Autumn Page 0,68

smiled.

'I know what you're saying though,' he continued as he gathered together his tools and began to pack them away. 'If we stay here we could do pretty much anything. We could build a brick wall round the house if we wanted to. Really keep those bastards out.'

Emma didn't respond. She stood at the top of the steps and looked down across the yard and out towards the rapidly darkening countryside.

'Light's fading,' she mumbled. 'Better get inside soon.'

'I don't think it makes much difference anymore,' Michael said quietly, climbing the steps to stand next to her. 'Doesn't matter how dark it is, those bloody things just don't stop. It might even be safer out here at night. At least they can't see us when its dark.'

'They can still hear us. Might even be able to smell us.'

'Doesn't matter,' he said again, looking into her face. 'They can't get to us.'

Emma nodded and turned to walk inside. Michael followed her through into the house.

'Carl's in, isn't he?' he asked as he pushed the door shut.

Emma looked puzzled.

'Of course he's in. He hasn't been out of his bloody bedroom for days. Where else do you think he's going to be?'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'Don't know. He might have gone out back. Just thought I'd check.'

She shook her head and leant against the hall wall. The house was dark. The generator hadn't yet been started.

'Take it from me,' she said, her voice tired and low, 'he's inside. I looked up at the window and saw him earlier. He was there again with those bloody binoculars, face pressed against the glass. Christ alone knows what he was looking at.'

'Do you think he's all right?'

Emma sighed at Michael's question. It was painfully obvious to her that Carl was far from all right. It was equally obvious that his temperament and stability appeared to be wavering more and more unsteadily each day.

Michael sensed her frustration.

'He'll come through this,' he said optimistically. 'Give him time and he'll get over everything that's happened.'

'Do you really think so?' Emma asked.

Michael thought for a moment.

'Yes... why, don't you?'

She shrugged her shoulders and disappeared into the kitchen.

'Don't know. He's really suffering, that much I'm sure about.'

'We've all suffered.'

'I know that. Bloody hell, we've had this conversation again and again. He lost more than we did. You and I lived on our own. He shared every second of every day with his partner and child.'

'I know, but...'

'But I'm not sure if you do. I'm not sure if I fully understand how much he's hurting. I don't think I ever will.'

Michael was beginning to get annoyed and he wasn't completely sure why. Okay so Carl was hurting, but no amount of hoping, praying and crying would bring back anything that any of them had lost. Hard as it sounded, he knew that the three of them could only survive by looking forward and forgetting everything and everyone that had gone.

He watched as Emma took off her coat, hung it up in the hallway and then lit a candle and walked upstairs.

Left alone in the darkness, Michael listened to the sounds of the creaking old house. A strong wind had begun to blow outside and he could hear the first few spots of a heavy shower of rain hitting the kitchen window. In cold isolation he thought more about Carl and, as he did, so his frustration and concern continued to increase. It wasn't just about Carl, he decided. The well-being of each of the survivors was of paramount importance to all of them. Life was becoming increasingly dangerous by the day and they couldn't afford to take any chances. They all needed to be pulling in the same direction in order to continue to survive. For the first time since this had all begun it had stopped happening. It was beginning to feel like he was with Emma and that Carl just happened to be there as well, distant and superfluous.

He knew that they were going to have to pull him into line.

Carl was their glass jaw. He was fast becoming their Achilles heel and every time they left the safety of the house he was dangerously exposed.

Chapter 30

The earlier wind and rain had quickly developed into a howling storm. By half-past ten the isolated farm was being battered by a furious gale which tore through the tops of the surrounding trees and rattled and shook sections of the hastily constructed barrier around the building. Constant floods of driving, torrential rain lashed down