Meet You at the End of the World Read online

  Wrong. I heard people were working on it, maybe they even came up with something. But by that time, it was too little, too late. It was too widespread. If you were gonna get it, you were gonna get it. And if you had a natural immunity, then you’d live. That’s how it worked out in the end, some accident of genetics would decide your fate, decided all of our fates. You know that expression, ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day’? People always forget the second part, which goes, ‘But it burned in one.’ And that was us, thousands of years in the making, months in the undoing.

  I was among the living. Eventually, I came to wish I hadn’t been. Maybe that sounds a bit defeatist. But if you were there for it, you’ll understand.

  But it’s different now. I’m alive, I’m alone and that works. I’ll never have to watch anyone else I love die again because there’s no one left that I love anymore. I just keep travelling, not really going anywhere, just moving, moving, moving. Because I can. Because I’m not dead. So all that’s left is to keep going.

  On occasion, I wonder about the pockets of humanity I run across from time to time, the people left over who cling to each other. Farms and small communities, working together in the name of that old saying: ‘Safety in numbers’.

  But it was our proximity that killed us, made it easy for the plague to spread, always another warm body nearby to jump to. And it was our proximity that caused all the pain, forcing you to watch people you loved - partners, family, friends, even children… Fall.

  So fuck proximity. I can’t think of anything more dangerous.

  It didn’t take too long to find the stream, and I filled my canteen before having a small wash and brushing my teeth nearby. That emptied the canteen, and I went back and refilled it before starting my day’s walk in earnest, following the stream south. As I walked, I thought of Scraggly Beard. I wondered what he was doing now. Maybe he’d found some other fool to rob. Maybe he was dead. I hoped not. It was a strange thought to have, but as soon as I’d heard the click of his empty gun, I’d realised how young and vulnerable he really was. I found myself starting to root for him, hoping that he’d found shelter and some water and food. I wondered if he was thinking about me too. Wondering what had become of me, maybe even hoping I was fine too, feeling a little remorse.

  It was then that I realised why I was feeling sympathy for the kid that had tried to rob me. He was the only person I’d seen in fifteen days. That conversation, me begging him to point his gun away, was the first human contact I’d had in more than a fortnight.

  It was something of a shock to realise that. I can certainly go a while without seeing or speaking to anyone, but fifteen days is a personal best.

  I can only blame that surprise realisation for the mistake I made a short time later. I was distracted, off guard, stupid. So when I saw the berries, I didn’t check my book. I thought they looked fine and I was pretty sure that I’d had them before. Most of the time, I still would have checked the markings and colours in my ‘Field Guide to Wild Berries.’ But I was hung up on Scraggly Beard, wondering why it had been so long since I’d seen another human soul.

  My fear, as I ate the berries, was that there’d been some second wave of the virus, that I hadn’t seen anyone because there was no-one left to see. I tried to tell myself it was just paranoia, getting unwieldy. When there’s no one to voice your fears to, fear can mutate. But then I started to feel hot, sweaty, weak. I became certain I was right. It had come again, that terrible virus, to finish what it started. I had the flu. I was going to die.

  As I picked my way along the stream, the trees became thicker, monstrously tall, and I knew without doubt that they were conscious, alive. I felt as though they watched me, with the intent of ripping out their roots at any minute and walking the earth. They were waiting to attack me, angry at my intrusion.

  My head was swimming, I was running with sweat and I found myself sprinting through the woods, trying to get back out to the road before the trees killed me. I ran for what seemed like forever.

  Eventually, the swimming in my head turned to simple blackness, as though I’d gone blind. My last thought before I passed out was of Sarah.

  Four

  Alice

  I was still trying to shake it, this vague feeling of unease. But it wouldn’t go. Jude was off. Quiet. He’d barely said a word last night, even after he was fed and hydrated. And this morning, one grunt was all he gave to us.

