Autumn Page 0,74

he was doing.

Emma stood and watched him for a moment. He was fully dressed and had obviously washed and shaved. He was searching through the kitchen cupboards and had collected a pile of food and supplies on the table.

'What are you doing?' she asked cautiously.

'Nothing,' he muttered, still not looking up at her.

'Doesn't look like nothing to me.'

Carl didn't reply.

Sensing his very obvious reluctance to talk, Emma walked round him and made her way over to the cooker. She lifted the kettle and shook it. Happy that there was enough water inside she put it down again and lit the gas burner. The kettle and stove were cold and unused. Whatever it was Carl was doing was obviously important because he hadn't bothered to make himself a drink since getting up. One thing that the three survivors had quickly found they had in common was a need to get a hot drink inside them before they could function in the morning.

'Want a coffee?' she asked amiably, determined not to let his hostility deter her.

'No,' he replied abruptly, still avoiding eye-contact. 'No thanks.'

Emma shrugged her shoulders and spooned coffee granules into two mugs.

There was an oppressive atmosphere in the room. The only noise came from the kettle boiling on the stove. Carl continued to look through the cupboards and drawers. Emma felt uneasy. He was obviously up to something but he clearly didn't want to talk and she couldn't think of a subtle way of asking him what it was that he was doing. She quickly came to the conclusion that she should just ask outright again, and that she should keep asking until she got the answers she wanted.

'Carl,' she began, 'what exactly are you doing? And please don't insult my intelligence by telling me it's nothing when it's bloody obvious that it's not.'

He continued to ignore her.

Emma noticed that there was a well-packed rucksack resting against a wall in the store room adjacent to the kitchen.

'Where are you thinking of going?' she asked.

Still no response.

The kettle began to boil. Emma made a cup of coffee for herself and one for Michael. She sipped at her scalding hot drink and looked directly at Carl over the brim of her mug.

'Where are you going to go?' she asked again, her voice deliberately low and calm.

Carl turned his back to her and leant against the nearest kitchen unit.

'I don't know,' he eventually replied. Emma guessed that he was lying. It was obvious that although he feigned nonchalance, he knew exactly where he was going and what he was planning to do.

'Come on,' she sighed, growing tired. 'Do you really expect me to believe that?'

'Believe what you want,' he snapped. 'Doesn't matter to me.'

'You can't leave the house, it's too dangerous. Bloody hell, you saw how many of those things managed to get here last night. If you really think that you...'

'That's the whole fucking problem, isn't it?' he said, finally turning round to face her. 'I saw how many bodies were here last night - too bloody many. It's not safe to stay here anymore.'

'It's not safe anywhere these days. Face it, Carl, this place is as good as you're going to get.'

'No it isn't,' he argued. 'We're out on a limb here. There's nowhere to run. If that fence comes down we're completely fucked...'

'But can't you see that we can get over that? When they're here in large numbers we just shut up and sit tight. If we stay silent and out of sight for long enough they'll disappear.'

'And is that what you want? Are you happy to sit and hide for hours every time those bloody things get close? They're getting stronger everyday and it won't be long before...'

'Of course it's not ideal, but what's the alternative?'

'The alternative is to go back home. I know Northwich like the back of my hand and I know that there are other survivors there. I think I'll have more of a chance back in the city. It was a mistake coming out here.'

Emma struggled to comprehend what she was hearing.

'Are you fucking crazy?' she stammered. 'Do you know the risks you'd be taking by...'

'Emma, I'm going. If you haven't got anything constructive to say then do me a favour and don't say anything at all.'

'But have you thought this through? Do you really believe this is the right thing to do?'

'There's safety in numbers,' he said, turning his back on her again. 'Those bloody things proved it last night, didn't they?