Autumn

‘It’s okay.’
    Emma turned away from Carl and watched a ghostly whisper of grey smoke snake away from the top of the candle nearest to her and dissolve into the air. She sensed that Carl was watching her and, for a moment, that made her feel suddenly and unexpectedly uneasy. She wondered if he could sense what she was thinking. She wondered if he knew that she shared his own deep, dark and unfounded fears about the body of the farmer. Logic told her that they would be all right and that he would stay down - after all, the bodies seemed to have risen en mass last week - they’d either dragged themselves up on that one cold morning or they’d stayed where they’d fallen and died. And even if Mr Jones did somehow rise up and start to walk again, his movements would be as random, stilted and uncoordinated as the rest of the wandering corpses. Pure chance was the only thing that would ever bring him back home. She knew that nothing was going to happen and that they were wasting their time thinking about the dead man but she still couldn’t help herself.
    ‘All right?’ Carl asked quietly.
    She turned and smiled and nodded and then turned back and looked at the burning candle again. She stared into the flickering yellow flame and thought back to a couple of hours earlier when the three of them had shifted the body of the farmer and that of a farm hand that they’d found fallen at the side of the garage. Mr Jones had been the most difficult corpse to get rid of. He had once been a burly, well-built man who, she imagined, had worked every available hour of every day to ensure that his farm ran smoothly and profitably. By the time that Carl and Michael had got around to shifting his awkward bulk, however, his limbs had been stiffened and contorted by rigor mortis. She had watched with horror and disgust as one of the men had taken hold of his shoulders and the other his legs. With a lack of respect they had dragged him unceremoniously through what used to be his home. She recalled the look of irritation so clear on Michael’s face when they hadn’t been able to manoeuvre the farmer’s clumsy bulk through the front door.
    They had taken the two bodies into the pine forest which bordered the farm. Michael and Carl had shared the weight of the corpses (making two trips) and she had carried three shovels from the house. She remembered what happened next with an icy clarity.
    After laying the bodies out on the ground Michael had turned to walk back towards the house. Emma and Carl had instinctively picked up a shovel each and begun to dig.
    ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Michael had asked.
    ‘Digging,’ Carl had replied. His answer had been factually correct, but he had completely missed the other man’s point.
    ‘Digging what?’
    Thinking for a moment that he had been asked a trick question, Carl had paused before answering.
    ‘Graves of course,’ he replied before adding a cautious; ‘Why?’
    ‘That was what I was going to ask you.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    Emma had been standing directly between the two men, watching the conversation develop.
    ‘Why bother? What’s the point?’ Michael had protested.
    ‘Pardon?’ she’d interrupted.
    ‘Why bother digging graves?’
    ‘To put the bloody bodies in,’ Carl snapped, annoyed that he was being questioned. ‘Is there a problem?’
    Instead of answering Michael had just asked another question.
    ‘So when are you going to do the rest?’
    ‘What?’ Emma had sighed.
    ‘If you’re going to bury these two,’ he had explained, ‘then you might as well finish the job off and bury the fucking thousands of other corpses lying round the country.’
    ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Carl had protested angrily. ‘We can’t...’
    ‘For Christ’s sake just look around you. There must be millions of bodies and not one of them has been buried. More to the point, none of them needs to be either...’
    ‘Listen, we’ve taken this man’s home from him. Don’t you think that at the very least we owe him...’
    ‘No,’ Michael interrupted, his voice infuriatingly calm and level. ‘We don’t owe him anything.’
    At that point he had turned and walked back towards the farmhouse. The light had started to fade with a frightening speed and he had almost been out of view when he’d shouted back to the others over his shoulder.
    ‘I’m going back inside,’ he’d yelled. ‘I’m cold and I’m tired and I can’t be bothered wasting any more time out