by Ryan Casey
But she had to.
She couldn’t turn around or back away. Not now.
She reached the bottom of the slope, right where the trees thinned, and she perched herself behind a thick, wide tree.
Stood there, catching her breath, her heart racing.
She didn’t know what she was about to see.
What she was about to find.
She dreaded to think.
So she pushed those thoughts aside, took a deep breath, and then she stepped around the tree.
The first thing she saw was Rex.
Standing there. Barking off into the distance.
By his side, she saw…
“Nathan,” she muttered.
She stepped out from behind the tree even further when she realised he was holding a rifle.
Pointing it ahead.
And she saw people running off, the other way. Shouting at each other.
Kids.
Kids, and a man.
A man with…
“Oh shit,” she said.
Two things struck her.
First, the kid in the man’s arms.
The boy Harold had shot.
His dad?
Shit.
And then she noticed what was by Nathan’s side.
Harold lay on the ground.
The side of his head was caved in.
Both of his eyes had been pierced away, gouged out. Nothing more than bloodied sockets.
He was dead. No doubt about that.
“Nathan,” Aoife said, walking towards him as he stood there, shaking rifle in his hands.
He looked down at Harold. Tears rolling down his face.
“Dad,” he said. “Dad.”
She wanted to reassure him. Wanted to comfort him. She wanted to be here for him.
But as he crumbled to his dad’s side and cried, all she could do was stand there.
All she could do was let him have his moment.
Because Harold was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Max lay back on the sofa and stared up into the bright light above.
It was a window this time. Not a door like before. A window he’d never seen before.
And a part of him wanted to climb up through it. Because the light there looked inviting. It looked comforting. It looked warm.
And he wanted warmth. He wanted warmth far more than anything else because he felt so, so cold.
He could hear things just out of reach. Shouting, maybe. Or crying. Or was it laughter? He wasn’t sure. Only that he felt trapped right here. Staring up into this bright, warm light. So close to it, and yet so far away.
He tried to reach out a hand to it, but he couldn’t move a muscle. And he wasn’t exactly delirious right now. That’s the thing. He wasn’t under any illusions about where he was or the state he was in. He was in the shit. Deep, deep shit. He was sick. Really sick. And he felt exhausted.
He knew he needed help. He knew he needed some kind of assistance. Some kind of intervention.
And yet…
That warm light, right above.
So close, yet so far away.
And the weirdest thing?
The weirdest thing of all?
Even though he got the feeling that everything he wanted was up there, in that unreachable light, he wasn’t ready to go there. He wasn’t ready to give up on this world down here. Not yet.
He pushed back against this window of light even though it kept on clawing towards him, even though it grew brighter, more imposing, more intense, more…
And then he gasped for breath.
“It’s okay, love. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
Max coughed. Leaned over the side of the sofa he was on and coughed all over the floor. He was shivery. So shivery. But at the same time, impossible as it was to describe, he felt warm, too. Hot, in fact. Really hot.
Moira was with him. Hand on his back. Rubbing it against him. But she seemed tearful. She seemed preoccupied, somehow. Worried about something. Kept on glancing over to the door like she was waiting for someone. “Just get it out. Get it off your chest, then get back on the sofa. You’re gonna be okay, love. I’ve got you.”
He leaned back on the sofa, then. Sat there, stared up at her. Even though everything was bright, even though he felt like total shit, he felt… a bit better, somehow.
He knew it was a false dawn, no doubt. He knew he was ill. Very ill. He knew you could swing dramatically up and down when you were suffering from a serious infection, which he clearly was.
But it just felt such a relief to be feeling some degree of improvement right now.
“That’s it,” Moira said. “How about some water? That might help.”
Max nodded. Felt too weak to speak, but again, definitely stronger than before.
“Good,” Moira said, smiling as she held the straw to his lips. Then looking over at the door again, preoccupied.
He sucked at it. Swallowed a gulp of it, probably a little too ambitious because he almost choked.
“Slow yourself,” Moira said. “Bloody hell. You fellas. Always thinking you know best. Always thinking you can take shortcuts. Slow sips. It’ll help.”
Again, Max nodded. He couldn’t argue with Moira’s logic. He sucked through the straw, slower this time, letting the water seep in through his dehydrated, cracked lips. He felt like he was getting better by the second. Like his energy was returning. Again, not in any dramatic way. He was seriously ill, after all. Wasn’t exactly gonna be running any time soon.
But it was something.
He had to hope he was lucky.
That the antibiotics he was already taking were taking effect.
And that this wasn’t the dreaded “s” word of sepsis that he feared it might well be.
“Nathan and that girl of yours, Aoife. They—they went out to get some supplies for you. Some medication.”
“No,” Max said, shaking his head.
“Sit yourself down. They… I heard something. A shout. And our Nathan went running and… Oh God, I can’t bring myself to even go out there. I can’t bring myself to even look. But it sounded like Harold.”
