Blood on the Motorway Page 12

  There were mutters of 'oh my' and 'gracious' from the gentle folk around them.

  'How did you find each other?' Joan asked. She watched them with a dispassionate eye, Jen noticed, not quite so sold on their appearance as the others. Jen couldn't blame her.

  Mira and Sam exchanged a guilty look, unsure whether they now had to tell their tale of highway robbery, but Jen spoke first.

  'I found them in a house together, their parents were, well, you know. So I took them with me. York wasn't safe anymore, so…'

  She tailed off.

  'You did a good thing,' Nigel said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  Jen shrugged it off a little more blatantly than she had intended, and Nigel's face fell. An awkward moment passed between them, unnoticed by everyone else.

  'So how about you?' Jen asked. 'Forgive me, but this was the last thing we expected to come across when we came into the village.'

  'Not much to tell,' Nigel said. 'We're all from the area. When the storm happened people seemed to come here to check what was going on. We decided to stick together in one place, cleaned up the village and whatnot. There was,' he paused, 'a little unpleasantness, but that's behind us now.'

  'Do you know what's happened?' Mira asked, speaking for the first time. 'I mean, out there? The storm?'

  'Not really, no,' Joan replied. 'Some of us have theories, but nothing concrete. We know it killed most things electrical, and there's been no TV or radio since.'

  'Actually,' Nigel said. 'Jeremy has an old wind up radio and he thought he heard some French voices on it, but none of us speak French.'

  'I think it might have been Spanish, actually,' called a voice from the back of the post office.

  'None of us speak Spanish either so it's a moot point.'

  'So what theories do you have?' Sam asked, inhaling a bag of Monster Munch with such gusto that the maize monster shapes barely touched the sides of the bag on their way out.

  'Let's see,' Nigel replied. 'There's a few people who think this is some kind of divine act. The Rapture, in fact, but since that means we're the sinful ones, it's not a terribly popular opinion. There's a school of thought that this is some colossal government something-or-other that's gone wrong.'

  'And you?' Jen asked.

  'Ah,' he replied, pleased to have the floor. 'Let me ask you something. Would any of you care for a cigarette?'

  'God yes,' Jen replied. Both Sam and Mira nodded, Sam struggling to get his affirmation through a mouth glued up with Monster Munch.

  'Nigel!' exclaimed two of the women in unison. There were looks of consternation from the assembled elderly.

  'Hey, if I'm right, it's smoking that saved these kids' lives.'

  'What?' Jen said.

  'Every single survivor we've met so far is a smoker. Everyone in this village here, and everyone any of us have come across since the storm. Now you three.

  'The most recent statistics suggest that as little as ten per cent of the population of the United Kingdom are smokers now, so one would expect to see roughly the same percentage in the survivors, but instead we have seen a hit rate of one hundred percent, albeit from a relatively small sample pool. Nonetheless, it's a remarkable point.'

  'So wait,' Sam said. 'Do you have any cigarettes or not?'

  Nigel chuckled and tossed Sam a pack.

  'How do you know all this?' Jen asked.

  'I work – or, sorry, I used to work – for the national advisory board for the NHS's anti-smoking initiatives.'

  'I thought you said the survivors are smokers?' Mira said.

  'I work for the board, but I'll admit I've not been particularly effective in advising myself to kick the habit. Now I'm rather glad I didn't.'

  Jen tried to take it in. She ran through every person they'd encountered since the storm hit and tried to remember if they'd been smokers, but in her head they all seemed to be smoking pipes in some bizarre trick of the mind.

  'Of course,' Nigel continued, 'it could be I'm as wrong as Gladys and her insistence that this is the Rapture. Or maybe it's the work of our new Martian overlords preparing for an invasion, as Mr Stokes seems so convinced is the case.'

  'Wait,' Jen said, trying to wrap her head around the concept, which felt both ridiculous and plausible. 'So we're all smokers. Say that's true, it still doesn't answer the question as to what the hell has actually happened to everyone else. It's not like every non-smoker in the world upped and died on their own.'

