The Gamekeeper

by J Porteous

  The Gamekeeper

  By J. Porteous

  Copyright © 2019 by J. Porteous

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2019

  Visit www.jporteous.com for further updates

  Chapter one

  The snow-covered woodland would have been almost Christmas card worthy if it were not for the dead body crumpled amid the leafless oak trees; a beacon in the ash-filled snow. It was not the first time I had seen a dead body, but it had been some time before I had seen an act quite so savage.

  It was a man. He looked skywards with dull eyes, hands still clasped around his punctured stomach. I crouched and drew one limp hand away, his fingers already gnawed by the rats.

  Rats. My stomach rumbled. I’d settle for rats right now.

  The wounds were messy, a frantic stabbing if ever I had seen one. Whoever had done this wanted a quick kill.

  My attention quickly turned to his jacket. It was a bright blue; hardly camouflaged, but it was waterproof and intact. The rest of his clothes were useless to me. His jumper was torn and bloodied by the blade which killed him, and his bowels had already voided into his trousers. I had smelt the poor bastard a mile away.

  I quickly set about removing the jacket. I wrenched his arms around as I twisted it free, yanking it from underneath him and pushing him over in the snow. There was a time when the dead were respected, but that was the old world. Even the living were not respected much these days.

  As I rolled the jacket up I noticed something in the snow. It was a wallet, a small leather square which must have fallen from his pocket as I rolled him over. I picked it up and flicked it open. It always amazed me how we still clasped on to anything sentimental, things that have no practical use, but even now we find ourselves unable to get rid of them.

  What’s this?

  A quick rummage through revealed a photo. It was well-thumbed, the edges torn and faded, but you could still make out the image. A glance at the pale face which now pressed into the snow revealed he was the man in the photo. A woman stood next to him, smiling, and a tiny baby was between their arms.

  All dead now, undoubtedly.

  A noise. The sound of wood snapping. I bundled the belongings into my rucksack and slung it over my shoulder. I scanned the treeline, looking for movement among the bare branches. I caught a glimpse of my watcher through the trees, a glimmer of movement giving them away. A deer.

  A sigh of relief left my lips. Shame I’ve got nothing to get you with. Still, could be worse. Could be a human.

  My heart still throbbed in my ears. I rose to my feet and brushed the snow off of my knees. There was still one last trap to check, and, hopefully, it had better news than the rest.

  These grounds were unfamiliar territory for me. I had hoped that moving my traps out by a couple of miles might have helped catch some prey, but it appeared that the animals were not quite as numerous as I had hoped. There would barely be enough for myself to eat, let alone to trade with Community.

  I traced my route with the markings I had carved into the trees with my old hunting knife, trudging through the ankle-deep snow as I went. From what I had counted, it was the eleventh winter since the plague had decimated the world, long enough for it to feel like the old world had not existed at all.

  That’s not to say that there weren’t any reminders of the old world. The virulent cesspit cities had caused their inhabitants to flee, leaving them inhabited only by corpses. They were still there: London, Edinburgh, Cardiff, tombstones to a world that once was. Smaller habitations had grown in the countryside, but it would be a long time before man had a city once more. Of course, there were always the memories which dwelt in the depths of my mind, too.

  A smile caught my lips when I saw the last trap. It was only a simple snare, but a rabbit was caught within, its body as still as the air. I bounded over to it, sending grey snow flying, and released its neck from the wire. It was not a large rabbit, but it was enough of a meal to mean I wouldn't have to open a can tonight. I tied the limp body to my belt and set off home.

  The rabbit bounced along merrily, seemingly pleased for me. As much as that one catch was good enough fortune, I could not help but turn my mind to the deer which had sneaked up on me. I had caught a couple in the past, more luck than anything. Usually, they stumbled into a snare, trapping their leg, and, once I returned to check on them the next morning, that made an easy kill.

  Of course, there was that once when a wolf had beaten me to it. I rubbed my arm instinctively as if it could heal that old scar.

  A voice broke my memories. It wasn't loud, but in the quiet of the woodland it stuck out like a sore thumb. I pressed myself against a nearby tree and watched.

  Further ahead, three people milled around. They were well bundled up against the cold, and well-armed. One carried a large piece of piping, the others carrying smaller blades. They were stood over the body I had found earlier, turning him over in the attempt to find something of value.

  There was no way I could fight them all, and I doubted they were friendly; to assume such a thing these days would mean death. They stood chatting for a moment before one started pointing to something on the ground. My heart sank. The fresh snow showed them my tracks, betraying my earlier presence. If I had any luck, they would believe I was the killer and leave me alone. They talked among themselves for a moment, then decided to follow my tracks.

  I cursed myself for deciding to come out this far. It was uncharted territory, I should have been more careful. You stupid old man, you've gone and got yourself killed. I looked around for some means of escape. There was only one option.

  I had placed the snares around the edge of the woodland, as the woodland itself was thick and would have been too time-consuming to traverse. Right now, it was my only chance of escape. I kept low to the ground and scurried towards the denser treeline, scrabbling through the snow in an attempt to gain some speed.

