Ted made it over to the van and opened the back door. “Sounds nice, you should’ve stayed—” He covered his nose with his arm and gagged. “Bleedin’ ‘ell!”
“What is it?” Hannah hurried to catch up, raising her rifle.
“It’s nothing.” He stepped up into the van while keeping his face covered. “Think I’d be used to the stench by now.”
The corpse was an insect-ridden puddle on the floor, with ghastly cheeks hanging from a browning skull. Its eyeballs were yellow and massive, skin drawn back around them. The tongue also seemed overly large, jutting from between exposed jawbones. It was unclear how the person had died, but the fact they were in one piece suggested they had taken their own lives.
“Get out of there,” said Hannah. “You’ll catch… I dunno, something.”
“Just a sec.” Ted clambered towards the back of the van where a fridge stood. No power, of course, but inside were three-dozen cans of pop and several bottles of water. He searched beneath the counter until he found a bunch of plastic bags, then filled them with the drinks. The cans were warm, but it didn’t matter. The time of chilled drinks and fresh sandwiches had passed.
Ted gathered the carrier bags along his arm and climbed out the van. Hannah saw what he had and licked her lips, which were notably dry and pasty. “You gonna share?”
“You’re the one with a gun, do I have much choice?”
“It’s a rifle.”
“Huh?”
“You keep calling it a gun. It bugs me. It’s a rifle.”
Ted pulled out a can of cherry cola, a flavour he hated, and handed it to her. “It shoots bullets don’t it? That’s a gun as far as I’m concerned, luv.”
Hannah took the can of pop and sighed. “Yeah, I suppose so. It’s just an Army thing. A gun is something you’d find on a Navy boat. A rifle is what this is, pet.”
“SA-80, right? I still remember the big hoo-hah when they introduced it. Weapon of the future and all that.”
Hannah patted her rifle like a pet. “Aye. I think the original left a lot to be desired, but they improved it over time. I’ve been carrying it so long now it feels like a part of me.” She pulled the tab on her can and took a swig.
“How many bullets you got left?” Ted asked.
“Rounds.”
“Huh?”
“It fires bullets, but it’s loaded with rounds. The round is the casing that houses the bullet. To answer your question, I have one magazine of ammunition left after saving your arse. Plus a few rounds left in this one.” She tapped the magazine hanging out the bottom of the rifle. It rattled and sounded hollow. “When we made our last stand in Derby, we knew we’d be up against a large force, so each of us had about a dozen mags of ammo. It still wasn’t enough. I was down to my last two by the time I made a run for it.”
“How long have you been on the road?”
“Nine days, like.”
Ted blanched. “Nine days? I assumed you were talking about things that happened right at the start. You’re telling me the Army was still around as recently as nine days ago?”
Hannah nodded. “I might be the last soldier left. Sorry.”
Ted nodded. Was she really the last soldier left? The final witness of mankind’s pitiful last stand? It wasn’t for definite. If the Army in these parts had still been around nine days ago, perhaps there were other groups fighting back. The world was cut off from itself. No telling who was alive and where. Strangely, it sparked a slither of hope inside of him, and he had to push the feeling away before it wrecked him. He uncapped a bottle of water to take a sip. As he tilted his head back, he spotted something at the side of the road fifty-metres ahead. “Hey, there’s a bus over there.”
“Yeah, I see it,” said Hannah following his gaze. “You think we can get her going again?”
“Was thinking more I could try the battery in my truck and get back on my way.”
“Heading north?”
“North and alone.”
Hannah grunted. “Were you this sociable in your former life?”
Ted started up the road, unwilling to comment on his former life—couldn’t even think about it. Hannah, followed him like a stray dog, nipping at his heels the whole way until they reached the bus—although it turned out to be a coach when they got there. Rather than being parked off to the side of the road, it was actually set in a small parking area, big enough only for five or six vehicles. The nearby forest was so thick it had hidden the spot from the road. A large wooden noticeboard stood beside the beginnings of an overgrown path, and a bronze plaque fixed along its top read: KIELDER FOREST PARK OUTDOOR ACTIVITY CENTRE.
Hannah nodded to the sign. “Ever been?”
Ted shook his head. “I’m from Essex. This might be the furthest I’ve ever been north.”
“Yeah, I imagine Scotland’s not far away.”
“I might already be there if you hadn’t shot my bloody engine.”
“I said I’m sorry. Look, I’ll help you get back on your way, like, but wouldn’t it be better to stick together?”
“No.” Ted went around to the bus’s door and yanked on it. It didn’t move until Hannah arrived next to him and pushed a red button that released it manually. “My dad was a bus driver most his life. How about yours?”
“My old man was a professional piss head. Laid a brick from time to time, and taught me how to do it, but most the time, you could find him down whatever boozer hadn’t barred him yet.”
“You’re a brick layer then?”
“Builder. Ran my own firm for twenty years. Call me a brick layer again and we’ll have a problem.”
Hannah put her hands up, letting her rifle hang free on its strap. “Long as you stop calling my weapon a gun, we have a deal.”
Ted stepped up into the coach’s
