Survive The Darkness | Book 3 | Resist The Darkness Read online

  Chapter Three

  “Come on. Get this down you. It’ll do you good.”

  Aoife stared at the steaming bowl of murky brown broth before her and she was pretty certain if she put it anywhere near her mouth, she’d throw the whole thing up everywhere.

  “I’m not sure I’m really in the mood for… whatever this is.”

  Max shook his head and sighed as he sat beside her on her sofa. He’d wrapped a blanket over her. Helped her off the kitchen floor, onto the sofa. Made sure she got plenty of water down her. She’d no idea how long had passed since the meltdown this morning, but it looked like it was afternoon now.

  And Max hadn’t left her side. Not once.

  Rex sat in the corner of her lounge, wagging his tail reluctantly. Staring over at Aoife like he didn’t even recognise her anymore. And that made her feel sad. Guilty. She was the one who’d rescued him from hell on the first day of the blackout, after all. She was the one who’d sworn to protect him.

  But now Max looked after him because… well. It was no secret that he could do a better job of looking after him than Aoife could. Being with a pisshead wasn’t exactly great for any animal’s health when you really thought about it.

  And… well. Aoife wasn’t convinced having Rex around was particularly good for her, either.

  Because he wasn’t exactly a young dog. And if anything happened to him…

  She just wasn’t sure she could lose anyone else.

  She certainly couldn’t let anyone else in.

  “Go on,” Max said. “Just a sip. It’s nice. Squirrel bone soup.”

  Aoife almost vomited in her mouth. “Really selling it to me.”

  “It’ll get your energy levels up. Go on. Remember what you were like to me six months ago, back in my place. Forcing me to eat that fucking awful porridge.”

  “At least it didn’t have squirrel bones in it.”

  Max smirked a little. Like he was enjoying this.

  But she could see the concern in his eyes.

  She shrugged, shook her head, took a sip. If only to please him. It wasn’t pleasant. Then again, no food or liquid was pleasant right now. Not with a sore throat and a banging head like she had.

  But it was actually not so bad in the end. And she had to concede she felt a little better already.

  “Better?” Max asked.

  Aoife sighed. “Sort of.”

  “Told you it’d do the trick. Better than bloody bleach, anyway.”

  Aoife looked up at him, felt her cheeks flushing. She couldn’t explain that momentary temptation to drink the bleach. She knew the pain it would cause. She knew it would inevitably kill her.

  But the scariest thing?

  It felt like the most natural thing to do before Max came wandering in out of nowhere.

  The right thing to do.

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” Max said.

  And she appreciated that. She couldn’t remember exactly what prompted her. Didn’t know what made her do anything these days. Only she’d had visions of those she’d lost. Those she’d felt responsible for losing. The people she’d bonded with in some small way or large way…

  And then Max.

  The memory of him lying on the road.

  Thinking she’d lost him.

  Trying to give him CPR, trying to save him, thinking he was gone.

  Only for a miracle to happen.

  Springing back to life when she’d given up on him.

  They gathered medical supplies from one of the nearby centres. They pumped all they could into his bloodstream, and they helped him. Saved him.

  The estate that almost cost them both their lives ended up their salvation.

  And it was a good place. For a while, people put what happened in the early days behind them. Pulled together for the greater good, ready to ride out this blackout, however long it lasted.

  Only nobody really thought the blackout would last as long as it had. The blackout dragged out of winter and into spring, now into summer.

  And at different paces, people realised that this wasn’t something that was going to be fixed.

  This was the new normal.

  And that was quite a bitter pill to swallow.

  “Feel a bit better?”

  Aoife nodded. “You can go now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Max said. “You know, you should speak with Sam. Former priest. Never been a religious guy myself, but he’s a good bloke to offload to—”

  “I’m fine. Really. You should go. Sure you’ve got patients to see to.”

  Max opened his mouth like he was going to say something. And she felt bad for snapping at him. She wanted to let him be close to her. She felt safe when he was close. The only person she felt comfortable letting this close at all.

  But that also scared her.

  Terrified her.

  “I made you something, anyway,” he said.

  Aoife frowned. “Made me something?”

  “It’s… it’s just a little something.” He reached into his pocket. Pulled out this weird chunk of wood. Held it out to her.

  “It’s… a piece of wood,” she said. “Wow. Thanks.”

  “It’s a boat.”

  Aoife smirked. “A boat? I don’t see a boat.”

  “It’s a boat, alright? Mick taught us about crafting things out of wood. A bit pointless, I know. But something to occupy the mind. And the people there are alright. I… I wanted to make it for you.”

  Aoife held it in her palm. Smiled at Max. It was terrible. Definitely not a boat. But she appreciated the gesture, she supposed.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Max nodded. Blushing a little. And then he stood up. Wiped his black T-shirt in the way he always did. “You know… you should come down some day. It’ll be good for you.”

  Aoife’s hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “It might be good to get out of the house—”

  “Since when have you become the authority on making connections with people?” Aoife said.

