There seemed little point in making the same argument again. Hugh had made his decision and she couldn’t do anything about it now. Vicky changed the subject. “You don’t think the people of Home will be pissed that we’ve gone out, with everything that’s going on?”
“We’ve come out hunting. When they’re eating deer stew, I’m sure they’ll be grateful for our little expedition.” Hugh stopped this time, his tense shoulders raised when he turned to Vicky. “Look, last night was rough … for everyone. I can’t stay trapped in that place today. I need to stretch my legs.”
When they set off again, the long grass dragged on their progress. Were it not for the strong breeze, then the sound of their steps might have given them away. At present, only animals that stood downwind from them would be able to hear their approach. Sure, it made for hard going to walk with the wind in their faces, but it would pay off when they caught something.
“So if you’ve made your mind up already,” Vicky said. “Why have the trial for the two men who we think killed Jessica?”
“There’s no think about it. They did kill her.”
“My question still stands.”
“I suppose, like society before everything went to shit, we have to keep the people placated. Either that or fearful, and I’m not ready to use that form of manipulation yet.”
“Yet? So you plan on using it?”
Hugh ignored her again. “If we give the people a trial of the two murdering bastards, it will keep them relaxed about the fact that they will get the same fair treatment should they ever have a charge levelled at them.”
“But you’re the judge, Hugh.”
A shrug and Hugh’s eyes smiled even if his face didn’t. “That style of democracy worked for the longest time, I don’t see why it won’t continue to work. All that matters to the diners is how polished the table is, not the woodworm eating it from the inside. Keep them placated and we can run Home how we see fit.”
“That seems like a very cynical way to look at things.”
“I’m a realist, Vicky.”
The man said it as if everything that came from his mouth was a fact. Vicky, on the other hand, felt like she needed to wade through his bullshit to find the occasional kernels of truth. “Have you ever had to deal with anything like this before?” Vicky said.
Hugh squinted into the wind, crow’s feet running all the way to his temples.
The bitter chill ran so cold, it stung Vicky’s eyes and drew a tear from them.
“I haven’t had anything quite like this before,” Hugh finally said. “Most of the evictions have been with people like the nutter you saw the other day. The people at Home are happy for me to make decisions in that situation.”
“After you’ve kicked someone out of Home—”
“Evicted,” Hugh said.
“Evicted. After you’ve evicted the people who need to go, has anyone ever come back?”
“No. It’s why we sound the alarm. We need to make sure they don’t survive.”
“Then why don’t you just kill them and make it easier?”
“Again, for the people of Home.”
“Huh?”
“It’s all about the ceremony. Also, it helps to remind the people that there are consequences should they step out of line.”
Before Vicky could ask any more questions, Hugh reached the brow of a hill, lifted the binoculars he had around his neck and said, “This is where I wanted to bring you.”
The final few feet of the climb burned Vicky’s calf muscles.
Before she could comment, Hugh handed her his pair of binoculars. “I thought it was important that you came to see this.”
The place stretched out as large as Home, but all above ground. Chain-link fences, barbed wire, a main large building—it looked like an old prison. “What is this place?” Vicky said.
“Meet the neighbours.”
“How long have they been here?”
“Five years, maybe more.”
“And you don’t want to go and see them to try to link our communities?”
When Hugh pointed down to the place, he said, “Have a look in that far corner at the large building.
The courtyard—easily the size of the canteen in Home—had a long building in one corner. As Vicky scanned it, she gasped. Next to the long building stood a row of chain-link fences and cages. They imprisoned what looked like hundreds of people. “What the fuck?”
“They don’t look like the best people, do they?” Hugh said.
“We need to do something.”
“Like what?”
“We need to let them know that they can’t treat people that way.”
Hugh threw his arm out to invite Vicky down the hill. “Go on, then, be my guest.”
“There has to be a way to stop it. How can you live side by side with the fuckers and not want to do anything about it?”
“I didn’t say I don’t want to. I just don’t think it’s practical. We don’t know how many people they have, but we do know how many we have, and it’s not a war I’m confident we can win. So, for now, we have to let them go about their business. Maybe we’ll be able to do something in the future.”
While Hugh spoke, Vicky continued to look over the sprawling structure. Well fortified, it looked like it had no problem with keeping people in, or keeping people out.
“We’ve had a couple of search parties disappear in the past. Now, it’s entirely likely that the parties strayed too far from Home and found themselves captured by this lot. But we have no proof of that, so we have to assume they were attacked by the diseased.”
At the top of the hill—the wind rocking her on her heels—Vicky stared down at the fort and her jaw hung loose.
“I thought it was important I showed you where it is,” Hugh said. “I want you to know where to avoid. If I’ve learned anything from our considerable lack of contact with one another, it’s that these people are best left well alone. Besides, as much as I hate having them, our enemies are the diseased, not other communities.”
With that, Hugh spun on his heel and strode back down the hill.
