by Casey, Ryan
He’d be home soon, and he could focus on the next step.
He knew there were more things he could do with stocking up on. Supplies for his bug-out bag.
But he wasn’t taking any chances anymore.
He moved the bike around the side of a fallen telegraph pole when he swore he heard a shout behind.
He looked back, and he felt a bit of guilt. Because he’d left Aoife and the dog, Rex, all on their own back there. He didn’t give a shit about the lad, Harry. He seemed like a right arsehole, and he wasn’t going to feign sympathy for him.
But he did feel a bit bad about Aoife.
He turned around. He shouldn’t feel bad, and he knew it. She wasn’t his responsibility. They were strangers. They’d just run into each other. He’d helped her out, and she’d helped him out.
But at the end of the day, they weren’t bound together. They were individuals.
And Max had made himself pretty clear. He was going back home, and Aoife could find her own way.
He didn’t owe her anything. He was his own man, and he shouldn’t go feeling responsible for anyone else.
But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something bad. That he’d abandoned Aoife.
He grunted. She was tough. She’d make it. If she had any sense about her, she’d turn around and abandon that Harry prick and the dog. They were millstones around her neck. They’d hold her back.
He wondered whether he really believed that she was going to be okay back there or if he was just trying to convince himself.
He looked at the road ahead, illuminated by the bike’s lights, which seemed weird amidst this landscape of darkness. He needed to keep going. Needed to crack on. Couldn’t get caught up in fears about what he was leaving behind. Couldn’t get caught up in any kind of attachment.
He looked ahead, saw a taxi in the road in front of him. Slowed down, worked his way around it.
He glanced to the side, and he stopped.
Sitting in the back of the taxi, he saw a boy.
He was young. Sixteen or seventeen, he’d guess.
He recognised him.
He had a large metal pole right through his chest.
Blood trickling down his face.
His eyes wide, his glasses smashed.
It was the boy he’d let in the nightclub.
The boy who’d staggered out and Max helped into a taxi.
He was dead.
It looked like some scaffolding had come through the windscreen, piercing both the driver and the boy in the back.
And as Max stared at him, he felt this sense of responsibility again.
This sense that he’d done this.
That the whole reason the kid was here in the first place was because he’d put him in here.
He gritted his teeth. Shook his head.
But he couldn’t shake the images flashing in his mind now.
David.
Going into his son’s bedroom.
Seeing him there.
Seeing the blood.
And…
“No,” he said.
He biked on. But he wasn’t focused. He was distracted. Lost. He kept on bumping into cars. Tumbling over debris.
And all that time, he kept on getting new flashes in his mind.
Of Aoife.
Screaming.
Of those thugs whacking her over the head with baseball bats.
Of her bloodied corpse.
He squeezed his eyes shut and stopped.
Sat there on the bike, heart pounding.
And then he looked back, a bitter taste in his mouth.
He didn’t know what to do for the best.
Didn’t know where to go.
But he lowered his head, and he sighed.
He put his foot down, trying to get the image of the boy with the scaffolding through his chest out of his mind.
The images of Aoife out of his mind.
Of David out of his mind.
And he drove.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aoife watched Gary and his friends bury their boots and their baseball bats into Harry’s curled-up body, and she wished she could do more.
The scene was brutal. More horrifying than anything she’d ever witnessed. They were on him like a pack of animals. Kicking him. Punching him. Whacking him with whatever they were holding. Baseball bats, cricket bats, all kinds of things.
And she could see Harry in the middle of them all. Covering his face with his broken fingers. The blood all over him, even more now than there was before—and there already was a lot before.
And the gasps he let out. The whimpers and winces.
The sound of a baseball bat cracking against his skull.
“Stop it!” Aoife shouted.
She was paralysed. Paralysed with fear. Because Harry didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserved this. He’d stood up for her. Despite everything, he’d actually stood up for her, and this was what he got for it.
She couldn’t just stand here.
She had to do something.
She had to help.
“Stop,” she said, racing forward. “Stop this. Now!”
And then she felt a crack across her face.
Went tumbling back and hit the road, thumping her head in the process.
She lay there, ears ringing, the taste of blood filling up in her mouth. And as she lay there, Rex barking by her side, she felt helpless. Totally helpless. She’d always prided herself on being strong. On being able to stand up for herself.
And she’d got even tougher over the last few years, especially after what she went through with Jason.
She thought of entering that hotel room.
Of seeing him…
No.
She didn’t want to think about that. Not now.
She sat there on the road and watched as the men returned their attention to Harry. And she wanted to help him. She didn’t want to abandon him. Not again.
She forced herself to her feet and tensed her fists.
She launched herself at one of the men, who she recognised as Gary, scratching his face.
He elbowed her.
Knocked her back again.
“Bitch,” he spat.
