by Wood, Kolin
Juliana wiped the blood and rancid sweat from her cheeks and stepped over the squirming form, her concentration already back on the food. An elderly man wearing a battered leather hat smiled a toothless grin as he stepped aside to allow her access to the front row. Juliana nodded her thanks and obliged him, still surprised at the cold and calculated way in which she had dealt with the unwanted advances; she had not even realised what she was doing until he was on his back choking on his own blood.
“Yes, love?” one of the people in charge of the catering suddenly shouted, his face unrecognisable behind a mask of soot.
Now close enough to actually peruse what was on offer, Juliana surveyed the choices. The grill line lay about fifteen feet long. Hosted by a team of about six black-faced men and women, it appeared to be doing a roaring trade. Laid on the steel grill, charred lumps of meat crackled and popped, dripping fats onto the hot coals which sizzled and stoked the flames. The sight of it caused her mouth to flood with saliva. At the back, sat on an upturned crate, a large, fat man wearing a dirty chef’s coat and elbow length, rubber gloves picked at his teeth with a small animal bone.
“What meat is it?” she asked, curiously.
The man rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by the question. “Fillet steak, sweetheart. Whaddya think it is?” Then turning, he shouted, “I NEED MORE!”
Behind him, the man in the chef’s jacket suddenly reached down and plunged his gloved arm into a wide, steaming, plastic barrel. Juliana watched as he fumbled for a few seconds and then withdrew his hand. The dead rat hung limp, its tail bright pink, like a huge earthworm entangled in his fingers. Uncaring, he lay the wet body down upon a bloody chopping board, picked up a clever and lopped of its head with a single swing. Thump! The tail and the legs then followed. Finally, he grabbed the skin on its back and yanked, pulling it clean off, as if removing its coat.
The sight of the mutilated dead rat caused Juliana’s appetite to shrivel like a fast deflating balloon. Images of the General—the rat burying itself under his chin—sprung into her mind, and brought a squeeze of nausea that she struggled to swallow down. The river banks had teemed with them… there had been thousands.
Impatiently, the man before her opened his arms wide. “Come on, love. I haven’t got all day.”
She shook her head. “On second thought…”
He laughed, bashing his tongs down on the grill. “You need to grow a stomach, love, and stop wasting my time. Yes, mate?”
With the stench of the meat now sickening to her stomach, Juliana turned away and the old man next to her stepped back into his original place. She pushed her way back through the crowd, her eyes on stalks in case her attacker returned to jump her, but soon found herself back in the open space of the square. Night had fully set in and the area sat under a gentle glow from the candles and string lights of the various merchants. After a minute of scouring the area, she soon spotted the top of the empty fountain then the sign reading Paul’s Bar, and made her way towards it, hoping to find something else that she could take back as food on the way.
Chapter 6
The man approached, the young nymphet giggling like a school girl at his side. In one hand he held a tankard, but otherwise, he appeared to be unarmed. From his first few steps, Tanner spotted that same swagger of self-assurance that he had seen so many times before; this man clearly thought that he was a walking, talking, wrecking machine. The girl, wearing next to nothing in a short black skirt and partially buttoned black blouse, flashed excited eyes, the idea of the impending bloodshed clearly a turn on for her. There was no doubting that it had been she who had instigated the confrontation, probably with cleverly whispered words of torment that pulled on the strings of her suitor’s jealousy. This particular thick-necked oaf, it seemed, was all too happy to oblige her lustful desires. Silly boy.
“You see something you like, pal?” the man said, his rough dialect hinting at Scottish North.
The confrontation could not have started in a more generic fashion and Tanner did not even stand to meet it. He simply smiled and shook his head, aware of the twinge of acute pain in his shoulder. “Can’t say that I do, no.”
The man snorted like a bull, slamming down the tankard, the muscles on his arms tensed and taught. “You saying my girl here is nothing to look at then?”
Internally, Tanner cringed. Even in the wake of the apocalypse, men still felt the need to puff their chests like haughty pigeons. He looked over at Paul the barman who was busy conversing with a man whose face was hidden beneath a black baseball cap, unconcerned with the altercation. It was clear that Paul had no intention of stepping in to prevent trouble in his establishment.
When the obligatory finger shot out in the direction of his chest, Tanner was quick to grab it. He twisted upward with a strong flick of his wrist and felt the digit pop out at the knuckle, while at the same time pushing backward with his legs against the tall stool to stand.
The shock on the man’s face was clear and he opened his mouth to protest but strangely it was his girlfriend who was the first to attack. She flew at Tanner, teeth bared, raking sharp nails down the soft, bearded skin of one cheek. The surprise of the attack caught him off guard, and he stumbled back a few steps, clattering into the barrel behind. As she came at him again, Tanner pulled his working arm up to try to push the crazed woman away. But the distraction was just enough. In his attempt to discourage the woman, Tanner had taken his eyes off of her boyfriend just long enough to allow him to throw a heavy right hook. This time, Tanner was unable to defend himself. The shot landed with a loud slap on his cheek, rattling his brain around in his skull.
