by Wood, Rick
Gus retracted his fist and launched it into Donny’s face, again, and again, and again.
Donny barely winced.
He threw Gus into the mossy brick wall and, as he landed, Gus was sure he could feel something crack in his lower back.
Donny went for Gus again, but Gus, predicting the move, jumped up and ran, moving further into what was once a playground, and what was now a soggy mess covered with calamity. Drawings on the floor of ladders and games like hopscotch faded into faint chalk outlines, Gus’s ankles growing muddy against the splash of puddles.
He sprinted, moving his arms up and down, his thighs doing most of the work, a succession of movement designed to escape.
Then what?
As he ran, the question Gus had neglected formed with unmistakable comprehension.
Was he just going to keep running?
There were only more walls at the end of this playground. Only more classrooms for him to run into. Was he just going to keep running?
No.
He stopped.
He turned.
He faced Donny, who merely marched toward him, the width of his paces carrying him closer with ease.
Gus couldn’t fight Donny.
Gus couldn’t run from Donny.
Now what?
“Donny!” Gus shouted.
Donny was undeterred.
“Donny, stop!”
Donny’s face suffered a brief flicker of perturbance, a frown that showed how little he was bothered.
“Donny, please, man, you got to listen to me,” Gus beseeched him.
Gus’s whole life, he’d fought. Fought against his teachers, his parents, his enemies, even his friends; the few he’d had, however fleeting those friendships were. He’d fought against the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, he’d fought against the Taliban, and, more recently, he’d even fought against his own oppressive government.
He’d fought the infected. He’d fought those closest to him. He’d even fought himself.
This was the time that fighting stopped.
This was the one time he would not win with his fists or his blade or his bullets.
So what else was there? What else did he have?
Donny slowed down, approached Gus with a sneaky slant in his smirk, a knowing look; a look that said the power was his and all it would take was one swipe.
“Please, Donny, you’re only doing this ’cause of what they done to you. It ain’t real. It ain’t. You just got to–”
Gus bowed his head. Ran his hands over his face and through his hair.
When he looked up, Donny was holding his arms out mockingly, as if to say he was awaiting this great speech that was going to entice him to stop.
Gus went to speak.
But what could he say that hadn’t already been said? Already been thought? Already fallen on ears that would rather not listen?
“What about Sadie?” Gus tried. “What about her?”
Donny sauntered closer, still wearing that infuriating smile.
“Sadie is the one who made me go back for you. When those cannibals had you, I was done, I was going to leave. But she’s the one who made me turn back.”
Donny withdrew his blade.
“If it weren’t for her, they’d have eaten you, and you wouldn’t be here right now, doing this to me. There wouldn’t be any of this.”
Donny punched a nearby classroom window, smashing it into fragments. He peeled away the biggest slab of glass he could find and inspected its sharpness.
He picked up the pace of his walk, holding the lethal point by his side.
“In truth, I’m glad she did,” Gus tried. “I am. ’Cause you taught me so much. You taught me about putting up with people who piss me off. How they aren’t all that bad.” Gus laughed. “Because boy, did you piss me off, especially at first. Probably even more than you’re pissing me off now.”
Donny’s sarcastic grin left, replaced by a face curled with hostility.
“And now you’re going to kill me.”
Donny charged, holding his weapon in the air, ready to strike.
A few months or so ago
Chapter Forty-Nine
A peaceful half-crescent moon paraded itself proudly in the sky. Its calm serenity fed through Gus. He liked the night, always had. Its dark concealed the shadows, its tranquillity hiding the bustle that was caused by everyone being awake.
“Hey,” came Donny’s voice behind him, startling him.
Oh, great. Company. Just what Gus didn’t want.
This whole expedition to rescue this little girl, going into the pit of the infected that was London, risking his life, that was fine; it was the company he could do without.
Still, Donny had shot a gun for the first time for Gus. He had finally been useful.
Maybe he should cut the kid some slack.
“What’s up?” Gus asked.
“Not much. Mind if I join you for ten minutes or so?”
Gus sighed. Did he have a choice?
“Go for it.”
Donny walked over and sat down on the grassy verge beside him. Across a few trees and a few bushes, he could see Sadie asleep, her chest rising up, her mind escaping into her unconscious state.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Donny blurted out.
“What you sorry for?”
“Well, me, not shooting the gun – it was dangerous. It put us all in danger. It was… stupid.”
Gus shrugged. “First time shooting a gun, not hard.”
“Yeah, but at one of the infected. It wasn’t even a person, it was one of the friggin’ zombies.”
Gus snorted. Zombies. Felt crazy to call them that, but that’s what he guessed they were.
“It was always so easy on my computer game,” Donny stated.
“Oh, yeah, you like computer games?”
“Love ’em.”
“What’s your favourite?”
“Quake. Halo.”
“Halo? Ain’t that old now?”
Donny shrugged. “I love the retro stuff. Feels nostalgic.”
