SHORT STORY: "Hush"

© Jonty Cornford 2019   

Hush

By Jonty Cornford

The man could still remember the last thing he said to his daughter. When she was sleeping, head rested on his shoulder like it was now, he could still hear it. Sometimes he could hear it as if it were being spoken again. 

   His thumb brushed across the scar above her ear, visible beneath her short cut hair, as he watched the ash fall outside. It never really stopped, but right now it was falling heavier than usual. Sometimes it was lighter, and sometimes it reminded him of the first and only time he saw snow as a child. In that moment he was struck by the thought that it really wasn't that long ago. He was probably about his daughter's age. He thought about the fact that she had only ever seen ash, never snow. 

   The world had been mute for almost seven years now. Just as the man had started to be able to communicate meaningfully with his daughter, just as she had begun to realise the power of speech, the world took it away from everyone. As the population begun to gradually lose the ability of speech the world crept closer and closer to a climate catastrophe, and by the time that finally and inevitably arrived, no one was able to speak at all. It was recorded in history as it unfolded as the most significant event in human history, but by the time it had fully unfolded there were no more systems or societies to record it. 

   This was the man's life now. Finding shelter. Walking, finding food and water, then finding shelter again. Sometimes he found somewhere they were able to stay a while longer, but mostly he set off again with the cold sunrise. 

   But most of all he looked after his daughter. He made sure she had water to drink, food to eat. He protected her from the cold, and he protected her from the heat when the fires burned. He protected her from the animals that hunted them, no longer below them in the food chain. He protected her from the people that hunted them for their resources, and sometimes for their meat. 

   She stirred, breaking his train of thought. 

   Sleep well? he gestured. 

   Yes.

   Good. We need to go soon. 

   Can't stay here?

   No.

   Why not?

   We just can't. 

   The room was empty and derelict on the inside, but it offered good shelter. The wallpaper was peeling and cracked, and a thick layer of dust lay on everything. The stairs to the level above were collapsed halfway up, and there were two bodies, almost completely decayed, in each other's arms at the top. One looked small enough to be a child. The ceiling above them looked bloated and stretched, but it was completely dry and cracked. It hadn't rained in years. 

   More people will come by, he thought. We can't be here when they do. She can't be here.

   The ash continued to fall heavily outside. It was getting brighter. Well, as bright as it ever got. They needed to leave soon. 

   He got up, his daughter stretching on the floor. He folded up the blanket they travelled with and threw it over the shopping trolley they pushed around, carrying their supplies. It was emptier than it was a week ago. 

   Shoes on.

   Yes, Dad. 

   They pulled on their shoes, holes taped shut. Despite having them out overnight they were still wet from the stagnant stormwater drain they found the day before. They hadn't lit a fire, because they could see a small column of smoke not so far away amongst the skinny, dead trees and they didn't want company. So the shoes were still wet. Their last plastic bags had worn through, meaning that they were unable to be used to keep their feet dry as they looked for something, anything amongst the foul green foam and the shit-smelling trash that lay still at the gaping mouth of the stormwater drain. He thought it looked a bit like it was yawning. 

   As he pulled his broken shoes on he made sure she didn't see the wound that seeped from the inside of his heel. It had stopped bleeding a couple of days ago, but the pain had returned and a new colour had arrived, the discharge crusted to his skin. She was too focused on getting her own shoes on to notice, he thought. Pain shot up his leg as he dropped his weight through it. He gritted his teeth and did his best not to show it. That was his job; to make sure his daughter knew that everything was going to be okay. he wondered how long it was going to be before the pain in his foot stopped him from walking. 

   Let's go.

   Okay.

   The air outside was cold, the ground covered with a fresh dusting of ash. Once they were out on the road he looked carefully in each direction. In one direction, hills that disappeared into the low-hanging mist and clouds, covered by dead trees and bone white with ash. In the other, the hills continued downwards towards the coast, the dark grey water still and calm, the distant shore white with ash. The sky was grey in every direction, ash falling heavily. There were no footprints in either direction in the ash, but it was falling heavily enough that it could well have covered up prints from less than an hour ago. 

   Follow me. Stay close.

   Okay.

   They set off towards the coast, pushing the trolley in front of them. 

   As they walked his stomach churned. He had given his last two nights' food to his daughter because the tinned food supplies had started to run low. They needed more soon, and he hoped they came across something soon. Otherwise they would not last long. 