  I decided I needed to speak to him, out of earshot of Emma. She’d jump in on the talk and that wouldn’t work. Emma’s… Well, I was going to say goodhearted but that’s probably not quite right. But she means well, how about that? Unfortunately, Emma’s idea of meaning well is often a bit counterproductive. If I wanted to get the truth out of Jude, she’d wreck it. She goes too hard at things, including people.

  So I hung on ‘til about nine, waiting for Emma’s daily announcement of her trip to the latrine. God only knows why she tells us every day, but she does.

  ‘Right, I’m off to pay a visit’ she said and out she went, off to the pit at the edge of the property. Once a week, we filled it in and then dug a fresh one. It was day six of this particular latrine, so I knew Emma wouldn’t exactly dilly-dally. I had to get into Jude’s head and I had to do it quick.

  ‘Jude, you’re looking a bit skinny, mate. Maybe you should take a second breakfast today?’ I suggested.

  Jude looked interested. ‘What’s Mum gonna say?’ he asked, hoping I’d talk him into it. He knew that his mum was strict on rations, but he was an eighteen-year-old boy with a hunger that was never satiated. He wanted more food and that offer would prime the pump for questions.

  ‘I’ll get the egg boiled before she gets back and we won’t tell her, eh?’ The pan was still holding water from the first round so I slipped another egg in and turned on the camping stove on the counter, boiling up the water. The kitchen still ran on gas - which no longer flowed through the pipes - and therefore it was better to use the camping stove with the gas canisters we bought every so often from traders. Once bubbles appeared, I turned to Jude. ‘It was a long way to walk, wasn’t it?’

  Jude, sitting at the table, nodded and I saw it again, the way his eyes flitted away whenever his journey was mentioned. He’d been gone two whole days. I thought we had all the info on the man with the horse, but that only accounted for a few hours. What else had happened?

  ‘Did you meet anyone else on the trip?’ I asked Jude.

  ‘No’ he answered, too quickly. The egg kept boiling.

  ‘No one at all? That’s weird. There’s usually people en route to some trade or another around. But you didn’t see a soul?’

  Jude looked at me. ‘You calling me a liar?’

  ‘Woah. Where did that come from?’ I asked him, shocked. He wasn’t usually this tetchy. We liked each other, me and Jude. He was treating me like I was Emma.

  While I was trying to figure out what to say next, something happened that I hadn’t expected. Jude burst into tears. One minute he was a little snapper, the next he was blubbering. I ran to him and put my arms around his head, bringing him to me. He didn’t exactly lean into it but he didn’t resist. ‘I didn’t mean it’ he eventually said, once the sobs subsided. ‘But I just felt so weak! I was hungry and tired and thirsty…’

  I sighed. Here it came. I hoped it wouldn’t be too bad. ‘Didn’t mean what?’

  ‘There was a lady, on the road. I tried to steal her stuff.’

  I paused for a moment. ‘What do you mean, steal?’

  ‘I put the gun in her back and told her to give me her bag’ he said, looking away.

  My stomach dropped.

  I couldn’t believe it. I’d changed this kid’s nappies once upon a time. Now my little nephew had held someone at gunpoint. I was furious. But I wasn’t angry with Jude, not directly. I was angry at what this shitty world had done to him.

  If things had stayed the way they were, he’d never have come to this. He’d have been in university, studying god know
s what, trying to figure out how to live off his student loan, drinking too much, sleeping with the wrong people, getting his first STI. Making normal mistakes. But not this mistake. Not sticking a gun in a woman’s back and trying to take her very means of survival.

  ‘Why would you do a thing like that?’

  ‘I just… I was so hungry…’

  ‘You said that already. I’m asking why your next thought was to mug someone.’

  Jude bit his lip. ‘It was just, before I left, Mum gave me the gun and she said… She said to use it if I needed to.’

  ‘And you thought she meant that?’ I stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘You could have just asked this person for some water. She might well have simply given it to you, you realise that?’

  ‘That’s not what Mum says. And the man with the horse proved it. Mum’s right. People don’t just help you.’

