After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set

by Charlie Dalton

  THE JOURNEY back down the steps was a whole lot easier than the journey up. Not only did they have no reason not to rush due to having to meet Georgie at the top, but they were now unencumbered. Jamie ran as fast as his legs could carry him down the steps. He barely managed to catch himself half a dozen times when he made a turn at the bottom of each flight of stairs. He didn’t need to check Lucy was with him. He could hear her light footsteps behind him. She was fast for a little thing.

  Back at the main square, where the celebrations were being held, Jamie came to stop. The party was still in full swing. Partiers were picking over the feast’s remains like a vulture at a long-dead carcass. Jamie surveyed the crowd, looking for his father. He couldn’t see him. He was nowhere near the stage as he had been earlier. Then he came across his brother Donny.

  “Lucy, stay close,” Jamie said.

  He hopped down, into the crowd, and met the throng with his shoulders and elbows. He scythed through the crowd and ignored the disgruntled looks. Donny clutched a beer in his hand, talking with Theresa.

  “Donny, have you seen Pop?” Jamie interrupted.

  “He’s over by the bride and groom dining table,” Donny said. “Poor guy never got to taste the food.”

  Then he noticed the expression on Jamie’s face.

  “What is it?” he said.

  Theresa tugged on Donny’s hand, leading him toward the dance floor.

  “Come dance with me,” she said.

  Donny watched Jamie’s back as he turned and ran deeper into the throng.

  39.

  THE PROBLEM with being the leader of any group was they thought they could always talk to you about their issues and concerns, no matter the time and place. Donald nodded to those unloading at him. He’d stopped listening some time ago, concentrating on picking at what remained of what had been a particularly plump chicken with his fingers.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said when Phoebe stopped talking and seemed to expect him to reply. He gauged her expression. Her look of concern broke into a smile.

  “I’m glad you agree,” she said. “You see, I’ve been thinking lately that. . .”

  Her voice faded off as Donald spied a renegade roast potato tucked under the chicken. Waiting right there for him to pluck it out and enjoy it. Maybe there was a god after all.

  “Dad!”

  Donald started. The potato slipped through his fingers, already slick with chicken grease, to the floor. If there was a god, he hated Donald.

  Jamie weaved through the last few people as he reached the head table. Phoebe’s final sentence broke off. She looked annoyed to have been interrupted. Donald couldn’t have been happier.

  His warm emotions faded at the sight of the expression etched on his young son’s face. A look that was entirely too old for his boy to be wearing. He often worried the new world forced its inhabitants to age prematurely. They faced concerns they wouldn’t have faced in an earlier time. The Fall wasn’t just the name of something, didn’t just describe a single event. It was a dividing line between the world of hope and the time of despair. All a parent could do—could ever do—was the best for his children. By the look on Jamie’s face, that task looked about ready to get a whole lot tougher.

  “What is it?” Donald said.

  Jamie spoke, but the words were lost to a raucous group beside them. Donald leaned in closer.

  “What?” he said.

  “Reavers,” Jamie said. “They’re coming!”

  40.

  A BUCKET OF ice cold water couldn’t have jolted Donald more than those three words. He gripped Jamie by the shoulders.

  “Where?” he said.

  “The west wall,” Jamie said.

  His father stood and left, pushing through the crowd. Phoebe folded her arms and watched the man of her dreams leave without a word of apology. She stamped her foot and took off in the opposite direction. Donald didn’t stop as he made his way through the crowd, receiving concerned expressions as he brushed off those attempting to strike up a conversation with him.

  “What’s going on?” Stephen said to Jamie. “Where’s your father going?”

  Jamie gestured for him to lean closer.

  “Reavers,” he said.

  “How far?” Stephen said.

  “I don’t know,” Jamie said. “They were on the horizon, kicking up a cloud of dust.”

  “Five miles,” Lucy said.

  Jamie turned to look at her. How could she possibly know that?

  “You’re sure?” Stephen said.

  Lucy nodded. Then frowned as if she wasn’t really sure. She had no idea why she thought they were specifically five miles away.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  Still, her tone suggested she was fairly confident.

  “They’ll be here fast,” Stephen said. “I’ll prep the weapons. You kids get somewhere safe.”

  And with that, he left. Jamie took in the happy smiling faces and singing voices. They didn’t know what was about to hit them.

  41.

  DONALD TOOK three, sometimes four steps, at a time. There was no time to waste. Not bad for a man his age. He got to the top and immediately spotted the dust cloud rising like a tidal wave in their direction.

  “How long?” Donald said as Georgie handed him the binoculars.

  “Ten minutes,” Georgie said. “Give or take.”

  “That’s if we’re lucky,” Donald said.

  “Want me to blow the horn?” Georgie said.

  “If you would,” Donald said.

  “If the grub was any indication, the ceremony was a good one all right,” Georgie said.

  “It was,” Donald said, peering through the binoculars again. Then, absentmindedly: “It was.”