“I used to play that before my kid came along.”
Gus bowed his head. Why did he have to mention his daughter? He hoped Donny didn’t ask any further questions.
“You must miss them, huh?”
Dammit.
“Yeah.”
A moment of lingering silence hung between them.
“I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking of how I screwed up. I just – I’m so sorry, Gus.”
“Just shut up about it, yeah?”
“But–”
“Just–” Gus raised his hand. Donny fell silent.
They sat in silence. After the silence had been too prolonged, Donny reluctantly went to get up.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you, I–”
“I envy you,” Gus interrupted.
Donny didn’t move. Turned back.
“You what?”
Gus sighed.
“When I first had to kill one of those things, when I saw it change, when I saw it go to bite someone, I didn’t even hesitate. I didn’t even cough. I just did it. That’s the worst thing.”
“Yeah, but you were ruled by instinct,” Donny said. “And you had the guts to go with what you thought was right. What you knew was right.”
“No, it weren’t nothing like that. I just saw them, thought, them or me, and did it. First time in the army I had to kill a man, it kept me awake for a few nights, then the next one, it bugged me for ten minutes, then the next one… Didn’t even register. I went back and had my tea and slept soundly.”
“But they were the enemy.”
“Yeah, it’s still a life. And I hate how easy I find it to take one. And I envy how tough it is for you.”
Donny’s head dropped.
“I respect you for it,” Gus said, standing. “I do. I really do. But next time – pull the trigger. Living is worth a few sleepless nights.”
Gus went to walk away, then paused, turned
back to Donny.
“Hey, kid,” Gus said.
“Yeah?”
Gus forced a smile.
“You’re all right.”
Gus meandered further into the woods on his walkabout, leaving Donny stood there, undecidedly chuffed.
Why he was chuffed, he didn’t know.
He hadn’t craved Gus’ respect. He had wished to have a civil conversation, but he hadn’t sat around thinking that Gus and he should be best friends.
But, now that he had the man’s respect – he felt like it would be something he would hold onto until the day they died.
The Trap
Chapter Fifty
Gus blocked the initial strike from Donny’s hand that held the sharp, broken shard of glass. Gus knocked it into a nearby puddle.
It didn’t deter Donny. He didn’t need it. Gus failed to block Donny’s fist as it launched forward and planted itself through Gus’s face.
Immediately, Gus felt his nose crack. He fell to the floor faster than he was able to comprehend. He closed his eyes, shutting out the pain.
Donny lifted Gus by the collar once more and laid his fist right back into that face, sending Gus soaring back to the wet surface.
It went blank for a second, but Gus kept his consciousness. His awareness was going, but that was fine, he could survive without it; it was his consciousness he needed to retain.
Gus didn’t bother getting up. He stayed on his back. In the distance, Desert and Whizzo appeared. Whizzo had some big gun.
Gus held his hand up, slightly, just enough for Desert and Whizzo to notice, but Donny not to register. They halted, and he locked eye contact with them and shook his head.
This was a fight he had to do on his own.
He knew, just as well as they did, that if they entered the fight it would be to kill Donny. Gus knew what Whizzo was holding in his hand, and he knew what it could do.
Whatever happened, Gus would not let one of his few friends in this world die – even if that friend was pummelling him to the final inches of his life.
Donny’s fist soared downwards once more, causing Gus’s slightly raised head to jar against the cement. Blood mixed from the back of his head, diluted by a puddle.
His eye blinked. He could not longer open it. It had been battered shut. His other eye, he could just about lift his eyelid.
“Donny…” he tried, but it came out in a wheeze, barely audible against the rain’s savage bombardment.
Donny lifted his arm back once again.
Gus winced, readying himself for impact. Would this be it? How many punches was it going to take to kill him?
“Donny!” came a voice from across the playground. “Donny, come on!”
Donny’s head turned, as did Gus’s; though Gus had to turn his head further to direct his one good eye.
General Boris Hayes stood at the far exit, waving Donny onward.
“Finish him off, we need to go!” Hayes shouted.
Great. Just what Gus needed. Now Hayes is here to watch my best friend murder me.
Gus had always wondered how he’d go. Honestly, for the longest time he’d been sure it would be suicide. Then, he thought it would be starvation in the compound. Now, here was his answer.
“Let’s get on with it, we need to go!” Hayes insisted.
Donny turned back to Gus.
“Please…” Gus begged, forcing the croaks of his voice out.
Another strike, another eye gone.
He could just about open it, but it didn’t matter, everything was a vague blur. If the rain didn’t obscure his peripheral vision, his hazy mind would.
So he kept his eyes closed. He didn’t need them.
“You know what you once said you respected about me,” Gus began, shouting so his voice would be audible.
He felt his collar being lifted. He didn’t bother wincing. The next strike was coming either way. He just relaxed, flopped his body.
“You once told me that you respected me,” Gus said, “because I had the guts to do what I knew was right.”
