The Dying & The Dead 1: Post Apocalyptic Survival (2 page)

“Go
on,” said Charles.

Stephanie
found the words before Dale.

“You’re
a hunter,” she said.

Charles
straightened his leather coat and his pickaxe swung behind him. He back must
have been made of steel to carry it around with him all the time.

“A
hunter is a person who hunts game for food or sport. A bounty hunter hunts
criminals or fugitives for reward. I hunt the enemies of the Capita, and they
reward me for it. Do you know what I want?”

“I’ve
heard the rumours,” said Dale. In the corner of his eye, he saw Eric step
closer to his mother.

“And?”

As
Dale wondered what to say, not even the breeze made a sound. Stephanie stepped
forward, next to Dale, and squeezed his hand. Her movements were small and
hidden, but they were not missed by Charles.

“I can
see I’m interrupting something,” he said. “Such a sweet family, and an even
sweeter moment. I apologise. Hold on a tick, I need to write this down.”

He
opened his leather coat, reached inside and took out a battered notepad that
was tied together with string. A stain streaked across the sky the colour of
weak red wine as the sun started to fall, and on the ground Dale and his family
watched in silence as Charles slowly unwound the string from his book. The
clouds drifted lazily past them, and the grass and dandelions wafted in the
wind. Dale wished for the seconds to pass quicker, for Charles to say what he
wanted and then leave. If only it were that simple.

Charles
flicked through his book and opened it at a blank page. He reached into the
same pocket, took out a pen and started writing, murmuring as the ink stained
the paper.

“Meadow
of flowers. Twins. Happy parents.”

When
the page was half-covered in his squashed handwriting he shut the book and put
it back in his pocket.

“I
like to write these down, the little moments that warm the heart. It helps
during the bad times. Just a little self-help technique I picked up from my
reading.”

Charles
took a few steps closer. Dale felt he should back off, but instead took a deep
breath to plump up his chest and stayed where he was. Despite the ominous
figure Charles cut in front of them, Dale felt the tingles from Stephanie’s
hand as she held his. Had they ever held hands before?

Charles
stroked the bloom of a particularly high sunflower that reached up to his
waist. The petals seemed to shrink from his touch.

“I
miss the air,” he said. “I know we still breathe it, but it seems that it’s
only my lungs that get the benefit these days. It used to be my nose as well.
Our senses are the biggest losers in all of this.”

He
snapped his glance down to Luna and Eric, and his eyes were cold stones under
his plague-doctor mask.

“Do
you miss it, kids?”

Luna
stared back defiantly at Charles. Eric looked up to his mother.

Charles
put his hand to his mask and rubbed his fingers across the leather beak.

“Silly
me. You’ve never known the smell of the air, have you? The only ones that have
are the Darwin’s Children, and I hope there aren’t any around here.”

The
words hit Dale like a hammer on stone. Darwin’s Children. That was the name
given to those who were blessed with immunity to the virus, those who could
breathe the tainted air without lapsing into a virus coma and waking up with a
hunger for flesh. The DC’s were blessed, and the Capita responded to their
blessing by hunting them down.

“Do
you wish you had the gift, Dale?” said Charles.

Stephanie’s
hand tightened around his. Dale squeezed back. “The gift?”

“The
gift of immunity. Of lungs that can breathe in the decay and stay pure.”

“No,”
said Dale.

“There
are rumours of a family around here. I’ll be honest with you, that’s why I’m
here and not at my house near the Dome where a hot bath is waiting. There are
rumours of a family of mouth-breathers living nearby. Someone saw them passing
through months ago, but the Capita has a feeling they may have settled here. 
God knows why, they must be crazy to live so close to the Dome”.

Dale
rubbed the back of his neck. His hair felt rough and needed cutting.

“I
don’t know what to say.”

Did
his voice sound different? Did he sound nervous? His heart hammered into his
chest, and his throat closed tighter around every word he spoke. He hoped
Charles couldn’t sense it.

“Forget
the mouth-breathers, then. I’m sure we’ll catch them. Have you heard anything
of the rats?”

“Rats?”

“The Resistance,
Dale. Rats that live in plain sight.”

How
did Charles know his name? He didn’t remember telling him. His stomach sank so
low it felt as though it was going to leak out of him somehow. He looked over
Charles's shoulder, to the distance, to the road that led into town where the
buildings were empty and the infected wandered freely. Right now, streets full
of the cannibal infected seemed safer than sharing a meadow with Charles Bull.

“We
haven’t seen the Resistance,” said Stephanie. “But you’re a flawless
investigator. Tell me, have any Resistance members ever given themselves away
when you just came out and asked them about it?”

“You’re
a funny lady,” said Charles. “Let me share something with you. Forget the Resistance
for a minute; they're worms in the soil. There’s more to the rumours of the mouth-breathers,
and I think you’ll find it interesting.”

“Go
on,” said Stephanie. Her voice was cold and given their predicament, Dale
wished she’d seem a bit less hostile.

“They
say the mouth-breathers are a woman with two children,” said Charles, and
turned away from Stephanie and looked at the children. “Twins.”

