Them or Us

the jeep and pull the blankets off Dean and Todd.
    “In there,” I tell them, pushing them toward the front of the house, terrified that someone’s going to see them. “Move!”
    I follow them in, then walk straight into Todd’s back. Both he and Dean have stopped dead and are staring into the living room. I push past them to see what’s wrong. It’s Rufus’s body. I forgot about him, poor bastard. I grab my dead friend’s ankles and try to drag him out of the way.
    “This is the kind of thing you’re up against,” I tell them, struggling to move Rufus because he’s frozen to the ground. “This guy was a friend of mine who fucked up.”
    Still struggling with the corpse, I glance up and see them both staring back at me in horror.
    “Your friend, but why…?” Todd starts to ask.
    “Not me,” I quickly interrupt, setting him straight. “I didn’t do it.”
    I don’t know if they believe me or not; it doesn’t make any difference. I pick up my sleeping bag that’s still draped over the back of my chair and use it to cover Rufus up. There’s nothing worth salvaging in this room. My pile of books and some of my other belongings lie scattered all around the place, and that’s where they’ll stay now. I don’t need them anymore. Even if I started reading another book today, the way I’m feeling I doubt I’d last long enough to finish it. I go through into the kitchen, beckoning the men to follow, then peel up the linoleum and lift up the floorboards.
    “Start with all of this,” I tell them, crouching down and showing them where my food store is. “Then open the cupboards and take what you can from them, too. I’ll have a look and see if there’s anything useful upstairs.”
    I remove the padlock and chain from the side door so they can easily load up the back of the jeep, then throw Dean the keys and leave them both to it. I climb the steps to the mausoleum-like rooms on the second floor, heading straight for the dried-up water tank where I keep my pathetic weapons cache: a pistol, some ammunition, and a grenade.
    Last time I was here—last time I was trying to leave Lowestoft—I was working alone and intending to travel alone, too. Things are different now. The Unchanged need to get enough stuff together for at least thirty people. Bedding, clothes, furniture for firewood, everything counts today. Between us we need to completely empty this place and leave nothing behind. Maybe we should check a few of the nearest houses, too, if we have time. We should fill the car to capacity and take as much stuff as possible with us to the boatyard.
    *   *   *
    The noises downstairs have stopped. By the sound of things they’re done loading the jeep. I’ve been watching the road outside from an upstairs window, making sure no one comes snooping around. The people we saw as we were driving back here were a concern. If any of them drift off the main road and end up around this place we could be in trouble. My body hurts, and it’s hard to concentrate. Every movement is an effort, and I lean against the windowsill and stare out, my eyes drawn to the drifting black smoke rising up over what’s left of Lowestoft in the distance.
    I throw a couple of sheets and blankets down the stairs, then empty out a chest of drawers and chuck a load of clothing and underwear down, too. In the bathroom there’s a little soap and shampoo and a few other things in a mirrored cabinet on the wall. We had one like that in the apartment back home. I used to shave in front of it, but the man I see when I look in the mirror today is nothing like the man I used to be. Today I look like the life has been sucked out of me, and I’m thankful for the mess of hair and the straggly beard that hide the full extent of my physical deterioration. The longer I look, the more frightened I get. If someone cut me open, they’d find more cancer than man now, I think.
    I pause to catch my breath again in the back bedroom, the child’s room with the abandoned board game on the floor. I used to avoid coming in here before, but things feel different today. It’s not much of a gesture, but I pick up a couple of small teddy bears and shove them in my pocket along with the grenade and gun. I bet that kid Chloe will like them. She deserves to have something like—
    “What’s going on, Danny?”
    I freeze and stand perfectly still, unable to move, staring at the wall dead ahead, gripping another toy tight in my hand. I know that