My hands are shaking.
I want to go and bang on Roger’s door and ask him why he murdered that poor girl. At the same time, I doubt very much that he would listen to me. Everyone in this building is now insane, as if the events of the past week have tipped them completely over the edge. If this is how things are now, I hate to imagine how low these monsters will stoop after a day or two more, and I most certainly do not want to stick around and see the horror for myself.
I have to go.
Suddenly filled with this realization, I hurry through to my bedroom and grab my tattered old suitcase. It has been a long time since I traveled anywhere, but I am quite certain that I would not survive another twenty-four hours in this building. I have friends in town, and I suppose I shall have to head to the main road and hope that some of the bus services are still running. Then, when all of this horror is over, I shall go to the police and make sure that Sarah’s murderers are brought to justice. I refuse to believe that human civilization has completely fallen apart.
For now, however, I must get out of this wretched building.
Once my suitcase is packed, I hurry back out to the front room. I can hardly think straight, and my mind is racing, but after a moment I stop as I see Sarah’s broken guitar resting next to my own. The sight is enough to send a chill up my spine and – although I know that time is of the essence – I cannot help but set my suitcase down and make my way over to take a closer look at the guitars.
Both are broken at the neck.
I know that I should travel light, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving my precious guitar behind. I grab the case, before realizing suddenly that perhaps such a thing might prove to be unwisely conspicuous. I hesitate, before hurrying to the kitchen and then returning with a pack of large black plastic sacks. I start pulling them open, and I quickly manage to disguise my guitar. Then, feeling as if it would be terribly sad to leave poor Sarah’s guitar behind, I wrap hers up as well. If I am to take one guitar with me, it is not much inconvenience to add a second.
Before leaving, I switch the television back on. The last signals faded a while ago, and sure enough I flip through the channels and see nothing but error messages and blue screens.
Things must be bad in London, if even the BBC is no longer broadcasting.
Finally, once I am certain that staying here is no option, I head back to the kitchen and gather my last meager scraps of food and water, and then I head to the door and pull it open.
Peering out into the hallway, I see no sign of anyone. Evidently Roger and his fellow monsters have retired for the night, no doubt worn out from their burst of anger. I still wait for a few seconds, just in case there’s any hint of movement, and then I step out and pull my door shut before heading as quietly as possible toward the stairs.
As I pass Roger’s door, I stop for a moment and listen. I hear a sound from within, and after a couple of seconds I realize that it sounds as if the man is sobbing. There is a part of me that feels rather sorry for him, but then I remember what he and the others did to Sarah. He’ll have to answer for his actions once order has been restored. He and all the rest of them.
Once I’ve reached the top of the stairs, I hurry down as fast as my bruised legs will carry me. I’m already struggling with the combined weight of the suitcase and the two guitars, but I know I can manage.
Reaching the building’s front door, I peer out to make sure that there’s still no sign of anyone, and then I begin to make my way along the darkened path. After just a few paces, however, I stop in my tracks as I spot the bush where I left Sarah’s body, and I realize instantly that I can’t just walk away like this.
Maybe I can’t bury her, but there’s still one thing I can do.
I set my suitcase and the guitars aside, and then I make my way to the janitorial shed at the end of the building. There’s a lock on the door, of course, so I remove my jacket and use it to cover my fist as I break one of the windows. Ordinarily someone would come running, perhaps alerted by an alarm, but on this occasion I believe I am fully justified in my actions. I use my mobile telephone to light the way, and after a few minutes I manage to find what I need. I head back over to the bush where I left Sarah’s body, and I see her lifeless corpse still on the ground.
“I’m sorry,” I say, supposing that I should try to say something deep and meaningful. “I won’t forget you. I’ll make sure that those bastards pay for what they did for you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
With that, I open the can of petrol that I found in the shed and I douse Sarah’s body. I’m not sure how I shall explain this to the police when all this drama is over, but I suppose I shall tell them that I feared some kind of disturbance. At least this way the poor girl will have some dignity, so I finally toss the can aside and then I take a lighter from my pocket. Again, I feel I should say something profound, but I can’t think of the words so – instead – I simply flick the side of the lighter and set it down, and immediately flames rush across Sarah’s body and begin to burn not only her but also the bush.
Stepping back, I’m rather startled by the realization that I might have started a significant fire that will tear through the entire garden, but then I tell myself that somebody will surely come and extinguish the flames.
For now, I stare for a moment at the inferno and I think of poor Sarah, and then I turn and gather my belongings. As I do so, however, I happen to glance up toward the side of the building, and then I freeze as I see a human figure hanging from one of the windows.
The flames behind me pick out the sight of a male body dangling from a rope that has been attached around its neck, and I realize quickly that I recognize this man. I heard Roger sobbing a short while ago, and it was appear that he has now taken his own life. Did he, perhaps, pull out of his frenzy and realize the horror of what he’d done? Even though he acted like a monster, I suppose the original, decent Roger was in there somewhere.
Finding the whole mess too horrible to contemplate, I turn and carry my belongings along the dark path. Ahead is the main road and, I hope, a way to reach the safety of my friends’ home.
Ten
By the time the sun begins to rise, I have been walking for several hours and I have not been passed by a single vehicle.
At first I waited at one of the bus stops, before realizing the folly of my choice. There are clearly no buses running at the moment, so I decided to head north and hope that I might hitch a ride. Now, however, my tired and pained body feels as if it’s beginning to fail, and I’m not entirely sure what I should do next. Going back is not an option, yet this road is in the middle of nowhere and I am fully aware that there are no buildings for several miles to come.
Finally I stop for a moment and set the suitcase and guitars down, and then I take a few seconds to listen to my surroundings.
All I hear is silence. Even now, with the sun poking above the horizon, there is no noise. After a moment I look up and see birds in the trees, but even they are not singing. Has this strange malady affected not just humans, but all creatures? Perhaps I am reading too much into the situation, but I fancy that the birds look a little out-of-sorts, as if perhaps the inability to sing is causing them trouble.
Still, at least they aren’t turning on one another like crazed monsters. Already, then, they’re one step above humanity.
I pick up my suitcase and the guitars, and I once again start walking along the road. This journey feels relentless, and I’m starting to wonder whether I shall ever see another living soul. Just a few seconds later, however, I hear the distant sound of an engine. Turning, I look back the way that I have just walked, and sure enough after a few more seconds I spot a truck coming this way.