  'True. And I can say from experience that not every smoker made it through the storm. I have no idea what caused the storm, or any of this. All I can say is from a purely rational standpoint cigarette addiction must be one of the factors as to why we survived.'

  Silence fell over the post office. Jen looked around and saw the crowd had thinned somewhat. Perhaps they'd heard this theory too many times, perhaps they'd seen enough of the newcomers.

  'It's an interesting theory,' she said. 'Listen, we're pretty tired, we could do with a wash and a rest. I'm not sure what kind of capacity you have for new people, but do you have anywhere for us to get washed up?'

  Joan stepped forward, smiling.

  'Of course there is, dear. You three follow me and we'll get you set up, don't worry.'

  * * *

  Joan led them to a little row of cottages behind the main street. The sun set behind the fields, and smoke rose from the chimneys.

  'You'll have to do without electricity, I'm afraid,' Joan said. She opened the front door to one of the cottage. She pocketed the key, rather than handing it over to Jen. 'No creature comforts, either, but the fire works. We'll bring you some wood shortly. There's no running hot water, but the taps and the gas stove work for now, so you can fill up a bath from the kettle.'

  Jen nodded.

  'The bedrooms are upstairs. There's only two I'm afraid, so I imagine one of you will be on the sofa?'

  The question came loaded with a sense of what would be an appropriate response, but before Jen could answer, Sam jumped in.

  'That'll be me,' he said. 'Don't worry, I've had a lot worse. Sofa actually looks pretty comfortable.'

  Joan looked placated by his response, and gave a terse little smile.

  'We'll sort you out some duvets and stuff, Sam, thanks for being a gentleman,' Jen said.

  'Not a problem,' he said with a smile, and went off into the house to explore.

  'Now, dear,' Joan said, addressing Jen. 'I don't know what your plans are, we will leave that to you to discuss among yourselves, but perhaps tomorrow we can sit down and talk about what you want to do?'

  Jen nodded, and Joan left, without handing over the key. Jen bolted the door.

  * * *

  The next few hours were a bliss of silence, baths, comfortable beds and thoughts of what might be. Jen even found a bookcase in her room that wasn't entirely without merit in its composition, and lay on her bed flicking through the pages of a well-thumbed copy of The Secret History by candlelight. She contemplated not even leaving her room, but Mira, hair still wet from her own bath and clothes thrown back on, appeared at her door, two bottles of wine in hand.

  'Look what I found.'

  Downstairs, Sam was busy setting up a private area for himself. As soon as they both appeared he took the filled kettle up for his own bath. Jen caught a longing look in Mira's eyes as she watched her boyfriend take the stairs.

  'You realise you two are going to have to be a lot more subtle if we stay here, don't you?' Jen said.

  'What do you mean?'

  'You know I trust you two to be sensible, but we're in the land of the old people now. You saw how they reacted to the idea of you two smoking. They're not likely to be that happy about an underage, unmarried couple shacking up in a cottage with only a young woman of questionable values to chaperone them.'

  'I…' Mira stammered.

  Jen poured the wine. 'They'd probably disapprove of you drinking, too.'

  'Jesus,' Mira said. 'Don't they know it's the apocalypse?'
<
br />   'This is why we need to decide if we're going to stay here.'

  'You don't want to?' Mira asked.

  Jen considered the candlelit cottage, the wine, the bookcase. 'It's not that I don't want to,' she said. 'It's just… I've not decided if I think it's safe yet.'

  'I know what you mean,' Mira said. 'That Nigel guy gives me the creeps.'

  'Really?'

  'He keeps eyeing you up. It's creepy, he's old enough to be your granddad.'

  Jen laughed. 'What did you make of his theory?' she asked, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her jeans as a reflex. She handed one to Mira.

  'I don't know. It kind of makes sense, I guess. But, that doesn't mean anything. I mean, if he worked at NASA I'm sure he'd be able to convince you it was aliens. Until someone comes up with some kind of official explanation, I don't know. And honestly, I don't care.'

  'You don't care?'

