Doomware (25 page)

Then Tarot said, “It’s time for your present.”

“You mean I haven’t had it yet?” David said.

Tarot stood up, shaking his head. “No. Get up.”

“Why?”

“You need to strip off.”

David laughed. “What for?”

“I’m giving you a massage – that’s my present.”

“It’s okay: I don’t want a massage.”

“You won’t be saying that after I’ve finished with you. Come on, don’t be shy.”

David did feel shy, mostly because he felt a little self-conscious of his scars, but Tarot persisted. He stripped down to his underwear while Tarot set some background music and rubbed some lavender-scented aromatherapy oil onto his hands. Then he instructed him to lie face down on the sofa.

As soon as Tarot went to work on his shoulders David felt relaxed and light-headed. He’d never had a proper massage before, but he suspected that Tarot was an expert masseur.

“That’s good,” David said dreamily. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You think I could’ve lived this long without learning a trick or two?”

“I bet.”

“You’re tenser than hell up here. You could probably do with having this done every day for a while.”

“If you say so.”

They made small talk as Tarot worked down his back, pummelling the stress from him, relaxing his subject with his lazy voice as much as anything else.

David watched Tarot’s bare arms out the corner of his eye. “What’s the meaning of your tattoos?”

“Well, one’s The Hanged Man. When it comes to Tarot cards most guys go for The Chariot or The High Priestess or The Magician, but The Hanged Man has always been my favourite.”

“A bit depressing, isn’t it?”

“No. You just need to read him right, is all. He’s a divine character. Being upside-down gives him a different perspective on the world, and the tree he’s hanging from represents a unity with nature. He’s often looked upon as an outcast and a fool, but in reality he’s an integral part of life, both separate and joined to everything at the same time. He’s no fool.”

“And the snake?”

“That’s an Ourobosos, an ancient symbol for eternity and the cyclical nature of life. It also represents the human psyche, or the immortality of the soul. The snake is consuming itself, providing sustenance for itself for ever.”

“I see.”

The massage continued for a while in silence, Tarot’s hands moving gradually more slowly, applying less and less pressure.
 

“I want you to turn over,” Tarot said.

The words were heavy with meaning. David had a suspicion where this was all leading, and he felt no inclination towards stopping the course of events. He turned over.

Tarot ran his hands up his lean body, from the base of his stomach to the top of his chest, his thumbs moving up the centre of his body and sweeping outwards, over his nipples, over the scars left behind by Varley, in what was a gesture that was undeniably erotic.

“So this whole massage thing of yours was just a way of gettin’ into my pants, was it?” David said.

The masseur lifted his eyes until they met those of his client. “There are still some pleasures left in this world, you know?”

He turned the shower off and started drying himself. It was the warmest day of the year so far and the window stood ajar to allow a cool breeze to pull through. Slowly, he became aware of a sounding drifting to him from outside. He stopped to listen. The sound was distant and fluctuating. His ears strained to catch it as it travelled on gusts of wind, or possibly the source of the sound itself was in motion. For a while he thought he might be imagining it, but it grew in intensity until it was unbroken and unmistakable. He wasn’t imagining it.

David stepped out of the bath and opened the window to its fullest extent as the vehicle came into view. Tarot had found what he’d been looking for. The vehicle was large, silver and black with a sunroof, box-shaped boot and five seats, as far as he could see. He didn’t know what type it was, but to his mind it was jeep-like. It looked to be in good condition despite its age. The racket the thing made was incredible: deep and throaty and mechanical, not at all like modern vehicles. He was surprised there wasn’t a swarm of zombies chasing after it.

He finished drying himself and hurriedly dressed. When he went through to the boy’s bedroom he was standing at his window, clearly excited by the sight of a working vehicle.

“Look: Tarot found one!” he cried. “Can we go to the seaside now? Can we?”

“We’ll see.”

“Can I go down and look at it?”

“In a minute. I need to talk to Tarot first.”

He put on a denim jacket and slipped an extendible baton, the replacement for his rolling pin, into the inside pocket. He didn’t hurry making his way downstairs.

Outside it was gloriously sunny, without a cloud in sight. Tarot was wiping blood off the front of the vehicle with a rag like a proud new owner. On the bonnet was the name
Land Rover
.