  Max looked at her a little more sternly now. “Since I realised sitting around and beating myself up about things I can’t change doesn’t do shit. Since I realised a life in fear of making connections isn’t a life worth living.”

  He stared at her. She stared back at him. She wanted to say so much more to him. She wanted to scream at him about how hard this was for her. How impossible it was.

  But then she just shook her head.

  Turned away.

  “You know the way out.”

  “You sure you’re going to be—”

  “I’m fine.”

  She stared at the corner of the room. Heard Max sigh, shuffle around a few times.

  Then eventually, he walked away.

  She heard Rex follow him. She wanted to reach down and pat him as he passed by.

  But that thought of connection pained her.

  That thought of what she could lose pained her.

  She heard the front door open.

  Felt the summer breeze creep inside.

  “There’s things you could offer this community, Aoife. You’re strong. You’re intelligent. You’d be excellent at hunting and training others how to hunt. There’s another option to being holed up in here and—”

  “Bye, Max.”

  A pause. A pause that Aoife feared Max might fill at any second.

  Then: “Bye, Aoife.”

  She nodded.

  Waited a few more seconds.

  The door closed.

  The silence filled the room.

  She held that wooden boat in her hand.

  And an unshakable wave of sadness crashed against her.

  “Don’t go,” she whispered to herself under her breath. “Don’t… don’t go.”

  Chapter Four

  Max walked out onto the main street of the estate, Rex by his side, and he couldn’t help feeling bad about Aoife and the state she was in.

  I
t was another damned warm afternoon. Too damned warm, in his opinion. Sure, he wasn’t one to complain about the weather. Could be worse. Could be the middle of goddamned winter. They’d been lucky last winter, really. Never got as cold as it could’ve done.

  Which was a relief. One cold winter would surely be enough to bring what remained of this community—what remained of humanity, as far as he could see it—to its knees.

  He looked around at the street. Normal street to the naked eye, really. Lots of terraced houses, pretty small. A few smashed windows here and there, some of which were boarded up. But mostly okay. At the end of the street, some bags of sand stacked on top of one another and some old metal railing to mark the gates, around twenty feet high. A couple of people standing guard up some ladders up there. Not exactly the most fortified place. But it was something. Created the illusion of community. The illusion of home.

  He looked beyond those markers, and a chill crept up his spine, especially seeing the trees in the distance, the hills. His old home was so close to here. So close that he could be up that hill and there in no time at all.

  But he’d not been back for a long time. Only once since the estate people brought him back to life, in fact, and that was to bring what supplies he had down here.

  He had no reason to go back there. It was a part of his past. A past he’d moved forward from. A past he couldn’t stay bogged down in.

  A past that in the last few years wasn’t so happy.

  Because he’d pushed everyone away. Isolated himself.

  And as much as it felt like the right thing to do at the time… he saw now that living that way wasn’t living at all.

  Living in fear of loss was not living at all.

  You couldn’t avoid connection just to avoid the pain of loss. Because Max’s most beautiful memories were of the moments in life he’d loved. And he wouldn’t change those moments for anything. He’d go through the pain all over again if it meant not losing those memories.

  It’d taken him a long-damned time to get there, but he’d got there.

  But now, he saw Aoife, and he saw how deep into the hole she was in. The hole he’d gone down before. The hole that seemed impossible to drag yourself out of.

  He wanted to get on with his own life.

  But he couldn’t just leave her to fall down the path she was going down.

  Yet, at the same time… what was he supposed to do about it?

  He looked around and saw a woman, Shel, coughing away in the streets. Spluttering everywhere. Looked like she was coughing up blood.

  He knew he had to keep his distance. He could only encourage her to stay home, which was so frigging hard to do when he was acting as one of the doctors here. But that’s all they could do now. ’Cause six months on, they didn’t have the things they’d used to save his life to save other people.

  Disease was running rampant. And it was only getting worse by the day.

  He wanted to go over to Shel and tell her to get home. To stay home.

  But at the same time, seeing her wade through the streets, stumbling side to side… he got the feeling she wouldn’t even make it home.

  Another one gone.

  Another loss.

  And the harsh reality that it was better to keep his distance. Staying alive for the rest of the community was the best service he could offer. And Shel looked way beyond saving, God bless her.

  He looked down at Rex. Rex was looking thinner these days, too. Not unhealthily so. They were all feeling the poverty, after all.

  But he saw the way Rex looked back at Aoife’s place, head slightly lowered, tail down, and he felt sadness again. ’Cause as much as he and Rex had a bond… Aoife had given Rex to him because she thought he’d look after him better. She’d pushed Rex onto him, and as much as he agreed she wasn’t in the best place and had been going down a dark path lately… there was still that bond between Rex and her that was unshakable.

  And seeing Rex looking so glum, it really hit Max.

  Max looked up at Aoife’s place. Looked at the lounge window. He wanted her to open the curtains. To wave back at him to go back there.

