by Casey, Ryan
Jack buried his shovel into the ground, kept on moving that snow away. “I should be done in no time. Kind of enjoy it, if I’m honest.”
“You must enjoy it. You’re out here doing it enough.”
“It needs to be done.”
Susan nodded, then shovelled a smaller amount of snow out of the way. She didn’t say anything. But Jack knew why she was here. He knew what point she was going to get to, in no time at all.
He had to just brace himself. He had to be ready.
“You know…” Susan started, rubbing her neck.
“If this is about Emma, I did what I did because I’m protecting us.”
Susan sighed. “You guessed right. Which means you know you’ve gone wrong somewhere.”
“Where exactly have I gone wrong?”
“Well, one, the girl was close to catching some food, or so she says.”
Jack shook his head. “She exaggerates. The squirrel had the measure of her. If I hadn’t got there when I had, it’d probably have savaged her.”
Susan ignored him. “But two, and most importantly… you’ve got to let the girl live a little, Jack.”
Jack looked into Susan’s eyes, and he felt that same accusation targeted at him that had been targeted at him so many times. “So you’re going to accuse me of being a control freak? Just like everyone else?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just—”
“Because if you think you could do a better job of leading this place, why don’t you give it a go? Why don’t you step on up and give it a try? Because look what happened the last time someone led this place. Look what happened when Gregory tried to lead us. Oh, wait. You wouldn’t know. You were busy cosying up with the guy who almost destroyed us.”
He saw the hurt on Susan’s face. Saw the way her eyes widened; the way her cheeks turned red.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean that.”
“You did,” Susan said. “And that’s exactly the problem, Jack. You won’t let any of us live. You won’t let any of us suggest ideas for this place. We’re starving. The whole place is becoming uninhabitable. But you just won’t see it. You just won’t see it because you’re so afraid. You’re so afraid of the possibility that we might actually need to try and find something or someone else out there, you won’t even entertain it.”
She turned around, shovel in hand. Left Jack there in the road, alone.
He knew he should hold his tongue. That he shouldn’t say another word.
But he couldn’t help himself. “Anything else, while you’re here to question my leadership?”
Susan stopped. She turned around. Looked right at him. “Yeah, actually. Seeing as you asked, there is something.”
Shit.
“Emma,” Susan said. “She said something. Something she was pretty keen on me telling you. I wasn’t going to tell you because I thought it might be hurtful. And she was upset when she said it. People say funny things when they’re upset. But you know what? Screw it. I’m going to honour that girl’s wishes.”
Jack tightened his grip around the shovel and shrugged. “Do your worst.”
“She says Logan was a far better leader than you. Because at least he listened to people. And for all his flaws, at least he was trying to be a better man. And at least he never let any of his own people die.”
Jack went to say something else. He stood there, silent, the howling wind blowing against him. He wanted to say something back to Susan. Wanted to make some witty remark.
But in the end, he could only watch as Susan turned, and walked away.
And he could only stand there, shovel in hand, and stare at his caravan site, as it all crumbled apart before his eyes.
Chapter Four
Jack sat alone in his caravan and stared out at the blizzard.
It was the same sight as usual. That roaring wind rushing the snow past the front of his caravan. He squinted outside, looked at that grey-white mass passing by the front of his window. He tried to see the caravan opposite, across the road, but he couldn’t. The blizzard was just too strong. The snow just too heavy.
He listened to the scream of the wind. That sound haunted him. Every night before he went to sleep. Every morning when he woke up. A reminder of the conditions they were in. A reminder of just how hard the life they were living was.
He felt something warm trickle down his top lip. He wiped it away, saw blood on his fingers. Shit. Nosebleeds were getting more common. He could taste the metallic rusty tang at the back of his throat, too. He could barely smell a thing, his nose was always so blocked, but if he could smell anything, it was that familiar smell of burned wood that clung to their clothes. The wood from the many fires they’d lit. Fires that didn’t stay lit for long, not with the snow, not with the wind.
He sighed and climbed off the edge of his sofa. Villain sat in front of an unlit fire in the middle of the caravan. He had a blanket wrapped around him. He looked up at Jack with sad eyes, like he was suffering just as much as everyone else.
Jack walked over to him. Ruffled his fur, tucked him into this blanket a little more. “Don’t worry, lad. Just a nosebleed. Just a silly nosebleed.”
He stood up, walked over to his kitchen area, and leaned against the sink. Stared outside again, into the blizzard. It was late. He didn’t know how late, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be sleeping for a while anyway. Usually dozed off on the sofa, whisky glass in hand, Villain curled up against him, grateful for the warmth of both. It was the only way he could sleep, really.
He held a finger against his nostril as the blood pooled around the bottom of his nose, and he heard a knock on his door.
He turned around. Villain shot to his feet. Growled.
Instinctively, Jack reached for a kitchen knife. He walked over to the door slowly. It could be anyone. Someone from outside the site. It could be—
“It’s only me.”