He turned to her. Walked over to her. Held his baseball bat in hand. Beside, Rex barked and growled at him.
“You’re with her now, you stupid fucking mutt. Which means you’re fair game.”
He pulled back the baseball bat.
Went to swing it at Rex.
“No!” Aoife shouted.
And then it all happened so fast.
The sound of an engine.
Revving up, right by her.
And then a bolt of light flying past her.
Slamming into Gary.
Sending him hurtling back.
And then driving through his friends, making them jump out of the way.
It took Aoife a few moments to realise what was happening here.
But then she saw it.
Max.
Max was back.
He lifted a machete. Pulled it back and turned on the gang.
“You get the hell away from him. And you stay the hell away from him. Okay? Because if you don’t, you’re fucked. My friends are heading down here, and they’ll back me up. So leave him alone, leave her alone, and leave the dog alone. Understand?”
Aoife’s heart raced as she saw him standing there, right before the bike. Her overwhelming emotion was a sense of relief. He’d come back for her. He’d actually come back for her.
“Aoife,” he said. “On the bike. Now.”
Aoife narrowed her eyes. She looked at Harry, whose eyes were swollen over, and who’d been beaten to a pulp.
And then at Rex. Barking away.
“But... but we can’t leave them.”
“If you want to get out of here, get on the bike. Now.”
She opened her mouth to argue. But she knew she didn’t have any argument.
Harry was as
good as dead.
There was nothing she could do for him.
And as much as she wanted to protect Rex… he wasn’t her dog. Right?
Two of the men stood there, baseball bats still in hand. Gary lay in front of the bike, bleeding badly. She dreaded to think what sort of damage Max had done and couldn’t quite believe what she’d witnessed.
“On the bike, Aoife. Now!”
She looked at Harry. And then she looked at Rex. And she wanted to apologise to them. She wanted to say sorry for walking away. That she had no other choice. This was her only option.
She gritted her teeth. Tensed her fists.
Started walking.
And then…
“No,” she said.
Max frowned. “What?”
“I’m not leaving Harry here. I’m not leaving Rex here. You… you go if you have to. You do whatever you have to do. But I’m not leaving them behind.”
Max narrowed his eyes. The two men still standing looked from her to Max, like they were reading the room here.
“Aoife,” he said. “Stop playing around. If you want to get out of this, you need to come with me. Now.”
She took a deep breath, and she shook her head. “You might find it easy to walk away. But I don’t. I’m not leaving them. I’m not leaving anyone else. Not again.”
Max opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Clearly pissed off at Aoife.
“Then you’ve made your choice,” he said.
He turned around to walk back to the bike.
That’s when one of the men rushed over to him, lifted their bat.
“Nice bike,” he said.
Swung the baseball bat over Max’s head.
Knocked him to the road.
“Don’t mind if we take it,” he said.
He jumped on to it. And the other guy jumped on the back, too. With Max’s bag and his machete, too.
And then, they drove.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Max opened his eyes and immediately felt a sense of dread surge through him.
It was light. Far lighter than when his eyes had closed. Not exactly morning light, but definitely getting that way. Dawn approaching. A cold chill to the air, which went without saying in the middle of winter.
A sore head. Really damned sore. He wasn’t sure why, only that something had gone down. Something had gone down, and…
Shit.
The gang.
The gang of thugs who’d stolen his bike.
One of them must’ve hit him over the head, and…
“Awake?” a voice said.
He turned around and saw Aoife standing beside him.
He felt a combination of emotions at seeing her. Part of him felt relieved. Relieved that she was alive. Relieved that she was okay.
And relieved that she was still here.
There was a weird look on her face, in her wide eyes. A combination of emotions, clearly.
“I stayed here with you. In case you were wondering.”
Max lifted himself up. Saw Rex by Aoife’s side, growling away. He looked around. He could see a body right by him. The body of the bloke, Gary. The one he’d rode the bike right into, splitting his chest on the wheels. “The others?”
“Long gone,” Aoife said.
“How long have I been out?”
“Not long. Half an hour. Something like that. But don’t get any ideas above your station. I’m only still here ’cause of Harry.”
Max narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what she meant at first.
Not until he looked around and saw that lad, Harry, lying there in a bloodied heap beside him.
His face was badly bruised. His eyelids were all swollen over and purple. He was breathing heavily and strained. And as much as Max didn’t like the guy, he felt this instant sadness. Because he didn’t deserve that shit. He looked in pain. Nobody deserved pain like that. Especially not at the hands of a bunch of thugs the likes of which they’d just run into.
“He—he doesn’t look good,” Max said, standing up, walking over to him. “I’m not sure he’s—”
And then he felt a slap, right across his face, which was already sore. A slap out of nowhere.
