Aftermath

21

They kept the car park and, more important, the helicopter in view as much as possible as they explored the rest of the town. After finding a small, industrial-looking boatyard first, they worked their way through increasingly exclusive-looking sections of the marina, eventually ending up in a more secluded landing area where a number of fantastically expensive boats had been moored. Most were empty. In one, a luxurious cruiser named The BarJerr (obviously a grotesque amalgamation of the owners’ forenames, Cooper thought), Harry found a body preserved to an unfortunate degree by the dry conditions and relatively steady temperature inside the cabin. It still wore a pair of hideous shorts and sandals, and a shirt once pastel pink but now stained anything but. It threw itself at him with sudden speed—just like they used to, he thought—but it was no match for his strength. He cut it down with a few well-aimed strokes, leaving it hacked into two uneven halves on the deck, then moving on to the next boat.

After identifying a number of possibilities, they eventually found two boats moored next to each other which looked like they’d do the job: the Duchess and the Summer Breeze. They were both of a similar size, ten meters long, obviously strong and seaworthy, but more important they were in relatively good condition given the fact they’d been left in the water untended through the autumn and winter months, and looked easy enough to sail. Cooper and Harry both had a reasonable amount of experience with boats, albeit very different types of vessels they’d sailed in wildly different circumstances. But it would be enough to get them back to Cormansey.

Their objectives were straightforward—transport and supplies. They left Harry to secure this part of the marina, then check the two boats over and get them ready to sail. They took him at his word that he knew enough about electrics, propellers, waterproofing, outboards, and the like to get the job done.

Cooper, Richard, and Donna found a nearby supermarket. They broke in quickly and began looting, initially working at frantic speed, falling into old habits and grabbing whatever they could get their hands on as corpses began to crowd the building and slam up against the windows. After a while, however, their nervousness faded and they began to loot at a gentler pace. They took their time and collected food which would last and they could easily transport and distribute. Food which would keep the people on Cormansey healthy and strong. Medicines. Tools. Clothes. Cooper didn’t find everything he was looking for. He made a mental note to try and find a garden center, DIY store, or farm shop before they returned to the island. We need to start thinking ahead now, he thought, realizing just how much their situation had changed since they’d last been on the mainland. We need to start planning for the future, now that it looks like we might actually have one. We need to be able to plant and harvest crops, to grow as much of our own food as we can. We need to get ourselves into a position where everything we need can be found on the island and we never have to come back here again unless we want to.

* * *

A short time later he found Donna standing in the middle of a clothing department, standing in silence, just looking up at the dust-covered mannequins. Jack Baxter had been moaning to her recently abut all the clichés in the post-apocalyptic books he used to love to read. “I don’t want to end up looking like an idiot,” he’d told her. “I want to wear decent, comfortable clothes, not hand-knitted jumpers and coats made out of sewn-together animal skins!”

Donna hadn’t moved for a while. Cooper wondered what was wrong.

“You okay?” he asked, startling her. She caught her breath and turned around to face him, smiling briefly.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.”

“What were you looking at?”

She pointed at two female dummies directly in front of her. The wig had slipped off one of them, partially covering its face and leaving half of its head unflatteringly bald. The other had a beard of cobwebs stretching from its chin to its chest, and wore a short party dress; even now some of the thousands of sequins caught the afternoon light which trickled in through the window. It had a handbag slung over one frozen shoulder, and it was wearing a pair of gorgeous (Donna thought), yet completely impractical, stiletto heels.

“Love those shoes,” she said.

“Have them, then.”

“Are you having a laugh? I mean, I know I could take them, but what’s the point? When am I going to get to wear them? When I’m walking into the village? Around the house? They’re not that practical for trudging across fields.”

“Sorry,” Cooper said quickly, feeling unexpectedly embarrassed and insensitive.

“It’s not your fault.” Donna sighed, looking down with disappointment at the jeans and mud-splattered boots she was wearing, shoving her hands into the pockets of the same winter coat she’d worn every day for as long as she could remember. “I was just thinking, are we ever going to be able to dress like that again?”

