During the first days of the apocalypse, Z had witnessed cars flying down the country road and had heard endless sirens in the distance, but it didn’t take long for the world to go quiet. He’d been alone for almost a year and was in no doubt about the effect on his sanity. Instead of silence, Z spoke to himself constantly, even making himself laugh with ridiculous jokes. His beard had grown so long that it touched his chest even when he was looking up. He knew he stank, but he didn’t care. Water no longer came out of the taps, so to have a wash he resorted to standing outside in the rain. The garden was full of buckets and containers used to capture drinking water, which saved his life seeing as how the bottled water had lasted less than two months. Food was becoming an issue; there were only stale crackers and two jars of honey left. Soon he would have no choice but to go out into the wild and see what he could find. He had seen no demons since the early days but assumed they were still out there somewhere. If mankind had survived, the power would have come back on. There would be cars on the road again. He would have heard those sirens.
Often Z saw rabbits, and even deer, from the upper windows of the house. He could try to hunt them, which would be safer than venturing into town, but he didn’t know where to start. His lack of survival skills would disappoint his father back home in Romania – if he still lived – for there, many men knew how to hunt. It was not uncommon to live off the land in Romania. In the UK, people were fat and lazy, and Z had happily become one of them.
And yet I am still alive, Papa. Are you?
Part of me hopes so.
Part of me does not.
Z had left Romania mostly to get away from his father, who was an unaffectionate man who cared more for his cattle than his son. While he respected his father’s toughness and willingness to apply himself to hard labour, it was not a life any young man dreamt of. No, Z had dreamt of fast cars and posh houses. He wanted to be a rich businessman, and property was where it was at. He had possessed no money so had got himself a job in real estate. Eventually, he planned to save enough to buy a first property of his own – a flat, most likely, in a nice area. Buy cheap and sell high, that was the name of the game. Look for the desperate sellers, the stupid seller, those with no idea where the market was headed. His agency’s clients were just pound signs to Z, and it was all practice for when he went it alone and made his fortune. Then his father would have had no choice but to marvel at his success.
And choke on it.
No chance of that now though. There were no more clients, no more banks, and no more use for money or fortune – only morning, noon, and night. Seconds ticking by on a clock. Nowadays, you measured success by survival. Every day Z got through in one piece was a win, separating him from those already dead. In the new world, he was a rich man just by being alive.
But am I really alive? Is this life? I thought about food and water, but I wish I’d brought books. I wish I’d brought anything that would help me pass this time. How much longer can I keep doing this?
“I might be the last man on Earth,” he said to himself, chuckling. “I finally have the big house, but there’s no one left to envy me.”
Z spent a few minutes staring out the back windows at the rolling fields sloping down behind the house. Part of him suddenly broke, like a spring snapping past the point of no return. “A-ți lua inima ’n dinți, Z. It is time to do something. I would rather die than stay here another year. Papa would despise my laziness. I must work.”
And just like that, Z packed a bag and walked out the front gate. He kept himself company by whistling as he strolled down the overgrown country road. Every second he failed to meet a demon gave him hope, while every second he failed to meet another person caused him despair. No matter what, however, he was free. Free in a way that big houses and fancy cars could not make him. He had no burdens beyond taking his next breath and his next step.
When he reached a restaurant called the Coach House at the end of the road, he envisioned finding it full of people. They would tell Z that everything was fine, and that he had been hiding out in Samdean Cottage for nothing. Then they would all share a good laugh. That wasn’t the punchline he discovered though. The punchline was the number of demons amassed in the Coach House’s car park. It was like they’d been waiting for him.
Z slowly put his bag down at his feet. He opened his arms wide and made sure all the demons saw him. “Okay, dracu, let’s negotiate. You want this, you’ll have to come in with your best offer.”
The demons sprinted at Z, making his bladder leak into his briefs. He wanted to run, but the only place to go back to was Samdean Cottage. Even if he could make it, he would rather die than hide out there any longer. He had come to the UK to