Aoife’s eyes were wide. She looked pissed. “You could’ve stayed.”
“I came back for you. Lost my bloody bike in the process.”
“You could’ve stayed,” she repeated. “You drove off. You… you left us. And then this happened. You didn’t have to walk away. You didn’t have to leave us.”
She turned around, then. Walked over to Harry’s side. Her entire demeanour shifted as if she were suddenly not proud of herself for showing how emotional she was.
Max stood there, and he felt bad. He felt awkward. Because she was right. He didn’t need to drive away. He regretted it the moment he did it.
And he regretted it even more when he saw the kid in the taxi.
“I came back because I didn’t want to leave you here on your own,” Max said.
“Well congratulations for that. I hope you feel good about yourself.”
Max gritted his teeth and sighed. He wanted to open up to Aoife. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to tell her about Kathryn, and David, and everything that happened.
He wanted to tell her the truth.
He wasn’t sure why he was so compelled to tell her the truth… but he was.
But then he took a deep breath. Swallowed a lump in his throat.
He didn’t know what to do next, only that Harry was in a bad way.
“Let me see to him,” Max said.
“I’m sure you’ll be an expert at bedside manner.”
“I was a medic in the army for a while,” Max said. “I know a thing or two. Bit rusty but might be able to help.”
He walked over to Harry, and he felt a knot in his chest. The kid was in a bad way. Really bad way, Swollen eyes. Grunting. Choking on his own blood. Barely even seemed conscious.
“I wish there were more we could do for him,” Max said. “But without ambulances, without any way of properly treating him…”
“We have to try,” Aoife said.
Max heard her words, and they echoed his own pain. His pain about losing Kathryn and David. His pain about not trying harder so many times.
And the pain of still losing when he had tried.
“I’m just not sure what we—”
“There’s a medical centre not far from here,” Aoife said.
“It won’t be safe.”
“I don’t care. We—we need to help him. He… he stood up for me. He stood up for me. He can’t die now. Not… We have to help him, Max. Please.”
He heard Aoife’s voice, and as much as he knew it wasn’t practical, as much as he knew it was a batshit crazy idea, he sighed and nodded. “I’ll put something together.”
He walked away. Walked off down the street in search of something they could use, fully aware that this was a waste of time.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if there was a chance?
He found a surfboard atop a car just a bit further down. Dragged it off there. And then he found some old rope in the back of an abandoned jeep and tied it around it.
They could pull Harry along. It would take time, and it would slow them down, but it was something.
He rushed back to Aoife, feeling a strange sense of achievement.
And when he got there, he saw her crying, leaning right by his side.
He knew what she was crying about right away.
She turned around. Tears in her eyes, tears she was quite clearly trying to hide.
And she shook her head.
“He’s gone,” she said. “It’s too late. He’s—he’s gone.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Max and Aoife walked out of the suburbs and through the surrounding countryside, not saying much at all.
The sun was rising. Looked beautiful. Max always enjoyed a good sunrise. It cast an orange glow over the fields. The suburban neighbourhood
they were in was quiet. Surreal, really. There was a motorway bridge over the top of the suburbs, and it was usually pretty busy and noisy at this time. But right now, it was silent. Cars were piled up there. Some of them had crashed into one another.
It was weird seeing it so busy and yet so silent. Like looking at a film set.
Aoife walked by Max’s side, Rex between them. They hadn’t said much at all on the journey so far. In all truth, they hadn’t even said where they were going. Max was quite obviously heading back home to his cottage in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of Beacon Fell. Aoife seemed to be walking with him.
And after the incident with Harry, the guilt she seemed to be feeling, he wasn’t exactly going to turn her away right now.
Especially because he was feeling pretty guilty about the whole thing too.
He was going to get home. And she could stay, for a bit.
But forget that. He could worry about that later.
He felt like he owed her. As much as he didn’t owe a soul.
He thought about the people he’d let down. The people he could’ve saved. The people he’d turned away from.
And as much as he didn’t know Aoife, as much as he didn’t have a connection to her… he wasn’t going to turn his back on her.
“You okay?” he asked.
She turned around, glared at him. “What do you think?”
“I’m just asking. What happened back there… it was rough.”
“Like you care,” Aoife said, looking away.
Max gritted his teeth. “I do care.”
“Funny way of showing it.”
“Look,” Max said. “I came back for you. But anyway. Forget it. Better to focus on the road. Better to keep walking.”
He looked around at these suburban houses. And he felt sadness. The sun had risen. Which meant soon they’d find out the power still wasn’t back on. That the police or anybody hadn’t been out to help.
And panic would set in. Fast.
The looting would start in earnest today.
The rush for supplies would get messy, very, very quickly.
Max felt far better off for being away from the city centre, that was for sure.
“I left him,” Aoife said.
Max sighed. “What?”
