by Kolin Wood
“Tanner!” she hissed, “Where’d you go?”
Nothing.
“Fuck,” she cursed him. Why had he not told her his plan?
Realising that there was nothing that she could do she turned her attentions back to Doyle. With the cover of cloud once more hiding them from the ravenous eyes above there was no time to lose. She remembered the alleyway leading out toward the gate, somewhere over on the left-hand wall of the sewer and she made a bee-line for it, tugging a reluctant Doyle along with her. Unimaginable nasty’s stuck to her legs and filled her boots but she pushed on, not willing to stop, not looking back. She knew that if she stopped, the likelihood would be that she would never start again. And with Tanner now missing, that would surely spell the end.
Several times Doyle fell, and every time she would help him to his feet. Ahead of them, the dark mouth of the alleyway loomed, alive with the possibility of hidden dangers. She knew that it led in an almost straight line to the front gate, probably the most guarded section of the entire capital, but with Doyle in the state he was in, it left her with very little choice.
She stepped into the alleyway at the exact same moment as the moon broke from behind the clouds, throwing a luminous veil over every wet surface around her once more.
Pulling Doyle into cover behind her she glanced back.
Across the other side of the brightly glowing space, the General remained poised on top of the bus, his gun strafing and trained down into the mire, searching for them.
Tanner, where the hell are you? she thought, angrily, as she scanned the wasteland for any sign of him.
Just then, something caught her eye—an irregular dark shape, pressed onto the side of the bus; a shadow, moving directly below where the General was standing, so slight as to be barely noticeable. Then she saw it—an arm.
Tanner.
What are you doing?
Dread crept into her gut as she watched the General turn and begin a slow walk towards him. A few more steps and the one-eyed freak would be right on top of him. She had to do something.
Juliana shoved Doyle hard into the mouth of the alleyway. His face told of his shock at the sudden aggression as he stumbled and fell away from her into the darkness, eliciting nothing but a small groan.
Then, without any thought or concern for the consequences, she took a few large strides out into the open expanse, raised her arms above her head and screamed as loudly as she could.
All around them, the air came alive with the sound of shouting.
***
Tanner froze. His arms trembled with exertion. He did not know how much longer he could hang on. A shadow passed above him and he glanced up, watching as the thin end of the gun barrel appeared. Beside him, Cole’s thick, mud-covered boot was now only inches from his fingers.
He had dealt with the others—the three guards who had followed them down into the dump—without any problems. The men had been nothing but cannon fodder, delicacies to be eaten under the cover of darkness. A small part of him had even savoured it, the stalk and dispatch, the game of cat and mouse—playing to a skill set long forgotten but no less diminished by time.
Only once he’d finished with them did he had notice Cole stood alone on the top of the bus not far away. The clouds had pushed in around the moon once more offering him more than ample cover to move without detection. Without the support of any reinforcements or lights, he was an easy target. It had been as much a tactical decision as it had been any sort of fulfilment of his promise to Juliana. After all, as the tactics in battle dictate - you always take out the generals first. However, just as he had moved into striking range, the moon had decided to up the stakes of the game and now he was on borrowed time. Without a distraction, he was dead.
A shrill scream, reverberated off of the buildings behind and he recognised it immediately as Juliana’s. Dread flushed through him. Hanging here on the side of the bus, he was unable to turn and see. To do so would mean his certain death.
Taking advantage of the moment, Tanner lunged upwards, lightning fast, not allowing Cole the faintest chance to react. He reached through under the man’s legs, gripped the back of both of his boots and then, using his own legs to lever himself against the side of the bus, he pulled backward as hard as he could. Cole’s boots, heavy with mud and slippery with excrement, offered no grip on the metal roof. His arms shot out to the sides and Tanner saw the look of confusion on his face before his world was sent flying away from him. The thin metal roof boomed loudly as it caved in behind his back in an almost perfect imprint. The gun bounced once and then skittered away in the darkness beyond the bus.
