Road of the Dead by Kevin Brooks
“As real as anything else. It doesn’t lie.”
“But that doesn’t mean you’re sure about everything.”
“No.”
“Are you sure about Rachel?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about the Dead Man?”
“Yeah, I’m sure about him. I just don’t know any details.”
“What about the stuff in your dream? Was that real?”
“I think some of it was…but some of it was just a dream.” I closed my eyes, feeling the fear of the dream again—the coldness, the darkness, the death. I looked at Cole. “You don’t feel anything when you’re dead, do you?”
“No,” he said simply. “That’s what death is—feeling nothing.”
“And if there’s nothing to feel, there’s nothing to fear, is there?”
“Nothing at all.”
We finally drifted off to sleep again just as the first light of dawn was beginning to color the sky. My last waking thought was of Rachel. I could see her quite clearly: her sleeping skin, her shining black hair, her face on the pillow beside me.
Go home, Ruben, she whispered again. Let the dead bury the dead.
Go home.
Seven
I’m not used to silence in the morning. I’m used to the clatter and grind of the breaker’s yard, the groan of car crushers and scrap magnets, the drone of traffic on the East London streets. So when I woke up that morning and everything was quiet, it took me a while to realize where I was. When I finally did realize where I was—Dartmoor, farmhouse, bedroom—I also realized how tired I was. I’d only had about an hour’s sleep all night. My eyes were thick, my body ached, my head was all tight and buzzy.
I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but I knew that I wouldn’t. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, birds were singing…everything was too quiet. I could hear too much: Abbie and Vince in the kitchen downstairs, Cole in the bathroom, a dog barking somewhere in the distance. And now the smell of breakfast was beginning to drift up the stairs—bacon and eggs, toast, coffee…
It was all very nice—but I wished I wasn’t there. I wished I was at home—in my house, in my room, in my bed, smelling my breakfast.
After a minute or two, the bedroom door opened and Cole came in.
“Come on, Rube,” he said, “it’s time to get up. We’ve got a lot to do today.”
I didn’t move.
I could feel him looking at me, then I heard him crossing the room, and then I heard myself swearing at him as he yanked the duvet off my bed and threw it on the floor. I was only wearing a pair of boxers, and the sudden blast of fresh air on my skin was shocking.
“Shit, Cole,” I snapped, sitting up straight. “I might have been naked.”
He didn’t even look at me. He just turned away and went over to get something from his bag. I watched him, remembering when he’d left the house yesterday morning and removed something from the trunk of the smashed-up Volvo in the yard. I tried to see what he was doing now, but he had his back to me and was keeping the bag out of sight. I knew what he was doing, though. I made a mental note to bring it up with him later, then I got out of bed and started getting dressed.
“What’s the plan?” I said.
“I want to go into the village and poke around for a while, see what I can find. See if anyone’s got anything to say. Then I might go up to the gypsy camp.” He retied his bag and turned around to face me. “I don’t understand what they’re doing here.”
“The gypsies?”
“Yeah—I mean, there’s nothing here for them, is there? No work, nowhere to sell anything. Are there any fairs around?”
“Not that I know of.”
He shook his head. “It’s not even much of a site.”
“Maybe there’s some work around that we don’t know about. There’s plenty of farms…”
“It’s all sheep and cattle. Gypsies don’t work with sheep and cattle.”
“Maybe they’re stealing them?”
“No one steals sheep anymore. It’s not worth the effort. Do you know how much you get for a sheep these days?”
“Well, maybe they’re here to look after us?”
“What?”
“Like angels.”
“Angels?”
I grinned at him. “Guardian angels.”
He didn’t even bother telling me I was an idiot, he just shook his head and started putting on his shoes. “Anyway,” he said, “I might go up and talk to them later if I’ve got time.”
“Do you think they’ll want to talk to us? You know what some of them think of Dad.”
“They can think what they like.” He looked at me. “You won’t be there, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“You’re staying here.”
“What?”
“I want you to stay here—”
“No way,” I said. “I’m coming with you. I’m not letting you—”
“Listen to me,” he said, holding up his hand. “Just listen a minute.” He looked over at the door, then spoke quietly. “There’s something going on here, isn’t there?”
“Yeah, but—”
“We need to find out what it is.” He looked at me. “Right?”
“Yeah, I suppose…”
“There’s no suppose about it, Rube. We need to know what’s going on. One of us has to stay here.”
“All right—but why does it have to be me?”
“Because if you go into the village and meet up with Red and Big Davy and whoever else is there, they’ll scare the shit out of you.” He paused, looking me in the eye. “And if you stay here you can take a look at the place where Rachel’s body was found.”
I knew what he meant, and I knew he was right. It made sense for him to go to the village, and it made sense for me to stay here. I still didn’t like it, but then we weren’t here to like things, were we?
“OK?” said Cole.
