Aftermath

hope to start moving on.
    Some of the people living on Cormansey had made a more successful start to island life than most. Others seemed almost to be there by default, having hidden in the shadows of university buildings, underground bunkers, and airfield control towers, being propped up and carried along by everyone else. Right place, right time. Michael had taken nothing for granted and had worked damn hard to stay alive. He knew he was luckier than most, because he’d already started to rebuild. He had a partner (girlfriend? wife? lover? None of those titles seemed to fit any more), and his relationship with Emma Mitchell was the most important thing left in his small and increasingly self-contained world. Some of the others had wanted him to stay on Cormansey and not make this trip back but he’d insisted. Emma was pregnant—the first pregnancy on the island—and Michael felt duty-bound to provide for his unborn child. He thought about Emma and the baby constantly. He and Emma said nothing to each other—because there was nothing either of them could do to affect the outcome—but they both knew the risks and uncertainties involved in childbirth. As well as the usual concerns, the lack of any decent medical facilities compounded their unease. To make matters worse, they’d been told about a baby born just after the infection had struck. The poor little thing had lived for only a matter of seconds outside its mother’s womb before being killed by the same deadly germ which had wiped out everything else.
    Sitting next to Michael in the back of the helicopter was Donna Yorke, and next to her was Mark Cooper. Emma had often talked about those two, idly gossiping about what a good couple she thought they’d make together. They spent a lot of time in each other’s company and sometimes stopped over at each other’s houses, but that was as far as it had gone. Michael wondered whether they were too scared to admit their feelings, not that it was any of his business, and not that he was particularly concerned. He remembered the risk he’d taken when he and Emma had first become close, and then intimate. Island life was too restrictive if things went wrong. It was impossible to escape if you fell out with anyone and he could only begin to imagine how awkward it would be for everyone if such a relationship soured, keeping their heads down in the midst of all the name-calling and blame. Cormansey often felt like a huge, open space when you were alone, walking miles from building to distant building along the silent, traffic-free roads, but you still saw the same few faces every day. Necessity had forced the community to become increasingly close-knit. They relied on each other, and it had been clear from the outset that their ongoing successful survival would require collective effort. Maybe Donna and Cooper did want to be closer, but the commitment was just too big a risk for them to take.
    Harry Stayt sat next to Richard in the front of the helicopter, scanning the ground below.
    “I think we should stick to the coast,” he said to the pilot. “Things look as shitty as ever down there. Probably not worth risking going any further inland just yet.”
    Richard agreed. He banked right, taking them back toward the ocean. Michael looked out at the endless expanse of water again—the deceptive stillness, the sunlight glinting off the gently rolling waves—and wished they were anywhere but here. He wanted to be home again.
    *   *   *
     
    They set down in the next decent-sized port they reached, Richard skilfully maneuvering the helicopter and landing in a small patch of space on the open roof of a multistory car park, not wanting to risk leaving the precious machine down at ground level. Harry continued to look around as they descended, ticking boxes on his mental checklist: compact but decent-sized shopping area— check ; easily accessible marinas with plenty of boats still moored there— check ; a safe, remote place to land— check ; no vast crowds of bodies baying for their blood— check .
    “Nice day for it,” he said as he got out of the helicopter. It was cold, but nowhere near as harsh as it had been recently. He stretched his back, yawned, then did up his jacket, thankful for the several layers of thin, insulated sports clothing he was wearing underneath. The air quality wasn’t too bad up here. Not as good as they’d been used to on the island, but bearable nonetheless. He caught the odd