In The End | Novella | Beginning of the End

life. Instead, I concentrated on looking around the curve of the houses, slowing when I knew we were getting near to where the semi-circle met the other end of the road out of the village.
Seeing scaffolding wrapped around the back of a house, I stopped. The Jamesons’ place. They were having their roof redone. I remembered the news relayed by Mum a few days ago, the perfect example of the level of excitement I’d give anything to get back to.
But there it was, a ladder fixed to the inside of the scaffolding and exactly what I needed to get us to the safety of the woods, if it hadn’t been bolted down.

9
A new metallic drumming sound called into the silence. Half expecting to see a soldier checking their handiwork with a slap of the hand, I ducked down, guiding Tommy with me as I looked along the line of gardens.
When it wasn’t a camouflaged figure in a gas mask I saw but a man in a dark business suit and red shirt who looked like Mr Jackson, the bank manager from a few doors down, I almost stood up again. He’d come into view along the fence-line, picking himself up from the grass as if he’d fallen into the metal panel.
“There,” Tommy called before I thought to keep him quiet.
The man looked in our direction. With his hands limp by his sides, I was sure it was Mr Jackson heading our way.
Elation rose as he drew closer and I stood when every step reassured me it was the man my parents had introduced me to. Someone like him would know what to do. He’d know how to get us out of this mess.
Still without hurrying, he headed our way. I wanted to call out and make him rush, not knowing how long it would be before the soldiers found us. But he remained calm, pushing one foot in front the other as if his legs hurt.
My smile grew at his composure, but as he drew closer, I realised what I thought was a red shirt was actually an apron of blood around his neck.
Before I could look any more, he tripped, on what I couldn’t see, but he fell to the grass. As he rose, a great flap of skin hung from the back of his neck, slapping against raw flesh as he tried to get to his feet.
“What the hell?” I said, then gripping tight to Tommy’s hand I turned, pulling him along until his little legs caught up. I didn’t look back, running the way we’d come whilst glancing to each of the gardens as we rushed past.
We ran to the sound of Tommy’s questions, slowing only as we passed the place where we’d come between the houses. We jogged a short while for Tommy to catch his breath.
Then I saw it. A gap between the houses I’d not noticed before; a gap wide enough to get a car through to smash out the fence metal and get to safety.
Fighting to fill my lungs, and despite not knowing how to drive, the car seemed like the best option now. All I had to do was find one, get into it, work out how to drive and do it all without being attacked by the crazed villagers or shot by the soldiers.
But what else could I do?
Energised by the quickly forming plan, and with a glance back to make sure we’d left Mr Jackson far behind, I ran between the houses. Dragging Tommy along, I stopped only as we came to the edge of the brickwork.
I peered to either side, reminding myself where in the street we’d emerged. Not seeing any movement along the road or at any of the houses, I turned my attention to the parked cars. There were a lot to choose from.
Looking back to the fence, I tried to visualise the biggest car that would fit between the giant blocks.
Turning around, I crept forward, mindful to check on either side before focusing on each of the driveways.
I wasn’t big into cars, probably because my dad hadn’t been. He’d had a BMW when he’d died, but we got rid of that. My mum had a small runabout to get to work and do the shopping in. It was affordable, she said, and easy to drive. We didn’t need anything fancy.
Almost half of the cars were similar to Mum’s Ford, but although the smaller cars would be simpler, I couldn’t decide if they would have enough power and weight to get me through the fence. A smile raised on my lips as an equation from my textbooks came into my head; force equals mass times acceleration. The bigger the car and the faster it travelled, the more likely we would be to bust through the metal, snapping the links between the panels so we could race to the woods.
The smile stayed when I wondered if my physics teacher ever had that use in mind.
If only I knew the weight of the car, perhaps I could do the calculation to save my life and revise at the same time.
I laughed, looking down to Tommy as he peered up. He frowned back as if wondering if the stress had sent me round the twist.
Shaking my head to brush away his concern, I looked back at the cars in search of the biggest. If I could master the controls, perhaps I wouldn’t need to stop at the woods, instead driving straight across the fields to the main road.
Admiring a red four by four gleaming on the drive a few doors down, memories from a few months ago flooded back; Mum telling me how excited the Williams were to get their new car. I felt the press of guilt, but with it came a tinge of wickedness and excitement at