  It was a Reaver clan, all right. No doubt about it. He couldn’t yet hear their revving engines, but they wouldn’t be long in coming. He’d grown to detest that sound since the Fall. They’d been remarkably quick to form. They were the scavengers of the new world order, feasting on the hard work done by other, better people.

  Every Mountain’s Peak commune member had been educated about the various tunes and associated warnings attached to them. It was like a story. They were not complex melodies, but different enough in case an enemy got inside and managed to blow on the horn themselves. The people would know it was fake.

  Georgie filled his lungs and puffed out his cheeks as he blew on the horn. A low drone that shook the ground beneath their feet, rising to a mid tone. It had a single meaning: Reavers were coming.

  42.

  THE HORN blew, a dull foreboding drone. Endless to the commune’s ears because it triggered a series of thoughts in each of their minds: were Reavers really coming? did they really have to fight? was it a mistake?

  But they knew it wasn’t a mistake. With more than one look of fear and apprehension, the commune members began to file into their allocated defensive positions. They had drilled for this very purpose. And now here it was.

  Donny queued up outside the weapons storage facility. Stephen took careful notes of who took which weapon and how much ammunition. They were wasting time, Donny thought. They needed to hurry up and be on the wall, ready to fire for when the Reavers attacked. But Donny bit his tongue. Now wasn’t the time to rant and rave. He’d bring it up at the next council meeting.

  If there was another one. This wasn’t their first shindig with Reavers. There had been others, and they’d managed to scare them off. But each encounter felt like it could be the last. Each time, the Reavers developed more sophisticated attack strategies, and the commune had to evolve with them. One day the Reavers might come up with a way to break through their defenses, but it hadn’t happened.

  Yet.

  The line moved quickly, and soon Donny had the reliable weight of a rifle in his hands and a quiverful of arrows on his back. He shared a look with Stephen, nodding his head. He was his father’s unofficial second in command. More like an uncle than anything else.

  Today was
meant to be a day of celebration. If just one person died, it would be a day of remembrance, forever tainted by death. They were all of them, brothers and sisters. They farmed together, fought together, died together. If the Reavers thought they were going to get inside this commune with ease, they had another thing coming.

  43.

  THE WORM gave the order for the clan to form up—a brisk wave of red flags. He stood beside the Mantis, relaying his orders to each Reaver. Despite their slovenly nature, the Mantis had managed to whip his men into a well-trained fighting unit. Daily practice had been the Worm’s idea, subtly and carefully seeded by the Worm’s careful maneuverings.

  The Reavers broke off, forming a giant circle before the commune, whooping and shouting, engines roaring and deafening. A terrible monster presenting itself to its intended prey.

  The Reavers had arrived.

  44.

  THE COMMUNITY members—men and women—stood to attention around the commune walls. Bows at their waists, arrows as yet unnocked. Every day, every member practiced, no matter their position, for moments such as this. But the children, arms too weak to shoot arrows the necessary distance, were relegated to support duties.

  Jamie was a good shot with a gun. Even Eamonn, their teacher, said so. Jamie had argued with his father until he was blue in the face, but he wouldn’t back down. Children under the age of fourteen were not allowed to handle weapons. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them to load and fire well, he’d said. He was concerned with what the sight of unloading into a man—even a Reaver—would do to them. They needed to be psychologically mature enough.

  Jamie didn’t really understand what that meant. He didn’t think he would have a problem shooting a Reaver, but the rest of the council agreed with his father. It was strange that the age of those able to handle live weapons always seemed to increase the older Jamie got.

  Jamie was often frustrated whenever he considered the unfairness of it. He remembered a time when he’d exploded, kicking an empty bucket over.

  “It’s because your father loves you so much,” Stephen had told him, expression soft in a weather-beaten face.

  “I suppose,” Jamie had said, dejected.

  “Believe me, you don’t want to know what it’s like to kill a man,” Stephen had said. “It taints you.”

  Jamie would have liked to have known when Stephen had ever attacked a single person. He was a doctor, trained to help people, not hurt them. Whenever there was fighting, he was nowhere to be seen. Jamie didn’t think he was a coward, but he always seemed to find something more important to do than defend the community.

  And they did have to defend the community. Many times.

  It seemed the larger they grew, the more people wanted what they had created. They were a beacon, their gravitational pull growing exponentially. Sometimes traders came to deal their goods. The community was welcoming, but wary. And for good reason. Too many of their number had fallen to silent blades in the middle of the night.

  Some had kidnapped young girls and married women with them when they left. The community always sent a party out to track them down. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes it turned out the girls—and sometimes even the grown married women!—had left of their own volition.

  Parents were quick to punish their wayward young girls. The transgressor was let off with a warning. He could return, meet the girl, develop a relationship with her, but he would not be allowed to elope with her. If he could wait until she came of age, they could marry. Most of the time, despite the boys’ promises, they never returned. Often, they left a little present that came to fruition nine months later.

  Jamie led Lucy to the weapon storage unit and grabbed a cart on wheels. He moved to a heavy box, and together they lifted it onto the trolley.