Max heard Moira’s pain, and he realised in an instant why she seemed so preoccupied. The shout. He remembered it now. The shout, then Nathan and Aoife running off, Rex on their trail.
He looked up, over at the door. Listened to the wind howl its way through. And he wondered what was going on out there. He wondered whether the shout did belong to Harold.
And he thought of the boy Harold shot, and he wondered…
“It’s… it’s not safe here,” Max muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Moira said. Not sounding convincing at all. “Right here’s… right here’s the safest place you could possibly be right now.”
“But it’s not safe,” Max said. “Those people. Those kids. They’ll be back here. And…”
“What you need to worry about right now is yourself. Resting up. Because that’s what’s important right now. That’s what matters right now.”
He saw Moira hovering over him. Saw the tears in her bloodshot eyes. Saw the way her lips twitched. The way she struggled to maintain her composure but knew she was duty-bound to do so right now, even in all her panic, all her worry.
And he forced a smile back at her. Something that never came too naturally to him.
He leaned back on the sofa, got himself a little comfortable, and then he noticed movement.
Over by the door.
At first, he thought it was Aoife, or Nathan, or Harold.
But then when he looked closer, he realised it was neither of them.
It was none of them at all.
It was the kid.
The kid called Cody.
And Cody had a knife.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Aoife stood by Nathan’s side as he crouched by the dead body of his father.
It was cold. Windy. Quiet. Even the birdsong seemed more muted than usual
. All Aoife could hear was Nathan’s crying. Speaking to his dad. Saying inaudible words to him, words Aoife couldn’t make sense of, couldn’t understand.
And she wanted to stay here with him. She wanted to reassure him. She wanted to make sure he was okay.
But at the same time, she felt guilty. Because she knew she needed to get Max his medication. Urgently. Or they’d be losing someone else.
But how the hell did you say that to a guy who had just found his dad’s dead, mutilated body?
She wanted to put a hand on his back. To stroke him and tell him all was going to be okay. But instead, she found herself just standing there. Watching him. Wishing there was more she could do to reassure him. More she could do to comfort him.
She looked down the slope, over to where she’d watched the figures running away. A few kids and a man holding a child. Clearly, the boy Harold had shot because he was gone now. Nothing but a bloody patch where he’d lay.
And she felt awful for that man. Because regardless of what’d happened, he was a father, and he’d just found the dead body of his son.
She had a bad feeling about what would happen next. Especially if Nathan had fired that rifle towards them.
She knew there’d be no limits to just how far vengeance could go.
And she wasn’t sure whether it was a battle she wanted to get caught up in.
“I’m sorry, Nathan,” Aoife said. “I’m… I’m so, so sorry.” She couldn’t even look at Harold. She’d seen so much death in the last two days. Enough death to last a lifetime. To haunt her. Traumatise her dreams.
And she knew the shock was going to hit her like a wrecking ball—and probably soon, too.
She wanted to get Max the treatment he needed before that happened.
Give him the chance he deserved before that happened.
“I can… I can tell your mum. If you want me to.”
Nathan wiped away his tears. Rose from his dad’s body. Composed himself. “It’s okay. It—it should be me.”
Aoife nodded. “I’m sorry about this. I… I don’t know what to say or what to do.”
“We need to get him back home.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I just mean… the way he looks. Are you sure that’s how your mum wants to remember him?”
Nathan looked down at him, sighed. “You’re probably right. Then we… we go get the shovels. Just like we were going to for the boy. And we bury him. We bury him in the garden, right where he would’ve wanted.”
Aoife nodded. Sighed.
“What?”
“I just… I’m so sorry, Nathan. I know this is not the time for this at all. But… but Max. He still needs help. There’s still a chance to save him. Remember?”
Suddenly, Nathan’s face turned sour. “Is that all that matters to you right now? Really?”
“No. Of course not. But what’s happened here doesn’t change the facts. That’s all I’m saying.”
“My dad’s just died. My dad’s just been murdered. I tried to fire at them, but I couldn’t hit them. And all you care about is Max right now?”
“It’s not about it being all I care about. That’s obviously not true. But I’m just saying. We can’t… we can’t let this horrible tragedy side-track us from what we need to do.”
Nathan’s face turned even sourer. And Aoife realised just how cold she sounded. Yet, at the same time, it made her realise she was only being pragmatic. And that’s what she had to be. That’s what they all had to be if they were to make it in this world.
“Side-track us?” Nathan said.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You think there’s a chance I’m going out there right now? I need to tell my mum about what’s happened. And I need to be there for her. There isn’t a cat in hell’s chance I’m going out there right now. And especially not with you. Not after what you said.”
Aoife felt broken. Betrayed. “Nathan. I didn’t mean to come across insensitive—”
“You can go,” he said. “If you want to go on this wild goose chase that’ll end in tears anyway, you can go. But I’ve got to go back home. I’ve got to bury my dad. And there’s nothing else I can do.”
