Autumn Page 0,47

ground in front of a bakery the body of a frail and elderly old man struggled to pull itself up. Its weak arms flailed uselessly at its sides.

'What's the matter with it?' Carl asked, peering cautiously over Emma's shoulder.

'Don't know,' she mumbled.

Michael, who had followed the other two, nudged Emma's shoulder and pointed at an upturned wheelchair which lay a few metres away from the body. She looked from the chair to the body and back again and then crouched down. Fighting to keep control of her stomach (the rotting skin of the old man gave out a noxious odour) she pulled back one of his trouser legs and saw that the right leg was artificial. In its weakened state the body couldn't lift it off the ground.

'See,' she said, standing up again. 'Bloody thing doesn't even know it's only got one leg. Poor bugger's probably been using a wheelchair for years.'

Disinterested in the crippled body and feeling nauseous and uneasy, Carl wandered away. He walked alone along the front of the row of silent shops and gazed sadly into the window of each building he passed. There was a bank - its doors wide open - and next to it an opticians. Two corpses sat motionless on dusty chairs waiting for appointments with their long since dead optometrist. Next to the opticians was a grocery store. Carl went inside.

Inside the shop was dank and musty. The pungent smell of rotting food tainted the damp air. The smell acted like smelling salts in suddenly reminding Carl of all that had happened. In a fraction of a second he was reminded of the nightmare of Northwich, the loss of his family and everything else that had happened in the last week. He suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable and unsafe. Looking over his shoulder constantly he began to fill cardboard boxes with all the non-perishable food he could find in the tiny little store.

Emma and Michael arrived at the shop seconds later. In little more than a quarter of an hour the three of them had transferred much of the stock to the back of their van. In less than an hour they were back at Penn Farm.

Chapter 21

Michael and Emma sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. It was almost four o'clock. Carl had been working on the generator outside for the best part of the afternoon. The back door was open. The house was freezing.

'There's got to be something driving them on,' Emma mumbled. 'I can't understand why they keep moving and yet...'

'Fucking hell,' Michael cursed, 'give it a rest, would you? What does it matter? Why should we give a damn what they do as long as they're not a danger to us. Christ, I don't care if I wake up to find a hundred and one of the fucking things stood around the house doing a bloody song and dance routine. As long as they don't come near me and...'

'Okay,' she snapped, 'you've made your point. Sorry if I don't share your short-sightedness.'

'I'm not short-sighted,' Michael protested.

'Yes you are. You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself...'

'That's not true.'

'Yes it is.'

'No it isn't. I'm looking out for you and Carl too. I just think we have to face facts, that's all.'

'We don't know any facts. We don't know fucking anything.'

'Yes we do,' he sighed. 'For a start it's a fact that it doesn't matter what's happened to the rest of the population as long as nothing happens to us. It's a fact that it doesn't matter why millions of people died. What difference would it make if we knew? What could we do? What if we found some fucking miracle cure? What are we going to do? Spend the rest of our lives sorting out fifty-odd million corpses at the expense of ourselves?'

'No, but...'

'But nothing,' he snapped.

'I can't help it,' she said quietly, resting her head in her hands. 'It's the medic in me. I've been trained to...'

'Forget all that,' he pleaded. Michael stared at Emma. She sensed his eyes burning into her and looked up. 'Listen to me,' he continued. 'Forget everything. Stop trying to work out what's happened and why. I'm not short-sighted and I'm not selfish, I'm a realist, that's all. What's gone is gone and we've got to make the most of what's left. We've got to say fuck everything else and try and build some kind of future for the three of us.'

'I know that,' she sighed,