by Ryan Casey
I looked at him and gritted my teeth together. I saw the two options in front of me. Join them, and stand a chance of getting Holly, Sue and Aiden back. Or walk away, and stand no chance.
Both sides had their risks.
Both approaches had a slim chance of a happy ending.
But which had the better chance?
“I don’t expect a decision right away—”
“We’ll help you.”
Phillip frowned, like he was surprised to hear how sure I was. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I said, pouring myself another glass of water. “But if it gives a little girl a chance of getting back with her family, then it’s all I’ve got.”
I took a sip.
“And if it gets me a chance to reunite with the woman I’ve fallen for, then I have to take it.”
Phillip smiled. He stretched a hand across the table. “You won’t regret this.”
I hesitated for a few seconds. Then, I put my hand in his. “I hope I don’t.”
I looked out of the window and saw Holly smiling as she stroked Lionel. She made eye contact with me and waved.
I lifted a hand and waved back at her.
I hoped to God I’d made the right call.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was later that night that I finally got an opportunity to speak with Haz, and it might just be the conversation that changed everything.
Haz was outside his temporary caravan, by the woods. We’d all been given temporary residences until the meeting we were having tomorrow, which would then result in our plan to go after Mike’s group in order to free his prisoners. It seemed strange, the knowledge that we were “going to war.” Archaic, almost, like we were living out the lives on some far-fetched TV show.
And yet it was real. I’d agreed to it. And by extension, I’d signed Haz and Remy up for it, too.
I felt a little guilty about that. Remy, I had no concerns about. But Haz. Well, Haz could be a little… reluctant.
“You okay about what’s going to happen?” I asked.
Haz looked up at me. He was messing about with some new trap method he’d thought up, but he didn’t seem to be making much progress. The idea was to set a trigger that pulled the animal into the air when it pulled against the noose, using the branch of a tree that had been dragged down. He called it a spring snare. He didn’t seem to be having much luck with it, though. Didn’t help that Lionel was wandering around him, constantly distracting him, eager for him to throw something for him to run after. He glared at me like I’d distracted him. “What about?”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “The meeting. Then… going after the others.”
Haz nodded, like he’d only just realised what I was talking about. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“But are you okay with it?”
“Are you okay with it?”
Haz’s reversal of the question onto me made me feel uneasy. “I agreed to it.”
“You agreed to it, sure. But sometimes we agree to all kinds of things we don’t want for the greater good.”
“I want to do this.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I looked at Haz. He was smiling.
“Scotty-boy, I know what you’re like. You’re a good dude. But I’ve seen how much you, like, recoil when you so much as glance at someone you don’t know. You don’t trust anyone. And I’m starting to wonder if you even trust yourself.”
I lowered my head. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
“I know you trusted me. I know you found it in your heart to let me come with you that first day.”
“You were going on a lot. I didn’t really have a choice.”
Haz smirked back at me. “Don’t lie. You did it because you didn’t want to be alone. And now things have gone south and suddenly you just want to run away again? From Hannah?”
I felt a lump in my throat. “I’m not running away.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I’ve heard the banter you guys had. And honestly, I was jealous. She’s a great looking woman. She’s intelligent. She’s got her head screwed on. Obviously you are none of those things, but you get the idea.”
He laughed a little, and I found myself smirking too. “You’re a good friend. And I never really had a chance to say sorry. About Jenny.”
Haz lowered his head. For a second, the contentedness slipped off his face, and I saw the real Haz underneath—the pain he felt, how much of a toll this was all taking on him.
Then he looked back up at me and smiled in the most defeated way I could imagine. “That’s how this world can be. But the same fate isn’t going to come to Hannah.
He stood up then, and I stood up too.
“You trusted me. When everything went to shit, you trusted yourself to trust me. Remember how that felt. Be that person again.”
I nodded at Haz, shook his hand, and then he disappeared into his caravan and left me standing there alone in front of the caravan.
I turned around and walked to the edge of his balcony. I looked across the caravan site, into the woods, into the darkness.
Whatever was out there, I was going to find Hannah and the others.
I was going to get them back.
I was going to find it in myself to trust myself, just like Haz said.
I went back to my caravan, let myself in, and collapsed onto the bed, my back still aching from the time I’d spent tied up to that wall.
I wanted to stay awake a while, mull over tomorrow, over my predicament, over all of this, but I felt my eyelids getting heavy, and it wasn’t long before I drifted into a deep sleep, with dreams of burning, of screaming, and the pain of loneliness more crushing and intense than ever, chewing down on me and swallowing me whole…
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mike Crayford looked at the prisoners lined up in front of him and couldn’t help smiling.
They looked so fragile as they stood there in the light of the sun. He’d stripped them of most of their clothes, reducing them to nothing more than what they really were. Giving them clothes gave them humanity, and Mike wanted to make sure they didn’t see the same level of humanity.