  'What does it matter? How does knowing what happened have any impact on how we get through tomorrow, or the next day? Unless knowing means we can somehow undo it, bring everyone back, bring my parents back, and your boyfriend, and all my friends, I don't care. This is the world we live in now, it's more important that we work out what that means.'

  Jen stared at Mira in shock, which made Mira revert to her standard defence position, knees drawn up and hair over her face.

  'I dunno, maybe it does matter and I'm being a brat,' she mumbled.

  Jen smiled, and reached forward to brush the hair from Mira's face. 'I was thinking that was the most sensible, grown-up thing I've heard anyone say about anything since the storm.'

  Mira smiled, her cheeks flushed red.

  Jen raised her glass and they clinked a silent toast.

  'You know, when I picked you two up I thought I was making the most insane mistake of my life. But I don't know what I'd have done without you both.' A smile spread across Mira's face, and Jen's heart swelled.

  'You might want to reserve judgement on that,' came a voice from the stairwell. Jen turned to see Sam pulling on a jumper and running down the stairs. 'Look out the window.'

  Jen put down her wine and moved to the window.

  'What is it?' Mira asked.

  Jen peered out.

  The sight of the residents of the village staring at the cottage in the low night light was unnerving, to say the least. She backed away from the window. 'Jesus,' she said.

  'Are they actually carrying torches?' Sam asked.

  Jen scanned the crowd, stretched out in a line, staring towards the house with hate in their eyes, lit by the glow of torches.

  'What do we do?' Sam asked.

  'What? What is it?' Mira asked again.

  'Shit,' was all Jen could think to say.

  'The whole village is stood out there staring at our house like zombies,' Sam said. 'I can't tell if they have pitchforks, but it's freaking me out.'

  'Right, everyone, go and collect your stuff together,' Jen said, before heading upstairs to do the same. Her room faced the back garden and the fields behind it, but it was total darkness out there. Besides, their car was on the main street.

  What the fuck do I do?

  She stuffed her bag full again and rushed back downstairs. Mira was behind her. Sam was back at the windows, peering out at the crowd staring back at them.

  'Are they doing anything?' Jen asked.

  'Talking amongst themselves. I think they're trying to work out how to get in. It's still freaking me out.'

  'You got your stuff together?'

  'Yep.'

  Jen took a deep breath. 'Either we stay put and see out the night, or we make a run for it out the back and try and double back for the car.'

  'Or we could go out there and talk to them,' Mira said.

  I really don't want to do that.

  'Or we could do that, yes. What do we think?'

  The three of them stood in silence for a moment.

  'Oh fuck this,' Sam said, grabbing the door. 'They're old people. We just need to move around them at a vaguely accelerated pace.'

  He unbolted the door and threw it open, striding out into the night.

  Jen and Mira followed.

  'What the hell is going on out here?' Sam shouted at the crowd, who looked taken aback. Nigel was at the front, so Sam strode up to him, hands balled into fists at his sides. Jen thought he might actually swing for the older man.

  Jen and Mira caught up.

  'Nigel, if this is your idea of hospitality, it seems to have missed its mark,' Jen said.

  'What did you do to Joan?' Nigel asked. Tears streamed down his face.

  'What do you mean?' Jen replied.

  'What did you do with her?' he shouted.

  'Murderers!' came another voice, further back.

  'What?' Mira asked, in a small voice.

  'Seriously,' Jen said, taking a step back. 'What the fuck is going on here?'

  'As if you don't know!' Nigel shouted. He held his arm up and pointed behind them. Instinctively Jen turned around.

  'Oh shit!' Sam said, beside her.

  There, beside their house, suspended between two trees, was the eviscerated and disembowelled corpse of Joan.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  GET REAL, GET RIGHT

  By the time the van finally stopped moving Tom didn't much care if he lived or died anymore. There were great dollops of searing pain where his legs used to be. His vision blurred. His head pounded.

  They stopped long enough for Tom to realise he might finally have reached his death, when the doors opened. The brightness of the outside world obscured his vision, and he pulled at the fresh blast of air with all the gusto his lungs could manage.

