by David Moody
“What, you think it’s more than that?” Darren asks, lowering his voice and hoping Parker will do the same.
“Of course it is. Brace yourself, boys. Here comes the sucker punch. She’s setting us up for the big one.”
Estelle clears her throat. The crowd inside the service station is completely silent, almost too quiet. “As I said, there was another attempt to hit us during the early hours. Unlike the previous attacks, this was a far smaller, lower-scale incursion that was swiftly repelled. We deliberately allowed several of the attackers to get away, and Moira was able to track them. She saw … no, wait, it’s probably better if I let Moira tell you herself.”
There’s a brief pause as the two soldiers change places. Moira’s no public speaker, but she’s seen so much that it’s hard to keep the words swallowed down. “Everything Estelle just said is true,” she begins. “Our enemy is a pack of low-down, dirty fucking animals.”
Cue more cheering.
When the noise drops, she carries on. “There’s a village a few miles northeast of here called Longstanton. That’s where they are. Don’t look like they’ve been there long, and it don’t look like they intend on staying there, either. I was watching them for quite a while, and I reckon there’s a hundred and fifty of them left, two hundred tops. Jeez, like Estelle says, they don’t look good. They’re in bad shape, like they’ve forgotten how to be people. Most of them are dressed in rags, eating scraps … like a frigging concentration camp, it was. We can’t write them off completely, though, ’cause there’s definitely some kind of order there, an obvious chain of command.
“In terms of gear, they don’t have a lot. Plenty of vehicles, not a lot else. We can’t assume they’re unarmed, but I don’t reckon they’ve got much firepower behind them, if any. Bottom line is, from what I’ve seen, it looks like there’s fewer of them than us now, and they don’t have a fraction of the equipment we have.”
“Trouble is,” Dean whispers to the others around him, “we’ve only got a fraction of the equipment we had, too.”
Estelle thanks Moira and turns back to address her people again. “So the information Moira’s given us today has helped Greg Chappell and I to crystallize our thinking.”
“Here it comes,” Parker warns again.
“The way we see it, we have two options. We can sit here and wait for more drip-fed attacks and take the enemy out piece by piece, or we can take a more proactive approach. I think you’re all as tired of fighting as we are, so the sooner we can bring this to an end, the better. I’ve ordered plans to be drawn up to launch an offensive on Longstanton. We’ll hit the enemy hard when they’re expecting it least. We’re under no illusions—it’ll be a hard fight—but my team and I believe the potential rewards far outweigh the risks.”
This time, the reaction of the crowd is muted, far more mixed. There’s a definite split—the CDF fighters who are trained and armed and ready for battle are vociferous, the civilians and support staff far less so. To her credit, Estelle appears aware.
“Look, before I go any further, I want to say to you all categorically that I’m not asking anyone who isn’t prepared to pick up a weapon to fight on the front line—not yet, anyway. I know there are many of you who would struggle with that, and if I’m honest, you’re the last people I want out there. What I am saying, though, is that when we launch this offensive, there will inevitably be huge ramifications for all of us.”
“Hear that?” Parker says, nudging Darren. “She’s not asking us to fight at the moment. It’ll be different if it all goes tits up.”
“When,” Joseph corrects him.
“Quit griping,” Darren snaps at them both. “She knows what she’s talking about. She’s seen us all right so far, hasn’t she?”
“So far,” Parker mutters.
There’s another pause as the masses digest Estelle’s words. She waits, then elaborates.
“Our brave men and women at the front will need the support of all of us. From the moment our attack begins until the final Hater is killed, our entire focus will be on the battle. Things will be difficult until then—harder than any of us have known so far, perhaps—but this is essential. We’ve come so far, survived so much … all I’m asking is for you all to stand behind our soldiers and support them until the deed is done.”
“She’s not asking, she’s telling,” Joseph says, but the increasingly vocal CDF contingent drowns out his dissent.
“We need to activate our contingency plan,” Dean whispers to Joseph, concerned by the increase in chest-beating and warmongering.
