Autumn

stupid fucking bastard.’
    ‘That’s your opinion.’
    Michael stood up and took a step closer before stopping again.
    ‘Just stay a little longer, will you? Things might be different again in the morning.’
    Carl looked up and managed half a smile.
    ‘That’s what scares me,’ he mumbled, sounding tired and resigned. ‘I can’t stay. I have to go.’
    Sensing that to prolong the conversation any longer would be pointless, Michael turned and walked back to the house.

    By six o’clock Carl was ready to leave. His bike, loaded up with his bags, stood next to the gate. Dressed in the leathers and boots taken from corpse in Pennmyre earlier in the day, and carrying the freshly disinfected crash helmet in his hand, he stood at the front door of the farmhouse with Emma and Michael. This was it. He knew that there was no turning back, and no point in delaying the inevitable.
    He glanced at the other two.
    ‘Ready?’ Emma asked.
    He nodded and swallowed. His mouth was dry.
    It was a cold night with a relentless, biting wind. Emma zipped up her fleecy jacket and thrust her hands deep into her pockets.
    ‘Last time I ask,’ Michael said, fighting to make himself heard over the wind, ‘are you sure about this?’
    Carl nodded again.
    ‘Better get on with it,’ he said and with that he pulled on his crash helmet. The helmet helped to make him feel further detached from the other two, and that sudden perception of distance made it easier to take the first step and leave.
    The three survivors walked together towards the bike.
    ‘I’ll open the gate,’ Michael said. ‘You wheel the bike through and start it. Once I hear the engine and see you move, I’m locking up. Okay?’
    Carl raised a leather clad hand and lifted his thumb to show that he understood. He took one last look over his shoulder at the farmhouse he was leaving and climbed onto the bike. He flicked up the kick-stand with his foot and rolled forward a couple of tentative meters.
    ‘Wait by the house,’ Michael said, gesturing for Emma to get back and out of the way. They had no idea what would be waiting for them on the other side of the gate on the bridge. Keen to put maximum distance between her and the rest of the world beyond the barricade, Emma slowly walked backwards towards the house. She watched intently as Michael carefully unlocked each of the eight padlocks and lifted the wooden bar which secured the gate.
    ‘Ready?’ he asked.
    Carl stood astride the bike, his hands tightly gripping the handlebars. He nodded.
    Slowly and cautiously, Michael pushed open one side of the gate. Carl rolled the bike forward again until he sat on the other side of the bridge. Again he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the other man had also taken a few steps forward. He kept hold of the edge of the gate in his hand, ready to slam it shut as soon as Carl had gone. They had only been out there for a few seconds but already Michael could see movement in the bushes.
    A few seconds later and it was done. Carl lifted his foot and slammed it down on the pedal, starting the bike. The mighty engine spluttered and roared into life sending a cloud of fumes and heat billowing towards Michael. As the first few inquisitive corpses emerged from the shadows of the forest Carl accelerated away. As he pulled the gate closed Michael saw the bike swerve as Carl avoided the first body to have staggered into his path. With shaking hands he lowered the wooden bar back into place and snap-locked each of the heavy padlocks.
    Emma was standing just a few feet behind Michael. He turned around and her sudden unexpected appearance startled him. He caught his breath and then, instinctively, reached out and held her tight. The warmth of her body was reassuring. He rested his head on her shoulder and cried silent tears for the man who had just left Penn Farm. Michael put his tears down to the wind but he knew in his heart that there was more to them. He found himself suddenly wracked with guilt at having let the other survivor leave.
    Such was the silence of the evening that almost ten minutes had passed before the sound of Carl’s engine had finally faded away into the night. Emma shivered as she imagined the effect that the noise would have on the lamentable remains of the population of the shattered world through which Carl was now travelling. The roar of the engine and the light from the headlamp would attract the attention of hundreds, probably thousands of bodies, every