He recognised that voice right away and lowered the knife. He walked over to his locked door, unlocked it.
Hazel stood there in the snow. Thick parka wrapped around her. Wind blasting against her, hair waving all over the place.
“Mind if I come in?”
Jack looked at the blizzard and scratched his head. “I dunno. I was thinking of shutting up shop for the night.”
She sighed and pushed past him, stepping inside. She made a fuss of Villain, and he seemed happy to see her too.
Jack struggled with the wind to close the caravan door, still clutching his bleeding nostril. “You know, I thought you didn’t like dogs.”
Hazel lowered her hood, but her parka wasn’t going anywhere. “Yeah, well. I guess they’ve grown on me. What you drinking?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“The look in your eyes. Whisky-eye, I always called it.”
She glanced around the room. Saw the half-empty bottle on the table and smirked. “Told you I’m good at reading you.”
Jack walked over to the bottom, went to pour Hazel a glass. He handed her one, then they tapped glasses and drank. “To survival.”
Hazel lifted her eyebrows. “To not freezing to death in our sleep.”
“Ever the optimist.”
As he stood there and drank, Jack thought about the months since Hazel came back into his life. He thought about how his feelings had grown for her all over again. How he’d fallen for her, just like he had in the past.
And he knew those feelings were dangerous. Hazel was still technically a married woman. Married to his arsehole “best mate,” Pete.
And besides. Their past, it was complicated. Growing too close was a bad idea.
So whenever they got close… Jack’s defences just went up. He distanced himself.
But he’d never stop loving her.
And he’d do anything he could to keep her safe.
“So, Emma,” Hazel said.
Jack rolled his eyes and slumped back on his sofa. “Not you too.”
“You ne
ed to let her live a little, mate.”
“‘Mate’?”
“Yeah. Mate. They all say it these days.”
“Oh they do, do they?”
“Yeah. No. Whatever. My choice of words is beside the point. You’re suffocating the girl. You need to let her live. Hell, you need to let all of us live. Because this isn’t life. It’s a prison sentence.”
Jack nodded. “I get that. Really, I do. But I’m just trying my best here. I’m trying my best to keep us all safe. To keep this place standing. Because it’s special, what we’ve got here. The community we’ve built. The—the way we’ve set this place up. It’s special.”
Hazel sighed. She rubbed her hands through her hair. “See, that’s the problem. I think we should start looking for somewhere else.”
Jack shook his head and stood. “Absolutely out of the question.”
“But why not, Jack?”
“Because we won’t find anywhere better than here.”
“That’s what you keep saying, though. You keep saying we won’t find anywhere better. That there’s nothing else for us out there. But is that the reason, Jack? Really? Or is there something else going on here?”
Jack glanced into Hazel’s eyes. He saw the way she looked right at him. Like she knew what he was thinking already. But he had to resist that. “There’s nothing going on here. It’s just—”
“It’s because of your issues with other people, isn’t it?”
Jack shook his head. “What? Issues with other people? What in the hell are you talking about?”
Hazel smirked. She shook her head. “It’s written all over your face, Jack. That cocoon you slipped into after… after India. And after us. You’re slipping back into it again. No, you’ve slipped back into it again. And if you’re not careful, it’s going to swallow you up. And this time, there isn’t going to be anyone left to help you.”
Jack stood there, whisky glass in hand. He gritted his teeth. “I think you should leave.”
Hazel opened her mouth, like she was going to argue.
Then she closed it. Half-smiled. “You know what? I will leave. It’s not like it’s minus nine hundred out there. And it’s not like there’d ever be a chance you might ask me to, I dunno. Stay here, perhaps.”
Jack heard Hazel’s words, and he wanted to tell her he wanted nothing more. He saw how she looked at him, and he wanted to tell her he loved her. He still loved her. He’d never stopped loving her.
But all he could do there was stand and watch as Hazel shook her head.
As she walked away from him.
Over to the door, and back out into the howling wind and snow.
She stopped right on the top step. Looked back at him, her face turning icy already.
“Sort your shit out, Jack. Not everyone’s out to get you.”
And then she slammed the door shut.
Jack stood there, whisky glass in hand.
Villain by his side.
And as much as he wanted to protect this place, as much as he wanted to protect everyone he’d fought for… he knew Hazel was right.
And that was the hardest pill to swallow of all.
Chapter Five
Martin waded through the snow and wondered when his perseverance was going to be rewarded.
The nights were always the worst. The pitch-black dark. The screaming wind suffocating every other sound. The only thing he could see was a haze of blizzard-like snow, drifting past his eyes like television white noise. His nostrils were so cold he couldn’t smell a thing. His mouth was as dry as sandpaper. And every single nerve ending in his body was sensitive.
He walked down the middle of this street. His people followed closely behind. Their group was fifteen-strong. They had been on the road for a few weeks now, ever since their last home fell in a storm.
Martin never thought he’d spend so long searching for a new home. His group was strong, after all. They had weapons. They had ammunition. They had enough to defend themselves with. And they had enough to attack with.
