Guy Smith - Throwback

And he was with them, one of them, the same as them!

He held out his hand, examined it. There was no sign of the snake bite, the swelling had gone down, not even the puncture to be seen. Those clothes, he was wearing them too!

'What's the matter, Eric?' The woman sitting at his table eyed him with concern. 'You're acting very strangely.'

He stared at her, fought to remember her name, finally came up with it. Marlene. He could understand what she said, wondered if he could converse in the same language.

He took his time, got the words out, 'I'm OK. Really I am.'

'You're certainly acting very strangely then. Or are you trying to avoid the issue?'

'What issue?' What's an issue? Oh yes, I remember. I don't remember what this particular issue is, though. So strange, a kind of faraway feeling like he was sickening for something, a spectator to his own actions.

'Oh, you're impossible!' She was twirling the stem of her empty wine-glass angrily, it might snap at any second. 'AH you want me for is to screw, Eric. Now answer me straight, do you or do you not want to go back to your wife? Come on, let's have it straight.'

'My ... wife?'

'Yes, your wife. The woman you are legally married to. Sylvia.'

Sylvia . . . Sylvia . . . Sylvia. His arm was starting to throb again, his vision had darkened or else they had .dimmed the lighting in the restaurant. Whisperings, like those creatures moving about in the wood. What creatures? What wood? Sylvia. . .Sylvia. . . Sylvia. SYLVIA. Oh God, he could hear her calling him somewhere. He staggered to his feet, clutched at the table and slopped a carafe of water.

'You've been taking me for a ride, haven't you, Eric?' Marlene spat out her venom in a shriek. She hurled her wine-glass; he felt the rush of air as it skimmed his face, smashed somewhere behind him. 'Well, if you want your wife that bad, you go to her, and she's welcome to you. You're a wastrel. You go back to Sylvia!'

Sylvia.

He turned away, Marlene already forgotten. He had to find Sylvia. She could be anywhere, he had to search for her. Pushing his way past people who seemed oblivious of his presence, staggering out into a street that was brightly lit with orange lamps. Crowds everywhere, having to fight his way through them. Have any of you seen my wife? Her name's Sylvia. Nobody even glanced in his direction. He was a man alone.

Constant traffic, horns blaring. He gave up trying to cross the road, continued on his way along the packed pavement, lurching from side to side, would have fallen if the throng had not kept him upright.

Has anybody seen my wife? Her name's Sylvia. I've been unfaithful to her and now I need her more than I've ever needed anybody in my life. Please, somebody find her for me.

Featureless hairless faces everywhere, trying to scrutinise them but they were gone too quickly. All hurrying, all searching for somebody. They've all lost someone! This is hell, purgatory without the promised flames. You repent for your sins, want to say sorry to somebody but that somebody isn't there.

The town was gone. Where there had been light there was darkness now, tall trees instead of buildings. Everybody gone, nobody to buffet or lean on any more. The pain was back again, a liquid fire that burned its way right up into his shoulder and was beginning to dip into his chest. He couldn't keep going much longer, he would have to rest soon.

Eric Atkinson leaned against a tree, clutched at its gnarled trunk for support. Then his legs weakened, refused to hold him upright any longer, a sinking sensation like vertigo; that time he had gone on a tour of the cathedral with the choir, and the head verger had taken them up the main spire. A steel ladder, one slip and you would fall several hundred feet. You'll see the countryside for miles around when we get to the top. I don't want to go to the top. His senses were swimming.

At least he was lying on the ground where he could not fall anywhere. The pain! Sylvia . . . Sylvia ... he could smell her, that unmistakable musky odour. She was around somewhere. Why didn't she come to him? Oh God, I'm sorry, my darling, it's you I want. I didn't really want Alan to fuck you, it made me jealous. I didn't enjoy going with Marie either. I wanted you all the time. I've told Marlene to get lost, I wasn't going to leave you. Don't leave me, please. Sylvia, can you hear me?

Somebody was out there in the darkness. Sylvia? Shuffling sounds as though whoever it was came and had a look at him, went away again. Come back, Sylvia.

It was daylight when he awoke, a sort of daylight. Grey drizzly fog pervaded the damp forest, dripped steadily off the branches. A crow was calling harshly a short distance away.

Eric's pain was worse, his arm thick and swollen, red with poison. He didn't want to look at it. He wouldn't, he would go and find ... he couldn't remember her name, the woman who was his mate. She would soothe him, bathe his infection with cool fresh water.

He tried to get to his feet, almost made it then fell back again, almost blacked out. He grunted, tried to shout but only a hoarse whisper came from his parched throat.

And that was when his fear really hit him. Fear of the unknown, a dark forest world where fierce tribes hunted and animals roamed in search of easy prey. Worse than that, the loner was afraid of being alone.

You 're going to die!

The will to survive was weaker, nothing left to fight with. It had been a long gruelling search and it had proved futile. The woman was not far away, even now he scented her, but his strength was failing. He whimpered softly, closed his eyes.

He was going to die.

Sylvia had made up her mind to go to Eric. Tonight. She could not leave him out there any longer. For two whole days now she had not caught sight of him because the tops of the hills had been shrouded by low cloud. He might not still be up there. On the other hand he might. She had to go and see.

For once Jon did not fall asleep the moment he got into bed. Damn him, tonight of all'nights he would choose to be restless. She thought for one awful moment that he might be in the mood for love, would have yielded to him just to get it over with and then perhaps he would go to sleep. But no, he was in a talkative mood.

'There's an awful lot of them moved up into the hills.' He had remembered to bring the shotgun upstairs tonight. 'I counted one lot of at least fifty. Funny thing, they didn't all seem to be together, rather small groups which had met up, just happened to be travelling the same route. It looks to me like they're going to winter in the forest. Well, there certainly won't be much in the way of food up there for them. I heard some shooting, too, sounded in the direction of the village. I'm just wondering if the army's constantly moving them on, trying to drive them to outlying areas whilst they try and get things back to normal.'

Things will never be normal again.' She laughed bitterly. 'How can they?' Just look what they've done to my Eric. Christ, I wish they'd done it to me, too. It would solve a lot of problems.

'I reckon there've got to be more survivors than we think,' he answered her. 'Damn it, it would take hundreds of germ bombs to destroy a whole country the size of Britain. The Continent, the States, you've got an even better chance of dodging the germs there. All we can do is sit tight, hold on and wait.'

You can, Jon. Me, I'm going out there and even if I don't find Eric I'd sooner die than go on living like a prisoner, not knowing when you're going to be attacked.

His conversation dwindled and she could tell he was becoming drowsy. At length his breathing became regular and she knew he was asleep.

Cautiously she slid off the bed, crawled on her hands and knees towards the bedroom door, stopped every time a floorboard creaked. But he didn't waken. Down the stairs, dressing in the living-room. She wouldn't need anything except a torch. Eric would surely have some food and if not then perhaps she could persuade him to accompany her to a deserted cottage or farmhouse where there was sure to be an abundance; these throwbacks didn't understand what packaged food was.