“I hit some of ‘em,” Tarot said matter-of-factly. “What do you think?”

David nodded, hands on hips as he looked the vehicle up and down. “Where did you find it?”

“In a lock-up somewhere; I think it was Swiss Cottage. Look.”

Tarot went to the back of the vehicle and opened the boot. Inside were several metal cans.

“What’re they?” asked David.

“Fuel. And it’s already got a full tank.”

David nodded. “A bit small, isn’t it?”

“Small? Look at the room in this boot – it’s huge.”

“If we had something bigger we could sleep in it. We couldn’t sleep in that.”

Tarot closed the boot, eyeing him as he did so. “If I’d found something bigger you might’ve said it was too big, yes?”

Damn Tarot. There was no accusing tone in his voice, but the implication was there: he was making excuses. And damn him for being right. He probably would have said a larger vehicle was too big and would end up getting stuck somewhere. Besides, they both knew they could sleep in the Land Rover if they had to.

“Look how warm it is today,” Tarot said; “when summer comes this whole city’s gonna stink like hell.”

“It stank last year.”

“It’ll be worse.”

“So what?” David knew he was being childish, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“You want to live surrounded by decomposing corpses?” asked Tarot.

“There are decomposing corpses everywhere. It’s gonna stink everywhere. I don’t
want
to live like it, but that’s the way it is. You think it’s gonna be better anywhere else?”

“The boy’s never seen the sea,” Tarot said flatly, as if it were all the reason he needed for leaving.

“He’s got plenty of videos in his head of every sea on Earth, for God’s sake.”

“That’s not the point. He’s never seen one with his own eyes.”

“Well, it’s convenient for you that he’s never seen one, isn’t it?”

Tarot stared, silenced by the sarcasm and the insinuation.

David walked off. “I’m going to the grave,” he snapped over his shoulder.

At the walled garden he sat on a bench by his mother’s grave, hunched forward, biting a knuckle. Birds sang and the pond’s water trickled as he wrestled with his thoughts. He felt angry with Tarot for finding the vehicle and forcing this dilemma on him, and angry with himself for taking such a cheap shot about the convenience of the boy’s inexperience with the sea. Was he wrong? Wasn’t it better to stay where they were, where he knew he could protect the boy? Or was he just afraid of the unknown? Whatever rational arguments he came up with against leaving were eclipsed by the simple fact that he just didn’t want to leave his home. And he didn’t want to give in to Tarot’s demands like some simpering spouse.

“What should I do?” he asked the grave under his breath. “Tell me. Please.”

A while later he heard the iron gate open, making him reach for the baton. He relaxed when he saw it was Tarot. He relaxed further still when he saw the expression on Tarot’s face. He exuded calm and understanding, and his anger towards him dissipated. He knew Tarot wouldn’t argue; neither would he force him to do something he didn’t want to do. Tarot took a seat on the bench beside him.

“I’m just not ready to leave,” David said, his eyes lowered.

“Okay,” said Tarot.

David woke up and looked at the clock. It was early. He recalled having the flood dream again. He hadn’t mentioned it to the others, but it was getting to be virtually every night, completely supplanting his nightmare about the incident at the church. He rubbed his eyes, wondering what it meant. It seemed to represent a fear of becoming infected, but without a cybernetic brain such a thing was impossible. Maybe it’s transferral, he thought. Maybe it represents a fear of the boy becoming infected.

He examined his right hand. Against Tarot’s advice, he’d cut the cast off the night before. His fingers ached dully. The scanning function of Tarot’s glasses couldn’t pick anything up, and they seemed to be working fine, so he figured they had healed without any major problems.

It was too soon to rise, but he needed the toilet so he decided to get up anyway. Drawing back the curtains, he saw that a dense early morning mist was obscuring everything, conditions which always reminded him of the first day of the virus. His eyes sought out the Land Rover, just a nebulous outline in the grey haze. He’d been compelled to check it every morning since Tarot had found it two weeks ago, telling himself he was making sure zombies hadn’t tampered with it during the night, but part of him secretly wishing they’d torn the thing’s engine out. It looked fine as far as he could see.