“Yeah, OK. I’ll ask Abbie to tell me where Rachel was found. She can draw me a map or something—”
“No, get her to take you there. Don’t go on your own. If Abbie doesn’t want to take you, or if she’s out all day or something, wait for me to get back and we’ll go together.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I looked at him. His face said—Don’t argue. So I didn’t.
“All right,” I said. “Is there anything else you want me to do?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know…I mean, how am I supposed to find out what’s going on? What should I do?”
“Nothing—just hang around, see how it feels.” He almost smiled. “See if anything comes to you.”
Not much happened at the breakfast table. Vince was quiet, concentrating on his food, and Abbie didn’t even sit down. She just pottered around making coffee and toast and keeping out of the way. Her eyes looked a bit red from crying, but then I expect mine probably did, too.
Outside, the sky looked clear and bright, and a pale white sun was beginning to warm the air.
When Vince had finished eating, he wiped his plate with a slice of bread, popped the bread in his mouth, then washed it all down with a big slurp of tea. “You need a lift anywhere?” he said to Cole. “I’m heading off to Plymouth in a minute.”
“Could you drop me off in the village?”
“No trouble.” He drained the tea from his mug. “Going anywhere in particular?”
“Not really.” Cole looked at him. “Anywhere in particular you’d recommend?”
“Not really.” Vince put his mug down and stood up. “I’ll be ready in about five minutes—OK?”
Cole nodded. As Vince left the room and went upstairs, Abbie came over and started clearing the table.
“Are you going anywhere today?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “I shouldn’t think so.”
“Do you mind if I stay here with you?”
She paused for a moment. “Aren’t you going
“I’m a bit tired,” I said. “I thought I’d just hang around here…if that’s OK with you?”
“Yeah, fine,” she said indifferently, taking the plates over to the sink. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Five minutes later I heard Vince starting up the Land Rover. I went out into the hallway and saw Cole coming down the stairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder.
“How long do you think you’ll be?” I asked him.
“I don’t know…as long as it takes. If I’m going to be late I’ll give you a call.”
“Don’t forget—”
“There’s no cell signal. Yeah, I know. I’ll use a phone box and call you here.”
He started toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Cole?” I said as he opened the door.
He turned around. “What?”
I nodded at the bag on his shoulder. “Do you really need that?”
His eyes blinked hesitantly. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
He didn’t know what to say. He studied my eyes, trying to work out if I knew what he had in the bag or if I was just guessing. I let him look. It didn’t make any difference to me—I didn’t know whether I was guessing or not myself.
While I was waiting for him to say something, a car horn sounded from the yard. Cole leaned out the door and waved his hand at Vince, then he turned back to me.
“I’d better go,” he said. “I’ll see you later—OK?”
Before I could say anything else, he’d walked out and shut the door.
I went upstairs and used the bathroom, then I wandered back down and joined Abbie in the kitchen. She was doing the washing up. As I sat down at the kitchen table, she flashed a quick smile at me.
“All right?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Looks like we’ve been left behind.”
“Yeah.”
She smiled again and went back to the dishes. I knew I should have made more of an effort to talk to her, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Cole. I was worried about him. I was worried about who he might meet in the village—Red, Davy, Bowerman, the creepy guy with the beard. He was bound to meet up with some of them sooner or later. In fact, knowing Cole, he was probably going to be looking for them. And when he found them?
That’s what I was worried about. I just hoped he’d get through the day without killing anyone.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Abbie said.
“Excuse me?”
“Coffee,” she repeated, waggling a cup at me.
“Oh, right…yeah, please.” I smiled at her. “Sorry, I was miles away.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, “I don’t suppose you’re sleeping that well at the moment.”
I didn’t know what to say to that—she’d probably heard me crying in the night, and she probably knew that I’d heard her crying, too—so I just shrugged and smiled at her again. She smiled back at me and started making the coffee.
“Do you know what Cole’s doing in the village?” she asked casually.
“Just looking around, I think.”
She nodded. “What does he think he’s going to find?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something about Rachel…”
Abbie didn’t say anything. She continued making the coffee—filling the cups, getting the milk out of the fridge, looking for a teaspoon. I thought I saw the glint of a tear in her eye, but I could have been mistaken.
“What did you do when she was here?” I asked her.
“What do you mean?”
“You and Rachel—what did you do?”
She shrugged. “Nothing much. We just hung around, mostly…you know—talking, eating, going out for a walk now and then.” She smiled sadly. “It was really nice. There’s not much to do around here anymore, and Vince is away a lot of the time, so it gets a bit lonely. It was nice to have some company for a change.”
“What about the farm?” I said. “Doesn’t that keep you busy?”
“What farm?”
“All this,” I said, looking vaguely out the window. “All these fields and buildings and everything…isn’t it a farm?”
“It used to be. Most of it doesn’t belong to us anymore. My mother sold a lot of the land when she was ill. Me and Vince tried to keep things going for a while after she died, but it didn’t work out. We’ve had to sell what was left of the land.”
