Iain McKinnon - Remains of the Dead

“What now?” Ryan asked, looking out at the lake.

Cahz was standing astride two lichen-mottled concrete bollards to get a more elevated view. Ryan recalled seeing a similar stance in a picture book at school: the Colossus of Rhodes guarding an ancient harbour, the stone giant facing out to the dangerous Mediterranean Sea.

Before Cahz lay an expanse of water not marked on the puny map he held. He looked out at the murky waters. The steady rain was beating into the surface, making the stagnant pool ripple. Here and there little rusted islands emerged from the depths, the tops of partially submerged cars. Water-loving weeds had congregated around the banks of the pool, some even finding anchorage on the wrecks.

“I think this used to be a car park,” Ryan said, scratching his chin. “Yeah,” he said, more confidently. “That big building was a super store. I guess the water can’t be more than three or four feet deep.”

A fresh moan chased after them from down the road.

“Well, what do we do?” Ryan asked. “Do we wade through or go around?”

Cahz hopped down from his perch, the loose ammo jingling in his pockets. “Fuck knows what’s waiting under that water,” he said with a stern voice. He turned ninety degrees and started skirting the lake edge.

“This is going to take ages to get around,” Ryan called after him.

“Best make a start then,” Cahz said without looking back.

Ryan looked up at the sky. The rain splashed down on his face, it soaked through his hair and trickled down his neck to be wicked up by his shirt. He wasn’t sure if the rain clouds had become heavier or if it actually had become darker. One thing he knew, it was impossible to get any wetter. His jeans were a saturated dark blue and stuck to his thighs. With every step forward he had to carry his own weight, the weight of his child and the resistance from the clinging clothing. Each pace he took forward was slower and shorter than the last. Step by step he was losing pace with Cahz.

A fresh gust of wind gave Ryan a cold clout. He shivered. His whole rib cage felt like it was contracting in on him as he shuddered.

Cahz was up ahead, just sidestepping a weed-draped shopping trolley.

Ryan opened the rucksack strapped to his chest. The child inside was still dry and warm and best of all, sleeping. He pulled the zipper up over the child’s head, leaving a gap at the side for ventilation.

“Better get moving or I’ll freeze to death,” Ryan said to the sleeping child as he strode off after Cahz.

He trudged forward on the moss-covered road, the spongy plants squelching with every step.

“Cahz!” he shouted.

“Keep up,” Cahz absently called back.

“No, Cahz, look at this.” Ryan had spotted something on the other side of the lake.

Cahz turned round. “What is it?”

“Look over there.” Ryan pointed to the slope on the far side.

“It’s an embankment up to a flyover,” Cahz observed. “So what?”

“Look at the trees.”

Cahz stood, his carbine resting on its sling, his arms resting on the carbine.

After a moment he called back, “What trees?”

“That’s it exactly,” Ryan said, pointing. “You can see the stumps.”

“So,” Cahz said indignantly. “Someone cut them down. Firewood or lumber. It’s not important. We need to keep moving.”

He turned and started walking again.

“It’s recent though,” Ryan said, still staring at the other side. “The undergrowth would have obscured the stumps if it weren’t.” He looked round at Cahz. The soldier was marching away, ignoring him. He said, louder, “That means there must be other people alive out here!”

“That means there were other people alive,” Cahz said without stopping. “Past tense.”

“We can’t be sure of that,” Ryan said, trotting to catch up. “Shouldn’t we search for them or something?”

Abruptly Cahz stopped and turned round. “Do we look like a fucking search and rescue team? We get ourselves out of this shit before we worry about anybody else.”

Ryan flung his arms out. “I’m just saying-”

“Well don’t!” Cahz snapped.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Ryan pressed.

Cahz turned round and started walking again.

“It was doing something that got us in the shit we’re in,” he mumbled.

“Thanks for waiting,” Ryan said in a sarcastic tone as he caught up.

For the better part of a mile, Cahz had been relentlessly pulling ahead of him. Every now and then Cahz would call out to demand Ryan stop lagging behind. But Cahz would never wait for him to catch up; at best he would turn around and march backwards for a few metres to check his ward was still following. When Ryan started to catch up, Cahz would turn and march off, forcing the exhausted refugee to keep up the pace.

Ryan put the heavy bag of tins on the ground and rubbed his fingers, trying to bring the circulation back to the purple tips. He gave a shudder as the heat generated from moving evaporated in the cold rain.

“I’m not waiting for you,” Cahz said. “I was checking if the radio was working.”

“Oh well, thanks a bundle then,” Ryan said, hooking his thumbs into the straps of the papoose.

“India Tango One calling. India Tango One to anyone receiving. Please come in, over.” Cahz stood still, almost holding his breath, listening for an answer.

“Still nothing,” he said breaking the silence. He pushed back the cuff of his glove and checked the time. “Nineteen hundred hours.”

“Shouldn’t the chopper hear us? Or your ship?” Ryan asked. He had the straps of the rucksack pulled tight, like a comedian about to snap a pair of braces as he took the strain off his shoulders.

“Ship is well out of range. These sets only have a two or three mile range.” Cahz slipped the radio back in its pouch and fastened it secure.

“So the chopper could be like five miles away and he’d never pick us up?”

“Yep,” came Cahz’s glib reply.

He walked off.

Ryan wiped the rain from his face and called after him, “You seem a tad casual about that.”

Cahz didn’t bother to turn round to speak. “We’ve got flares and signal smoke we can use to get his attention. And even if he’s too far out of range to hear us, he might still get the static buzz and know there’s someone close.”

“Wait,” Ryan said in a puzzled tone. “What time did you say it was?”

“Nineteen hundred hours.”

“That’s seven o’clock,” Ryan said. He jogged up to Cahz. “You said the chopper would be back at six o’clock.”

“I said the earliest to expect it back was six,” Cahz corrected. “I didn’t say it would be.”

Ryan threw his arms out in frustration. “Oh that’s great. It could have been and gone.”

“I’ve been doing radio checks every fifteen minutes since six-and anyway we’d have probably heard it,” Cahz said, still marching.

“Oh, great. Probably ,” Ryan raised his voice in exaggeration. “We’d probably have heard it.”

Cahz came to a sudden halt. “Listen, Ryan. If we spot it, great; if we don’t we keep going.” Cahz’s voice was strained. “It’s as simple as that. There’s no point wasting energy on shit I can’t control.”

A short distance away a zombie gave an excited moan.

“You hear that,” Ryan said. “You going to ignore that too?”

Cahz didn’t answer as he strode off.

Ryan turned round to look behind them. The street was choked with weeds and debris but no sign of the undead. The rasping call came again, closer and louder than before, but still Ryan couldn’t see the zombie. From somewhere further off a response call echoed.