by David Moody
22
He’s onto them.
The speed of the military transport vehicle has dropped now they’ve entered the camp proper. As ever the roads are heaving with refugees and it’s impossible to drive much faster than walking speed. Matt drops back as he follows the CDF transport. They’re probably not interested in him, probably not even aware he’s behind them, but he’s not taking any risks. The stakes have been raised high now. There are live Haters in the camp. These people are playing with fire.
Matt expects the transport to follow the well-worn route back to the compound they started out from this morning, but it doesn’t. Instead the driver keeps going, slowing down to a crawl as the density of the crowds around them continues to increase. There are as many people in the road as there are on the litter-strewn pavements, maybe even more. Matt knows it’s going to be like this everywhere from here on in and he abandons the jeep, pocketing the keys. He continues on foot, knowing it’s a damn sight easier to stay hidden this way. He’s just another face among thousands.
It’s hard to keep moving, though. The hordes of refugees are fractious. There’s no real purpose to their movements, little direction. Some drift one way, some the other. Some stand still or sit on the curb, blocking the way and slowing him down. It’s infuriating, but it matters little as the CDF vehicle’s progress is being equally impeded.
People protest when he tries to overtake, then complain when he doesn’t and he holds them up. He frequently loses sight of the armored beast he’s following, but if he can’t see the vehicle itself, he can see the gap it’s plowed through the reluctant crowds. Matt puts in a short burst of speed to catch up as the transport takes an unexpected sharp left turn. The driver stops in front of a metal gate in an otherwise featureless wall. There’s a loud blast on the horn then the gate opens slowly inward.
I’ve come this far … can’t stop now.
Matt runs up to the wall and presses himself flat against it. Still dressed in his standard-issue soldier-like garb, he times his move to perfection and slips in alongside the military transport, keeping low and crouching in its shadow. No one sees him. No one knows he’s there. The gate closes and he ducks down behind a pile of spare tires, wedging himself into a narrow gap. Over on the far side of a cluttered courtyard space he can see Jayce and Franklin casually leaning against the familiar battered Transit van, watching the proceedings. They more than likely think he’s dead, and that’s probably a good thing. He knew it from the start, but the fact he was clearly expendable angers him. There was never any question of looking for him when it all went to shit out in the wasteland just now.
The back of the armored truck is opened and the two Haters are dragged out. A man and a woman. Matt can see the woman more clearly. She’s out cold and all trussed up, hands and feet bound tight with a pole threaded under her shackles. Two CDF fighters carry her inside like the carcass of a hunted animal they’re going to spit roast over the campfire. Maybe that’s it? Maybe he’s got himself mixed up with a pack of particularly fucked-up, thrill-seeking cannibals? Nothing feels beyond the realms of possibility anymore.
The flurry of activity is over quickly, and Matt’s left alone in the courtyard. Good. He prefers it this way. It’s easier to operate when he doesn’t have to think about anyone else.
Where the hell am I?
It’s not the military compound, that’s the only thing of which he’s sure. Matt’s sense of direction is usually pretty good, but right now he’s floundering. The garbage and refugees means that every street in the city-camp now looks much the same as the last and the next and he lost his bearings on the way in. He carries out a visual recce of his immediate surroundings from his hiding place, both to work out his next move and identify a potential escape route. He has no idea what this place is or was. It looks civilian by design, but with some of the trappings of a mini-prison: a succession of nondescript, high-walled, largely windowless buildings packed tight together behind an encircling wall. It looks intentionally anonymous. You could walk past its featureless walls a hundred times and not even realize it was there. Matt thinks he probably did.
He’s been hiding behind the tires for several minutes and there’s been no visible activity. He edges toward the largest building and enters through an unlocked side door. The perimeter wall looks more than strong enough to keep the outside out, but the lack of security is worrying. There are live Haters in here, for Christ’s sake.
Whatever Matt expected to find inside the building, this isn’t it. It’s very simply decorated—barely decorated at all, in fact—and the air inside has a stale, musty tang. It has the air of a relic: not preserved, merely forgotten. Trapped in time. Overlooked and irrelevant. Just what Estelle Bisseker and Franklin clearly wanted.
Matt’s in a plain-looking lobby space with a wooden staircase which climbs up toward an uninviting, shadow-filled landing, then appears to climb again. When he looks up, the building’s original purpose is revealed. It’s some kind of religious hideout. A faded rune painted across one of the magnolia walls indicates this was a convent back in the day. The jury’s still out as to what’s actually going on here, but he doesn’t think nuns are pulling the strings. He imagines a flock of wizened old busybodies inhabiting these buildings, paying penance because their book told them to, then locking themselves away in their cold, threadbare rooms and whispering prayers into the empty air. Are they still at it here? Is that what this place is all about, righting society’s wrongs? Bring us a few sinning Haters and with God’s help we’ll put ’em straight …
Matt already wants out of here, but he knows he can’t leave. Not yet. He needs to know what Estelle, Franklin, and their lackeys are up to because whatever it is, he doesn’t want himself or Jen getting caught in the cross fire. There are Haters here, he reminds himself again. There will be cross fire.
