Mute

Chapter 6. Over and out

Oh man I've been dying to use the radio again, just to hear that voice. There was something about it, not quite posh, but professional, like an off-duty newsreader. Okay, so it's possible that I've only got a thing about her voice because it's the only one I've heard since the world turned zombie. The only human one at least. Either way I want to hear her again. But I have to wait. Those are my orders. I have to wait for rain.

My instructions are that once I know it's definitely a proper downpour and not just spitting I have to wait a few minutes and then turn on the radio, but with the volume proper low. We sorted that out when we spoke last time. She was worried that if the zombies could hear us talking then they'd smell a rat and go nuts. We went through the alphabet letter by letter while I turned the knob down until I could only just hear her:

"A. Over."

"B. Over."

"C. Over."

I stopped her at G.

G for Georgie.

I've been doing what I'm told and I've been waiting for rain – more like praying for it. The main zombie's tried talking to me but I've ignored him. I haven't got long until things go south for me here.

I'm shitting myself.

I'm pretty sure it's April now, so that means I'm due plenty of April showers. But I'm not feeling confident, I don't just need it to rain, I need to know that it's raining, and I can't see much out of this box I've shut myself in. If it properly hammers it down then I'll be able to hear it okay but if it's that fine rain that comes down heavy but doesn't make much noise then I might miss my chance.

And it might be my only chance.

I'm trying to keep the sound of my breath down so I can hear any rain but it's not my breathing that's the problem, it's my heart. When did that get so loud? I'm trying to see drops on the glass but it's criss-crossed with wire mesh, it's not meant for seeing out of. I've been like this for ages, watching, listening, trying to shut my heart up.

I think I heard something.

I did, there's a drumming sound on the roof.

It's raining, a proper downpour. Oh Jesus. This is happening.

I do what I've been told. I go and stand at the door and I wait to make sure it really gets going. I start turning bolts so I'm ready to go. I leave the last one. I've got a bag over my shoulder that holds the best knives I found in this place. You never know when you might need a decent blade when there are zombies at every turn.

That's got to be a few minutes. I turn on the radio. "I'm ready," I whisper. "Over."

"Okay, Anthony." There's that voice. She's there, she's bloody there. "They've gone. It's clear. Unlock the door slowly. Keep it quiet. Then, like I told you, as soon as you're out of the door turn right and run straight. You will see a low wall on your right that goes diagonally to the left. Run alongside that and once you're past it, look up and to the right, you'll see the fire station up the hill. I'll be at the door on the right-hand side. Run as fast as you can. Over."

She told me all that last time and I've memorised all of it, but that's cool, it does no harm to hear it again.

"I get it, coming. Over and out."

I hear her say good luck as I throw the last bolt and open the door. I'm expecting the zombies to jump me but they're not there and I push the door closed behind me and it's properly pissing it down and I'm running like a bastard and it's hard work because I've done basically nothing for weeks but I'm hauling my lardy arse up the hill and I don't look back and I'm in the car park of the fire station and I aim for the door on the right and she's holding it open and oh my dear Lord.

I'm inside and she's locking the door and we're hurrying upstairs but quietly. And we're in the room where all the firemen would have waited to be told when something's on fire and I thought there'd be a pool table and I'm just hugging this girl and I've never been so happy in all my dear life. I swear it.

It's hard to be objective when you're looking at the person who just saved you from certain death, but I'll do my best. She's what the clothes shops call petite, a lot shorter than me, but then most people are. Age-wise I'd guess at mid-twenties but a gentleman doesn't ask and I'm a proper gentleman. She's dark, and it'll sound cringe but I'm going to say it anyway, she looks exotic. She's got this long black hair that she's pulled back into a ponytail and that means the skin of her neck's on show and I know I've been in solitary confinement for some time and everything, but that bit of her neck looks to me like the softest, smoothest substance on Earth. And obviously I can't help but think about the fact that her whole body must be wrapped up in that same stuff. All over. Jesus.

And I've not even got to her eyes yet. They're green, but a really dark green like I've not seen before, like she's wearing lenses for a video shoot or something, but of course she's not wearing lenses, well she might be but that would be weird in the circumstances and she doesn't look the type. No, that's definitely her natural colour. I reckon, before everyone was dead she must have got a lot of attention just for those eyes alone. And the rest of the package is far from shabby even though I'm sure she's not looking her best. I'm not being judgemental when I say that, anyone who looks their best out here in the Doomsday Quarter has got their priorities totally arse about face and they'd most likely be dead before they could say because I'm worth it.

I'm thanking her and I'm probably not making much sense but I'm telling her she's an angel and how she's saved my life and I'm telling her again and I'm all sniffy and snotty and the tears are flowing and she's crying too but not as much as I am, and definitely not as disgustingly.

And she's smiling but she looks a bit worried and she shushes me. She doesn't like noise, this one.

And I say I'm sorry.

And then I just say thank you about a billion times and I tell her I'm sorry that I'm hugging her so much and it's probably invasive and all and I'll definitely stop in a minute and she says it's fine.

And then she kind of eases me away, politely, kindly. And she says, "Would you like to play scrabble?"

And I say why not?

And then for some reason she's the one who's blubbing.