A lot of valid points, but none of them eased the nausea that sank through Vicky’s guts. At some point, they might wish they’d done more about their brutal neighbours. Vicky followed Hugh down the hill back toward Home. Back to the trial. Back to conspire with him to convict two men of a murder she couldn’t be sure they’d committed.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The only courtrooms Vicky had ever seen had been ridiculously dramatised versions used in reality TV programmes. Judge Julian, Judge James, Judge Julie … an absurd line-up of power-hungry, fame-hungry old codgers whose names started with the letter J. They lorded it over the accused, a parody of their profession as they slammed the gavel down and dealt their judgment.
Although, the one’s Vicky had seen looked more professional than the makeshift attempt they’d thrown together in the canteen in Home. Enough chairs had been arranged for everyone in the facility to come to watch the proceedings. An aisle ran down the centre of the seats, dividing them equally. A look over the gathered crowd and Vicky’s heart fluttered. Some of the seats sat empty, but not many. It seemed like most of Home had turned up. And why wouldn’t they? They hardly had anything better to do.
A shake took a hold of Vicky as she walked up the aisle in the middle. The people turned to look at her, and a host of anxieties swirled through her mind. What if she couldn’t get her words out? What if she had a panic attack? What if she threw up? What if the men didn’t do it? The air felt harder to breathe, thinner almost. With each slow step forward, Vicky felt every eye in the room turn to her. Their collective stare dazzled her and she cleared her throat several times to remove the dryness from it. It had little effect.
Hugh and Serj didn’t seem to agree on much, but they both seemed keen on Vicky being the one to put the case against the two accused men. As someone who hadn’t been there that long, she had a level of impartiality t
he others didn’t. When Flynn saw Vicky’s nervous reaction to the suggestion, he put himself forward, but she couldn’t allow that. Were it not a choice between her and Flynn, then she would have flat refused.
Joint judges for the case, Hugh and Serj sat behind a table at the head of the room and faced the crowd. The two defendants sat in the front row, awaiting their judgment. Fresh cable ties had been used to bind their wrists, which they rested on the table in front of them. They both looked like paler, sweatier versions of their already pale and sweaty selves.
The sheer amount of bodies in the canteen had raised the heat of the room, and sweat itched beneath Vicky’s collar. By the time she’d arrived at the front, her shirt stuck to her neck. She nodded at Hugh and Serj, drew a deep breath of the cabbage-scented air, and turned to face the silenced crowd. Every pair of eyes stared at her, and for the briefest moment, she drew a blank. Then she looked at Flynn, who smiled brilliance her way. Without judgment or expectation, he’d clearly forgiven her failings and willed her on with a gentle nod of his head.
Vicky pointed at the two men. “We’re here today to put these two men on trial. Since the day they showed up, they’ve had a problem with Jessica. Then, as soon as they get let out of their cells, Jessica turns up dead.”
A glance at both Serj and Hugh, and Vicky saw them wince at her directness. She kept her attention on Hugh. Something seemed off about the man, but if she couldn’t prove what, then she had no case against him.
“We have a motive; when these two men arrived, they brought a bitten woman with them and tried to get her into Home. The woman would have turned into one of the diseased, so Jessica took on the unenviable task of executing her to protect the rest of us. Naturally, these men found this upsetting. Who wouldn’t, right? I suppose the question is, did they find it upsetting enough to murder out of revenge for their dead friend?”
Out of breath and with her heart running away with her—the muted crowd all watching on—Vicky tried to force herself to slow down and breathe before she continued. “Jessica believed the men would understand her actions, even if it took them a while to get over the initial upset of it. Ever compassionate, she believed the men deserved to live among us while they managed their grief, so she took a chance on them. She let them out when we would have kept them in their cells for longer.”
As silent as the rest of the room, the men at the front glared at Vicky. It added heat to Vicky’s already flustered state, but she continued. “The night we found Jessica, she’d been stabbed. Although not dead, she’d been so badly wounded that she died a few minutes later. After a search of these men’s rooms, we found a bloody knife and Jessica’s necklace.”
The taller man of the two—the blond one with the bloodshot eyes and mess of thick hair—flinched at Vicky’s words. Although he opened his mouth to speak, his friend got in there first.
“They found it in his room, not mine. I haven’t done anything.”
A hard frown and the blond man turned to his friend. “I didn’t do anything either.”
“I’m not saying you did. I can’t defend you though, because all I know for sure is that my room was clear.”
“So, ladies and gentlemen,” Vicky said, “it would seem that not even his friend trusts him.”
The blond man scowled at the man next to him.
“I don’t have much more to say. I think I’ve given you the motive and the evidence linking at least one of these men to the murder. And now we have the second one ready to sell his mate up the river if it means he can walk away. Personally, I don’t trust either of them. I’m appealing to you because you have the say. Beneath each of your seats is a piece of red card and a piece of green card. If you want these men to be evicted from Home, raise your red cards. If you think they should stay and live among us, then it’s green.”
It took about five seconds for a sea of red to meet Vicky’s question. Relieved at the court case being over, Vicky breathed more easily. However, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that these men were innocent. When she turned to Hugh and Serj, the men nodded at her. She’d done a good job. Well, she’d made sure it went as they’d hoped it would at least.