  “We’ll load up and give the soldiers ammo for when they run out,” Jamie said. “Make sure to keep your head down. A stray bullet can sometimes slip through. Here, put this helmet on.”

  He handed Lucy a dome-shaped helmet. Chipped and dented from other deflected bullets. It was too big and she had to keep pushing it up to see.

  “But everyone is using bows and arrows,” Lucy said.

  “For now they are,” Jamie said. “When the Reavers get closer, when we won’t waste as many bullets, we’ll switch to guns.”

  The cart was heavy with two boxes on it. Jamie seized the handle and leaned forward, his weight and strength just enough to get it to begin moving. Lucy pushed on it from behind. Working together, they were on their way.

  45.

  THE REAVERS rolled their three catapults forward and placed a ball in each. The Worm fiddled with the calibration of one and fired it. The ball flew, arched and landed ineffectively in the white soil fifty yards from the commune’s wall.

  The Worm loved this part of the attack. There was no chance he would get hurt, he was in charge, and he got immediate feedback on his efforts. Each time he altered the machine’s setting, he was getting closer to the target. He was improving his skills.

  The second ball flew higher, this time coming within ten yards of the wall. Strangely, the community members atop the wall stood firm. They ought to be fleeing this wall already. The Worm shrugged. No mind. Perhaps they were just stupid. He altered the settings again and this time, a different kind of ball was added to the end of the catapult arm.

  The Worm pulled the lever, releasing it. He had a good feeling about this one. As they stood watching, it was obvious it was going to strike the wall. Even from as far back as the Reavers were, they could hear the heavy thud as it smacked into the concrete blocks.

  3. . .

  It didn’t embed itself in the brickwork, but that didn’t matter. In just a few seconds, the ball would explode, smashing an entry hole into the commune. After that, it was donkey work, forcing the community to surrender.

  2. . .

  Some movement atop the wall. No doubt they realized they were in danger. Perhaps they had seen the fuse poking out the top of the ball. Or heard the hiss, or smelt it burning. They would be too late. But Worm would make a note. Such improvements could make their bomb far more potent.

  1. . .

  The Worm squinted his eyes and pulled back, anticipating the explosion. Any second now. . . He maintained his body position, still expecting the explosion, but his thoughts were already running ahead. The other Reavers looked at him, the question etched on their faces. Where is it?

  “Probably a dud,” the Worm said. “Prepare the next one.”

  “Fire them all,” the Mantis said. “We don’t have all day.”

  They loaded bombs into each catapult and set them up with the same calibration. This time, it had to work.

  46.

  THE SECOND, third and fourth bombs all came hurling in. One fell short, biting the dust a dozen yards early. The second and third bombs struck the wall, at the same height but different locations.

  A bucket of water was handed to Donny, who stood directly above the bomb and dropped its contents over the side. Three more buckets joined his. The fuse hissed and died. The same was done further along the wall with the other bomb.

  “Is that all you got?” Donny said with a triumphant grin.

  47.

  THE WORM’S mouth was dry. He’d get blamed for this. He needed to shift tactics. It wouldn’t be as easy and clean-cut, but it could still deliver them victory. And after all was said and done, that was all the Mantis really cared about.

  The Worm waved his red flags. This was what the Reavers had been excited about doing anyway. Their way was not the silent, smart, and efficient way. Theirs was the loud and violent way.

  They tightened their grips on their handlebars and grinned beneath their thick beards and mustaches.

  Reaver Team One took off, letting the remaining Reavers bite their dust.

  48.

  THEY CAME in sharp, aiming directly for the wall. No complex tactics. No cunning. Just a head-on collision. It was a shooting range.

>   The community soldiers opened fire, arrows raining down like miniature meteorites. It took more than one arrow to take out a Reaver. They were big people. The community delivered as many death arrows as possible. But the one they focused on, the one they needed to kill, was hidden amongst them. Somewhere.

  One Reaver fell after another, bikes sliding to a halt. The Reavers behind had to either slow down or stop—all while the community fired at will. The Reavers quit and headed back to the rest of the clan. The one amongst them that the community was looking for must have fallen amongst the dead.

  A cheer went up. One point to the community. But it wasn’t the end yet. It was never that easy to defeat a Reaver clan.

  49.

  REAVER TEAM Two, upon witnessing the failure of the first group, began wide, taking long swiping movements, making it more difficult for the men on the walls to hit them. But hit them they did. The archers’ accuracy was something to behold. They moved ahead of their target, for where they expected them to be, not where they currently were. Not an easy task with how fast the bikes could move.

  Frustrated, one of the group’s number broke formation and made a mad rush for the wall. He wailed as he approached, the fuse already alight and burning bright in his hand. A bullet in the head from half a dozen guns tended to put an end to such plans. Another Reaver raced to reach the ball, to deliver it where the first man had failed.

  Janice, the best shot in the community with a rifle, waited for the man to draw close to the ball before she lodged a round in the man’s hand as he reached for it. He fell off his bike, landing hard. A second bullet from her rifle lodged in his heart. The man glanced at the bomb as his life ebbed away. The ball exploded, removing the man’s entire upper torso.