End of Z World (I) | Crowbar Out

He woke with a start to find his legs and feet were soaked. That didn’t really come as a surprise given that the lower portion of his body was protruding, uncovered, from beneath the shelter of the Poundland doorway in which he’d been sleeping.

Remaining where he was for a moment he tried to work out whether it was the soaking he was still receiving that’d woken him, or something else. It was hardly the first time he’d got piss-wet through, after all, and even though it was relatively early in the year, being February as it was, the night was a warm one even with the rain.

Despite the hour he could hear the shuffling of feet further along the street, and even over the constant patter of rain a constant, low mumbling, was audible.

Having no desire whatsoever of dealing with the usual bullshit he faced on a near-daily basis as a street-living individual he got to his feet, gently nudged his meagre belongings deeper into the doorway with his foot, dug his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and strode in the opposite direction to that from which the shuffling feet and mumbling voices were coming.

There were a few people around, both in groups and loners, and he did his best to steer well clear. His bedraggled, unkempt hair, was already as wet as it would have been had he just stepped out of the shower.

He caught sight of a familiar figure taking shelter from the elements in a bus stop a little way along the street and he upped his pace, still taking care to give the majority of folks a wide berth.

“Got a fag, Charlotte?” he asked, quietly, once the girl was within earshot. “My baccy’s fucking soaked.”

Without saying a word she pulled her own packet of rolling tobacco from a pocket and handed it to him.

“Thanks, lovely.” He perched beside her on the bus stop bench, slanted and most definitely not fit for purpose as it was, and expertly rolled a cigarette in silence before he returned the packet to its rightful owner. Neither of them said so much as another word until he’d taken a trio of long, deep drags, upon the roll-up.

“Something’s weird,” said Charlotte, thus breaking the silence between them. “You noticed there’s way more people about this time of night than normal?”

“Now you mention it,” he replied after a moment’s thought. Together the two of them got to their feet and despite the rain, stepped out from beneath the shelter. “Not the usual drunk or otherwise-inebriated crowd, either.”

“I dunno,” the girl replied. “Seems everyone’s pretty fucked up to me.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said, catching the smirk that indicated she was teasing a little later than he normally would have. He allowed his gaze to linger upon her for a moment. She’d have been quite pretty were it not for the dirt and grimeーstreaked, thanks to the rain; a side-effect of living out on the street. Even if you were able to grab a shower at one of the few-such places in the area that accommodated for that, that dirt and grime was a constant. He often made use of baby wipes himself, but even wiping himself down every morning did little to prevent him reaching the end of the day completely and totally shitted up.

“How’s you, anyways?” she asked, sensing his discomfort at having been taken in by her teasing. “Haven’t seen you about for a few days.”

“You know me, I like to keep myself to myself sometimes,” he replied with a shrug. “Had a tent up at the top of town, in the woods. Fucking council removed it though, and just left my shit piled up against a fence.”

“Bastards,” said Charlotte, complete with a knowing nod by way of accompaniment. She’d been a resident of the streets for as long as he had, if not for longer, and therefore new all-too well how few fucks anyoneーespecially those theoretically in a position to do anything about itーgave about the homeless.

A shrill scream cut through the night air, and they both whipped their heads around. There was no mistaking what kind of scream it was; there’s something about a scream of pain and anguish and abject terror that leaves anyone who hears it with little doubt.

“Come on!” Charlotte didn’t shout but her voice was most definitely forceful, but he reached out and grabbed her forearm to prevent her from running off in the scream’s direction.

“Daz, what the fuck?” She flung her head around to face him, her eyes full of both anger and confusion. Daz wasn’t looking at her though. Despite the proximity of his face to her own, it was clear that he was looking past her.

“We need to go, and we need to do it fucking quickly and quietly.” His voice was calm and measured, though he was still gripping her arm just as tightly.

Charlotte turned her head, following Daz’ gaze as best she could as she tried to work out what he was looking at. The groups of people who had been scattered around the part of the town centre visible from their location were all moving in the same directionーaway from them and towards the scream. Even in the darkness, illuminated oddly by the occasional streetlight and various takeaway shop frontages, she could tell there was something odd, stilted, about their movements. But it wasn’t just that… It was as if everyone had succumbed to something akin to a pack mentality. One particular word forced itself to the forefront of her mind.

“Horde.” She almost whispered the single-syllable word. “They’re a fucking horde!”

There was fear in her eyes and Daz could hardly blame her. He might have been exuding cool and calm but inside he was petrified. His stomach churned and he could feel his joints and limbs locking into place, fixing him to the spot. It took more strength than he thought he had to convince his body to move.

“Like I said, we need to fucking move.” Without releasing his grip on Charlotte’s arm he pulled her back beneath the bus shelter where the rain, hitting the reinforced plastic roof, sounded much heavier than it was. She allowed Daz to drag her with him, as if her own body was incapable of doing anything of its own accord. He reached down and grabbed the rucksack she had hung from the end of the bench, flung it over his free shoulder, and then the two of them were back out in the rain, heading in totally the opposite direction.

Daz ignored the rain as it hit his face and continued to soak his already-saturated hair. The water, mixed with sweat from his skin and grease from his unwashed hair, ran down his back as well as into his eyes. There was no time to think about doing anything about that. Getting himself and Charlotte somewhere at least relatively safe where the two of them could regroup, recover from the initial shock and hopefully come to terms with what was going on, really was the most important thing.

He yanked open a door, the pedestrian entrance to a multi-storey car park, and held Charlotte back while he peered inside. Apart from a dozen or so parked vehicles, the ground floor appeared to be empty. Daz gently pulled Charlotte inside and as the door closed behind them she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing.