out there now, dragging themselves through the streets
towards the development from every visible direction, forming a vast, moaning
crowd outside the development.

‘They
won’t get through, will they?’ he asks.

‘I
doubt it. We’ll go home now, son and stay indoors. It’s only the noise we’ve
made that’s brought so many of them out of the woodwork today. They’ll
disappear again soon enough. We’ll be safe back at the house.

#

I burn
everything we took outside today in the garden of the house behind ours. I do
it out of sight, and tell the others not to disturb me. I have to get rid of
every potential source of infection. I don’t want them seeing me put the
neighbour’s body on the fire.

STUART

TUESDAY 23 JUNE – 9:21pm

It was Nathan’s
birthday today. Poor kid. He understands, though, he gets it. He knows things
have irrevocably changed and that stuff like birthdays and Christmas don’t
count for anything anymore. Gabby tried to make a fuss of him, but it felt
hollow and forced without any gifts and with only our normal daily rations.
‘It’s weird,’ I told her a couple of minutes ago once he’d gone up to his room,
‘Sally and Hannah will grow up not knowing any different. Birthdays, parties,
presents... they won’t know any of it.’ I told her we’d given the kids the best
gift we could – life. That might have sounded like a cliché, but it was
true. No other family has as much as we do now. I doubt there are many other
families left.

It
feels later than it is.

‘Might
as well go up,’ Gabby says.

‘We’re
getting old,’ I tell her. ‘You were a party animal when we first got together.
The thought of you ever being in bed before ten...’

‘That’s
what having kids does to you. Besides, there are no parties anymore, in case
you hadn’t noticed.’

‘Times
have changed.
Everything’s
changed. We get up with the sun and go to bed
when it gets dark now. That’s how it used to be. That’s how our ancestors had
it.’

‘Yes,
but that’s nothing to be proud of, is it? It’s the twenty-first century, for
crying out loud, Stu. We’re living like we’re back in the dark ages.’

‘At
least we’re living.’

‘Whatever.’

‘You
have to stay positive, love.’

‘I’m
trying. But is there any point?’

‘I
don’t want to hear you talking like this, Gab. We agreed...’

‘
You
agreed. I don’t remember having any say in the matter.’

I
don’t rise to her bait.

The
silence in the room is awkward. I don’t know what to say to her at moments like
this, and there seem to have been more moments like this than ever recently,
certainly since Nathan and I sealed us off from the outside world. I’ve told
Gabby over and over that it won’t be much longer now. Once the infected have
all gone, by the end of the year at the latest, I reckon, then it’ll be safe
for us to leave here again. Six months or so. That’s not too bad. We’ve been
here for six weeks already.

‘What
are we going to do?’ she asks. I feel my heart sink. She must ask me that same
bloody question at least once an hour, and each time I give her the same bloody
answer.

‘We’re
going to carry on doing what we’re already doing, love. We’re going to survive.
Maybe you should come with me tomorrow to Clive and Christine’s house so I can
show you what it’s like out there.’

‘I
don’t want to see it.’

‘Well
maybe you should. If you’d seen the things I’ve seen, the things Nathan’s seen,
you wouldn’t even ask.’

‘But
what’s the point?’

‘The
point of what?’

‘Of
putting ourselves through this?’

‘What’s
the alternative?’ I say quickly, trying not to let my anger and frustration
show. It’s not her fault and I have to remember that, but it’s hard. ‘Should we
just have let the kids get sick and die? Should we have done the same as
everyone else? I’m proud of what we’ve done and how we’ve done it. We’ve been
through this a hundred times already... there is no alternative, and that’s
fine. It doesn’t matter if there’s nothing else out there, because everything
we need is in here, don’t you think? You, me, the kids... we’re all that
matters now. We’re in the best place we can be, and I’m going to make sure
we’re okay.’

‘I
know that.’

‘Do
you? You don’t sound so sure...’

‘It’s
difficult, that’s all.’

‘I
know it is.’

She
holds her head in her hands. I pull her closer, and though she’s reluctant at
first, she soon softens and leans against me. The rest of the house is silent.
Everywhere is silent. And these days the quiet is never ending.

‘I
still can’t believe what’s happened,’ she says, her voice barely a whisper. ‘A
couple of months ago everything was fine... everything was great. Now this. Now
it’s all gone to hell.’

‘No
it hasn’t. You have to stop this, love. The rest of the world might be gone,
but we’re not. We’re still here... we’re still strong.’

‘I
know, I know... I’ve been thinking about the future, though.’

‘What
about it?’

‘I’m
talking long term here—’

‘I’m
glad to hear it.’

‘—and
it frightens me. Say we do survive all of this...’

‘We
have
survived it.’

‘I
know, but hear me out... say we manage to survive and we leave here and make a
new life for the family somewhere else.’

‘Sounds
good.’

‘And
maybe it will be, but...’

‘But
what?’

‘But
what happens when we’re gone? What happens when it’s just the kids left to fend
for themselves?’