After visiting the bathroom he drew back the curtains in the living room and stood watching the windows of number 11, the neighbouring flat Tarot called home. He’d slept in his own bed last night. He wondered if he was up yet. Probably not.

On the kitchen countertop he found a note in Tarot’s handwriting weighted down with a key he recognised as belonging to the Land Rover. The note was only six words long.

I will come back for you.

David stared at the note, frowning. Back from where? His mind refused to accept what the note implied. He went back to his bedroom and looked out the window again. Yes, the Land Rover was definitely there. He peeked into Shawn’s room, reassured by the sight of the boy curled up, fast asleep.

Across the landing he found the door to Tarot’s flat open. His weapons and the lion’s share of his personal possessions were gone. He stared, unable to take it in. Tarot had left. In the middle of the night. Without telling him.

He returned to the flat and sat down in the living room. Why would he have done such a thing? He’d thought that the decision had been made to stay – at least for now – and that was that. Tarot hadn’t so much as hinted at leaving since the day he’d found the Land Rover. And why leave without it, on foot? He would have thought it was to get at him in some way if he hadn’t believed Tarot was above such things.

He felt confusion and a diffuse kind of anger. His mind wouldn’t focus on any one thing. He almost felt tricked. There had to be a reason why Tarot had felt the need to sneak off in the night. What was he so keen to find further south? As far as he was concerned the world had gone to shit and it was time to count your losses, not to endanger everything by wandering the country. He didn’t doubt that Tarot intended to return as the note promised, but when? How long would he be gone?

And what if he didn’t return? He wasn’t infallible; he was only human. What if a zombie got the better of him while he was out there on his own? He and the boy would be waiting here in vain, waiting for a reunion that would never happen. An indescribable terror seized him, making his hands tremble uncontrollably. The note he was still holding rattled and he dropped it onto the coffee table. He had the terrible feeling he was never going to see Tarot again. Slowly, as the fear crept over him like gooseflesh, the terrible feeling became a terrible feeling of certainty. He couldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t! The guy had saved his life, for God’s sake.

He threw on a jacket and a pair of shoes and made his way downstairs as quickly as he could. His only option was to take the Land Rover and head south. He’d take the route Tarot was most likely to have taken: the motorway. It split into minor roads as it neared central London, but he just had to hope he’d catch up with him before it became too much of a maze. The morning mist wasn’t going to help, but there was nothing he could do about that.

When he settled onto the cream leather of the Land Rover’s driver’s seat, he realised he’d never driven a vehicle this old before. The dials and buttons were bewildering, but the actual driving couldn’t be that different, he told himself. He looked at the pedals. Three of them? Oh yes, the thing had gears. He pressed the ignition button and the engine roared into life. He tested the pedals and the gears and pressed a few buttons.

The Land Rover pulled away jerkily. He muttered to himself nervously under his breath as he drove. He’d never particularly enjoyed driving, and had often only done it to prove to people that he could, computer-less brain be damned. Even so, the only car he’d ever owned had spent most of its time driving around on automatic. A moment passed before he realised that he wasn’t bound by the rules of the Autoroad system any more: he could drive on the wrong side of the road or the wrong way down a one-way street – anything was possible now. He took a circuitous route in the direction of the Tube station. After a few minutes’ driving he got the hang of the gears and the heavy, sluggish way the vehicle handled. His confidence grew, and he gradually increased the pressure on the accelerator.

He tried to avoid running over bodies, but avoiding them completely was impossible. The squelch of flesh and crunch of bones under his tyres made him grimace and groan with revulsion. Occasionally he saw zombies, their grey figures blanched even greyer by the all-pervading mist. He watched them chase after him in the rear-view mirror, forgetting about each one as soon as it was lost in the haze.

He took the quickest route, almost hitting a running dog as he made a sharp turn onto one of the motorway’s exit slipways. He drove south along the northbound carriage of the motorway, weaving in and out of vehicles that were facing him head-on, a huge mental effort required to reassure himself that every single one of them would remain stationary no matter what. At the first opportunity he crossed over the central reservation onto the southbound carriage. Here he picked up speed, continually checking the hard shoulder, where he assumed Tarot would be walking, as he dodged cars and buses and lorries.