Tanner carried forward with his momentum. His arms—now on fire with lactic acid and lethargy—burned as he climbed, using Cole’s substantial bulk to help pull himself up until he was kneeling on the edge of the roof. Cole lifted his bandaged head, his single good eye struggling to find a centre point on which to focus. Tanner leaned in and threw a punch into the big man’s face which connected fiercely with his nose. There was a loud crack and Cole bellowed beneath him. Tanner dipped his shoulder and swung his own rifle from his back.
“Right mother fucker,” he said down to Cole whose nose was bleeding liberally into his mouth. “Time to put you to sleep. This is for Juliana.” Tanner’s finger curled around the thin trigger and he looked down the sights of the gun, pointing the barrel directly in the middle of the felled man’s face.
“Juliana?” Cole said, shocked.
The pain hit before he heard the bang of the shot fired. The force of the impact spun Tanner like a top, whipping the gun out of his hands and throwing him to the side where he crashed down with a bang into the yielding surface of the bus roof. Fire engulfed his chest and a roaring sound filled his ears.
***
Juliana felt her heart jump up into her throat as she watched Tanner spin around one hundred and eighty degrees and then fall from view. The bang from the single shot, ricocheted around the buildings. Only a second ago, she had watched as Tanner lowered the gun on the General, sure that he was about to pull the trigger and end the bastards life, once and for all. Now she watched in terror as the monster rose like Lazarus from the roof of the bus, the tables completely turned.
Fingers gripped her arm tightly and she glanced back to find Doyle at her shoulder.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice barely recognisable. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.”
Juliana felt her temper spike and she tore her arm away from his grip. From where they were stood, there was at least thirty metres of shit filled wasteland between them and the bus. With no gun of her own, she could do nothing but stand and watch as the General moved over Tanner and drew back his fist, ready to strike.
But, no strike came. Beyond the bus, the sound of shouting intensified. Torch lights bounced around like fireflies on the black sides of the buildings. More shapes filled the space behind him. One of them pushed to the front, drew back his leg, and swung a kick which connected with a dull thud into Tanner’s midriff.
“Get him up!” came the deep voice which silenced all of the others.
Immediately, two other dark shapes stepped forwards and bent down, dragging Tanner to his feet.
She looked again at the person giving the orders. There was something familiar about their shape; the broad square shoulders, bald head, and thick neck. Fear twisted in her guts like a bayonet as she watched her father in silhouette raise a pistol and place it against Tanner’s temple.
***
The cold barrel of the gun pressed an indent at the top of his nose, right between the eyes. His right shoulder burned like hot pokers. Tanner could feel blood pumping from the wound, making him slightly weaker with every passing second.
On his right stood Cole, the bandage covering one eye, now bloody. In front of him and holding the gun to his head stood Braydon. A dozen or so other guards were collected on the stairs or at the base of the bus, holding weapons and shining torches.
Tanner b
reathed out a long, slow breath and let his shoulders sag. This was not the way that he had envisaged it to go, but he was also not afraid to die. Braydon would not spare his life, just as he would not have considered a pardon, had the chips fallen the other way. As much as he hated the man, a part of him inside was glad that Braydon was going to be the one to end it, not just some random flunky with a lucky shot that he had never laid eyes on. At least Braydon was man enough to hate.
Tanner slowed his breathing in an attempt to control his heartbeat and perhaps slow the pumping of blood from his shoulder; not that it mattered anymore.
“Do it,” he said, pushing his forehead into the barrel of the gun until he could feel the strain of resistance behind it.
Braydon snarled.
“You shouldn’t have betrayed me, Tanner,” he said, flashing his single, golden crown. “If you had just toed the line, we could have worked together. You would have been a very wealthy man.” He turned the gun sideways so that he was now holding it like some kind of gangster.
Tanner laughed and then spat, tasting the sharp coppery tang of blood in his mouth. “As if you would have honoured any of it!” he said.
Braydon shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not; you would be wise not to presume so much.”
