Taking care not to make any more noise than was absolutely necessary, she stood up and walked over to the window. Peering down cautiously into the yard below she saw that the seething mass of dark, heaving bodies remained. An apparently endless sea of bobbing, rotting heads. Hundreds and hundreds of them clamoured to get closer to the house and their sheer number was still the overriding concern because, individually, the corpses were slow and dumb. While she watched she saw five or six of them lose their footing on the muddy bank and tumble helplessly into the stream, unable to get up and get out again. She saw another one of them become caught on the jagged remains of one of the gateposts on the bridge, trapped and unable to move. The remnants of its ragged clothing had become snagged on a large wooden splinter but it couldn’t see how to pull itself free.
There was another reason why the bodies terrified her.
It was more than just their horrific appearance and the fact that their rotting flesh was host to many unknown and deadly diseases. Emma was morbidly fascinated and repulsed by the creatures because, less than a month ago, each one of them had been like herself. An individual. A person. A human being with a clear and identifiable personality and individual tastes, skills and beliefs. What scared Emma – what chilled her to the core in fact – was what these once ordinary, normal people had become. Chances were many of her friends and family had gone the same way. And who was to say that when she died, she too wouldn’t spend the rest of eternity dragging her decomposing body aimlessly around their dead world?
One or two of the bodies weren’t a threat. A group of between, say, ten and fifteen was a concern, but nothing they couldn’t deal with. But in the cold darkness outside the farmhouse tonight there she could see hundreds upon fucking hundreds of them.
‘No better?’ an unexpected voice asked from the shadows behind her, startling her momentarily. She span around quickly. It was Michael. He was up and out of his seat.
‘They’re still here,’ she replied with her heart thumping anxiously in her chest. ‘They’re still coming.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice low, sensing that he’d startled her. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump.’
She nodded and turned back to look out of the window again.
‘Do you think they know we’re in here?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I think they sense that there’s something different about us. It might just be because of the noise we make, it might be because of the way we move…’
‘But what do they want from us?’
‘I don’t think they want anything.’
‘So why are they here?’
‘Instinct.’
‘Instinct?’
‘Yes. Like I said, we’re different, that’s all. Whatever’s left of their brains is telling them we’re not the same as they are and they’re drawn to us. I don't think they mean us any harm, they just want to know what we are. If they react towards one of us, it’s because they’re looking out for their own safety.’
‘They think we’re a threat?’
‘I think so, yes.’
Michael took another few steps closer to Emma and gently put his arms around her. For a second she involuntarily recoiled at his touch. She meant nothing by her response. She wanted to be close to him but, at the same time, she wanted to be alone. Truth was she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.
‘I’m okay,’ she replied, turning round to face him but not quite managing to make eye contact. ‘I’m just tired,’ she mumbled, ‘that’s all.’
‘Sure?’ he pressed, not convinced.
She shook her head and her eyes filled with stinging tears.
‘No,’ she finally admitted, reaching out and grabbing tight hold of him. She pulled him closer and buried her face in his chest. ‘I don’t think we’re ever going to get away from this house.’
‘It’s going to be okay,’ he said instinctively and without any degree of conviction in his words.
‘You keep saying that,’ she sobbed. ‘You keep saying that but you don’t know if it’s true, do you?’
She was right. Michael knew as much and decided that it was better to say nothing. Still holding onto Emma tightly, he shuffled closer to the window and peered outside. As she’d already suggested, nothing out there seemed to have changed.
‘Come on, we’ve got to go,’ he announced suddenly.
‘What?’ Emma protested, pushing herself away from him. ‘What the hell are you talking about. We’re not ready to go yet…’
‘It’s not going to get any better,’ he said, his voice surprisingly calm and unemotional. ‘We could wait here for months but we’d be fooling ourselves if we think it’s ever going to get easier.’
‘But what about Carl?’ she nervously snapped. ‘We can’t leave here until he’s…’
‘You’re making excuses,’ Michael sighed. ‘We’ve both been making fucking excuses all night. We’ve just got to do it.’
She knew he was right and didn’t bother to argue. Truth was they had both been avoiding the inevitable. But suddenly Michael seemed determined to make a move, and she watched him with quickly mounting trepidation. There was a new found concentration and direction in his voice which she understood but which also frightened and disturbed her. She knew that this really was it. She knew Michael was right and that leaving was their only chance, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept or to deal with. She watched as he pulled a thick jumper over his head and tightened the laces on his boots.