They were just cattle.
His cattle.
And he was going to have a lot of fun with them.
He saw a man with a bald head shivering as he stood at the end of the group, the sun not doing a thing to warm them up as autumn rapidly progressed. He could hear the whimpers of others, and the sniffling of another. They were so sick. They were so worn down.
They were just as he wanted them.
He walked slowly in front of them as they stood in the middle of the caravan site. Behind him, four of his people. All of them armed, ready to fire, in case of any rebellion from any of them. He’d been lucky to find the weapons he had in his possession. He was thankful for that conspiracy nut job they’d stolen them from every single day.
“I’m assuming you’re wondering why I’m doing this to you,” Mike said. “What there is in it for me. And what your purpose is.”
He stopped in front of the woman called Sue. The one whose son he’d taken away and put in solitary confinement. He hadn’t hurt him. Of course he hadn’t hurt him. He was just a boy. What kind of psycho would hurting him make Mike?
He saw Sue’s eyes searching him with such hate, but at the same time, such a dim hope. “My son. Just—just let him be safe. Please.”
Mike opened his mouth, like he was planning on telling Sue the truth about her son—that he was absolutely fine and being looked after well. After all, children were the future. It was only right that they were brought up to understand the way the world worked.
And besides. He kind of liked having his own little projects to put his world views and thoughts onto. It was like having his very own pet lab rats.
He walked away from Sue, past a few other spluttering, terrified people, and he stopped when he reached the woman that was with her. Hannah, she was called. He scanned her,
head to toe. She was a good looking woman. He wanted her, there was no doubt about that. And people in his camp wanted her, too.
But he had a rule. A part of the order. No sexual assault. That was the work of savages.
They weren’t savages. They were just trying to spread the good word of their leadership.
“You might think you’ve been dealt a tough hand,” Mike said, walking further along the group of prisoners. “You might think your capture is the worst thing ever to happen to you. But believe me. It isn’t. Martin?”
Martin, one of his loyal people, walked over to him. He had shovels in his hands.
“These shovels are our property. But they are yours. You are going to dig the soil, and you are going to plant vegetables. Some of you are going to tend to the gardens. Others are going to work in mechanics, others with animals. Others, you’ll go out as scouts. And others…”
Mike walked over to Hannah, smiled at her.
“Well. We’ll find a job for everybody.”
“This isn’t right.”
Mike heard the voice from behind and his skin crawled. That voice didn’t come from one of the prisoners. It came from one of his people.
He turned around and he saw Ciaran standing there, staring into the distance, shaking his head.
“What did you just say?”
Ciaran didn’t look at him when he spoke. “What we’re doing. It—it isn’t right. These people should have a choice.”
The prisoners started chattering. The notion was in their minds now. They could have a choice. One of Mike’s people had said it, so that had the potential to do more damage than anything. He needed to control this situation. And he needed to do it, fast.
He walked over to Ciaran. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. We have concerns. There are ways in which our situation here could be better. That much is clear.”
“He’s right,” one of the prisoners called.
“We should have a choice!” another shouted.
Mike looked back at the prisoners, all of them growing gradually more irate.
As he looked at them, one by one, he felt bad. Because what he was going to do wasn’t the initial plan. It was what they’d driven him to.
“They’re right,” Ciaran said. “We—we can’t do this.”
Mike turned back to Ciaran.
He tilted his head and smiled.
“No.”
Then he rammed a knife into Ciaran’s belly.
Ciaran’s eyes widened. He gasped, his mouth bubbling as he looked down at the stab wound.
Then Mike pulled the knife out of Ciaran’s body and grabbed his gun from his weakened hands.
He turned to the prisoners and lifted his gun. “You think you have a choice?”
He pulled the trigger, took down the snivelling man.
“You think this looks like a choice?”
He turned the gun on the bald man, shot him too.
As the pair of them fell, he saw the looks on the faces of the rest of the prisoners. The way they stared down in shock and disbelief. The way the flowers of mutiny wilted in the September sun.
Mike lowered his gun. His heart raced. His chest was tight. “If you so much as think about standing up to me again, it’ll be worse. Far worse. You understand?”
A few muffled agreements.
“Do you understand?!”
“Yes!”
Mike nodded. “Good.”
He looked down at Ciaran’s body as the light drifted from his eyes.
“Should we bury him?” Walter asked.
Mike gritted his teeth. “Take off his head, along with the heads of the two I shot. Hang them from the ceiling of the prisoner’s caravan as a reminder of what happens when they try to revolt.”
He looked back at the prisoners then, making eye contact with Hannah, with Sue.
“We will talk more about your new roles tomorrow.”
Then, Mike walked away, away from the prisoners, away from his companions, and away from the stench of death lingering in the air, as the sun beamed down and the birds sang their beautiful songs.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was the morning of the meeting but I was up especially early because I wanted to make a bow and some arrows of my own.
