by Kolin Wood
John opened his mouth to protest but caught Becca’s expression and closed it again. He could tell just from the look, that he would be in for it if he did say anything more. As much as he hated being away from his friend, for the time being, Murphy would have to sit on his laurels and wait.
“And your bags are waiting for you in your rooms—minus the weapons of course; those you can have back when you leave. No need for weapons in here.”
Suddenly there was a loud buzzing noise and then a clank clank clank clank reverberating from every corner above them.
Uncle Len smiled. “Don’t worry, kids, that’s just the lights coming on. Twilight has a habit of playing tricks on us, makes you see things that aren’t there, so at the first hint of dusk, we put the floods on and hit the whole area with a dose of spaceman lighting.”
The mention of the impending night caused Becca to throw a look over at John again, but this time it was more one of smugness, rather than her usual concern.
“Uncle Len, can we talk to you about something?” Becca was looking up at Len with doe eyes once more, and John felt annoyed as he watched her pathetically toy with her hair.
Len noticed the look and winked. “Sure, sweet thing, let’s go back to my office. I can get you both a stiff drink and have the mess hall fix you both up something to eat; how’d you like that?”
Once again, Becca crowed and John cringed.
As they walked back the way that they had just come, John followed behind, no longer paying any attention to what was being said in front of him. This time, he looked more closely at his surroundings, poking his head into various doors and nodding at any people who caught his eye.
By the time they had traversed the maze of corridors and arrived back over at the other side of the vast room, one thing, over anything else, stood out to him: he had not seen a single woman. Everybody he saw was male; not only that, but none seemed to be even close to his age, and certainly nobody younger than he was.
They turned down a small, dim corridor with a single, fixed light and a door at the one end.
“Voilà,” Uncle Len said, slipping a key into the lock and pushing the door. “Welcome to the Casa Del Len. Please, make yourselves at home.”
14
The room smelled of tobacco and cabbage. Somewhere not far away, pans clattered. The huge, black leather sofa creaked beneath him as John moved awkwardly, unable to relax. He raised the smudged glass to his lips and took a sip but the drink burned his gullet, bringing a wince.
“Argh, come here, girl.”
John looked up, watching as Uncle Len pull Becca into a tight bear-hug embrace, fully enveloping her small frame with his heavily muscled and tattooed arms.
“My arsehole brother had always bragged that you were pretty, but I didn’t believe him, lying shit’ead that he was. But now, for once, I see that he was telling the truth! Wowee!”
Becca squealed and responded by wrapping her slender arms around his waist, at the same time closing her eyes.
A tinge of jealousy spiked within John and he pushed it down, looking away. The feelings were ridiculous; the two of them were family, for god’s sake. When he looked back, Uncle Len was staring down at him over the top of her head, an unnerving twinkle in his dark eyes.
“What about you then, eh, Johnny Boy? Been keeping my little Becca safe for me then, have you, son? What are you then? The boyfriend?”
My little Becca.
At the sound of her name, Becca opened her eyes. John fidgeted and Uncle Len laughed.
“Don’t worry, son. I don’t blame you. She’s a cracker!”
Becca stepped away from the embrace and glanced over at John with a shake of her head. “No, nothing like that. We are just travelling together. John’s looking for his friend. He went to the Refuge.”
No, nothing like that.
Suddenly interested, Uncle Len raised an eyebrow. “The Refuge, huh? And I suppose you think you’re just gonna walk on in there, do ya, Johnny Boy? Have a little look about? Knock on a few doors? Turn over a few stones, eh?”
There was a clearly sarcastic lilt to the man’s voice, which John tried to ignore.
He nodded and looked away. “I’ve been there before. I can handle myself.”
Uncle Len slapped his leg hard and bellowed with laughter. The sound was loud and hoarse, and even Becca grimaced.
“Sure you have, sweetheart!”
John felt his heart rate spike and his face flush red with anger; the man was mocking him.
“I’ll tell you what, pickle. Next time you’re over there, you tell Tidus Church I say hi, okay? Been there before…”
Tidus Church? John had never heard of the name.
Len continued to chuckle.
This time it was Becca who spoke, but John did not look up. At that moment, he did not care what either of them thought.
“Uncle Len,” she said, “we need to talk to you about the sickness.”
Finally, Len stopped laughing, motioned towards a seat, and then sat down in another behind his desk. Becca obliged, but John noticed that she had only perched right on the edge of the chair.
Perhaps not feeling so comfortable after all, he thought.
“I told you that people had been dying in the north; well, the truth is that we have been almost wiped out. There’s hardly anybody left up there; all communication and trade has stopped.” She paused, as though considering how best to word what she wanted to say without coming across as batshit crazy. “It’s… the rats. The rats are spreading and the sickness is spreading with them.”
Len smiled. “That’s what happens when people revert back to the ways of cave men, love. All standards go out of the window. Men are dirty bastards at the best of times, but rats? They’re filthy fuckers, give them an inch and they eat the whole enchilada.”
John did not understand the phrase but grasped the meaning: Uncle Len did not believe them.
