Autumn

‘the fact that there are dead bodies walking round the countryside or him with that fucking gun.’
    Michael managed half a smile which quickly disappeared when Carl lifted the rifle up and held it ready to fire. He pressed the butt hard into his shoulder, closed one eye and aimed into the distance.
    ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Michael demanded. ‘Are you fucking stupid? All we need is for that bloody thing to blow back in your face and you’re history...’
    ‘It’s okay,’ he answered without moving or lowering the rifle. ‘I know about these things. It won’t blow back.’
    ‘Just put it down will you?’ begged Emma.
    ‘Watch this. I’m going to get him...’
    Puzzled, Michael stood behind him and looked along the barrel of the rifle. Carl was aiming through a gap in the trees, out towards a ploughed field a few hundred metres away. He squinted towards the horizon and saw that a lone figure was tripping clumsily through the uneven mud.
    ‘Leave it, will you?’
    ‘I’m going to get him,’ he said again, shuffling his feet and getting the figure square in his sights. ‘What’s he going to do about it? Christ, he probably won’t even know he’s been shot.’
    ‘You’ve got to hit him first,’ Emma hissed cynically.
    ‘Oh, I’ll hit the bastard,’ he said and, with that, he squeezed the trigger and fired.
    For a long second the deafening sound of the shot rang out and echoed through the otherwise silent countryside.
    ‘Missed him,’ Carl spat, annoyed.
    The figure in the field stopped moving.
    ‘He’s stopped,’ Michael gasped. ‘Fucking hell, he heard the shot. It’s got to be a survivor.’
    Stunned, Carl let go of the butt of the rifle and it swung down heavily to the ground. Still holding the barrel he took a few cautious steps forward.
    ‘I didn’t get him did I?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Shit, I was only trying to...’
    ‘Shut up,’ Michael snapped. ‘You didn’t get him.’
    As they stared into the near distance the figure in the field began to move again. Instead of struggling on through the muddy fields, however, it had now changed direction. The bedraggled man was walking towards the house.
    ‘He’s coming this way, isn’t he?’ asked Emma, doubting what her eyes were telling her.
    ‘Looks like it,’ Carl mumbled in surprise.
    Michael didn’t say anything. He watched for a second longer until he was completely sure that the man was heading towards them before sprinting out to meet him. Apart from the survivors back in Northwich this was the first person they’d seen in a week who seemed actually able to react and respond to the outside world. He couldn’t afford to let him out of his sight. And to think, moments earlier Carl had aimed a rifle at him.
    Emma chased after Michael and Carl followed close behind.
    The view from the farmhouse had been misleading. There was a hidden dip between Michael and the man which added an extra couple of hundred metres distance between them. Ignorant to the uneven, clammy mud beneath his feet and to the pain of the sprint and now to the climb back out of the dip, he continued at speed, taking care to keep the lone stranger locked in his sights every step of the way. He pushed himself to keep moving faster and faster. He wanted to call out to him but he couldn’t. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding was nervous excitement.
    ‘Hold on,’ Carl moaned. He was a short distance behind Emma. Not as fit as he would have liked to have been, he was finding the running too much. Emma stopped and waited for him to catch up, constantly keeping a close eye on Michael as she did. She watched as he clambered over a metal five bar gate. He was now in the same field as the man who continued to walk closer and closer to him.
    ‘You all right?’ she breathlessly asked Carl.
    He slowed down, shook his head and stopped next to her. Doubled-over with exhaustion, he rested his hands on his knees and sucked in as much cool, refreshing air as he could. He looked up and watched as Michael stopped running and approached the unknown man.
    Michael wiped dribbles of sweat from his face and spat to clear phlegm from his throat.
    ‘Fucking hell,’ he said between deep, forced breaths. ‘Are you okay? Christ the chances of us finding you like that must have been...’
    He suddenly lost his footing in the slimy mud and fell to down his knees, landing at the feet of the other man. He looked up into his face and, in a fraction of a