  I reached the treeline and risked a glance back. The three bodies were following my old tracks so doggedly that they did not notice the fresher ones nearby. I had lost them, for now. For a brief moment, I thought about waiting for them to drop out of view then taking my earlier route back to Community, but the thought of encountering more of them made me discard the idea.

  The woodland was thicker to wade through than I thought it would be. There was no chance for me to be quiet as I traipsed through the abundant brambles and holly bushes, their snarls of thorns tearing into my clothing as I pushed on through. The rabbit became ensnared in the thorns every few steps, and with no time to spare, I reluctantly detached it. What a waste.

  If there was one thing it did do for me, it was to hide me. The thick foliage blocked most of my surroundings, causing me to trip and stumble upon the gnarled roots which crossed my path. Occasionally, I risked a glance back. My oafish stumbling had caused a gap in the hedges and plants, but unless someone ventured closer they would not notice. Not unless someone followed my tracks. With that thought clear in my mind, I pressed on.

  Time seemed to stand still as I battered my way forward. I would look around, check the surrounding trees to get my bearings, and then push on again, only to find that battling for what seemed like an age only seemed to gift me a further ten metres. I shook my head and strengthened my resolve; I had come this far, and I am not going back. The thought of sitting around a fire, warming my numb hands and feet, pushed me onwards.

  There was a break up ahead. I battered my way through the last of the brambles, tearing my already tatter
ed trousers free of the last few thorns, and stumbled into a clearing. A wave of relief washed over me. I glanced back at the hedgerow and hoped I would not have to do that again for a long while.

  The opening appeared to be a clearing in the centre of the thick woodland. It was odd to find such a spacious area so deep, and as I walked I discovered why. The great trees had been cut down, long ago by the looks of things, their open wounds of stumps covered in a black tar or charred to stop their regrowth. I did not stop to linger long; I had already been longer from Community than I had hoped, and if I wanted to set my snares elsewhere I would need to get back soon.

  I tugged my coat in tight around me and pressed forward. Although most of the trees had been cleared, the ground still danced up and down in deep undulating waves, hiding pockets of the area from sight. I spotted the occasional point of interest: an old plough, some rusted tyre rims, but it wasn’t until the third hillock that I spotted something of real interest.

  As I crested the small slope, a building revealed itself. It was an old barn, wooden in construction, its old paintwork stripped bare by years of negligence and the elements. I scanned it intently. There was a door on one side, secured with a bit of string, and a number of boarded-up windows in what must have been a hayloft.

  There were few places left which had not been scavenged, and to find one was to strike gold. I glanced up at the winter sun, attempting to guess the time from its position as it sporadically revealed itself from behind the dark clouds. Almost midday. I’ve got time.

  It was going to be risky, it always was when it came to searching places. Other people were the biggest danger, closely followed by wild dogs, but looking at the closed door I guessed that dogs were out of the question. If there was anyone inside, I wasn’t about to take my chances.

  I opened my coat and swung around my shotgun. It was an ugly thing, modified with a hacksaw for easy storage. It had been my pride and joy when I worked on the estate, and I always winced when I looked at how I had deformed it. Still, I kept it dry and oiled where I could, and so far it had not let me down.

  I rummaged around one of the coat’s inside pockets and checked the shells were still there, all three of them. I quickly inspected them, careful to make sure they were free of any damp or dirt. Ideally, I’d never have to use them, the shotgun was usually enough of a deterrent, but you never knew when someone would call your bluff.

  I broke the shotgun over my arm and carefully loaded one of the shells, whispering a little prayer as I did. It was a prayer I whispered every time I had loaded it.

  Please don’t let me use you today.

  I slunk towards the barn, keeping myself low to the ground. If there was anyone inside, I had little doubt that they had already spotted me, but it made me feel a little safer about things. I quickly closed the distance and ghosted towards the door.

  I listened for a moment, straining to hear if there was any movement inside. Sometimes you could hear the tell-tale shuffle of feet, a whimper of fear, sometimes the brave even shouted a warning. There was none of that this time.

  I unpicked the string from the door handle and allowed it to swing open, its rusted hinges squealing. I brought the shotgun into my shoulder and carefully stepped across the entrance, sweeping the shortened barrels across the interior.

  It was dim inside. The light which spilt from the open door revealed a shabby table surrounded by three chairs, a lantern sat upon it. The door swung in the slight breeze as I listened. Nothing.

  Of course, no noise did not mean that there was no one inside. There had been several times over the years that I had entered a house or shed, thinking it deserted, only to find myself face-to-face with a scared or angry occupant. It always paid to be careful.

  Keeping my shotgun tight to my shoulder, I crept into the barn. I paused after a few steps, letting my eyes adjust to the darker corners of the room. In one corner was a stack of bowls, the uppermost filled with cold water. An assorted collection of chipped mugs surrounded the floor beside them. In another corner was an old ladder being repurposed as a dryer for clothes.