“No, no, I mean, they are spreading… like eating everything… people even!” Becca’s voice was pleading, almost desperate sounding now.
This time, Len made a wry face, but it was the same kind of mock revulsion that one might give to a small child. “Eating people. Well, that’s just plain disgusting, huh?”
Becca nodded, eagerly.
“Listen, sweet thing.” John looked away again. “There ain’t no rats in here, I can personally promise you that. We live clean, healthy lives. Here everybody has a purpose; everybody has a role to play.”
That same phrase again. The way that he repeated it gave the words a creepy feeling. Len whistled loudly and the door opened behind them.
“Listen, darlin’, Frank here is gonna take you to the kitchens, get you fixed up with something to eat. After that, you can take a nice hot shower, get yourself cleaned up, maybe have a rest. I’ll come find you later, okay?”
Becca looked frustrated, but her shoulders sagged and she nodded.
“Good girl,” he said, standing. “Frank, you make sure these kids get looked after, yeah?”
The man called Frank scoffed. From where John was sitting, he could only see the back of the man’s head. Long, greasy dark hair hung down low past his shoulders.
Becca glanced up and offered a small smile before looking back down at her feet again as she stood, straightening her shirt. Frank extended an arm to allow her past and John watched as his eyes trailed down her back and settled on her rear, he then licked his lips.
“Oh, and Johnny,” Len called out from behind. “Make sure you don’t go sneaking off in the night, huh? We have strict security protocols here. Wouldn’t want you getting accidentally hurt or caught up in one of them, now would we?”
***
“I don’t trust him,” John said, scooping a large spoonful of food into his mouth. Since the revelation about the rat meat, he was wary of eating anything meat based. Luckily, the options had been limited and the potato based, vegetable broth was hot and tasty.
Becca just shook her head as she tipped
the bowl up to scoop the last of her own soup. “No, why would you? After all, he did give us a hot meal and an offer of somewhere safe to sleep… what a monster!”
Choosing to ignore the sarcasm, John set his spoon down and looked around. Whatever he had to say, she was not interested in hearing it. The room was large, big enough to hold twenty or so empty, collapsible tables complete with bench seats lined either side. The walls were make-shift dividers, wooden and looked to be made of old pallets. Long, bright, strip lights shone harsh white light from a water-stained ceiling above. Other than Frank—who was sat smoking a few tables behind them, —and some generic rattling noises coming from the kitchen hatch beyond, they were alone.
“You didn’t see the way they were looking at you,” John said, his voice low. “That Frank, his eyes… Len even—” He wanted to convey the uneasiness that he felt but immediately realised that he had just crossed the line.
Becca dropped her spoon into her bowl with a loud clatter. She stood up quickly, forcing the metal legs of the bench seat to scrape horribly against the rough concrete floor. “You are disgusting!” she said, louder than John would have liked, venom sharpening her voice. “That’s my dad’s brother, for God’s sake!”
Her eyes burned into his own and the corner of her mouth had curled into a hateful snarl.
Annoyed at his own heavy-footed approach, John put out his hands to pacify the situation. Across the room, Frank had turned and was now looking over, a curious look on his face and a steaming brew in his hand.
“Okay, look, I’m sorry, okay?” John said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. “Sit back down, please.”
Becca followed John’s anxious looks behind her to take in Frank, and when she turned back she was smiling. Reluctantly, she sat back down.
“Look,” John said, in as calm a voice as he could manage. “You said so yourself; you’ve never met him before. We have no idea what these men are up to out here, none at all.”
Still with a curl of arrogance on her lips, Becca replied, “They look to be doing pretty okay to me, John.”
John shook his head. He could not believe that the same girl that had shown him how to survive out on the road was being so naive. “Oh? So tell me then, where are all the women and children? Have you seen as much as a single other female since we arrived?”
The statement caused Becca to baulk as she considered what John had just said to her. Behind her bright green eyes, he could see the cogs turning.
“I’m sure that they are somewhere safe,” she said after a short pause. “One of the other blocks perhaps…”
“Like the dogs, you mean?” John spat, again cursing himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He watched as the fire of contempt once again began to burn in her eyes.
“You know what, John? Go. You’ve fulfilled your obligation to my brother and brought me to Redwood. If you don’t want to stay here, then fine; nobody is forcing you.”
Shocked by the directness of the statement, John raised an eyebrow.
Becca laughed, but it was not a friendly retort. She stood again, only this time the action was calm and more controlled.
“I hope you find your friend,” she said. “Take care of yourself.” And with that, she collected her empty bowl and spoon from the table and turned away from him.
John said nothing as he watched her go. She walked to a hatch in one of the pallet walls and handed the bowl over to a pair of hands that appeared. Then she spoke briefly with Frank, who nodded before draining the contents of his cup and slapping it down on the table with over-emphasis. When he stood, he threw a smirk in John’s direction, picked up the rifle, and followed her out.