He looked Aoife in the eyes. And Aoife saw the sadness there. She felt it herself, too. The grief. The pain. She wanted to comfort him. To console him.
But then she saw him turn away, and in an instant, he flipped.
“What are you waiting for? Go!”
She wanted to say so much to him.
Wanted to apologise.
Wanted to help.
But in the end, she could only look at him and nod.
She turned around, looked down the slope. Right towards the first glimpses of civilisation.
A cold wind blew against her.
She took a deep breath.
And then, with Rex by her side, she walked.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Max saw the kid called Cody standing there with a knife in his hand, and as much as he was never one to get fucking afraid about kids, he couldn’t help feeling pretty damned vulnerable right now.
He stood there at the open door. Moira stood right by Max’s side, staring over at him. Nobody said a thing. It looked like Cody was on his own. And there was just something about him that made Max feel uneasy. He wasn’t exactly physically imposing. It wasn’t like Max would struggle to fight the little shit off or anything like that.
But there was just this confidence about him. This sense that nothing was off-limits, now. Because of what had happened to his friend.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” Moira said, taking the lead. “It was a terrible, terrible mistake—”
“Your fella killed my mate. One of my best mates.”
“Things got out of hand.”
Cody stepped into the house. “Yeah. Yeah, they did. All because you lot think you’re better than us.”
“We don’t think—”
“But you won’t get away with it. I’ll make sure you never forget it. Everyone down in the estate is gonna know what you’ve done. Who you are. And we’ll make your life hell. You’d better fuckin’ believe it.”
Moira was quiet. Max lay there, unsure of what to say. Just watching events unfold. Knowing he couldn’t do a lot to intervene anyway because he wasn’t exactly at his strongest right now.
Cody stepped into the house. Looked around, turning his nose up like it was beneath him. Like he was better than this place.
“Your place is nice,” he said. “Be a shame if it got burned down or something, right?”
Moira shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t you even think about—”
“Shoulda thought about that before you killed my mate.”
“It was a mistake.”
“He’s dead because your fella lost his shit!”
Silence followed. But the weirdest thing of all was that Max didn’t hear pain in Cody’s voice. He didn’t sound like a kid who was genuinely remorseful about the death of his best friend.
He sounded like he was performing. Like he was getting a kick out of this. Enjoying the prospect of conflict that would inevitably follow.
“I don’t know how many other ways I can say I’m sorry,” Moira said. “And—and when Harold gets back here, he’ll apologise to you too. I’ll make bloody sure of it.”
Cody laughed. Shook his head.
“What? He’s—he’s okay, isn’t he? That shout. It wasn’t… it wasn’t him, was it?”
Cody looked at Moira.
Then he looked over at Max, smirk on his face.
“What happened to you?”
Max stared back at him. Didn’t say a word.
“You look like shit, mate. Might be keeping all quiet over there, but you’re in this. Whether you like it or not.”
“Kid,” Moira said. “What did you do to Harold?”
He looked back around at Moira, and he smiled.
�
��I brought you summat, actually. Summat you might want.”
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled something out.
Max couldn’t see them properly from here. But they looked bloody. Fleshy. Squishy little balls.
He threw them to the floor in front of Moira, and Moira let out a gasp, covering her mouth, shaking her head, and falling to her knees.
And as Cody stood over her, smirk on his face, knife in hand, Max could only watch as he realised exactly what he was looking at.
Two eyeballs.
Two eyeballs, staring right back at him.
Harold’s eyeballs.
Cody laughed. Shook his head. “Least you’ve got him close. Least you’ll be able to look into his eyes at night.”
“Why?” Moira wailed. “Why?”
“‘Why?’” Cody said, imitating her. “You’re pathetic, you lot. This is what happens when you mess with us. When you mess with people stronger than you.”
He walked towards Moira. Knife in hand.
“I told you you’d pay. The lot of you. You’ll pay for what you’ve done. When my dad gets here, he’ll make sure you pay. He doesn’t let nobody get away with anything. Anything.”
He took another step forward, and Max felt an urge.
An urge to step in.
An urge to help.
He watched Cody take another step, and he found the strength inside him to step up.
“Leave her the hell alone, kid.”
Cody stopped. Looked over at Max like he was nothing but a piece of shit on his shoe.
“What you say?”
“I said leave her the hell alone. Or you’ll regret it. You piece of shit.”
Cody’s face turned, then. He looked belittled. Angry. Nostrils twitching, all that.
But he stayed standing there.
Right before Moira.
“You know,” Cody said. “For that, I might just take one of her eyes out, too.”
He walked towards her.
Grabbed her by the hair.
Put the knife to her face as she screamed.
“No,” a voice said. “No, you fucking won’t.”