  I looked at him, a stranger. ‘Your Dad would be so ashamed.’

  ‘Dad’s not here anymore’ Jude replied sadly.

  Jude was right. He wasn’t. But I was.

  ‘Where did it happen?’ I asked Jude.

  He gulped. ‘About twelve miles away, north, down Cracknell Road, where it goes between the woods. But it didn’t work. She realised my gun wasn’t loaded and she had… I ran off. I’m sorry I did it. I really am.’

  I heard the egg rattling angrily in the pan and I let go of Jude, walking over and fetching it out of the water, sticking it into a holder and putting it in front of him. Upset as he was, he began to eat.

  As he cracked his egg, I made a decision. I walked over to the door and began to pull my boots on. ‘Where you going?’ Jude asked with a mouthful of egg.

  ‘If she was travelling this way, maybe I can catch her’ I told him.

  Jude licked his lips. ‘What for?’

  ‘To bring her back here. So you can apologise.’

  Jude’s eyes went wide with horror. ‘What?! But you… I am sorry. I told you that.’

  ‘That’s right. You told me. And now you’ll tell her.’

  ‘But Auntie Alice… I told you because I thought you’d listen. Not, not…’ he stuttered.

  ‘I’m not just gonna let this go, Jude’ I told him evenly. ‘You get away with this, the next time, it’ll be easier. Then one day, you’ll be the kind of man who won’t think twice about taking whatever you want from whomever you want. That’s not happening, not on my watch. I’m gonna make you look that woman in the eye and tell her you’re sorry.’

  Jude looked horrified. That was good. He was going to feel the consequences of this. He could sweat and worry while I was gone and maybe he’d even think about what to say to his victim. Even if I couldn’t find her, he’d learn something today.

  ‘What shall I tell Mum?’ he asked me desperately as I finished tying my laces. I opened the door and gave him one last look. ‘You tell her what you did. She might tell you that it was fine, that it was survival of the fittest. But you cried just now because you know that’s not true. Remember those tears.’

  I closed the door behind me and set off for Cracknell Road.

  I’d been walking for three hours and there was no sign of a single soul out on the road. I would turn back soon, I thought. I was starting to get a little too far away from home and I wouldn’t get caught out when the sun set. I wondered what the vibe was like back at the house, what Jude was thinking and if Emma was whispering in his ear, telling him what a goody-two-shoes I was and that I was naïve and all the crap she’s said to me over the last few years of co-habitation.

  It used to be easier. Olly would jump in and smooth over the cracks, stopping things from really kicking off. Now he was gone and the only person who could intervene was Jude, and he was no use whatsoever. He was too scared of his mum to ever contradict her. I’d always hoped that fear didn’t mean that he was swayed by her worldview. That he was just agreeing with her for a quiet life. But what had happened yesterday told another story.

  I’d thought it enough to simply keep sticking up for my way of thinking. But that hadn’t worked so here I was, trying to put my money where my mouth was, making this unnecessary journey in the simple hope that I could find the stranger my nephew had wronged and make it OK.

  I started to wander what Emma would say when I got back in. I could practically hear her voice in my head, calling me a naïve tit that was going to get myself and everyone else into serious trouble one of these days. The more the voice spoke, the more I wondered if it was right, maybe this was a dumb thing to do. What if I did find this lady and she wasn’t really someone who gave two shits for apologies. It sounded like she hadn’t been scared by Jude (and his gun), which made her tough.

  But what if she was more than that? What if she was hard. What if she was angry about what Jude had done and would be glad of someone to take it out on. What if…

  That’s when I heard it, carried softly to me on the wind. A moan.

  I froze, the better to catch the sound again. And so it came, quieter this time. I began to move in the direction I thought it had come from, toward the treeline on the left of the road. I stood there for a whole minute, listening for more, but it seemed to have died off. I wondered if I’d misheard. Maybe it was a tree creaking in the wind or some other sound it would be silly to go in search of.