He climbs up as high as the first landing then walks along a narrow, poorly lit corridor with creaking boards. There’s another staircase at the far end. There are voices coming from one of the rooms on this level so he continues past then goes up as far as he can until he reaches an atticlike space with a single entrance door which is ajar. He listens—no one’s up here—then slips through.
Fuck.
Now he’s really concerned.
Whatever these people are, he can also add sadists to the list, because the evidence is plain to see. This dank room stinks of blood and piss. The bare floor is covered with unsavory-looking stains and blotches. Worst of all, there are shackles and chains attached to the far wall, and the wall itself is pockmarked and splattered.
Change of plan.
Matt’s now thinking that if he doesn’t get out of here fast, those shackles might soon be holding him captive.
He’s at the top of the steps when he stops moving. More muffled voices. Shouting this time. Is it an argument or an attack? He edges as far forward as he dares and looks down, craning his neck over the wooden banister. There’s a trickle of light spilling out from under one of the first-floor doors. The altercation sounds serious but one-sided. A man with a deep, heavily accented voice is doing most of the talking, with little more than frustrated screams and curses coming from the other party. Matt creeps down to try and hear better because the poor acoustics of this ugly, warren-like building make it difficult to make out anything other than the occasional word. He clings to the shadows and edges closer then ducks around a corner when the door opposite flies open. The man with the booming voice emerges, chuntering angrily to himself, then slams the door shut and disappears down the main staircase.
Matt only manages a fleeting glance into the room, but it’s enough. What he sees in those few brief seconds changes everything.
One of the Haters, strapped to a bed.
She’s one of the killers he unwittingly helped round up today. Even if he hadn’t seen her, her behavior gives her allegiance away. She constantly strains at the binds anchoring her to the bed, writhing maniacally, filled with nothing but absolute h
atred and a desperate desire to kill.
Stunned, Matt turns to get out of here and walks straight into the deep-voiced man coming the other way. He reacts immediately, shouting at the top of his voice and filling the entire building with his sonorous noise. “One of them is loose! Upstairs! Help!”
Matt tries to explain but his words are drowned out by a tsunami of noise suddenly coming from elsewhere: the thunder of booted footsteps charging up the wooden stairs in this direction. Within seconds he’s surrounded with weapons pointing at him from every angle. He immediately holds up his hands in submission. “Wait … please. Don’t … I’m not a Hater.”
Deep-voice pushes his way forward again, panic fading and confidence returning. There’s a moment of hesitation from both sides in this sudden standoff: everyone regarding everyone else and asking are you like me, or are you one of them? When there’s no immediate attack from either direction, there’s a collective realization they’re likely on the same side. Or different sides of the same side, at least.
“Who are you?” the man asks Matt.
Matt’s not having any of this shit, there’s too much at stake. He points into the room. “Why is there a fucking Hater tied up in there?”
The man doesn’t react. Completely calm now, he remains infuriatingly impassive. “I’ll ask you again, who are you, and how did you get in here?”
“And I’ll ask you again, what the fuck is going on?”
Still the other man doesn’t react. He casually glances at the firepower concentrated on Matt. “Is it really a good idea to be sounding off like this in the circumstances, friend?”
“I’m no friend of yours.”
“We should feed this asshole to one of your pets, Joseph,” one of the soldiers says with a sneer.
The man shakes his head disapprovingly, then returns his full attention to Matt. “Okay, last time of asking, what are you doing here? In the circumstances I really think you need to answer me. We’ve got all your exits blocked. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Just shut him in there and let that Hater bitch deal with him,” a female CDF fighter goads. “We only just brought her in from the wastelands. She’ll rip your fucking head off.”
“I know exactly where she came from,” Matt says. “I was out there too, and that’s why I’m here now. I want to know why you’re keeping Haters locked up inside the camp, and why I’ve been risking my neck helping you.”
There’s a commotion on the staircase. Franklin pushes his way up through the throng. “You?” he says when he sees Matt. He looks as confused and surprised as everyone else. “Don’t you take the hint? What the fuck are you doing here?”
“That’s what we’re trying to establish,” the deep-voiced man says wearily. “You know him, I take it?”
“Yeah, I know him all right. I thought he was dead.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Is he trustworthy?” the other man asks, ignoring Matt’s sarcasm.
“Jury’s out,” Franklin answers.
“Is Estelle here?”
“Yeah, she’s in the office.”
“Then I suggest we let her decide what we do with him.”
* * *
Matt is hauled into a bare-looking office. Franklin’s on one side and deep-voice—Joseph—on the other. Estelle Bisseker is sitting on the other side of a desk on a swivel chair, idly swaying from side to side but not taking her eyes off him. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she says, but Matt’s not interested in her flippant small talk. He again launches into Franklin.
“You left me out there to die, you fucker.”
“It’s every man for himself outside the walls, you know that better than anyone,” Franklin replies, refusing to be goaded.
“Yeah, I do now.”
“You knew you were there as bait, right? The mission had been accomplished. That was all that mattered.”