At the other end of the building, Estelle has the crowd at fever pitch. “One more huge push, that’s all it’s going to take. One last battle and we’ll have removed the Hater scourge from this place forever. Imagine being free to go outside again without fear. Free to talk and debate and argue … Free to live!”
48
Cambridge
The area around the university is desolate, but the scars of the Hater occupation are visible everywhere: the litter and ruin, the forgotten bodies and burned-out fires, the abandoned buildings with their doors left hanging open, the intentionally blocked roads. Persistent gray rain adds to the gutter lakes that have formed around clogged drains.
There are only a handful of people left around here now. Some move back and forth between the university and the camp at Longstanton, finding more weapons and supplies to transport to the front, replacing vehicles and scavenging spare parts. Others watch from the shadows, hiding. These people are reluctant non-fighters. This is a safe haven for them temporarily, at least until Johannson returns.
Gordon Carter was a museum curator back in the day. The Hate has stripped everything he valued from what’s left of his life. He’s never been a particularly physical man, and until he was forced to kill his partner when the change overtook him, he’d never hit or hurt anyone. That’s not to say he didn’t feel the same sense of necessity and euphoria when he was killing Unchanged during the early days of the war, but as their numbers quickly dwindled, so did his appetite for conflict. He feels like he used to now; normal Gordon, cultured Gordon, refined Gordon.
He spends most of his time with a group of four others—two men, two women—all of whom are equally ill-equipped for survival in this brutal environment. Marie, Ralph, Jamie, and Helen are like him: weak and afraid, eking out a miserable existence in the shadows, living off the scraps the rest of them discard. He came out here today looking for food, but he’s allowed himself to be distracted by the beauty of the interior of this great hall. Much of it has been defaced or destroyed, but so much still remains intact. The paneling, those windows, and that ceiling—oh, that ceiling—are still magnificent, protected for now by their height above everything else. Gordon finds it impossible to believe there could be anything more beautiful than this hall left in this shell of a world today. It’s Georgian Gothic, and as he wanders alone through its splendor, he tries to imagine how many kings and queens and other dignitaries have dined here and how many—
“What the fuck are you doing in here, you useless cunt?”
Gordon freezes. Legs turn to lead. He turns around slowly. “Just wondering where everyone was, Mr. Bryce.”
“You know where they are. So why aren’t you there?”
“I’m not a fighter. You can see that…”
“So what are you, then? From where I’m standing, you look like a fucking thief trying to nick food from the chief.”
Gordon holds his hands up in surrender. “I’ve taken nothing. I’m sorry. I swear, I was just trying to—”
Bryce is having none of it. “You lying bastard. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t haul you up in front of Johannson and tell her what I found you doing in her office.”
“Please … don’t do that. I’m ready to fight. I was just looking for something to fight with. Honestly, I—”
Another voice silences his terrified chattering. It’s Danny McCoyne. “Bryce, leave it. I think we’ve got a
problem.”
Bryce turns around and looks at McCoyne in the doorway. Then he looks past him, but he can’t immediately see anything.
“What?”
“Something’s not right.”
“You’re going to have to give me more to go on than that.”
“Can’t you hear it?”
Gordon seizes his moment and runs deeper into the building. Bryce exits the college hall and stands in the rubbish-strewn square outside, sniffing the air, listening intently. He can hear it now. Engines approaching. Many engines.
“Unchanged?” he asks, his head filling with nightmare images of the enemy’s tanks rolling in to obliterate Johannson’s stronghold and him being the only one here to defend it.
“Don’t think so. Listen again.”
“Stop playing games with me, McCoyne. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
“What I’m thinking is this is bad news, because whoever that is, they’re coming from the east. Unless they’ve taken a massive detour—and there’d be no point in them doing that—then this isn’t to do with the Unchanged. They’d have come from the west.”
“Thacker,” Bryce surmises.
“Has to be. Thacker’s the only one who knows where Johannson’s based. Come on, Bryce, we need to get out of here.”
“We’re going nowhere,” Bryce says. “This is exactly where we need to be.”