  But then it came again and I didn’t give myself time for further doubts. I headed into the woods, trying to follow the weak, sporadic sound.

  And then I saw it. A woman’s hand, on the ground, scrabbling at the dirt, grabbing at clumps of soil. As I stepped closer and the body of the woman came into full view, I knew what I was looking at. She was ill, delirious, possibly hallucinating, lying on her back with her arms out, grabbing at nothing, moaning in a pained way that was tough to hear. Her blonde hair was lying across her face. I dashed over and knelt beside her. ‘Hello? Are you alright?’

  The woman’s mouth, the only part of her face I could see through her wild hair, said, ‘No, please. Sarah. Sarah!’

  I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. Until I looked closer at her hand, at the purple stain on it. It was a berry stain.

  Berries were tricky things and if she’d picked the wrong ones, she could be poisoned, not to mention riding a terrible, hallucinatory high, the kind that takes you right to hell. I’d seen it once before, back in the early days at the farm. Olly got sick of our limited veg patch and went looking for something a bit more exotic growing at the edge of our property. He’d come back screaming about a goat with three heads that was chasing him. We couldn’t calm him down but eventually, he simply passed out. It was a scary day we spent watching him toss and turn in his bed, sweating out the poison. But it had passed and he’d been left embarrassed but alive.

  The stranger looked like she was in that later stage, in the unconscious part of this poisoning. The blonde hair across her face was wet with perspiration and I pulled it back to reveal her sleeping face. I was slightly taken aback. She looked to be around my age, somewhere north of thirty, with thick, long eyelashes and beautiful rose coloured lips. I hadn’t expected that.

  As I reached for her bag, hoping to find some water I could splash on her face, her eyes popped open. They were quite large, the deepest brown, almost comically round. But what frightened me was that they didn’t see me. She was glazed, unable to focus her tiny drugged pupils. Olly might have come through this but I worried he might be an exception with this poison and not the rule. It was possible that this woman might be dying and she was doing it right in front of me.

  I grabbed her bag and pulled out her water bottle, pouring some water into my palm and flecking it gently onto her face until her eyes seemed to find me at last.

  And then she looked right at me and gave me the goofiest grin. ‘I like your face. It’s a good shape. Like a mango. But a pretty one’ she slurred. I smiled, despite the circumstances. It had been a while since an attractive woman had complimented me. Even if it was to tell me I looked like a pretty mango.

&
nbsp; I decided I needed to get her sitting up, the better to bring her to consciousness. Once she was sat up, I put the water bottle to her lips and she grabbed hold of it and started sucking down water in loud gulps. I sat back and watched as she drank, tilting the bottle up and up, draining it. And then she took the bottle from her lips and her shoulders rose. She leaned over to vomit the lot up. She looked down at the watery puddle next to her and frowned. ‘Well, shit’ she said and she turned to me and I could see she was really coming around now and realising I was there. ‘Who are you?’ she asked me.

  I had a pretty good answer to that, seeing as I’d been trying to track this woman all day, but it didn’t seem the time. ‘You’re going to need some more water and you’re going to need it soon’ I told her, avoidantly. ‘You’ve been sick with a nasty fever, you’ll be severely dehydrated. There a source around here?’

  ‘There’s a stream a quarter of a mile…’ she looked around herself, lost. ‘Which way is the road?’ she asked.

  I pointed at the direction I’d come in and she said, ‘It’s the opposite way.’ I stood up and held out my hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  She paused for the briefest moment, and then she took my hand and I pulled her to her feet. She picked up her bag and her empty bottle. ‘Seriously… Who are you? I remember running and then, nothing.’

  We began to walk, headed for the stream. ‘I was passing. I heard you making noise and then I found you, out for the count’ I explained. I was going to get to the Jude part of it all but I wanted to enjoy my moment as the hero of the story before I went ahead and ruined it.

  We walked silently for a moment and I was sure she would start pouring thanks onto me any second. But instead, she said, ‘You could have just taken my stuff. Why didn’t you?’