watched as the two pensioners huddled closer together and talked in frightened, hushed whispers. Clearly from opposite ends of the social spectrum, they seemed to be drawn to each other for no other reason than their similar ages. Money, position, possessions, friends and connections didn’t count for anything anymore.
Emma was still sitting on the floor two hours later. As half-past two approached she cursed herself for being so bloody selfless. There she was, cold and uncomfortable, still cradling Jenny Hall in her arms. What made matters worse was the Jenny had herself been asleep for the best part of an hour. Why am I always the one who ends up doing this, she thought? Christ, no-one ever bothers to hold me and rock me to sleep. Why am I always the one giving out? Emma didn’t really need any help or support, but it pissed her off that no-one ever seemed to offer.
The hall was silent but for a muffled conversation taking place in one of the dark rooms off the main hall. Emma carefully eased herself out from underneath Jenny and lay her down on the floor and covered her with a sheet. In the still silence every sound she made, no matter how slight, seemed deafening. As she moved Jenny’s body she listened carefully and tried to locate the precise source of the conversation. She was desperate for some calm and rational adult company.
The voices seemed to be coming from a little room that she hadn’t been into before. Cautiously she pushed the door open and peered inside. It was pitch black, and the voices stopped immediately.
‘Who’s that?’ a man asked.
‘Emma,’ she whispered. ‘Emma Mitchell.’
As her eyes slowly became accustomed to the darkness of the room (which was, surprisingly, even darker and gloomier than the main hall) she saw that there were two men sitting with their backs against the far wall. It was Michael and Carl. They were drinking water from a plastic bottle which they passed between themselves.
‘You okay?’ Michael asked.
‘I’m fine,’ Emma replied. ‘Mind if I come in?’
‘Not at all,’ said Carl. ‘Everything calmed down out there?’
She stepped into the room, tripping over his outstretched legs and feeling for the nearest wall in the darkness. She sat down carefully.
‘It’s all quiet,’ she said. ‘I just had to get away, know what I mean?’
‘Why do you think we’re sitting in here?’ Michael asked rhetorically.
After a short silence Emma spoke again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said apologetically. ‘Have I interrupted something? Did you two want me to go so you can…?’
‘Stay here as long as you like,’ Michael answered. Emma’s eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the darkness and she could now just about make out the details of the two men’s faces.
‘I think everyone’s asleep out there. At least if they’re not asleep then they’re being very quiet. I guess they’re all thinking about what happened today. I’ve just sat and listened to Jenny talking about…’ Emma realised she was talking for the sake of talking and let her words trail away into silence. Both Michael and Carl were staring at her. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, suddenly self-conscious. ‘What’s wrong?’
Michael shook his head.
‘Bloody hell,’ he sighed, ‘have you been out there with Jenny all this time?’
She nodded.
‘Yes, why?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Nothing, I just don’t know why you bother, that’s all.’
‘Someone’s got to do it, haven’t they?’ she replied nonchalantly as she accepted a drink from the bottle of water that Carl passed to her.
‘So why does it have to be you? Christ, who’s going to sit up with you for hours when you’re…’
‘Like I said,’ she interrupted, ‘someone’s got to do it. If we all shut ourselves away in rooms like this when things aren’t going well then we haven’t got much of a future here, have we?’
Emma was immediately defensive of her own actions, despite the fact that she’d silently criticised herself for exactly the same thing just a few minutes earlier.
‘So do you think we’ve got a future here then?’ asked Carl. Now Emma really was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t come in here to be picked on.
‘Of course we’ve got a future,’ she snapped.
‘We’ve got millions of people lying dead in the streets around us and we’ve got people threatening to kill each other because someone doesn’t like soup. Doesn’t bode well really, does it?’ Michael mused.
Another silence.
‘So what do you think?’ Emma asked. ‘You seem to have an opinion about everything. Do you reckon we’ve got any chance, or do you think we should just curl up in the corner and give up?’
‘I think we’ve got a damn good chance, but not necessarily here.’
‘Where then?’ she wondered.
‘Well what have we got here?’ Michael began. ‘We’ve got shelter of sorts, we’ve got limited supplies and we’ve got access to what’s left of the city. We’ve also got an unlimited supply of dead bodies – some of them mobile – which are going to rot. Agree?’