She
has a point, and it’s something I’ve already thought about. But there’s no
point looking that far ahead just yet. ‘We’ll prepare them. That’s years ahead
of us. And who knows, once we’re away from here we might find other people
who’ve survived like we have. Like-minded people. I don’t think the kids will
be alone.’

For
a moment I’m gone, imagining what it would be like to have the entire planet to
myself. Sure, it would be hard work, frightening, maybe, but what an
opportunity...

‘I
just don’t know how much more of this the kids can take,’ she says. ‘I don’t
know how much more
I
can take.’

‘I’ve
told you, love, stop talking like this.’

‘And
I’ve told you, I can’t. It’s on my mind constantly.’

I’ve
been toying with an idea... do I tell her? I figure I should. It’ll be good to
give her something positive to focus on.

‘Listen,
I’ve been thinking... we know the development is secure now, so maybe we can
start using the space we’ve got a little better. You and the girls might be
able to go outside. Would you like that?’

‘I’d
love it. Honestly, Stu, you’ve no idea how much I’ve grown to hate this bloody
house. When I think about all the effort and expense we went to to buy it and
move in...’

‘And
it was worth every single penny. We’re strong here, love, stronger than we
would have been back at the old place. We’re cut off from the hell outside now,
and there’s no way anything’s getting in. In the next few days I’m going to
start going through some of the other houses and—’

‘You
can’t.’

‘What?’

‘You
can’t do that... you can’t go breaking into other people’s houses. What if they
come back?’

She’s
really not grasped the full implications of what’s happening here, has she?

‘No
one’s coming back, love. They’re all gone. There’s no way back in here anyway,
remember? And I’ve already told you, I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep this
family safe. There will be things we can use in other folk’s homes. Supplies,
medicines, clothes, fresh bedding...’

‘Half
the food in the garage has gone.’

‘You
haven’t been taking extra, have you? Gab, I expressly told you how important it
is to make sure we only use the daily allowances I put out. If we start—’

‘I
haven’t taken anything extra,’ she shouts, annoyed. ‘I’ve been using the daily
rations like you said, but they’re running out. We’ve been here for weeks now.’

‘I’m
sorry, love. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. It’s important that you
and I both remember to only use—’

‘I
know, I know... I get it. For Christ’s sake, you don’t have to keep telling me
the same thing. Every bloody day you tell me to be careful and not use more
than I’m allowed. I get it. I’m not stupid. It’s difficult, you know.’

‘I
understand, but—’

‘You
understand the practicalities, yes, but do you really appreciate the impact all
this is having?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did
you know Sally’s wet the bed for the last five nights in a row?’

‘You
never said...’

‘You
never
asked
. You’re too busy plotting and scheming to see what’s
actually happening here. Sally’s scared. We’re all scared. Considering the fact
we’re all shut away in here twenty-four-seven, Sally says she never sees you.
She says whenever she asks you anything you just tell her to go away and find
Mummy.’

‘I’m
busy.’

‘I
get that. But surviving’s not just about making sure the walls are strong and
that we’ve got enough food, is it?’

‘No,
but those things are crucial. Without them we’re—’

‘I
know, but we have to have a reason to survive too, love. Otherwise we’re just
going through the motions. It’s like being in prison.’

‘I
can’t help it. What do you expect me to do?’

‘I
don’t expect you to do anything. Why do you assume it’s all your
responsibility?’

‘You’re
my family. You are my responsibility.’

‘Funny,
used to be
our
responsibility.’

‘You
know what I mean.’

‘Yeah,
I think I do.’

I
don’t know what she wants me to say. I’m doing everything I can, but this is an
impossible situation. ‘I can’t just flick a switch and make it all better
again.’

‘Believe
me, Stu, if there was a switch that could fix all this, I’d have already done
it.’

The
room falls silent. It’s virtually pitch black now, utterly silent. I can’t see,
but I feel her shifting in her seat next to me.

‘I
was thinking,’ she says, ‘what happens when the food runs out?’

‘I
already told you, now we know the rest of the development’s empty, we’ll go
through the other houses. I was thinking about this earlier... everything
happened so fast, so unexpectedly... there’s going to be plenty of stuff in
people’s kitchens. They’d have been well-stocked, like normal. There are enough
houses here... if we can find even just a couple of day’s supplies in each one,
that’ll be more than enough to keep us going for another couple of months.
Imagine that, love, another couple of months without having to worry about
food.’

‘What
about after that?’

‘Things
are bound to be better by then. We’ll have almost reached that six month stage,
won’t we?’

‘Suppose,’
she says, but she sounds less than convinced.

‘Look,
maybe in the next couple of days we’ll do what we were talking about. . . maybe
if the weather’s okay we’ll spend some time outside. I think it’ll be safe
now.’

‘That’d
be good.’

‘Do
you have any idea what the forecast is for the rest of this week?’

I’ve
asked the question without thinking. I hear her laugh, then she starts to cry.
‘I’ll put the TV on, shall I? Oh, and I didn’t get a chance to get down to the
shops to pick up your paper today.’

I
reach out for her and hold her as she sobs. ‘It’ll be okay,’ I tell her.

#

We sit in the
dark for a while longer. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when
I put my hand out to find her, she’s gone.