Ice spread
across Dale’s chest. He knew where this was going, but he didn’t know how to
stop it. Charles’s leather coat creaked as he stepped forward.

“It’s
a funny thing this genetic mutation, don’t you think? That some of us are
immune yet others get hungry for flesh. And the cruel trick of it is that the
only way you can find out is to contract the virus in the first place. Breathe
tainted air. Get bitten by one of them. How long do the virus comas last, by
the way?”

“A
couple of hours “said Stephanie.

Charles’s
eyes lit up. “Caught you, mouth-breather,” he said, smiling. He put his hand to
his chest and laughed. “No, you’re right. Roughly a couple of hours in a coma
and you wake a person, or a monster. There are some who think the mouth-breathers
are still monsters, just a different kind. But I don’t take stock in that.”

Then
why do you use the words,
thought
Dale? Mouth-breather was a term that
sickened him, yet it was used by everyone these days. Some used it because they
hated those lucky enough to be immune. Others just said it out of fear of
displeasing the Capita.

“We
better get going,” said Stephanie, and looked up at the sky where the colour
had shifted to a dark grey. “It’s getting late.”

“Do
you mind if I speak to your children?” said Charles.

“I’d
rather you didn’t. We need to get back,” said Dale.

They’re
my children,
he
thought
. Mine and Stephanie’s
. Suddenly there was no doubt that they
were a family. They just needed to leave the meadow, leave Charles Bull behind.
Suddenly the path away from the meadow seemed miles away, yet the Capita’s
bulbous Dome swelled larger than ever across the horizon.

Charles
turned his head to Dale. Beneath his black mask, his eyes gave a look that
chilled Dale’s skin.

“Don’t
mistake my politeness for weakness.”

He
walked up to the children and towered over them. Most people, when speaking to
children, crouched to their level. Charles just stood above them, his pickaxe
hanging from his back, his bulky frame blotting out the sky.  Charles studied
the children for seconds that seemed to drag out. He looked especially
interested in Eric.

“Your
boy’s mask is damaged,” he said. He crouched beside Dale. “You better get him
inside, pronto, before it breaks completely. Or better still, maybe I should
fix it now? Hold your breath, little boy. We don’t want any of those nasty bugs
getting in.”

He
reached forward and ripped the mask from Eric’s face. The boy’s cheeks bulged
as he held the air in. Thank god he had the presence of mind to pretend to hold
his breath. Anything other action would have given him away.  Stephanie had
taught him well.

Charles
fiddled with the straps of Eric’s mask, puzzling over it as if it were a Rubix
cube. Eric’s face turned red as he held in air under the pretence that he
needed it, that he couldn’t breathe the air without a mask. His cheeks puffed
out more, and blood seeped through them and coloured them crimson.

Come
on
,
thought Dale. He watched Charles mess around with the mask.
Hurry up, you
bastard.

Eric
shifted uncomfortably and his cheeks grew even redder. He looked on the verge
of breathing, and if that happened, the game was done. Charles would figure out
that Eric was immune, or he would expect the boy to become infected. Either
way, it would involve a trip to the Dome.

 Finally
Charles seemed satisfied with the mask. He reached out to hand it across to
Eric. Dale felt his pulse thud. Eric stuck his hand out for his mask, but at
the last second Charles yanked it away.

“Almost
there. Just one more fix thing to fix.”

Eric’s
face was a balloon ready to pop, and he squirmed as though he were desperate
for the toilet. As his agitation increased, so did Dale’s heartrate. Eric
looked at Stephanie with wide, pleading eyes. He was about to give up and take
a breath.

Just
in time, Charles handed back the mask and strapped it to the boy’s face. Eric
took deep, devouring breaths and then slumped against his mother.

Well
done
,
thought Dale.
You did good, lad.

Charles
looked at Stephanie.

“No
reaction? I have to say, I’m a little surprised. Your son nearly filled his
lungs with infected air, and in a few hours his goodnight kiss on mummy’s cheek
could have turned into a chunk of her neck. You don’t seem too upset about it.”

Dale
didn’t know what to say, and it seemed Stephanie felt the same way.

“Still,
I guess the masks don’t help, do they?” Charles said. “You might be beside
yourself, for all I know. It’s hard to read a person’s feelings when they wear
a mask.”

There
was a thud beside them. Dale turned and saw Luna on the floor. The girl’s head
jerked back and banged against the ground, and her body started to jerk
violently. She looked as if she was being zapped by invisible cattle-prods.

Oh
shit
,
Dale thought.
Not now.

Charles
rubbed his head. He stood over the girl and watched her spasm. Stephanie got to
her knees. She took off her cardigan and cushioned it under the girl’s head.
Dale expected her to be worried, but she moved with the deliberate calm of a
nurse.

“This
looks to be an epileptic fit,” said Charles, amusement in his voice. “What to
do, what to do? If my knowledge is right, you need to check she hasn’t
swallowed her tongue. To do that you’d need to take off her mask, but the girl
doesn’t seem to be in the state of mind to hold her breath. Oh my.”