“Clearly. And what kind of sick, fucked-up mission was I a part of anyway? There are Haters in this building, for fuck’s sake. In the middle of a frigging refugee camp. That’s fucking insane. What the hell is this place?”
Franklin looks across at Estelle, who acknowledges his concern. She clears her throat. “There are five of them here at the moment, actually, and numerous more have been through our doors over the last few weeks.”
“Tell him nothing,” Joseph says. “The program is too important, Estelle. We can’t risk it.”
“Come on, Joseph, don’t you think he’s seen enough already? Matthew here is clearly a smart man. Tenacious, from what I’ve seen.”
“You can say that again,” Franklin interrupts. “Little shit won’t stay dead.”
Estelle sighs. “If we don’t give him answers I’ve no doubt he’ll try and find them out for himself.”
Matt’s tired of them talking about him as if he’s not there. “Look, whatever you’re doing, whatever your kink is, I don’t care as long as me or any of the people I’m with don’t get hurt.”
“Good to hear,” Franklin says.
“I’m not convinced…” Joseph grumbles.
Estelle sighs again. “Can we stop the pointless bickering please, boys?”
Franklin shuffles from foot to foot, suitably admonished.
There’s an overlong silence before Estelle speaks again. “So what happened out in the field today exactly? Why is it we’re all at each other’s throats all of a sudden and Matthew’s here asking all kinds of awkward questions?”
“We were operating close to the airport as you ordered. There was a missile strike closer to our location than we expected. It was just bad luck. It sent frigging loads of them heading in our direction.”
“But you still got away and you still managed to bring back a couple of them with you?”
“Yeah. Couple of casualties, though. We lost Graham Porter, and Priest and that dog of his.”
“Damn shame,” Estelle says. “We didn’t lose Matthew, though.”
“No thanks to you,” Matt says. “I don’t know which is worse, being attacked by Haters or being shot at by the bloody CDF.”
“That wasn’t us,” Estelle’s quick to point out.
“It was the military. Of course it was you.”
“We’re a military,” she says, “not the military. We’re not officially CDF any longer. Most of them have disappeared, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“There doesn’t seem to be a lot of difference from where I’m standing.”
“Oh, there most certainly is. Out here we’re autonomous now. There might have been an overall command structure to begin with, but so many links have been knocked out of the chain that the country’s defenses have ceased to operate collectively. From what I understand, apart from a contingent who’ve assumed control of the main command center by the arena, there’s been something of an exodus of us military types from the camp. I’ll level with you, Matthew, we’re not quite at the every man for himself stage yet. Every squad for themselves, perhaps. Right now it’s all very … fragmented.”
“This just gets better and better. I thought they were providing cover for us out there, but they’re just as likely to take us out as they are the Haters.”
“We’re wasting our time here,” Joseph says.
“No, we’re not,” Estelle corrects him. “We have to believe that when the war’s over, what’s left of the country will pull itself back together again. All we can do for now is defend and strengthen our little part of the world and hope the people we have here will survive. For now it’s about keeping us apart from the Haters, and you, Matthew, are the kind of person who can help us do that. You’re smart. You think first, act later, and that’s a rare quality these days. You’ve been left to fend for yourself in the wild more than anyone else I’ve come across, and every time you manage to come back reasonably unscathed.”
“Physically, maybe,” Matt corrects her, because right now he’s not sure what his emotional state really is. “And anyway, you’re talking crap.
You say you want to keep us apart from the Haters, but you’ve brought them into the city. How does that work? Do you have any idea what’ll happen when they get loose?”
“Of course we do,” Joseph says. “But you’re making assumptions. You don’t know what we’re doing here.”
Matt’s not listening. “Because they will get loose, you know. I saw one a few days back … that’s how I found Franklin, remember?”
“We remember,” Estelle says. “Damn shame, that was. We thought he was making such good progress.”
Matt shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re out of your minds, all of you.”
“Tell him,” Estelle says, looking directly at Joseph. “Give him the full spiel.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Joseph clears his throat, as if subconsciously underlining the importance of whatever comes next. “I’ll start at the beginning. My wife and child were killed by a Hater back when this all began, and I went out of my mind. You wouldn’t think so looking at me, I know, but I hit back. I fought back. I thought that the only way I could avenge my family’s deaths was by killing, but I couldn’t have got it more wrong. More killing just causes more problems.”
“Fuck me,” Matt groans, his patience being stretched to the absolute limit, “you’re not going to tell me this is a frigging hippie commune, are you? Make love, not war and all that shite?”
“There’s no need to be patronizing. But you’re actually not a million miles off the mark. Thing is, when you hit someone, their immediate response is either to hit you back harder or to run. Usually they hit. That’s what I did, but I soon realized that the more I fought, the higher the stakes became. The risks were increasing, but the situation wasn’t getting any better. Eventually I realized I needed to look for another option, a different solution. And that’s when I found Estelle and her people.”
He pauses. Matt says nothing initially, but he’s intrigued. There’s an unexpected sincerity about this man which has caught him off guard. He may well prove to be completely deluded, but there’s little doubt he believes in what he’s saying.