  He wanted to look after her.

  Get her back to full strength.

  He wanted to comfort her.

  Because there was something about her.

  A warmth he felt about her.

  A warmth he’d only ever felt about one other woman in his entire life.

  Kathryn.

  He thought of Kathryn and David. Thought of that room they’d stood in when he’d been at death’s door. Thought about how he’d gone in there. The joy he’d felt with them.

  But then he remembered, as he lay dying on the road, realising that they were just thoughts. They were just memories.

  And they would want nothing more than for him to honour what happened to them by living a happy life.

  So he turned around.

  He turned around, and he saw Aoife in that other door.

  Aoife in the door of life.

  He fought through the tar-like substance dragging him down to the abyss, dragged himself through that door towards Aoife, and he woke up.

  He woke up, and ever since, he’d spent the time recovering. Then trying to keep this estate afloat. Teaching people how to hunt. Scavenging. Fishing. Surviving.

  But things were getting more difficult than ever now. Even the natural resources seemed to be dwindling.

  And it was fast becoming clear that a place like this wasn’t going to be sustainable for much longer.

  He looked back at Aoife’s window. He wanted to go back there. To tell her how he felt. To tell her the most dangerous confession of all.

  But then he lowered his head, and he sighed.

  “Come on, lad,” he said to Rex. “Let’s go get you fed.”

  He turned around and walked away from Aoife’s.

  He swore he saw her curtain twitch.

  Chapter Five

  Vincent tumbled to the road, smacked his face against the concrete, and tasted blood.

  And even in this moment of pain, his prevailing thought was one of relief.

  Relief that he could still feel at all.

  Relief that he was still alive at all.

  Because he’d seen what he was running from. And he had to keep on going. He had to get away.

  He couldn’t stay there a moment longer.

  It was boiling. So warm. He was covered in sweat, and he couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t absolutely drenched. His white T-shirt was ripped and torn. He had sores all over his legs, blisters all over his feet. He could barely walk anymore. His journey had been so long and taken him so far.

  And yet he had to keep going. He had to keep walking.

  Because if he didn’t, then he knew what would happen.

  He knew exactly what would happen.

  He lifted his shaking head a little. Saw a tooth on the road amidst blood. His tooth and his blood. He smirked a little, shook his head, spat the blood from his throat. He’d keep it if there were any medical way he could get it shoved back in his gum.

  But then, what was the point anymore?

  What was the point in keeping it in a world where nobody would be able to fix him?

  Where nobody would be able to treat him?

  He grabbed it anyway and shoved it in his back pocket. Then he pushed himself back to his shaking, sore feet.

  “Keep on going anyway,” he muttered. “All I can do.”

  He heard something over his shoulder. Something that sounded like footsteps. Like voices.

  He turned around. Looked back at the little suburban centre. Looked at the old betting shop, completely boarded up. Looked at the bus shelter, glass smashed out of its windows. He looked at the pigeons wandering through the street, and the rats, bigger and tamer than ever now. Confident. It was their world now. The world of the rodents.

  But it was beyond there he looked.

  Where he’d come from.

  His heart began to ra
ce. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about what was back there. Of who was back there, rather. He’d had so much hope. So much positivity. So much optimism.

  And then, all of a sudden, it’d been snatched from him.

  Snatched from him in a way he couldn’t even understand.

  Still couldn’t comprehend.

  He looked down at the marks around his wrists. The deep cuts from the binds around them. And then he smelled the burning. He tasted the blood…

  He saw and smelled and tasted all these memories and saw all the visions and heard all the muffled cries and screams and—

  No.

  He was out now.

  He was away from that now.

  He turned around and walked. He knew he was probably imagining things. Probably hearing things. They weren’t really here, no chance. They wouldn’t come after him. After all, why would they? He was just one person. And what sort of a threat was he to them, really?

  Unless…

  They might think he knew too much.

  They might think he could be dangerous.

  He might be able to destroy the lie they told about themselves.

  He felt a rare cool breeze amidst the heat. Looked back once again.

  Swore he saw movement in the shadows. Coming his way.

  Vincent turned again. And as sore as he was, as much as the blisters on his feet were swollen and painful, he ran. Ran as quickly as he could. Ran even though his knees were weak. Even though his back ached like mad. Even though he was tired and dehydrated, and—

  A searing pain, right up his foot.

  A bursting blister.

  He limped over. Let out a little cry. His heart raced. His teeth chattered.

  “Shit,” he said, removing his torn trainer and his muddy sock. “Fuck…”

  The bottom of his foot was in a bad way. Leaking pus and blood, and something green too, by the looks of things.

  Infection. Some kind of infection.

  He closed his eyes. Took deep breaths in through his nostrils, let them out through his mouth. Give me a break here. Just give me a bit of luck here, for once in my damned life.

  He went to take another breath when he heard something.

  This time, he was sure of it.