Thrive (Episode 3): Leave
Page 5
“All of a sudden, the guy slips into a coma and they link it to the injuries he sustained from the beating. So my sentence is reevaluated and I’m given five years of jail time instead. And that’s where I was headed – to Chelmsford Prison – on the day when all hell broke loose. A dead man attacked the officers who were escorting me to the police car, and that’s how I got away. I knew then, looking around me at the anarchy that’d taken over, that the world had become a place for those who were ready to be brutal. And I smiled, knowing I was ready.”
Mark finished speaking and the van lapsed into an uneasy silence. His rambling monologue hadn’t persuaded Emma that what they were doing was a good idea, just hammered the notion more firmly into her head that he was a bit of a nutjob.
As if Mark had read her thoughts, he piped up again.
“To answer your question: no, they don’t have an advantage. Because we have something of theirs, and when they see it, believe me, they’re gonna hand over everything they took from us without hesitation…”
Emma didn’t have time to wonder what he meant by that.
The bus appeared up ahead in the road. It wasn’t moving and there seemed to be two cars parked haphazardly in front of it, blocking its way.
Mark automatically slowed the van at the sight of the enemy. But he must have realised that the other survivors would have undoubtedly noticed their approach already in the stillness of the defunct town, as he sped back up and then came to a stop behind the bus. They saw now that the two cars in front were dented and smashed up; probably a collision.
The two men sat there studying the bus for a minute before Sebastian said, “I don’t see anyone. Did they ditch it here, do you reckon?”
Mark shook his head. “They could be coming back. Maybe they ran out of fuel and they’ve gone to get some more.”
“How can we tell?
“You go take a look inside the bus,” Mark suggested. “If the keys aren’t in the console, my bet is they’re coming back. They wouldn’t bother taking the keys if they were ditching it, would they?”
Slowly, Sebastian nodded, opened his door and hopped out. They watched him edge toward the bus, keeping low as he passed the windows even though there was no sign of the other group. Sebastian reached the bus door and went in. The reflection of the sun in the windows made it hard to see anything but movement from inside.
Suddenly, Sebastian was pelting it back to the van, a troubled expression on his face.
“What—” Mark began as he opened the passenger door.
“They’re coming,” Sebastian cut him off, talking fast. “I saw them walking down the road, coming back to the bus. I’m not sure whether they saw me or not.”
Mark regarded the nervous young man for a second, then thumped on the storage compartment behind him with the back of his fist and yelled, “Bring her out, John!”
Her? Emma hadn’t noticed another female in their company. The worrying thought flashed through her mind that Mark was talking about her, that he was planning to use her in some way.
But then Mark got out of the van and before he closed the door, he looked at Emma. “You stay in here and rest your leg,” he said. “This won’t take long.”
What won’t take long? she wondered.
She heard the back doors click open and slam shut. Two figures came round the side of the van – John, leading a bound woman by the elbow.
Straight but knotted auburn hair drifted before Emma’s eyes, shiny with grease from a lack of washing. Something stirred in her memory, but her shock at discovering that these men had been keeping a prisoner in the back of their van was forefront in her mind just then, and she didn’t realise what was familiar about the bound woman until she turned her head and looked through the window of the van.
A name came to her: Samantha Greer.
Sammy, everyone called her; she was one of Kingsley’s best friends. She was one of Emma’s friends by extension, or used to be, at least. They hadn’t really talked since Emma and Kingsley had split.
Now she was being held hostage; Emma watched in absolute disbelief as Mark flipped open a pocket knife and pressed the blade to Sammy’s neck, waiting beside the bus for whoever was coming down the adjoining road to turn the corner.
*
As Eric, Kara and Rebecca walked back to the street where they had left the bus, Eric wished he had thought to check if there was a second handheld radio in Darren’s flat before they had left; there was one in the duffel bag he carried, pre-packed by Darren, but he hadn’t looked to see if the prepper had another one lying around somewhere in his flat.
If they’d had two radios, he could have given one to Kingsley before he left. Eric would’ve liked to have had a way to communicate with him in case he changed his mind – which, admittedly, was unlikely to happen. Stubborn bastard.
But no. Kingsley was gone, and Eric needed to start thinking about what their next move should be.
He considered how useful the homeware, garden and DIY stores near the railway might be when setting up a base for their long-term survival. Provided they hadn’t been looted clean, they would have ample materials for barricading and generators for when the national grid eventually stopped supplying power. The garden stores would have seed and fertiliser for crops, which they needed to start planting right away; fresh fruit and veg were the first things to spoil, and although they did have canned and dried options, it was a limited supply.
Without a balanced diet, their immune systems, energy levels and decision-making abilities would suffer. It was something they needed to start thinking about now if they wanted to prevail in the long run.
The thought of fruit made Eric’s stomach grumble, so he stopped to fish a slightly squashed, over-ripe banana from the duffel, peeled it and ate as he continued walking.
Soon they were back at the bus. They turned the street corner to go round the rear of the bus – and stopped. The banana dropped from Eric’s hand.
Sammy was right in front of him. She was alive, she was here… but there were three men with her, one of them standing behind Sammy with a knife to her throat.
The man holding the knife gave an ugly, snarling grin.
To Be Continued
Author’s Note
This was probably the most difficult episode I’ve had to write so far. Why? Because of Emma.
Writing about mental illness is always a challenge; it’s a touchy subject for many, so you have to be mindful of how you treat the topic and how you represent characters suffering from mental illness. You also want to represent the mental disorder(s) you are writing about accurately, and that means research. A lot of research.
Yet there is so much we still don’t know about mental health and the human mind. Of course, it’s difficult to study something you can’t see and can’t measure.
In the case of Emma, I had the advantage of having a brother who suffers from OCD – as well as having OCD tendencies myself. So I didn’t need to do as much research to put myself in the mindset of someone with the disorder as a writer with no personal understanding of OCD would have had to.
The main challenge with this episode was knowing how to portray Emma and her mental disorder without offending anyone or coming across as disingenuous, like I was using OCD as a cheap accessory to make a character more interesting. That was my biggest worry.
But I realised that everyone’s experience with OCD is different, and in the end, I did the best job I could of representing a character whose mental struggles affect her every day, but who does not let her disorder define her.
I hope you will join Emma and the other survivors again for the explosive conflict in the next episode.
Yours sincerely,
Harrison J. Lamb
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