The sun was barely up but I was outside the camp, in the woods, just Lionel by my side. Haz had told me about the best way to make one, and although my memory was clouded, I was determined to get it right. If we were marching into conflict, I wanted more than just a knife in my hand, especially now that Phillip had told me his weapons and supplies were out of bounds. I wanted something that could take a few people out right off the bat—especially considering I knew how to fire an arrow, having taken an archery course for a few weeks several years ago.
Sure, I was hardly Robin Hood. But I was already at an advantage over the rest of the population.
I found a long, dry piece of wood, around six feet in length. I looked for the natural curve in the wood, then I made a few marks several centimetres above and below the centre of the bow.
After that, it was just a case of shaping it.
I put the bottom of the bow onto the ground, resting the top end up against me, then started shaving away at the belly of the bow, thinning it so that the whole thing was just as flexible right the way across. I kept on going, shaving away, checking my progress—and mostly worriedly trying to remember what the next step Haz told me was.
I knew it was probably all futile. But at least I was attempting to do something. At least I was being proactive, in a sense.
I wasn’t just going to back down, not anymore. And as much as the march to save Hannah, Holly and Sue was going to be difficult, potentially life-ending, at least I’d show I was capable of doing something for myself.
Then, I heard a crack.
The piece of wood snapped in two.
Lionel tilted his head at me, wondering whether I’d done something wrong.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I have, boy. You want a go?”
I sat there, clenching my fists together. I wanted to cry out with frustration.
But then I stopped, because I saw someone approaching me.
I lifted the knife, readied myself to fight back.
“Hey,” a woman’s voice said. “It’s me. Jacqui. From back at camp.”
It took me a few seconds but I recognised Jacqui, and relief filled my body. “Oh. Jacqui. Hi.”
“What’re you doing there?”
“Nothing.”
“It looks like you’re doing something.”
“I was…”
“Oh, shit. You’re trying to make a bow and arrow, aren’t you? Modern day Robin Hood and all that?”
I felt my cheeks flush. “I was just trying to do something proactive. Before we go after Mike’s group.”
“Well, that’s sweet of you. Really, it is. But we have a whole load of knives and blades and other melee weapons over in the supply caravan at the back of the site. The one under the trees.”
The back of the site. The caravan under the trees. At least now I knew where Phillip’s supply van was, in case I needed it. “I know. I just…”
I didn’t finish what I was saying. Instead, I searched for another log.
Jacqui crouched down beside me. She took the knife from my hand, started moving it slower up and down the log. “You’re being too rough with it. Putting too much pressure on the top of it. You need to hold it lightly and just trust that it won’t break.”
She started doing it, demonstrating how I should’ve been doing it myself.
“And you’re some kind of expert, are you?” I asked.
Jacqui laughed. “Not exactly. But hey. I’m doing a better job than you, right?”
She smiled at me.
And as much as I didn’t want to bond with anyone else, I found myself smiling back at her, too.
The smile broke when the log snapped, and Jacqui was left looking an idiot.
“Oh,” she said. She looked up
at me, almost laughing. She threw the stick for Lionel, who bolted after it, before bringing it back. “Looks like I’m not such a pro after all.”
“It’d seem so.”
She stood up, started walking away. “Say, you fancy breakfast? I’ve got some porridge oats. Cinnamon flavour. Only bring them out for the special occasions.”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to walk away with Jacqui, have breakfast with her.
But I just couldn’t.
“I’ll see you at the meeting,” I said.
For a moment, I saw a flicker of disappointment on Jacqui’s face.
And as I watched her walk away, I wanted to reach out to her, tell her I would have breakfast after all, instead of freezing my ass off out here trying to make a bloody bow and arrow.
If only I knew how things were going to turn out.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mike looked over his camp and took a deep breath as the morning sun rose into the sky.
He always liked sunrise. It reminded him of holidays away when he was just a child. His dad used to carry him on his shoulders, run across the beach with him, and he would laugh for so long, begging his dad to repeat it again and again.
The man wasn’t his real dad. Mum just told him he could call him that, if he wanted to. But Mike had liked him. He’d been kind to him. Far, far kinder than his real dad, who Mike had never even known.
But for as long as that father-son relationship seemed to last, one day, it ended. Mum started packing her bags in the middle of the dingy little flat, where they slept in the same bedroom and where Mike had to disappear when Mum had friends around so he didn’t get in the way. She told him they were going, that Stan—his “dad”—wasn’t the man he thought he was, and as sad as Mike had been, they’d gone.
Things had got a lot worse after that. The bedrooms got smaller. The men got nastier. But Mum kept on promising that one day, things would get better.
And they had. Looking over his camp, over towards his prisoners, he realised that things had got a lot better. There was nobody to stamp him down anymore. There was nobody to tell him what he was doing right, what he was doing wrong. There was just him, and the people just below him who did what he asked, and the people below them who served.