  He tapped Leon's leg, but got no response. Perhaps his friend was already dead. Perhaps he was playing dead. Tom hoped it was the latter. He couldn't face this world without Leon.

  Two figures climbed into the truck. Tom closed his eyes and waited. Hands grabbed onto him roughly, and he felt himself lifted up.

  'Fucking hell, he stinks,' said a voice next to his ear. He went limp. If he was being led to his death, then so be it.

  If this is the best the new world has to offer you can stick it right up your arse, thank you very much.

  As someone carried him out of the truck, he heard a grunt from Leon. Someone handed Tom down to someone else. A new set of hands, or two sets of hands, he couldn't quite focus to see. He felt ground beneath him, and a cold wet cloth wiped over his face. The pain was easing, and once his eyes were clean he blinked the world back into focus. A woman was leaning over him. Her clothes were marked and dirty, her hair hastily put up. A bruise covered one cheek. She smiled at him.

  'Hi,' he said, trying and failing to sit up.

  'Hi,' she replied. 'You thought you were a goner, didn't you?'

  'Um, yeah, pretty much. Am I not?'

  'I think you should be safe for a little while.'

  'Oh, well that's good.'

  She turned her attention to Leon. Tom managed to prop himself up.

  The moment the mystery woman touched Leon's leg, he woke with a start and a yelp, before sitting up and casting his eyes about.

  'Welcome back,' Tom said. 'Glad to see you're not dead.'

  Leon rubbed his head.

  'Jury's still out on that one,' he said, his voice little more than a croak. 'What's going on?'

  'I have no idea,' Tom said, looking back to the woman. 'Perhaps you could enlighten us?'

  'Gladly,' she said. 'But not now, okay?' She glanced off behind them.

  Tom and Leon nodded.

  'I need to get your leg in a splint,' she said to Leon, who nodded. She left them alone.

  'You reckon we could make a break for it?' Leon asked, before laughing at his own joke, which in turn became a racking cough.

  The woman soon came back with a rudimentary splint cobbled together from a bit of wood and the contents of a first aid box, accompanied by one of Baxter's men.

  'They gonna be alright?' he asked, in a
tone of voice that suggested he didn't give two fucks one way or the other.

  'They should be,' the woman replied. 'So long as we can find somewhere to rest up for a few days.'

  'Fine,' the man grunted. He stormed off.

  The woman gave them a smile, finished the splint, and was off again, leaving the two of them half sat up in the grass by the side of the road.

  There were houses not too far away, and if Tom craned around the side of the van he could see the rest of the convoy. The faces looked as anxious as before. One of Baxter's men helped them back onto a minibus, offering nothing by way of apology or explanation. The woman who put Leon's leg into a splint had gone, but Tom couldn't see Oak or Baxter, either.

  They drove until they came to another hamlet. The convoy pulled up, and everyone started to get out. Tom supported Leon on his shoulder, trying not to knock his own bruises as he did so.

  The woman found them again, and led them into one of the houses. Everyone seemed to be setting up shop in the village. Baxter's men were busy clearing the streets of the dead, while everyone else was bustling around looking busy. Tom and Leon were on the receiving end of some half smiles and nods from their fellow hostages, and cold stares from Baxter's men. Tom saw no sign of Oak, but Wiry gave them a glare that left Tom under no illusion as to how well this change in circumstances had gone down with Baxter's men.

  The house was a basic suburban semi, but the beds inside were corpse free and clean enough. Tom had to make his own way up, while the woman helped Leon. She helped him into the main bedroom and Tom followed, desperate to find out what was going on. He fell into an armchair, his legs aching from the effort, while she helped his friend into the bed.

  'So,' she said, sitting down on the end of the bed. 'You may have noticed a few changes.'

  'Yeah,' they replied in unison.

  'Well,' she said, looking around her to ensure they were alone. 'We seem to have reached a kind of truce. But I wouldn't get too comfortable, I doubt it'll last for long.'