  I stepped towards it and inspected a thick jumper which dangled off the top rung. It was coarse to the touch, worn too, but there were no holes; a rarity compared to my recent finds. I looked down at my own jumper, the wool stretched and torn in places. I gave it a knowing nod. You’ve done well, but I think we’ll need to part ways soon.

  A thump from overhead. I snatched my shotgun back into my shoulder and looked up. I should have known. No one would have left clothes this good. The second floor appeared to have no obvious entrance initially, however, I soon spotted the pull cord for an attic entrance in the darkness.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Hello? I’m not here to cause any trouble.’

  Wood groaned again momentarily, followed by silence. There was no reply. I glanced at the clothes-covered ladder then back to the hatch. If this really had not been pilfered, then who knew what treasure was waiting in that attic.

  ‘Hello?’ I called one last time. There was no response. Animals, probably. I took the clothing from the ladder, setting it down in a pile on the floor. Something caught my eye. I reached down and clasped my hand around a brightly coloured top, dragging it out to confirm my suspicion.

  It was a girl’s top. It was a gaudy yellow, patterned with white stars, somehow having kept its colour after all these years. Whatever happened to the people here, I just hope she made it.’

  I buried the top once more and grabbed the ladder. I hefted it across the room and balanced it against the wall, before clambering up and reaching for the cord. It was only just within reach, requiring me to tease it towards me with my fingertips before grasping it and pulling it firmly down.

  With a crash the hatch fell open, an extendable ladder sliding down and smashing into the floor. I winced at the loudness of it, pausing momentarily to listen once more. Once I was satisfied with the silence, I grasped hold of the ladder and pulled myself upwards.

  The attic was just as dark as downstairs. The occasional slice of light made its way through the boards which were nailed tight against the windows, showing slivers of detail here and there.

  A number of boxes were strewn about the room, some covered with moth-eaten sheets, others simply abandoned where they were. I climbed another couple of rungs and clambered inside.

  I glanced around, attempting to decide which box to ransack first. One of the larger ones caught my eye, and I quickly advanced on it. I pulled my hunting knife from its sheath and sliced down one of the folds, the old cardboard giving way easily.

  I reached a hand in and retrieved what I could find. I clasped my fingers around a cylindrical object and pulled it out, holding it up to one of the slivers of light to inspect it. Canned food. At least it’s not more cat food. I felt around the rest of the box. It was full. I couldn’t help but smile at my fortune.

  ‘That’s not yours.’

  I froze, panic turning me into a statue momentarily. It was a girl’s voice, no doubt the owner of the top downstairs. I kept my eyes on the inside of the box, not wanting any movement to spook whoever was up here. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was here still.’

  ‘Well, they are, and that’s not yours. My dad’s going to be pissed when he gets back.’

  I looked back over my shoulder and saw a shadow peeking from behind one of the boxes. ‘I’m sure he will be,’ I replied. ‘I’m going to leave now, I don’t want any trouble.’

  The shadow did not reply but continued to watch from behind the box in the corner. I retreated back to the hatch and steadily climbed back on to the ladder.

  ‘Have...have you seen my dad?’

  I stopped, my head just about clearing the floor of the attic. The voice had changed now, frightened. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Are you sure? He’s been gone a while now.’

  I glanced down at the still open door, conscious of the time I had wasted here already. I looked up at the shadow. ‘Is he usually this long
?’

  ‘He’s been a day or so before, but never this long.’

  ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Three days, I think?’

  I could guess what had happened to him, though I didn’t dare voice it. Those who went missing for a few days didn’t tend to return. I decided to throw her a line. ‘What does he look like? Maybe I’ve seen him.’

  ‘He’s kind of old. At least I think he is. Um, kind of tall, has a beard and scruffy hair.’

  ‘I see a lot of people like that,’ I replied. ‘Is there anything that stands out?’

  There was a moment of silence as the girl thought. ‘He’s got this jacket, I hate it. It’s bright blue.’

  My heart sank at those words, and proved me right in my assumption. I looked down, unable to hold my gaze towards the girl which lurked in the shadows.

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  I looked up at her. ‘What about your mother? Any siblings?’

  ‘It’s just me and my dad.’

  I was stuck. Could I really leave this girl here, in all good conscience, knowing I was leaving her to undoubtedly die, or worse? Remember the rule, I told myself, don’t carry what you can’t. Goes for people and supplies. I found my hand idly toying with the wallet in my pocket. I made my mind up. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life looking after her, just get her to Community. Jessie will look after her.

  ‘I’ve seen your dad,’ I said. ‘In fact, he sent me to come to get you.’

  ‘Really?’ The girl’s voice lost some of its fear, her shadow jumping towards me. ‘What did he say? Where is he?’

  ‘He’s safe,’ I said. Even as I spoke, I realised it would take a long time to remove the bad taste the words left in my mouth. ‘He’s nearby. There’s a place called Community. It’s a small gathering of people, they seem good enough.’

  ‘And he’s there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why can’t he come and get me?’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘He got lost, you see, and found Community. He didn’t know how to get back, so I said I’d come to get you.’