by Casey, Ryan
And when she did, she looked back at Jack, like she was seeking approval.
Jack nodded towards it. “Go on. Take it out. We could do with some lunch on the road.”
She smiled at him.
And then she crouched down and headed off into the distance.
Moving slowly.
Methodically.
Stealthily.
Using all the tricks he’d taught her.
“What’s she up to?” Candice asked.
Jack held up a hand, quietening the group, stopping them. He watched Emma move further through the snow. Watched her get closer to that squirrel. Watched her get just inches away from it.
And he felt uneasy at her being so far away.
He felt cautious like this could be a trap.
But he allowed it.
He allowed it because he had to.
Because Emma was strong.
Because he could trust her.
She lifted her knife.
The squirrel turned to her.
And then it bounced into the snow and darted away.
Jack felt Emma’s frustration as she stood there, cursing.
He felt her inadequacy, once again.
He saw her run towards it.
Saw her lunge at it.
And then he heard a bang.
He jumped. Didn’t know what’d happened. Not for a few moments.
Then he looked ahead, and he saw it.
The squirrel lay dead in the snow.
Emma stood over it, knife in hand, metres from it.
But there was somebody else there, approaching from afar.
Someone with a rifle raised.
Jack saw the man emerge through the snow, and his stomach did a somersault.
It was Trent.
One of Martin’s people.
He was here.
Martin’s people were here.
Chapter Thirty
Jack saw Trent approaching Emma in the distance, and the hairs on his neck stood on end.
His sense of space, time, and everything else drifted into the background.
All he cared about was protecting Emma. Keeping her safe.
He rushed over towards Trent, towards Emma. He heard people behind him shouting at him, calling for him.
But all he could focus on was Trent.
Because Jack had allowed Emma to go up ahead and try and catch the squirrel.
He’d allowed her to do that to show he believed in her.
And now she was in danger.
In danger with one of Martin’s people.
All because of him.
“Stay away from her!” Jack shouted.
But Trent kept on walking.
Jack ran faster than he thought he could. Shitting bastard. He’d beat the shit out of this prick just for showing his face here. And if he dared lay a finger on Emma, he’d do far worse. “Hey! You stay away from her! Stay the hell…”
Trent did something, then.
Something Jack wasn’t expecting.
He lowered his rifle, and he stopped moving.
Jack didn’t stop. Neither did the footsteps of his own people.
All he could do was watch as Trent stood there. One hand raised. Looking right at Jack. That squirrel lying dead before him. The one Emma had been trying to catch.
Jack ran closer to him. “Get away from her. Lower your rifle right this damned second and get on your knees.”
He waited for pushback. He waited for Trent to lift his rifle, or make another move.
But he didn’t.
He lowered his rifle.
And he got on his knees.
Just as Jack asked.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Trent said. “I just… I just want to talk.”
Jack didn’t trust Trent. He reached Emma, went to push her away, out of the scene of the showdown.
But then he stopped himself, as much as instinct screamed at him to protect his people.
Instead, he stepped in front of her. Knife in hand.
Trent crouched on his knees right before him.
“Give me one good reason not to kill you right now.”
Trent looked up at Jack. He shivered violently. Looked like he’d had a rough night.
But this… it still didn’t feel right. It felt like a trap.
“I—I broke away from Martin’s group last night,” Trent said. “I couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t take his ruthlessness towards other people. Couldn’t take the way he treated outsiders. I got away from him. Escaped while I had the chance. Didn’t look back.”
“And you decided to just head this way, conveniently, did you? Right back to where we were heading?”
“I came this way because I wanted to find you. I… I wanted to warn you.”
Jack frowned. He was so close to punching Trent right across his smug face. “Warn us?”
Trent gulped. “Martin. He’s set on destroying you. He—he doesn’t like anyone defying him. He’ll stop at nothing. That’s his goal. Before—before Barrow. Before anything else.”
Jack walked right up to Trent. Crouched opposite him. His rifle lay on the ground between them. “And how exactly do you think you can help us?”
Trent shook his head. “You need numbers. You need all the help you can get.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. The whole group surrounded him now.
He looked at Trent’s rifle.
Then he grabbed it.
Lifted it.
Pointed it right at him.
“And what’s in it for you?”
Trent took a deep breath.
And then he smiled.
“A chance to start again.”
Jack looked at Trent as he held his rifle, and he wanted to put him down. He wanted to take him out. Because he was just an extension of Martin’s group, after all.
But he saw this man on his knees before him, and he wasn’t sure what to think.
“I could’ve shot you,” Trent said. “I—I could’ve taken you out, one by one. But I didn’t. I can help you. I know which route Martin’s group are taking. A way you can go to avoid him. And I know something else, too. His people. They’re not all bad. They’re not all like him. So many people want out, but they see his way as the only way. You take him out… you change everything. You show ’em another way.”