He glanced around. All of the guards were watching avidly, but none dared to comment.
“You know, you actually surprised me,” he continued. “A woman, Tanner? You decided to risk it all—everything that you had been promised—for some piece of tail?”
Blood dribbled liberally down Tanner’s chin as he smiled and looked past Braydon to Cole.
“Have you not told him, then?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. He had shed the cumbersome padding and jacket back in the cell with Doyle, and the blood streaked his pale skin from his wrist to his elbow.
Cole frowned.
“Told him what, Tanner?” he said, his tone tired. “Teddy, what are you waiting for? Put a bullet in him and let’s go find the others.”
Tanner fixed Braydon with an intense stare. After a few tense moments, he said, “About what you did to his daughter in that prison of yours?”
For the briefest second, Tanner felt the pressure of the gun at his temple lessen, just a fraction. Caught off guard by the comment, Braydon paused, allowing the rough lump of information to feed its way into the machine cogs whirring in his mind.
“Don’t be so pitiful, Tanner,” Cole offered from his shoulder, his voice suddenly uncertain and the worry on his face clear. “Take your death like a man. Teddy, he’s lying to try to save his own life.”
Still Braydon said nothing, but Tanner felt the pressure on his forehead return, this time more intensely than before.
Tanner continued, not taking his eyes from Braydon’s own.
“You have got a daughter, right, Teddy?”
To use the man’s first name felt wrong—far too informal and friendly, but it heightened the effect. Braydon swallowed hard.
“Late thirties, brown hair…”
Cole reached out to one of the guards stood nearby, snatching a large, and dirty kitchen knife from his hand. He turned aggressively, raising it up in the direction of Tanner’s face.
“Shut up, Tanner! Or I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth!” he said. But by now the calm composure was gone. Cole was rattled, the urgency betraying him.
Braydon’s face curled into a confused crease as he struggled to process what he was hearing.
“Juliana,” Tanner said.
Braydon roared and stepped in close. He gripped the back of Tanner’s head in one of his big hands and moved the gun onto Tanner’s temple. He pushed his forehead into Tanner’s own, his teeth gritted together with hate as he spoke.
“How do you know my fucking daughter, Tanner?” he said, “Tell me right now, you mother fucker!”
Tanner didn’t flinch. He stared straight into Braydon’s murderous eyes.
“It’s not me you should be asking,” he said.
“Dad!” Juliana’s voice sounded out from the darkness below.
From the corner of his eye, Tanner saw Cole lunge forward. With his head held tightly in Braydon’s grasp, he was locked in position, but he reacted quickly, managing to twist his torso to the side just enough to ensure that the thrust of the blade did nothing more than slice open a few inches of skin on his stomach.
Everything then happened so fast that Tanner was unable to react. He felt Braydon suddenly let go of his head and push him backward with a hard shove to the shoulders, sending him clear of the knife. Tanner’s legs stumbled, heavier than they had ever felt, as his boots banged loudly on the roof. Then he felt nothing. The ground behind him disappeared and his stomach lurched into weightlessness as he fell into empty air beyond the bus.
***
The black shape bore down on her from above. Juliana ducked and stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed as the heavy object landed with a crash into the pile of split bags and waste below. She glanced down, confused. For a moment or two, there was no sound, then relief rushed her like a shot of adrenaline as she heard a groan.
Tanner.
Without hesitation, she waded into the rubbish pile, scooping the filth away with her hands, desperate to reach him. When her hand clamped down on something solid she pulled hard with all of her remaining energy. Tanner appeared, his head now a dark, putrid mess, almost unrecognisable. She lost her footing and fell backward, landing with a splash.
From above torches shone down, peppering them in pale, yellow light. Unintelligible voices shouted all around.
“No!”
With a cry of frustration, Juliana let go of Tanner’s arm and allowed her entire body go limp. She lay backward into the cold, vile wetness behind. Her eyes took on a vacant stare and she looked up at the sky. Rough hands grabbed her arms and began dragging her, moving her away to… somewhere. She no longer cared. She had nothing left. Any regard for her own survival—or anybody else’s for that matter—was gone.