“Well, I’m not,” he joked, immediately regretting his ill-considered jibe when he saw the expression on her face.

“I can’t believe we ever used to look like this,” she said. “I used to love getting dressed up for a night out with the girls. Getting ready was half the fun. We were usually pissed before we’d even got out the front door.”

“Bloody students,” Cooper grumbled, but she didn’t bite. Instead she thought more about what she’d just said, and tried to picture the others on Cormansey letting their hair down. Would any of them ever bother? Even if they did—all of them piling into the island’s single pub, perhaps, finding a way to play music and glamming up for old times’ sake—she knew it wouldn’t be the same. It’d be like playacting, and would inevitably leave them all feeling emptier than ever. Such a night would only serve to highlight the fact that all of this was gone forevernow. It was time to accept that that part of her life was over.

* * *

A few doors farther down the street, Michael was on his own in another store, collecting baby equipment from a list Emma had drawn up with help from some of the women on the island. She wasn’t even halfway through her pregnancy yet, but he didn’t know if or when he’d get another opportunity like this. He hadn’t felt able to ask any of the other islanders to get this stuff for him—some people had lost kids, others assumed they’d now never have any—and that had been the main reason he’d agreed to come back here himself. Now he stood in the baby store, completely alone, the handwritten shopping list gripped tight in his hand, wishing he could feel even a fraction of the excitement he’d always imagined an expectant father should.

It was strange, he thought. Of all the silent, empty places he’d been since most of the world had died last September, this felt like the quietest, emptiest place of all. It was eerie. He was used to being alone—they all were—but being here took loneliness to another level entirely. Around him, the walls were covered with paintings of fairy-tale characters, oversized letters and numbers, and black-and-white photographs of the faces of innocent toddlers and expectant moms. He couldn’t imagine that this place had ever been quiet like this before. On the rare occasions he’d had to come into stores like this, he’d always been driven out by the sounds of kids crying and the incessant nursery rhyme music being piped through the PA on repeat.

Michael had almost been looking forward to coming here—as much as he looked forward to anything these days—but the reality had proved to be disappointingly grim. He dutifully fetched himself a trolley and began to fill it, ticking items off the list: baby-grows, nappies, bottles, the odd toy, all the powdered milk and food he could find which was still in date with a decent shelf life … As he worked, disappointingly familiar doubts began to reappear. He’d managed to blank them out for a while, but here today on his own with Emma so far away, it was impossible not to think about the future his unborn child might or might not have. There remained a very real possibility—perhaps even a probability—that the baby would die almost immediately after birth. But even if it did survive, what kind of a life would it have to look forward to? He imagined the child growing up on Cormansey and outliving everyone else. Suddenly it didn’t seem too fantastic to believe that, all other things being equal, his and Emma’s child might truly end up being the last person left alive on the face of the planet. How would he or she feel? Michael couldn’t even begin to imagine the loneliness they might experience as their elders gradually passed away. Imagine knowing you were never going to see another person’s face, that no one would ever come if you screamed for help …

Snap out of it, he told himself. Get a fucking grip.

Angry for allowing himself to sound so defeatist, and now moving with much more speed than before, Michael pushed the trolley around into another aisle and then stopped. Lying in front of him was the body of what he assumed had once been a young mom. Judging by the look of the stretched clothing which now hung like tent canvas, flapping over what remained of her emaciated frame, this woman had probably been pregnant when she’d died. Just ahead of her was a pushchair which had toppled over onto its side.

And it was empty.

Michael panicked, irrationally fearing that at any moment the dishevelled remains of a dead baby might be about to scuttle across the floor and attack him. He grabbed the rest of the things he needed and ran for the door, feeling like he was being watched.

* * *

When the four of them finally returned to the marina, they found that it had been surrounded. Harry had built a temporary blockade to keep the dead at bay, but they’d continued to advance. They moved almost too slowly to see, trickling forward like thick molasses.