Jack studied Trent’s face, trying to get a read on him. He didn’t want to trust Trent. And he didn’t want to get his people involved, either.
But then he remembered it.
The importance.
The importance of respecting his group’s opinion.
He looked around at them, all of them, one by one.
And he said the words he never thought he could.
“What do you think?”
They all looked back at him.
Nobody spoke.
Not at first.
But it was Susan who broke the silence.
“I think we should kill him,” she said. “This could be a trap.”
The hairs on Jack’s arms stood on end. Hearing Susan speak so coldly when she’d been all about trust just recently… it chilled him. “Anyone else?”
Bella shook her head. “He’s right. He… he could’ve shot us. I think he deserves a chance.”
Susan shook her head. “Like hell he does.”
Candice spoke, then. “We’re right to be suspicious. But… I can see both sides. Maybe there’s a middle ground.”
She looked at Jack and nodded as if she was prompting him to speak. To deliver the final verdict.
Jack looked at his people. Tightened his grip around Trent’s rifle.
Then he looked back at Trent and raised that rifle.
His people’s voices ringing in his ears.
Trent sighed. He sat tall, kept his focus on Jack. “Whatever you decide… I came here because I had hope. I came here because I wanted to help. Because I couldn’t put up with that guy anymore. Take it or leave it. But don’t do something you reg
ret. Don’t be blinded by absolutes. ’Cause there ain’t no absolutes in this world. Ain’t no pure good and pure evil. There’s shades of grey. You know it just as well as anyone.”
Jack moved closer to him. Pressed the rifle to his head. “Shut up and close your eyes.”
But Trent didn’t close his eyes.
He didn’t struggle.
He just stayed kneeling there.
Kept staring into Jack’s eyes.
The wind blowing the snow all around him.
Jack gritted his teeth.
Kept that rifle pointed.
He wanted to pull that trigger.
He wanted so badly to fire.
“Do whatever’s right for you,” Trent said. “But don’t become him, man. Don’t become him.”
Jack tightened his grip on that trigger.
Stared into Trent’s eyes.
He took a deep breath.
Went to fire.
And then he stopped.
He sighed. Lowered his rifle.
And then he grabbed Trent by the scruff of his neck and pulled him close. “You travel with us. You tell us which route Martin is taking so we can avoid it. But… but we don’t engage with your old group. And when we get to Pete’s home, we tell them who you are. Which group you travelled with. The crimes you were responsible for. They can judge you. But right now… you can help us as much as you can.”
Trent’s eyes lit up. He smiled. “I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll pay for my sins, one way or another. But I appreciate the chance, brother. More than you know.”
He looked at his rifle in Jack’s hands.
And Jack smiled back at him. Held on to that rifle.
“But if you’re thinking you’re getting this back any time soon, you’re pretty damned wrong. Now come on. Let’s get walking. We’ve got no time to waste.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Martin couldn’t stop thinking about Trent as he clambered through the snow.
He wasn’t sure how it’d happened. He’d just woken up and found Trent gone. Everybody claimed he’d just disappeared. Nobody owned up to seeing him leave.
Which he found hard to believe. There were fourteen of them, after all. And they weren’t exactly sound sleepers. Not when they were sleeping right by the side of a road in an old warehouse.
But they’d woken. Found him gone.
And as much as there was a worry around the group that something had happened to him… Martin knew damn well exactly what’d happened.
He’d seen the look in Trent’s eyes before. Seen his hesitation. He’d heard his protestations. His uncertainties.
He should’ve cut the bastard loose a long time ago, dammit.
He waded further through the snow. They were closing in on Barrow. Should be there in a day or so. The storms they’d faced had been intense. They’d lost another group member, Sally, some miles back. There was no time for sentimentality, as painful as her loss was to the group. She was too weak, so she hadn’t survived the cold: it really was as simple as that.
But he knew another death was only going to increase the strain on him.
It was only going to intensify the scrutiny.
And he knew Trent’s disappearance was going to bring questions of its own, too.
He looked back at his group. Heads lowered. Eyes stared at the ground. And as he stood there, he found himself asking a question: when did his people get so weak?
They were supposed to be strong. They were supposed to be the survivors of this world.
When had things gone so wrong?
And then he thought about Jack.
A sickly taste covered his lips at the thought of Jack. The man who’d defied him. The man who’d shot and killed his people. The man who’d stood up to him, even in the face of losing his home.
They were both heading to this supposed safe haven in Barrow; there was no denying that.
But that didn’t sit right with Martin.
It unsettled him.
Because he didn’t want Jack anywhere near that place.
He didn’t want anyone who’d stood against him near that place.
He kept on looking back at his group when he heard some commotion.
He rushed towards it, past his people, further through the snow. And when he got there, he saw what was happening right away.
Dave, one of Martin’s guys, lay on his arse. One of Iain’s kids—the lad, Harry—staggered free of him, tried to run away.