But finding a new permanent home was proving a struggle.
Because everywhere had fallen, just like his home.
“It’s no use, Martin,” Trent said. “We need to stop this. It’s—it’s madness, man.”
Martin turned around. Glared at Trent. He couldn’t make out his face in this darkness, but he could see his bulky figure. It wasn’t the first time Trent had expressed discontent at their journey. Morale was low. Hunger was high. The worst possible combination.
It felt like this entire group was walking on a tightrope. And that tightrope was on the brink of snapping in two.
Martin gritted his teeth. “And you have something better to suggest?”
Trent shook his head. A few of Martin’s other people stood there, arms wrapped tightly around their bodies, the sound of chattering teeth the only thing cutting through the howling wind. All of them struggling, together. “Just—just anything but this. Maybe we—we just find a few old houses. Maybe we just shelter in there for a while—”
“We shelter in there and we die in no time,” Martin said. “What we need is a group. An active group. A place that is set up for this weather. A place that is coping. Surviving. And a place that we can take for ourselves.”
Trent shook his head. “I just don’t know, man. It’s been two weeks. I just—”
“Are you questioning my leadership?”
There was silence. Another howl of the wind, almost toppling Martin from his feet.
“No,” Trent said, finally. “I just…”
He stopped.
He must’ve heard it, just like Martin heard it.
Voices.
Voices up the road.
Martin turned around and held up a hand. “Quiet.”
Those voices, it sounded like there was a few of them. Three at least.
They always had to be wary of other people. They couldn’t trust any other group. Martin had seen the issues trusting other groups could bring already. He’d lost too many people. Too many friends.
He’d lost…
No. Don’t think about her. Not now.
It was a harsh life. It wasn’t comfortable. He wasn’t totally at ease with it. Who would be?
But this was a world where you had to fight for your survival. You had to take what was yours. Because if you waited around, you died. Nobody else waited around for you. Nobody else showed mercy.
So why should he?
He crept through the snow, over towards those voices. He could still only see snow sweeping past his eyes; still feel its heavy clumps punching his face.
He heard the footsteps of his group crunching behind him, and he lifted a hand up for them to stop. They didn’t see him. Not at first. It was too dark, too snowy.
But eventually, they reached him.
And eventually, they saw him.
They stopped.
Martin looked into the distance. Waited for the snow to fade.
It took a moment. But eventually, as he stood there, shivering, he saw the group.
Three of them. He was right about that. All of them wrapped in thick winter gear.
All of them holding their arms around their bodies. Struggling through the snow.
He felt for them, at first. They didn’t look like they had that many supplies. They looked like they were struggling to find a home, too.
But they had something that caught Martin’s attention.
Something that interested him.
Rucksacks.
Martin thought about the supplies that could be stuffed into those rucksacks. He thought about the water. The food. Just enough to get them by until they found somewhere.
He tightened his hands around his pistol.
“Wait here,” Martin said.
“What?” Trent asked.
“Just… just wait here. I’ve got this.”
Martin waited for more protestations, but they didn’t come.
He took a few breaths. Stepped forw
ard.
Clutched his pistol.
He moved closer to these people. He didn’t want to alarm them. Surprise them, sure. But not alarm them to the point they might attack him instinctively.
He waited until he was a few steps away before clearing his throat.
“Hey,” Martin said.
The three people turned around right away. Looked in Martin’s direction, shock and surprise on their faces.
“Don’t worry,” Martin said. “Just—just a friend.”
The three men looked at him, uncertain. It was a bearded ginger man who spoke. “Where—where did you come from?”
Martin stood there for a few seconds. Looked at this ginger man, fear in his wide eyes clear now the snow had eased a little.
And then he saw the fear grow on the faces of this group. He saw what they saw as the snow faded.
Martin’s group.
Martin’s people.
Martin smiled. “Hell.”
The three men spun around, went to flee.
Martin knew there was no time to wait around.
He lifted his pistol and fired at them, one by one.
The first fell right away. The second was a little trickier, took a few shots to take down.
And the ginger guy…
He pointed his gun towards him as he fled. Prepared to put him out of his misery.
Then the man stopped.
He turned around. Hands in the air. “Please. Please don’t—don’t do this. What do you want? Please.”
Martin loosened his grip on the trigger. He lowered his pistol, walked slowly towards this man as he stood there, shaking, eyes wide.
“You can do something for me,” Martin said.
“Anything,” the man spluttered. “Just—just let me help. Please. Don’t do this to me. Don’t kill me. I don’t want to die. Please.”
Martin put a hand on the man’s shoulder. Squeezed it, just slightly. “Then tell us where we can go.”
The man frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“A home,” Martin said. “Somewhere we can survive. You must know somewhere. Those rucksacks you’re carrying, all nice and full. You don’t just stumble upon bounties like that anymore. So tell us where we can go, and we’ll appreciate that. We’ll appreciate it very much.”
