Chapter One

He was dead already. No way around it and not much to be done about it. There was just that hollow acceptance for Ryan.
He tore back one of the curtains. Looking out the window there was not much to see. Frost was creeping silently up the side of the sill, his breath misted out the inside. All that could be seen was the faint orange of the street lights and black, indistinct shapes.
Thursday. He got dressed, not much point in washing now, the evening was more the time to savour that. He brushed his teeth and then went downstairs. In the darkness of the living room he eased his way towards the kitchen. There he fixed some stale wheat cereal in cold milk and sat down on an armchair in the living room to munch away at it. Once finished, he just sat and waited.
Half an hour later, there was a horn beep outside. Ryan got his coat on an pulled the front door behind him. Outside the world seemed as if it had been cast in iron. The pavement glinted with each movement towards it. Each breath was painful as the air caught in his lungs. Gingerly he walked down the path and out on the road. The only light to see came from the stars; the street lights were useless.

In the middle of the road was a dirty white Ford transit van idling away. Ryan went to the back, got in and then banged on the side. The van moved away. Someone lit up. In the flash of the lighter there were the faces. To him they looked like they'd been carved from rotten wood. Balaclavas, scarves and caps bundled around them. No-one spoke or even wanted to look at each other. The only life signs came from the smoker, puffing calmly away.
Van motions told him they were leaving the city as the jerking screech of the brakes came less regular.
They were in the countryside now.
He tried to see through the dirt covering the back window. What he could was absolutely pitch black. Not even the farmers were up at this time. The tiny orbs of council lighting could be seen as they passed the estate, stuck in the middle of nowhere and not a since amenity to its name. If you didn't own a car, you were screwed, it was that simple. The van jolted on the poorly surfaced road but nobody seemed to notice. The smoker lit up again. Ryan didn't even need to look around to know it was Frank. He always carried a good supply of cigarettes, to keep him going and that was all he needed.
There was a simplicity to Frank, a straight ahead, wanting for little that Ryan envied.
Frank lifted his cap so the smoke went in his eyes less and concentrated all his attention on enjoying the cigarette. Ryan could only stare at the mud-covered floor as if one of the jolts from the road would reveal some great answer to him underneath the filth.

They slowed down and the van was turning right. Ryan knew exactly where. Same place every day, Roselawn Cemetary.