Henna dropped the backpack on the table before fixing the mattress back against the door. Duct tape screeched and ripped as she secured the gaps, but she couldn't hear it. Industrial ear defenders, with in-ear buds too, stopped her from hearing almost everything. Almost. No matter what she did, what anyone did, the screams continued to find ways to reach ears.

Once she had moved the second mattress into place, she felt happier about removing all the cumbersome gear. Not long after it had all started, Henna had trawled through the nearby homes, taking what she could. Carrying all these mattresses had taken her some time, but it was worth it to get even a little rest from the constant noise. The only part of the one room she had to herself not covered was the ceiling. Even the wonders of duct tape couldn't keep a mattress up there, but she had dropped more of them on the floor in the room above. It was as close to silent as anyone could get in these times.

She left the ear buds in, even though her other precautions dulled the screams to a muffled, distant whine, but put the ear defenders on a hook, along with the military-grade gas mask. She always wore the gas mask when heading out, even though no-one knew whether the sickness was airborne or not. No-one seemed to know anything.

The thick, padded, professional motorbike jacket was hers, but the gas mask was a leftover. Something an old girlfriend had left in the rush of a painful break-up, leaving Henna with a mortgage and a house too big for one person. It had taken a year for that to change and she had been happy. For a time. Until the Screaming Sickness came.

The pistol, in its holster on the heavy cop's belt, she never took off. Not even to sleep. The cop had no use for it anymore, no matter his screams. He didn't scream because she took his weapon, though. No-one screamed for any decent reason anymore. Why shout and scream when attacked, when the whole world seemed to have turned their heads to the skies and begun to scream. And never stopped.

They never, ever stopped.

At first, the authorities had tried to take the Screamers away, to hospitals, to staging areas, military bases. That soon became worthless. The number of Screamers began to overwhelm the system and, not so long after it started, they began to leave the sick standing right where they had stopped moving, mouths wide, screaming. They never took a breath, never needed to eat. They were still alive, wasting away, but they never died and they never stopped screaming.

Henna tipped her loot for the day onto the table, sifting through what she had found. She was lucky. Her former girlfriend had insisted on solar panels on the roof. Henna had electricity for lights and the radio and to recharge flashlights. Most everybody else had nothing. Infrastructure broke down pretty fast when half, or more, of the workforce did nothing but scream.

There it was. The find of the day. A tin of fruit pieces. Before too long, all the tinned goods would be gone. Henna wasn't the only scavenger now, though she had started earlier than most. As soon as it had all started, she knew this wasn't going to end well. There were only a few, at first, stopping during the normal course of their days, dropping anything they held, their heads slowly tilting upward. They never scream straight away, only when their heads tilt all the way back, mouths gaping, did they start and the sound had hammered into everyone's ears. This was not normal.

Henna dropped onto the mattress covered floor, opening the tin of fruit, taking a dirty fork and stabbing several pieces before stuffing them into her mouth. There was no point savouring the taste. Eating was far more important than pleasure anyway. She needed the vitamins more than anything. As she jammed the fork into more pieces of fruit, her head snapped upward.

Something was different. A different sound that wormed its way into her ears even through the mattress padding and her ear buds. Hesitant, Henna put the tin to the side, the juices slopping onto the mattress, and took the pistol from its holster. She didn't have many bullets left, but she'd become a good shot over the last few months. She reached up to her ear and paused.

If it was Carla, Henna would never forgive herself if she shot her, no matter what she had become. But it couldn't be. Screamers didn't move, not once they started that never-ending scream. It was people, the silent ones, that Henna had to worry about and. As she tugged the ear bud from one ear, she heard something that worried her more than running out of food, or sleeping. Gunfire. Loud. Rapid. High-caliber, if she were any judge. And coming closer.

She had suffered attacks before. Desperate people willing to do anything to survive. Or, more often, anything to stop the screams from digging into their brains. The things some people had done to quieten their world horrified Henna, though it was an understandable horror. People would do anything for even the tiniest respite from the constant screaming. Like breaking into other people's homes. There was no sense to it, it wouldn't stop the screams, but desperation rarely went hand in hand with rationality.

The gunfire was closer. Much closer and Henna dropped to the mattress covered floor. Not even mattresses two deep could protect her from stray bullets. She only needed to ride this out, wait for whoever it was to move on and, if she needed to, she would protect her little one room home in a house that once felt too big for her alone. Only a little longer. She glanced at the ear defenders and gas mask on their hook and wondered whether she should put them on, as a precaution.

The hammering upon the door put paid to that idea. Even through the mattresses, she could hear it. Something metal, maybe, hard plastic? Whatever it was, it wasn't to break down the door, but to bring attention from those within. From Henna. She readied the pistol, flicking off the safety, and tried not to breathe.