For a few worrying moments, Tanner thought that he might go over. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he fought against the desire for his legs to crumple. Another sharp, stinging pain registered, this time on his neck as the woman continued the violent assault with her nails. With the darkness pressing in on him like a mist, it was all that Tanner could do to retreat. Another punch lashed out, and he was only just able to drop on his back foot in time to send it glancing off over the top of his head. A stool went over with a clatter.
“Hey, arsehole!”
The shout was loud and female and Tanner recognised it immediately as Juliana.
“Take one more step and I’m gonna be wearing your bitch here like a face mask.”
With his face a contortion of hate, the wrecking machine stopped and glanced back in the direction of the voice. Tanner watched the expression drop from his face and followed the look. A few steps away stood the girl, her arms out to either side of herself in a placid gesture. A wild mess of hair covered her face, but Tanner could still see that her bottom jaw was wobbling. Behind her with the barrel of the high-powered pistol poked up into the back of the girl’s head stood Juliana. Her free hand gripped the wild mane tightly.
“That’s right, Hercules, I’d suggest you back the fuck up.”
The man threw a scowl at Tanner and then straightened, weighing his options. Clearly, a few stray looks were not worth the price of having his girlfriend’s head blown off. He lowered his guard until his hands were in the same unaggressive pose as that of the girl and flashed a snake-like smile, but remained silent.
By now, Tanner’s mind had cleared and he stepped sideways and away, ignoring the throb under his eye. His jaw ached from the tight clench of his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to step in and rip out the man’s windpipe then watch him bleed to death in a puddle of his own blood and piss. But much of the anger that he felt was not even aimed at the man or his overly-aggressive, feline girlfriend; it was at himself. Not for the first time, he was finding out the cost of living with only one working arm.
He took a long, deep breath. Anybody within range of the fracas had stopped and was watching intently. He had no idea what the murder of two people would mean here in the Refuge. They had already drawn far more attention to themselves than he would have ever wanted. His mind made up, and unwilling to escalate the situation f
urther, Tanner stepped aside and moved around the barrel, his eyes trained on the man at all times, moving with swift, light steps until he was stood at Juliana’s side.
With the retreat taken as a win, the man scoffed at him but did not move.
“Hiding behind your woman, huh, player?”
The girl also took the gesture as fear, kicking out her legs in a show of bravado only to be greeted with a sharp yank of the hair from behind which left her throat exposed. She whimpered loudly.
“Just you give me an excuse, jailbait,” Juliana spat, her mouth only centimetres from the girl’s ear.
Aware that the altercation had only seconds before it imploded, Tanner stepped into the gap.
“Enough!” he yelled, raising a passive hand in Juliana’s direction. “Let’s all just…”
With his attentions momentarily on Juliana, Tanner took his eyes from the boyfriend for only a second, but it was a second too long. With utter contempt burning in his eyes, the man lunged at him. Tanner spun around in time to parry the blow just as the gunshot boomed loudly. Warm pieces of the girl’s skull splattered the side of his face and back of his neck. As the man’s eyes took in the bloody remains of his girlfriend’s face, his jaw fell open and he bellowed loudly. Tanner didn’t hesitate. He followed through on him with a right cross that connected cleanly, knocking the man from his feet and spilling him to the ground. Juliana stepped over him, her face a dripping mask of blood and brain matter, and pointed the gun down at his face. Fear registered in the man’s eyes for only a few seconds before his forehead deconstructed around a bullet hole in a puff of crimson.
Bitter smoke twisted from the barrel. Everybody within range watched open-mouthed as the man kicked out with a final few jerky movements of his body and then lay still.
Tanner brought his hand up and wiped some of the blood from his swollen cheek and then from his neck. Next to him, Juliana was still holding the gun tight with both hands, pointing it down at the corpse, her chest expanding and collapsing, eyes wide. Slowly, so as not to spook her, Tanner raised his arm up in front of her face to ask her for the weapon. After a few moments of silent staring, Juliana obliged him. The stock and trigger felt wet with sweat and sticky with more blood. With the gun’s heavy reassurance in his hand, he nodded at her and she nodded back.
From the other side of the space, a loud wolf whistle rang out, followed by a long, slow clapping of the hands. Both Tanner and Juliana, expecting more trouble, turned on the spot in the direction of the sound. Tanner raised the pistol.
A few tables away, still glued to the shoulder of Paul the barman, stood the man with the black cap that he had noticed watching him earlier. The cap, pulled down low to cover his eyes, masked his face, all except for a sarcastic smile of white teeth, pasted above his stubbled chin.
“Well, well,” the man said, loudly. “I see that a cobra never loses its charm.”
Tanner felt his muscles tense as he struggled to decipher the man’s meaning and intention. Something about the voice sounded familiar to him, but he just could not place it. He applied pressure to the trigger.
“What’s the matter, Mick? Old age made you forgetful?”
Tanner baulked. Nobody ever used his first name, certainly nobody that was still alive. “Charlie?” he said, unbelieving of the words as they left his mouth. “Is that you?”