He felt his body dangle under the strength of Donny’s grip on his collar.
“Because I knew who to kill and who not to.”
He waited.
“And I respected you for finding killing to be so tough…”
He waited some more.
Waited for the impact. The imminent punch.
He waited and waited.
It was not forthcoming.
He was just left in limbo, held by the collar, awaiting his fate.
“You said that…”
He spluttered. Coughed up a bit of blood. Spat it out.
“Living is worth a few sleepless nights.”
He heard nothing but the rain. Felt nothing but the rain. Beating his body.
“That killing was tough for you, and that…”
He choked up another bubble of blood.
“That is why I won’t hurt you. Because you – Donny – are the kind of person I envy.”
He sniggered to himself. Tried to open his eyes, but it still hurt too much.
“You’re the person I wish I was.”
He stopped talking. Rested his voice.
Waited for the final strike.
The final curtain.
The final full stop.
But it never came. That curtain stayed open, the sentence left incomplete.
The grip on his collar loosened and he fell. Hammered back down to earth.
His clothes were drenched, but he hadn’t noticed it until now. His whole body was soaked through. A cold breeze flew in and made him shiver.
But there was nothing else.
He listened.
Nothing.
“Donny?” he asked.
The patters of nearby feet arrived at his side.
He tried to open his eyes, but it was too painful. He let them stay shut.
“Donny, is that you?”
“No, Gus,” came Desert’s voice. “It’s us. We’re going to help you get out of here.”
“Where is Donny?”
A long pause ensued.
“Where is he?”
“He – he left, Gus,” Desert answered. “He left with Hayes.”
Gus smiled. “Good lad.”
“What do you mean, good lad?” Whizzo interjected. “He left with the enemy. He betrayed us, he led us here. How on earth is he a good lad?”
“Because… because he didn’t kill me.”
He attempted to hoist himself up, and that was when he finally allowed himself to fall unconscious.
Two Weeks Later
Chapter Fifty-One
Once again, Gus woke from a long sleep. Like before, a mixture of physical exertion and taking a harsh beating had forced him into a vaguely comatose state. At least this time he was not restrained to a bed; nor did he have Eugene Squire’s smug face standing over him, and no stick-up-his-arse guard waiting outside the door.
Just Desert, sat serenely in the chair next to him.
“Where am I?” he managed, looking around his blank chambers. His eyelids were sore, but he could at least open them.
“A black site.”
“A what?”
“It’s a safe house for the AGA. We had nowhere else we could go, we had to bring you here, but we can’t stay. We don’t know what they know, it might not be safe. Please gather yourself. We’ll leave as soon as we’re able.”
Gus leant his body upward, looking around the room. It was like a tin can, some kind of bomb shelter. From the lack of windows, he assumed it was underground.
He sat up, placing a pillow behind his back and leaning against the wall.
“How long have I been out?”
“Weeks. You haven’t been entirely gone. You’ve dipped in and out a few times, but this is the most we’ve gotten from you since we got you here.”
“Aw, man,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He had a pounding headache.
As he turned and looked at Desert, he sa
w a look of… annoyance, maybe. Irritation. Despondency mixed with the vacant glare of a grudge.
Come to think of it, her voice had been steadily monotone so far, very matter-of-fact. Something was clearly irking her.
“What’s the matter with you?” Gus asked, still readjusting to being awake.
“What do you think is the matter with me?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“We had him with us the whole time. He travelled from our original hideout, to the main headquarters of the AGA – hell, he probably gave away where we were heading.”
Gus shook his head at her. Abhorrently perturbed. How dare she?
“You think this ain’t affected me?” Gus retorted.
“Don’t start.”
“Donny was a friend – besides Sadie, my only friend. I’d give anything for him. Then he threw us under the bus and beat me half to death – do you really think I ain’t pissed, too?”
“He killed Prospero!”
“And how could I have seen that coming?”
“You brought him to us, we didn’t bring him to you.”
“That’s not–” Gus stopped himself. He was shouting. He lowered his voice. “That’s not here or there. You think I could have predicted this?”
“From the way he was acting, if it was so different from the norm – yes.”
“For Christ’s sake, Desert, we’d just spent three-odd months in a compound being tortured. Hell knows what they might have done to him in there. I thought he was bound to have a reaction, there was no way I could have predicted that.”
“Well, you should have.”
Gus nodded sarcastically, then returned to his headache. He could do with some paracetamol or something – but, in the apocalypse, such frivolities were rarely forthcoming.
“So, what now?” Gus asked. “You done with us? We go our separate ways, that what it is?”
Desert shrugged. “You’re the closest thing we have to allies now. As pissed as I am, I don’t know if I want to abandon that.”
“Well I ain’t really much up to being no one’s last resort.”
“It isn’t a last resort. It’s an only resort. And we’re yours.”
Gus raised his eyebrows at her, an action of hopelessness mixed with a lack of ideas.