"Henna? God, please be here. Henna!" The voice, muffled so much that Henna couldn't tell whether it was a man or woman, knew who she was. Yet Henna was pretty certain everyone she once knew was now a Screamer. "Henna, if you're in there, let me in. It's Cas!"

-+-

Six Months Earlier

The grinder sent sparks arching across the garage as Henna worked upon her masterpiece. Or, at least she hoped it would be her masterpiece. Though she had sold a good number of her pieces, she had yet to find the recognition she craved. She had to admit, however, making sculptures out of junk was probably not the medium that the art world would ever really embrace.

She saw the flashlight flickering, Carla's signal that she was about to enter Henna's sacred workspace, and allowed the grinder to wind down to a stop before she switched it off, placing it to the side. Before turning around to her wonderful, not-so-long-suffering girlfriend, Henna took time to examine her work, tugging off the thick gloves before taking off the military gas mask and her ear defenders. It was overkill, the ear defenders and, especially, the gas mask, but she had heard of people losing their hearing and of breathing in tiny metal particulates before, and she had too much to live for now.

Carla's hand smoothed over Henna's shoulder and she pressed her head onto her hand. The other hand lifted in front of Henna's face, holding a cold bottle of beer. She always knew what Henna needed, even if Henna didn't know it. She didn't deserve someone like Carla. So clever, intuitive, witty. Everything Henna found attractive.

"I knew you'd be out here. I saw the letter." Carla slipped around, wrapping her arms around Henna's waist and looking up at her with those big, expressive brown eyes. "It's okay, you know. Of course you still have feelings for her, she was a huge part of your life. I mean, yeah, I got a twinge of jealousy, but you know what, it's fine. She's done it, now. The house is officially yours. Along with the mortgage. That we could have done without, but, you know, silver linings."

"I'm sorry. I know I squirrel myself away when things get, you know, real and stuff." Henna brushed back Carla's hair, smiling at her perfect woman. Her rest-of-her-life woman. Cas could never have settled down long enough for that. "But, your wrong. It's not my house. It's ours. So, I'll be needing your half of the mortgage, like, yesterday. 'Kay?"

Carla gave Henna a playful slap, pulling away to look at the new piece. She had a good eye and appreciated the subtlety of Henna's work. While Carla gave the piece a once-over, Henna began to put away her equipment. The beer tasted good, it was a nice night and she had a hankering for a barbecue.

"So, I was thi ..." Behind her, Carla began to say something, but stopped, probably choosing her words. Or distracted by the noise that only now Henna had noticed.

Screaming. It wasn't what anyone could consider a good neighbourhood, but neither was it a bad one. Henna could count on the fingers of one hand the number of screams she had heard around here, but now she heard screams from several directions. By the sound of it, both men and women. Whatever was happening, it seemed to be everywhere.

"Hey, Carla, I think we better get inside. Carla?" She turned to see her girlfriend staring at nothing. Not the piece, not the walls, not even staring at Henna. Her eyes looked empty and far away. "Carla?"

She acted as though she couldn't see Henna, even when Henna waved her hands in front of Carla's face, clicking her fingers. She began to panic, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans for her cell phone. Elsewhere, she heard the sounds of crashing, more screams splitting the air and, in her ear, the busy signal. Nine-one-one. Busy. Still Carla hadn't moved, but now she did. Not all of her. Only her head.

Carla tilted her head back but it was as though she moved in slow-motion, like tracking through a movie to find that one, single, perfect frame. Slowly, so slowly, Carla raised her head, her mouth opening so wide that Henna could hear the bones grinding in Carla's jaw. Then, when Carla could raise her head no more, she began to scream. The scream pierced Henna's ears, forcing her to release Carla and cover those ears with her hands.

Carla screamed and never stopped.

-+-

"Cas? What the hell?" Her former girlfriend fell through the open door, onto the mattresses as Henna rushed to cover up the gaps again, the screams penetrating the room before she could secure it. "What are you even dressed as? Was that you? With the gunshots?"

Cas spun around and Henna saw the rifle in her hand. A rifle now pointing toward Henna. Cas looked dishevelled, pieces of her body armour ripped away, the face screen of the gas mask on her head shattered and, through the remaining glass, Henna could see wide, desperate eyes. Terrified, sleep-deprived eyes.

"Do you have Screamers here? Do you?" She shoved the rifle muzzle into Henna's chest. "God damn it, Henna, you better fucking tell me! Because, if you do, I have to kill them before they kill me. Well?"

Henna didn't know what to say. Not that she could say anything, not after Cas had turned up, out of the blue to make demands and threaten her. She raised her hands, hoping that she hadn't just made a big mistake. She couldn't answer Cas, because, if she did, she would have to lie to her. There was no way Henna would allow Cas anywhere near Carla.