Beneath the peak of the cap, the smile broadened. The man, wearing a fleece-lined denim jacket and filthy jeans, stepped forward. “The very same.”
Charlie tipped back the cap and moved within range, extending his hand. Juliana took a small-half step backward, keeping her distance, her expression one of wariness and confusion. Tanner tucked the pistol in the waistband of his trousers and took the hand in a shake, gripping it tightly, his mouth open but no words coming out.
“What’s the matter, my old friend? Do I look that bad?” His slight accent and dark skin betrayed his foreign heritage.
Still in shock, Tanner pulled his friend closer into an embrace, hooking him tightly around his thick shoulders with his working arm. Charlie responded in kind, slapping down on Tanner’s back with several blows in quick succession. When he pulled back, he looked down at the arm hanging limply at Tanner’s side and frowned. “I see you’ve been in the wars.”
The pun was not lost on Tanner who shook his head. “Yeah, nice of you to help out!”
Charlie laughed loudly. It was a deep and welcoming laugh, the kind that immediately set people at ease. “As if you ever needed my help!” he said, turning in the direction of Juliana, who was still stood off to one side.
Tanner saw a slight clenching of Juliana’s jaw and looked down to notice a hunting knife clutched in her fist. Internally, he hoped that Charlie had seen it and would not move any closer, for his own sake. “Charlie, this is my friend, Juliana. Julie, this is an old army buddy of mine, Charlie Ricci.”
Charlie smiled but made no move toward her and Juliana nodded.
“Sei, bellissima,” he said, and Tanner rolled his eyes. It seemed his old friend had lost none of his Italian charm to the culling.
Around them, some of the patrons had turned away from the scene and retaken their positions at the bars and tables. Paul the barman was busy struggling with the corpse of the girl, pulling it over in the direction of the bar itself, leaving a slug trail of thick, black blood behind it. Perhaps, Tanner thought, just like in the Capital, nobody cares.
“Come on, loverboy,” Tanner said, turning his attentions back to his friend and slapping his hand down on Charlie’s shoulder. “How about we all have a drink and you tell me what the hell you are doing here!” He could sure use one himself.
Flashing another smile at Juliana, Charlie said, “Of course, my friend. But first, may I suggest that we vacate these premises…?” As he spoke, he nodded down at the remaining body which was busy bleeding out on the floor. “You seem to have made quite the scene, and here in the Refuge, just like in the desert, the corpses tend to attract the buzzards, if you know what I mean.”
Tanner dropped the case containing the remaining smokes down on the bar. “We’ll take a bottle… of the good stuff.”
Chapter 7
Back in the room, Juliana lit a candle and set it on the cold floorboards between the two mattresses. She scooted over to the end of one, propping her makeshift pillow of old clothing up against the wall before leaning back against it with a groan. Her joints now ached to the point where she had started to believe that maybe they would never feel the same again. Years of living in the damp cold without proper food, light, or exercise had aged her, one look in a mirror told her that, but she hoped that the tightness she felt now across her shoulders, arms, and legs would, in time, ease.
Beside her on the other bed Tanner sat and handed her an open glass bottle, which she took with a smile. Even after the trouble, Paul the barman had been more than happy to serve them more in exchange for cigarettes. He’d even made them all promise that they would come back. Juliana doubted that they would take him up on his offer however.
“Mick Tanner,” Charlie said from the darkness on the other side of the room. The small tea light candle did little but warm a small halo in the centre, lighting the strong angular lines of his face while making shiny buttons of his eyes. “You’re the last person that I expected to find here. Although, knowing what a tenacious son of a bitch you are, I guess I’m not surprised that you’re alive.”
“Charlie The Wop,” Tanner responded, with more animation to his voice than Juliana had heard since meeting him. “The slipperiest motherfucker I ever had the pleasure to serve with. What’s it been… fifteen years?”
“At least that.”
Juliana took a long pull on the bottle, ignoring the burn, then leaned forward to pass it to Charlie, who accepted with a gracious nod.
“Thanks, gorgeous,” he said, but she ignored him, her mind lost in thought.
Mick Tanner.
Michael Tanner. What were the chances?
; “What you been up to?” Tanner asked him, lighting a smoke and offering one to Charlie, who declined.
“Not for me, my friend. That shit’ll kill ya.” He smiled and his white teeth shone in the gloom. “What? Before our little slice of Eden went to hell, you mean?” The bottle sloshed as Charlie drank. “You’ll laugh. After our last tour, I went back to P Company, back to our old base. Except this time working for the other side.”
To her left, Tanner laughed. “You? A fucking instructor? Do me a favour, Charlie. You couldn’t train a dog to shit on the lawn!”
The bottle sloshed again and this time Juliana shuffled forward with her hand extended to take it. Charlie obliged her.
“Well, someone’s gotta teach these wetbacks how to tie their boots,” he said, also laughing. “Guess they thought I was the man for the job!”
“A fucking wop teaching the cream of the British Army how to tie their boots. Wonders will never cease,” Tanner replied with a shake of the head.
Juliana leaned back to pass him the bottle once more.
