Collapse: Chapter Two

TWO

The lunatics rarely went inside. The only buildings where you really needed to be careful were shops and warehouses - anywhere they could find an abundance of things to kill people with. There had been nothing worth their time in apartment blocks and houses since the lootings when the Collapse first started. As long as you maintained a low profile, you could stay in these places as long as you wanted - provided nobody saw you entering or exiting. Of course, you also needed to be careful that you didn’t  stumble into a Twisted den.

Seth paused a few buildings down from the apartments, examining the street. There was no movement anywhere. He stood for a few minutes, making sure that he was safe, then continued. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the gloom.

The escape from the lunatics had been fairly simple after he had reached the rooftops. His leg hurt like hell, but he’d been able to block it out for the most part. The only time it was a real issue was when he needed to jump or climb. Several times, he had come within inches of falling to his death. The lunatics had followed him for a few blocks. Calling up from the street below, hoping he would fall. Every so often Kalashnikov would try to shoot him, but he’d missed every time. Eventually, they’d given up and gone off to search for easier targets. He’d seen Machete stumbling along with them, rubbing his head. When they had left, he had remained behind for a few seconds, pointing to him and drawing his bloodied machete across his throat.

He hoped to hell he’d never have to deal with him again.

The size of the group had disturbed him. He’d never seen a lunatic group larger than ten before, and there were at least thirty of them. Perhaps since prey was harder to find by now, they’d begun to band together. He’d hoped that they’d resort to fighting each other. It seemed he had been wrong.

The flat he’d been living in for the past year was in a pristine state. Seth made a point of cleaning up after himself and dealing with any vermin problems as they happened. If he let himself live in filth like some did he’d be more likely to get sick, he reasoned. That was something he couldn’t let happen. The windows he had boarded up when he’d moved in, plunging the flat into a perpetual state of gloom. He’d gotten used to it by now. Electricity had been gone since the early days. Two years and two months, now.

Once Seth had closed the door, he waited for a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He groped his way through the darkness, until he found a box of candles. He rummaged around for one. There were three left. He grunted with dissatisfaction. He’d have to find some more soon.

The candle’s light cast a dim glow across the room. He made his way to the fridge. Keeping food in the fridge was pointless as the electricity was gone, but it just seemed familiar. A relic of times past. Everyone needed a little way to hold on. Besides, it at least stopped rats and mice from getting at it.

Seth opened the fridge, and the sight that greeted him was less than pleasant.

There was almost no food. One can of sliced peaches and syrup. A half-full litre bottle of water. Two cans of corned beef. Enough food for maybe two days, but the water would run out tomorrow morning, perhaps even today. He grunted. In his haste to escape the lunatics, he’d forgotten the entire reason he’d ventured outside today. To get food.

His stomach rumbled.

He crossed to the window, looking through a gap in the planks. The sun was setting, casting an orange light over the horizon. What little he could see of the city itself looked deceptively tranquil - even the lunatics were heading back to their dens now. He watched and listened for a few minutes. Not a single gunshot or scream was heard. Obviously the soldiers hadn’t managed to catch any lunatics today.

It was pointless for him to venture out now. The Twisted came out at night. In his time travelling the city, the one thing he’d never encountered up close and personal was a Twisted. He’d stumbled into one of their dens a while back, and something unseen had chased him out, howling and slavering. The last thing he remembered before he reached sunlight was a chorus of unearthly screams.

There were only two memories which made Seth shudder. That was one of them.

He’d have to go out again tomorrow. These days, food was becoming very hard to find, and what little there was was hotly contested. He’d need to think about heading out of the city soon. Growing his own food. Hunting. If he waited too long, he wouldn’t have enough supplies to make it out. He just hoped the military blockade was gone.

He’d tried to escape the city once before, with his brother. They’d  made it as far as the outskirts, trying to follow the motorway out. This was in the early days, before the Collapse was in full swing. They’d driven as far as the Eastern Road, but they had been unable to drive any further; the way in front of them had been littered with abandoned cars. They had continued on foot. Luckily, the lunatics had already picked this area clean, moving on to the beaches and holiday resorts. In some places, the road was slick with blood. Back then, things like this had still bothered Seth. He remembered pausing to vomit several times.  Strangely, though, they had never found any bodies.

The sounds of rioting were ever-present. Every scream and shout had set the pair on edge, every explosion had sent them ducking for cover. He remembered several bursts of machine gun fire. They had continued at a slow and steady pace, stopping at every shout. The only things that had kept Seth going were his brother’s soothing words.

They’d reached the bridge just before nightfall. It was blockaded. Dozens of soldiers stood across the bridge, behind sandbags. They even had tanks. Someone had shouted at them to turn back. They had threatened to shoot them if they didn’t comply.

Obviously, they had turned back. There was nothing else they could do.

Seth felt a pang in his stomach. He missed his brother.

His leg throbbed painfully. He sat down, taking off the bandages. The wound had widened and was still bleeding. He groaned. It’d need stitches.

From his backpack he withdrew a small sewing kit, something he’d found in a fashion store a few weeks ago. He opened it, threading the needle with his shaking hands. It took him a few tries, and a lot of focus. Then, gritting his teeth, he pushed the needle into the side of the wound.

It took all his effort not to cry out. He’d done this a few times before, but it never got any easier. Holding his breath, he pushed the needle all the way through and out the other side. He allowed himself a pause, exhaling deeply, wincing with pain. Then he plunged the needle back in, the thread pulling the wound together. Blood dribbled down the side of his thigh. After a few more stitches, he stopped, panting. He wiped sweat from his brow.

“Every stitch is a punishment,” he reminded himself under his breath, “For being reckless enough to get yourself hurt.”

He finished the stitching before the pain became overwhelming. His chest heaving, he snipped the thread with some scissors, then tied fresh bandages tightly around the wound. His throat was dry. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. He shook it, and a hollow rattle came from inside. He was almost out. He put it back in the bag. Best to save them, he thought.

He sat there for a few minutes, waiting for the pain to subside. When it finally did, he made his way over to the fridge. He’d need energy if he was to go out again tomorrow. He ate half of the can of peaches and half of a can of corned beef, then slaked his thirst on half of what little water he had left. Feeling reasonably fulfilled, he walked to the window again.

The sun had gone down almost completely now, and he heard a howl from somewhere nearby. He moved away from the boards, a lump of fear in his throat. Hearing them always inspired fear in him. He crossed to the bed and lay on it, sighing. Hopefully, he’d be able to get a good night’s sleep tonight. If not, tomorrow would be a hell of a lot harder. He had used a lot of his energy running from the lunatics, and he was tired.