The number of walking dead in this small town I’m in now is too thick to go out at night again. I’ll hunker down in this dusty old store until daybreak when they retire to their dark holes before continuing. They can’t be that far ahead now anyway.
So where was I? Oh yeah, unconscious. Again.
So the next time I come to my senses, the whole world seems to be rocking and rolling, and not in the musical sense. I’ve been propped up against something cold and metal, and everything seems to be rocking back and forwards. Adam is there, staring intently into my face with his blue eyes. They’re red from crying, and crying isn’t like him at all. There’s something cold and wet down the left side of my face and I look down to see my left shoulder has spots of blood on it. Well, that explains the cold and wet, but not the rocking.
Adam’s face lurches back and forwards as I rock back and forwards too. We get out of synch and he comes towards me as I go forwards. He hoarsely whispers to me. “Dad, dad, are you OK? Do you know where we’re going dad?” Suddenly he’s jerked back and I see somebody has him by the back of his collar and has yanked him off me and dumped him on the floor. It’s hairy guy again. His muddy, brown eyes are red rimmed. What little skin on his face that isn’t covered in black, brown and a tingle of red hairs is caked in months of grime, blood and who knows what other crusty crud. He leers at me, and this time I see a glimpse of yellow teeth behind the facial furniture.
Now I know we’re in the midlands of the UK somewhere, but whenever I think back to this guy talking to me, I can only hear it in a Southern American hillbilly accent. For all I know he was probably a bank manager, or professor of something or other in his past life, but from this point on, in this written version of what happened, he’ll always be an ignorant, ugly, dirty and smelly hillbilly to me.
“‘Bout time you woke up boooy.” He drawled. “Got an appointment with the Boss.” He pronounced the capital ‘B’. Almost a “Baaawss”. In my version of the truth anyway.
He sways back and forth before me to the same rhythm I seem to be feeling. He towers over me like a giant made of mud and hair. As he bends down and grabs the front of my shirt, he lets out a puff of foul, rancid breath straight into my face. Standing back up he drags me into a standing position and I lean back against the metallic wall behind me. This is the first time I get to look around and see my surroundings. I’m in a long, narrow room, to either side of me are rows of bench seats covered in a blue, fuzzy patterned material. The space that I’m standing in has no seats, but I see behind where Adam is now prone on the floor a set of metal, double doors, and I realise where I am. I’ve seen these before in my past life. In fact I relied on them five days a week to get me to and from work every day.
We were in a train carriage. And it was moving.