   He turned and looked behind him, noticing the column of smoke he saw the night before had disappeared. He wondered if the people it belonged to were friendly or not. They hadn't seen anyone for almost a week now. He supposed that was a good thing - he had only just managed to save his daughter from a man who wanted to eat her. He said he was part of a group, but they had run out of other people to eat and so had started to eat each other until he was the last one left. There were no more people left, he had screamed. Why would anyone willingly bring another person into this world?

   He shot that man in the head when he got too close to his daughter with hunger in his eyes. He didn't die straight away, and he had to shoot him in the head again, this time between the eyes, to stop him lashing out and writhing around in the ash. As he died he scared the man's daughter. 

   Did he want to eat me?

   Yes.

   Thanks, Dad. 

   I love you.

   I love you. 

   The man wondered if he would ever think about eating another person. If it meant he could keep protecting his daughter, then he might.

   Dad, I can see someone. 

   Where?

   Over there. She pointed into the dead trees. He couldn't see the person until they moved, shifting back behind one of the ashen trunks. They stood still for a while, watching and waiting. 

   Don't move. 

   Okay.

   They heard a soft thud, then nothing again. 

   Dad, I think they're hurt.

   We need to keep walking. 

   But we could help. 

   We need to keep walking. 

   They might have food. 

   It doesn't matter, we need to keep walking. 

   "Help!"

   Their eyes widened, neither of them sure they had heard it. He almost felt like he should be shielding his daughter from the sound, like human speech had become taboo. 

   "Help, please!"

   Stay here. 

   Why?

   We don't know if they are friendly. 

   But they need help. 

   Just stay here.

   Okay. 

   He walked off the road towards the voice. He could see a foot sticking out from behind one of the ashen trunks. A bare foot. He found himself opening his mouth to call out, lifelong habit surfacing again after so many years and years of muteness. As he got closer the source of the voice was revealed to him, leaning against one of the trees. It was a man, naked and afraid. He was bleeding from his side, it looked like a bullet wound. A trail of blood followed his footprints through the ash, leading further out into the trees and already starting to be covered over by the falling ash. 

   "I am dying, friend."

   A bullet took off the bleeding man's outstretched hand in a flower of flesh and blood. The man snapped around to see where it had come from and saw five or six figures advancing through the bone white trees as the bleeding man moaned, cradling the gushing stump. Another bullet silenced him, blowing the top of his head off. The bleeding man sat there, still.

   There were three women and three men, all well dressed in black military-like clothing. They were all carrying weapons, now pointed at the man as they circled him. 

   How many of you are there?

   Two. 

   Where's the other?

   On the road. 

   One of the women pushed him back towards the road with the barrel of her gun between his shoulder blades. They passed the bleeding man's body. Ash was beginning to cover it. 

   He could talk. 

   We know.

   How?

   Keep walking. 

   Out on the road he saw his daughter's body on its back. He tried to pull free. The barrel of the gun pushed harder. Two of the men went over and checked the body as two large vehicles approached from further up in the hills. When the men picked up his daughter's body it was limp and left behind a red stain in the ash. They carried it to one of the vehicles and put it in the back. The man struggled and struggled., before the handle of the gun brought him to his knees, head ringing and tears springing to his eyes. 

   Another man in a large trench coat got out of one of the vehicles. He was wiping his hands with a rag. He walked slowly to the man, before he was standing directly in front of where the man was kneeling in the ash, silently sobbing. The man in the trench coat pulled the man's face up to look at him with his chin, wet from tears. He seemed to be studying the man, assessing him. 

   Can you talk?

   The man should his head. 

   He could, though. 

   He's dead. 

   My daughter?

   What's in the trolley?

   Is she okay?

   I asked what's in the trolley. 

   Nothing. 

   We'll see. 

   The man in the trench coat signalled for someone to go to the trolley that was sitting at the side of the road. Someone in black pulled the blanket off and rummaged through the tins and bottles, before finding the bones. They carried them back and laid them at the man's feet. 

   The man in the trench coat stepped back, regarding the bones. They were small; a child's. 

   Did you eat this person?

   No. 

   Did you know this person?

   Yes. 

   Get up. Follow me. 

   The man was wrenched up to his feet and led over to one of the vehicles. All he wanted was to be able to go back and stay in the house that he had found with his daughter. He again remembered the last thing he said to her before his voice left.

   "Your brother didn't die for nothing."

THE END

© Jonty Cornford 2019