Hugh and Serj then walked over to the two men and forced them to their feet.
Once Hugh had pulled the tall, blond man up, he addressed the crowd. “Thank you for your time and input. We value democracy in Home and we wanted to be sure you had your say as to how we dealt with these men. After all, them being here puts all of our safety at risk. We plan to evict them immediately.”
Nausea turned in Vicky’s stomach as she watched Hugh. Had she done the right thing?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It shouldn’t have been a surprise how things panned out in the courtroom. Hugh had pretty much given Vicky a blow-by-blow plan as to how it would go. But as Vicky stood next to Hugh, Serj, Flynn, and the two convicted men, a deep sense of dread sank through her. The so-called democracy they’d claimed to have in Home had been a farce. What if Vicky found herself on the wrong end of Home’s democracy in the future?
Exhausted from her part in the courtroom, Vicky looked at the two ‘guilty’ men. They stood before the exit to Home, their wrists still cable tied. Neither man spoke. Instead, they seemed lost in their own resignation. Both of them—pale-faced and with pursed lips—stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the bustling crowd crammed in behind them.
Both Hugh and Serj shared a look with one another before Hugh nodded. At his acknowledgement, Flynn stepped forward and undid the bolts on the large door. Despite the sheer weight of people, the snapping of the locks cracked through the place as if it were silent. Like the gavel they didn’t have, the two heavy knocks sentenced the men to their deaths.
When Flynn opened the door, the fresh breeze came in. Vicky usually found it invigorating to inhale the grassy scent, but today it had been tinged with the bitterness of guilt—guilt, if nothing else, at the fact that these men didn’t get a fair trial.
The reluctant men needed a shove from Hugh and Serj to get them outside. Once they had crossed Home’s threshold, they stared out into the field of long grass in front of them.
After Flynn had closed the door and slipped the two bolts back into place, Hugh faced the crowd.
Instead of watching him, Vicky watched the two men. Not only did they continue to stare straight ahead, but they didn’t look at one another either. Side by side, they seemed alone in their contemplation of their own demise. They couldn’t even find comfort in a fellow exile.
Unable to hear his words as Hugh put a show on for the gathered crowd, Vicky found herself stuck on the same thought. What if they’ve got it wrong? What if the men are innocent?
The wailing noise of the siren snapped Vicky from her daze. She looked over at Hugh, who stepped away from the button to go to the window on the other side of the door. A dark and mirthful grimace twisted his features and something close to enjoyment drenched his sadistic leer.
The two men stumbled forward into the long grass. Each one walked with his head held high. Each one walked slowly. They couldn’t choose whether they lived or died, but both of them could choose how they met their end. Dignified in their death, they faced the screaming horde of diseased that came into view.
As Vicky watched on, a lump swelled in her throat. She didn’t see two murderers; she saw two men who’d survived in a world they had no right to survive in.
The men fell at virtually the same time as the pack of diseased split and took one down each. Erect and proud, both men fell like cardboard cutouts and vanished into the long grass beneath the swarm of bodies on top of them.
When Vicky saw the first of the diseased pull its head back—blood dripping from its maw—she looked away and moved to one side.
The space she left got filled by one of the onlookers.
Flynn came to Vicky’s side, his face pale. “Whether they did it or not,” he said, “it’s a shit way to go.”
“And you know what,” Vick
y said, “we never even asked them their names. They came to this place and we caged them like animals. Now we’re putting them down like animals.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
After they’d sent the two men to their deaths, Hugh had told Vicky to take the rest of the day off. Too exhausted to visit the gym, Vicky wandered until she ended up outside the room they’d found Jessica’s body in. As she stood in the corridor, anxiety ate away at her like acid. There had to be more to Jessica’s death.
The room had been cordoned off, but Vicky slipped through the tape and flicked the light on. A bloodstain remained on the floor. Someone would have to clean it up; someone not as close to Jessica as any of the Home guards were. She’d speak to Piotr when she had time. A practical man, he seemed to have a level enough head to deal with it. He also didn’t have the connection to Jessica that the rest of them did.
An empty storeroom, it seemed like a strange location for Jessica to be murdered in. How did they get her there in the first place? And if they killed her somewhere else, how did they transport the body without getting noticed? Although, late at night Home didn’t see much activity, so moving a dead body around might not have been as hard as it would seem. But then there would have been the blood. She must have been murdered in the empty room. No way could someone have moved her without leaving a trail. She’d been stabbed more times than a pincushion.
A hunch and nothing more, Vicky had to follow it through. She headed toward Hugh’s bedroom.
On her way, Vicky passed the gym. The slamming of feet against the treadmill called out into the corridor. When she peered inside, she saw Hugh red-faced and running with everything he had. Vicky stepped into the stagnant air in the hot room and stood beside Hugh’s bag. Just out of his line of sight, she made it look like she planned to get on the treadmill. As she leaned down to tie up her trainers, she reached into Hugh’s bag and pulled out his room key. Unlike the massive key ring he had for everywhere else, Hugh kept the one for his room separate. Vicky coughed to hide the gentle tinkle it made.
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