She looked out the window. “The farm buildings are still ours, not that they’re any use to us anymore. And we still own the house…but that’s about it.” She looked over at me. “Do you want milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please. Four sugars.”
“Four?”
“I like sugar.”
She fiddled around with the milk and sugar for a while, then brought the coffees over to the table and sat down beside me. “I knew Rachel for a long time, you know. We used to be really close.”
“I know—I remember you used to come around to our place after school sometimes.”
She smiled again. “That was a lifetime ago.”
“Do you ever think of going back?”
“To London?” She shook her head. “I still miss it sometimes, but I could never go back. I couldn’t leave this house. It was my mum’s. She was born here, she died here. It means too much to me. And besides, Vince could never live in London.” She laughed to herself. “He couldn’t cope. It’d drive him mad.”
“Does he come from around here?”
She nodded, sipping her coffee. “He was born here—in the village. He’s never lived anywhere else.”
“What did he think of Rachel?”
Abbie froze, her coffee cup paused in midair, and her eyes went cold. I knew I’d said the wrong thing—I knew it as soon as I’d said it. It was a question too far. Too close. Too pushy. I looked innocently at Abbie, hoping she’d let me get away with it, but I knew I was wasting my time. All I could do was watch and wait as she slowly lowered her cup to the table, stared at it for a moment, then raised her eyes and fixed me with a hateful stare.
“You just can’t leave it alone, can you?” she said icily.
“I didn’t mean anything—”
“Yeah, you did. You and your brother have been niggling away at me ever since you got here. Where were you when Rachel died? What were you doing? What did you see? What did you do? I mean, Christ…”—she shook her head angrily—“…I’ve already told you everything I know about Rachel. I’ve told you what happened. I’ve told you where I was. I’ve told you I’m sorry. What more do you want from me? And now this…interrogating me about Vince, like he had something to do with it—”
“I didn’t say that. I was only asking—”
“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped. “God, you’re worse than your brother. At least he’s got the guts to be honest about it. At least he doesn’t pretend to give a shit about anyone else.”
I couldn’t really argue with her. I didn’t want to argue with her. And even if I did, I wouldn’t have known what to say. So I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, trying not to look guilty, but probably not succeeding.
Abbie went on staring at me for a while, then she shook her head again and got up from the table and walked out without saying a word.
I waited until she’d stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door, then I closed my eyes and rewound the tape recorder inside my head and played back the last fifteen minutes. It was interesting stuff. I wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but it gave me a lot to think about.
When I’d finished thinking about it, I drained the last dregs of my cold sugary coffee, then went outside to get some fresh air.
The farmyard seemed a lot smaller in the daylight. When we’d arrived last night, I’d somehow gotten the impression that it was a big old rambling place with acres of wasteground and dozens of tumbledown buildings. But now, as I shut the front door and stepped out into the sunlight, I could see it for what it reall
That was it.
I started walking toward the barn. Although the sun was out and the air was warm, the ground was mostly slick with mud. It wasn’t thick mud—it was easily walkable—but it squelched under my feet and it didn’t smell good. With every squelching step, it gave off a faintly gaseous smell. It was the smell of dead things, rotting things, and it reminded me of my dream. It also reminded me of the rainstorm—Rachel’s rainstorm—and I couldn’t help wondering if the moisture under my feet had come from the clouds that had rained on my sister. I didn’t know what to think about that.
So I didn’t.
I emptied my head and continued on toward the barn. The edges of the yard were littered with agricultural rubbish—bins and boxes, empty sacks, rolls of wire-mesh, sheets of corrugated iron, a trough, a scythe blade, coil springs and drive wheels and cogs and chains. In the breaker’s yard at home, these things would have seemed exotic, like remnants of another world, but here they just seemed sad and abandoned. Dead things in a dead place.
I stopped outside the barn and looked around. The yard didn’t have any clear-cut boundaries—no walls or fences or hedges—it just merged uneasily into the surrounding landscape of the moor. And the moor was massive. Everything seemed to go on forever—the sky, the fields, the hills, the colors. Everywhere I looked, in every direction, all I could see was miles of emptiness.
It was endless and enormous, and it made me feel really small.
“You are really small,” I reminded myself.
I entered the barn, smiling stupidly to myself, and looked around. It was a big old wooden building, about twice as high as the farmhouse, with a dirt floor and no windows and big double doors at the front. Sunlight filtered in through the cracks in the timbers, lighting up clouds of straw-dust, and the air was calmed with a cool interior silence. It was the kind of silence you can almost smell. The whole place was painted black, inside and out. Apart from some more farmyard rubbish—the remains of an old Fordson tractor, some sacks of seed, a few bales of moldy straw—the barn was empty. A ladder led up through a hatchway to what I guessed was another floor. I thought about taking a look, but the ladder didn’t look too sound, and there probably wasn’t anything up there, anyway, so I decided not to bother.