She closed her eyes and could see Johnny smiling, and then Michael. They were both playing football in the park near their house, the day was bright and fine. Squeals of excitement filled the air as Johnny scored a goal and ran toward her with his shirt pulled up over his head.
“I’m coming, baby,” she said, as blackness swept over her like a wave. “Mummy’s coming.”
33
The rain, which had fallen constantly for three solid days, finally stopped. The sky shone clear and the morning air tasted surprisingly fresh compared to the stench of rot that had recently engulfed the Capital in wake of the heat. Birds swooped and soared high amongst the roofs of the decrepit buildings. Throughout the city there was a buzz in the air and the feeling was optimistic; Farringdon was dead. The people, tired of the daily grind to merely survive, welcomed the change and had eagerly accepted Braydon as their new leader. Or so it seemed.
The cart listed as Juliana threw another heavy bag on the top. She’d awakened early and had already worked up a healthy sweat.
“Thank heavens, that’s the last of it,” Doyle said as he walked up behind her, swinging his own bag up to join hers. “You’re sure he was okay with us taking all of this? There’s enough stores in here to keep a whole family going for weeks.”
Juliana turned to face him. After the scene in the Capital sewers, Doyle had slept for two days straight. Now, clear of the bloody veneer, some of his original colour had returned to his pale cheeks. His thick thatch of blonde hair—newly washed—curled around his ears and spilled down onto his forehead. Other than fatigue and a few nasty cuts around his wrists, Doyle was in reasonable condition; physically anyway. This morning, however, Juliana was in no mood for idle chat.
“I am family,” she said curtly, turning back to the barrow and offering nothing more.
The rope was rough and bit into her fingers as Juliana pulled it tight, looping it through a hoop on one side before proceeding to try and tie the end to a thick, ste
el peg which protruded from the other. She could feel Doyle’s eyes on her as though he were thinking of the right thing to say.
After a few moments of silence, he said, “So, what time is it happening?”
Juliana shook her head and blew upward as a bead of sweat, dropped from her hairline and ran into her an eye, causing it to sting.
“Sundown,” she said. “Argh, fuck it!” She kicked at the wheel in frustration as the rope slipped and burned her fingers.
Doyle moved close so that he was stood directly at the side of her. He leaned over and took the rope in one of his big hands, pulling it tight and tying it off with ease.
“You need to go and get some rest,” he said, leaning down to grab the next one. “Otherwise you’re gonna drop, and then you won’t be any good to anybody.”
She ignored the comment. Sometimes she wished that people would be more perceptive and take a hint. But he was right about one thing; she was tired. So tired in fact, that she was having trouble controlling the hallucinations that had begun plaguing her since their rescue. Faces and objects appeared and then disappeared, and at times, she couldn’t work out which were real and which were not. One face in particular would simply not leave her alone.
“Once he’s dead, we are outta here,” she said, reaching for the last rope and hoping for an end to the conversation.
She glanced over. Doyle was frowning a deep frown and his eyes looked saddened with genuine concern. With a sigh, her frustration softened.
“I’m fine, Doyle, honestly.”
Doyle nodded and turned back to the barrow.
“So, the Doc said Tanner would be all right to move?”
This time, Juliana said nothing and turned away. It didn’t matter what the doctor had said to them; come rain or shine—they were leaving. The bullet had struck Tanner in the left side of his chest, just below his collar bone. It missed any major organs but with the sub-par facilities on offer, wounds of that calibre had a habit of proving far more serious than they might have been pre-culling. There was blood poisoning and a lack of sterilisation to deal with for starters. Doctor Ajid had cleaned stitched and bandaged it the best he could. He had recommended that Tanner not be moved for two weeks at the earliest, a time-frame neither Juliana nor Tanner himself saw as feasible.