Martin sighed, shook his head. “One of you idiots, grab the lad. Unless you want somebody else frigging sneaking away on us.”
Reg, one of his most trusted guys, tackled Harry to the ground in an instant.
The dad, Iain, gave a muffled shout, confused cries under the sack over his head. The girl—Lara—sobbed away, too. Pitiful, really. He didn’t even know why he was holding on to them, really. Did they really expect him to let them live when they reached Barrow, with all they knew about him and the way he’d treated them?
He looked down at Dave as he lay on his arse in the snow, and he shook his head.
Dave was a skinny bloke with thinning dark hair and a yellow tint to his skin. His teeth were blackened from the many cigarettes he’d smoked over his life. Martin swore he could still smell that smoke on his breath now.
He lay there, and Martin found himself asking the question: why had he let this guy stick around so long? Why hadn’t he taken him out weeks ago? He was a leech. Sure, he was ruthless. But he was a numb-nut. And Martin was losing his patience with numb-nuts.
He held out a hand to Dave.
Dave looked at it, then pulled a smirk that made Martin’s skin crawl.
He grabbed Martin’s hand.
Martin tightened his grip.
Pulled him close.
Looked right into his eyes.
“You’ve been complacent far too many times, Dave.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, Martin wasn’t even sure Dave understood what “complacent” meant.
Not until Martin pulled out his knife and buried it in Dave’s stomach.
Dave’s eyes widened in an instant. A dumbstruck look crossed his face. Over his shoulder, Martin heard a few gasps. A few whispers. He knew this would be divisive. He knew it’d be unpopular with some.
But if it was one thing, it was decisive.
And that’s what he needed to be.
He pushed that blade further into Dave’s stomach. Pulled him close.
Dave stared back at him. Tears trickled down his wrinkly face. He opened his mouth. Blood seeped down his chin. And he mumbled such a pitiful word. “W-Why?”
Martin held that knife deep in Dave’s stomach. He felt the warm blood seeping out onto his hand and for a moment, he kind of liked it. Just told himself it was warm water. A nice sink full of warm water, soothing his frostbitten fingers.
He leaned closer towards Dave’s begging, pitiful face. He could smell something now, as Dave’s knees shook. Shit. In his final moments, Dave was shitting himself. Martin should’ve known he was never cut out to be one of his people. He was always just a weak little prick.
“I’m sorry I had to do this,” Martin said. “Really. I’m sure you were a decent guy, once upon a time. But we just can’t have people holding us back anymore, okay? We can’t have people dragging us down. Especially not now.”
He touched the back of Dave’s greasy dark hair. Stroked it. And the most pitiful thing of all? Dave leaned into his touch. He actually seemed like he appreciated it.
The fingers of his murderer, working their way through his curly, pube-like hair.
Comforting him.
“Sleep well, friend,” Martin said. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. But for what it’s worth, you were a very loyal companion. Just a useless one, unfortunately.”
He yanked the knife out of Dave’s stomach.
Moved his hand away from the back of his head.
And he watched as he fell down to the snow.
He looked around at his people, then. Saw the wide eyes. The shocked expressions.
And the fear.
The most important factor of all.
“We’re at a crucial moment,” Martin said, his breath clouding before him. “A moment where any complacency could derail us completely. We can’t afford to lose our grip now. We can’t afford to lose our strength. Especially when we don’t know what kind of a world we’re heading towards.”
His people kept on standing there. Staring at him. Stunned.
Behind, he heard Dave struggling for breath as blood seeped from his body.
“The truth is, I want to reach Barrow. I want to get there as soon as possible. But… but there’s something else, too. People. People who have stood against us. And I’m not just talking about Jack’s group, either. I’m talking about Trent. Do we really want to move on to a new world when people like that are still alive? Do we really want to give them a chance to move on, after everything that’s happened? After Jack’s group shot our people?”
Most of his people looked stunned.
But a couple of them called out: “No chance!”
Martin stood there, smile on his face. He couldn’t hear Dave struggling anymore. Shock had been replaced by anger.
And that anger was going to fuel the next step.
The most important step of all.
“Good,” Martin said. “That’s what I like to hear. Because I’ll tell you what we’re going to do next. We’re going to wait here for Trent. We’re going to wait here for Jack’s people. And then we’re going to kill them. Every last one of them.”
He looked around at Iain and his kids, sack wrapped around their heads, and he smiled.
“And our new friends here are going to help us with that.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Barrow. 10 miles.
Jack felt a bolt of optimism surge through his body the moment he saw the sign. It helped that the sun was bright. The air was still. It didn’t even feel as cold as it had recently. The sky was blue. Everything about this just screamed optimism. It just felt like an ordinary winter’s day, back before the power went out.
And this supposed safe haven was getting closer and closer.
He stood in front of the sign. The rest of his people were by his side. Even Trent smiled when he saw it, even with Pete and Jack’s rifle pointed at him.
