Lurk

Chapter Three

Day 107, 7: 00

Somewhere in New Forest

“So he just... disappeared?”

Yet again clouded with cigarette smoke, the camp was a grim place to be. Bathing in sweet, relaxing poison, the last three of a previously strong group shared a moment of reflection around the dying campfire.

Lurk sat by himself, facing Drew and an unsurprisingly pessimistic Scott. He’d suffered a great loss, but it was not an unfamiliar feeling, even to the likes of a masked killer. Too many lost souls, and it’s all because of one fucking infection.

Drew nodded. “Um, yeah – but I wasn’t exactly here at the time.” It took him a moment to squeeze the next words out of his system. “Thanks for that again, mate.”

There was no visible reaction from the recipient of the gratitude, but that was the cold effect of a man who always wore a mask. Somehow, even under the mask Drew suspected that Lurk had become just as sociopathic as he appeared. I can’t believe he’s the one looking after us.

Lurk’s head turned to Scott. “What about you?”

Scott’s lip was quivering as he stared into the ground, tangled and dirty hair covering the majority of his face. “F-fuck you skull-face-”

“Mate, he’s just trying to help!” Drew interjected, patting his friend on the back. “Now did he say anything before he took off?”

With an exasperated sigh, Lurk dropped his head into his hands. This was taking too long: in his estimation, Harry was either dead or a Lurker by now. There were only a couple of scenarios where he could have possibly survived days alone.

“We can’t be sure whether he’s dead or not, but in times like this you can’t waste a second worrying about it. You may feel like hating the world, but you only hate yourself for letting him go.”

In a spur of rage and self-shame, Scott kicked a branch into the campfire, and stormed off towards the hammocks. “I’m going to sleep. You guys wanna do something useful? Make me a noose.”

In awkward silence, Drew sat adjacent to his saviour and teacher. While he hadn’t really warmed to Lurk over the many days they’d been stranded, there was so much that he didn’t know about the man’s history. For a start, he often wondered why a man would wear a mask every moment of every day.

“So... Lurk.”

“Yeah...?”

“When you got here ages ago, you told us that it was Day 43. Forty-three days since what, exactly?”

The remark triggered a rare moment of laughter, where Lurk’s mask creased up at the cheekbones. It would have been less sinister if not for the serpent-like eyes, which scanned and judged everything that passed.

“It’s so I remember how long I’ve been...How long since everyone became infected.” Lurk had made a quick attempt to cover his tracks, but didn’t for one second lose his physical stature. Drew didn’t notice anything peculiar, and took the bait like Lurk hoped. “Okay, that’s fine by me I suppose.”

Too close. Lurk looked away into the woodlands, not craning his neck but turning his eyes. It was so quiet and peaceful – probably the safest place in the whole of Britain, given the situation. As a general rule of thumb, he made sure to stay away from roads. Ever since it all went haywire, he’d been a lone wolf in a country of demons.

“Oh, and can I ask another thing?” Drew lit up with youthful curiosity. “Why are you called Lurk?”

The smile behind the mask faded.