John clenched his teeth and felt his fist tighten around the spoon in his hand. He could see the deviousness in the man’s eyes as clearly as he could see the hair on his head, but he could do nothing. Becca did not want to know. Besides, Frank was armed, far bigger than he was, and John’s crossbow had been confiscated upon arrival.
A loud clatter from the kitchen, followed by a bellowing round of swearing, snapped him from his thoughts. He looked around at the empty room and checked himself over mentally. Perhaps he was being over cautious. Maybe he was just reading the men wrong. Besides, apart from Ryan—who was quiet and reserved most of the time—he had not spent much time around other men at all growing up, not these types of men. Best to spend the night, sleep on it. One way or another, he was sure that their true intentions would be exposed sooner or later.
The thought of sleep brought with it a slump which reminded John of his tiredness and the pain of the previous few days’ walking. His feet throbbed in his boots, and his neck and shoulders ached deep inside his muscles. He did not know exactly how far the Refuge was from here—it looked a good day’s walk at best—but he could use the rest and the hot food in his belly while it was on offer.
With a groan that sounded as if it had come from somebody way beyond his years, John stood and walked with his bowl over to the hatch. A short, fat man wearing a filthy apron and striped chef trousers grunted as he took the bowl, dumping it with an unceremonious splash in a large bath of fetid-looking water directly underneath the opening.
Nobody accompanied John as he walked back. Both he and Becca had been given rooms opposite each other on a long corridor not far from the kitchen. On arrival, he was unhappy but equally unsurprised to find the door to her room closed. He paused with his ear to the door for a few moments and tried to listen, but all he could hear was the constant hum of the lights above and general noise of the building.
Momentarily, he considered knocking and even raised his knuckles to do so, but at the last moment, he thought better of it. She had made her choice pretty clear. He would try to get through to her again in the morning. He had to hope that maybe, after a few hours rest, she would see some sense and, at the very least, be more cautious.
With a yawn, he turned to his own room across the hall. Whatever happened, his mind was now made up; tomorrow, regardless, he would be leaving the farm, with or without her.
15
As was so often the case, John awoke with a jolt, panicking initially, as his eyes scoured the sparse room for any signs of recognition. Harsh, swirling laser beams sliced through the darkness, peppering the bed and all around it with coin-sized discs of light. Sleep, when it finally came to him, had been rough; an endless series of escape situations plagued with blood-thirsty rats and routes obstructed with bodies. Lying there now, with his heart beating in his chest and his head wet with perspiration, John realised that he had not managed a single, restful night’s sleep since leaving the coast. For all his internal bravado and faux-machismo in front of the girl, it was clear that his brain was still coming to terms with his choice to leave.
Slowly, his regular breathing returned. The build-up of dust that he had inhaled throughout the night, caused him to cough violently. Ventilation had not been high on the list of priorities when the place was built, and what little there was, came by way of a series of sporadic holes drilled into the ceiling. Aside from not being very productive, they also allowed for a constant showering of dust from above every time somebody walked over. As a result, during these summer months, the dense wooden-partitioned rooms turned into large ovens, capable of roasting a person alive.
He lay there for a while, trying to ignore the throbbing from the wound on his face while allowing his brain to settle and considering his options. He was leaving today—that much he had already made his mind up on—but he hoped more than anything that Becca might have seen sense in the night and decided to join him. Something caused him to doubt it, however.
John arose and flicked the light switch, immediately regretting the decision as the room pinged into brilliance. His bag had been waiting for him, minus the crossbow and sheath, just as Len had promised. He unpacked everything, laying it all out on the bed to take stock of what that he now owned. He had clothing, a sleeping bag, waterproofs, a small knife, twine, and, at the bottom, he found a
compact survival tin containing fishing line and hooks. Food was on last rations, and, given the intense heat, he had drained the last of his water in the night also; he would need to procure more supplies before he left today. Some of the other useful items had been shared out between himself and Becca, but he still had the kettle and fire flint, meaning that he could source water and purify it should the need arise. One thing was for sure; he would be purifying ALL water from here on in.
He repacked carefully, taking note of everything.
Afterward, he dressed, taking the opportunity to assess his feet properly for the first time. They were as bad as he had expected; his blood-stained socks pulled back to reveal blisters that bulged and folds of crumpled skin on the little toes of either foot. He only hoped that they would be able to take him just a little bit farther.
The dining room was in full flow when he walked in, every seat at every table taken. Crashes of plates, curses of frustration and the sound of somebody singing badly out of tune, emanated from the hatch where a line of burly men stood, patiently waiting and holding bowls.
John’s stomach rumbled, but he could not think about food as he nervously scanned for Becca. He had knocked on her door first thing, and even pushed it open to check on her whereabouts, but found the bed empty and her bag missing. Now, as he walked the back of the busy room, he took in each table in turn, his heart dropping a fraction more every time he saw that she was not there.
“Morning!”
A hand came down hard on his shoulder and John spun, his fists raised. It was Len. His hair had been combed back from his face and the dirty stubble from yesterday was gone. “Whoa! Easy there, slugger!” he said with his hands raised and a mock-apprehension to his voice. “I come in peace!”