McCoyne thinks Bryce looks unnaturally calm, and that scares him more than anything. He steps back and tucks himself into the shadows of the college building’s porch and watches. “You stay there,” Bryce warns him. “Don’t you fucking move.”
The bright lights of the convoy come into view. Christ, from here the line appears endless. If each vehicle has a full complement of passengers, then there are hundreds of Haters approaching, maybe as many as a thousand. Bryce swallows hard, hoping he looks more confident than he feels.
“Seriously, Bryce,” McCoyne whines as the first few vehicles pull up, “this is a really fucking bad idea. I think we should go.”
“You’re so bloody naïve. Look at the numbers they’ve got. Don’t you get it? Fuck Johannson; it’s these people we need onside. This, my pathetic little friend, is an opportunity for career progression presenting itself.”
Thacker’s army stretches back for more than a mile, the mist and rain obscuring many of the vehicles farther back. Bryce walks up to the lead 4 × 4. He’s fucking terrified, but he’s determined not to let it show.
A distinctive-looking fighter emerges. Bryce recognizes him from before. “It’s Hinchcliffe, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Karl Bryce. I was here before when you killed that prick Pinchy.”
“And why are you still loitering around here when everyone else clearly appears to have fucked off, Karl Bryce?”
Bryce awkwardly shifts his weight from foot to foot.
“Difference of opinion with the boss,” he lies.
“How so?”
“Don’t agree with her tactics. There’s a bunch of Unchanged. She’s taking her time getting rid of them.”
“Unchanged? Seriously? Fuck me. You only just found them?”
“Few days back. They’re well dug in and heavily armed. Military.”
“And they’re still breathing?”
“Just.”
“But they are still breathing?”
“Yeah. That’s what I mean. Johannson’s methods are all wrong.”
“And I assume you’ve told her that? That’s why you’re hiding here on your own while they’re all off fighting? You’re protesting her tactics?”
“It’s not like that.”
“What, so you’re a coward, then? That’s how it looks from where I’m standing.”
“I swear, I—”
“To be honest, mate, I’m not interested. Where is your glorious leader?”
“I’ll take you.”
“Just tell me.”
Bryce’s heart is racing. His right eye twitches with nerves. Hinchcliffe, by comparison, appears unflappable. His calmness is a hundred times more terrifying than Johannson’s aggression. Bryce knows he can’t afford to crack now.
“You won’t find it. I’ll take you.”
“You’re an insistent little fella.”
“My vehicle’s just here. Follow me and I’ll take you right to her.”
“Why should I waste my time with the likes of you?”
“I won’t piss you around, Hinchcliffe. I want the same thing you do. I want Johannson gone and the Unchanged dead, and I’ve got information that could be useful.”
“Such as?”
“I know a hell of a lot more about the Unchanged setup than she does.”
“And how did you get that kind of info?”
Bryce looks around for McCoyne, who’s disappeared. Fucking coward. “I have a source. Bit of a freak, but he does the job.”
Hinchcliffe thinks for a second.
“Interesting. Okay, lead the way. Just keep in mind what happened to your friend Mr. Pinch when he annoyed me, though, won’t you?”
49
The CDF Outpost
It’s like working on a chain gang, but no one’s complaining. Despite what’s looming on the immediate horizon, grafting like this is strangely cathartic. It helps with the nerves, even for those who aren’t sure about Estelle’s plans. Whether you think you’re able to fight or not, there’s no question it makes sense to ensure the CDF army is as well equipped as possible when it goes into battle.
The parking lot and the rest of the immediate area around the service station and hotel has been cleared of debris; the rubbish piled up around the buildings, forming further obstructions and giving the military increased options, recycling on a grand scale. Beyond the trenches, vehicle wrecks are shifted to be used as barricades and forward gun positions. The remaining heavy weaponry available to the CDF is given increased prominence and visibility as a deterrent.
More Hater bodies are cleared from the battlefield and are being burned in a deliberately visible pyre now that it no longer matters, not left to rot down to mulch. Clothing, food, weapons, drugs … everything is in short supply these days, and there are more civilians than ever out here stripping the carcasses before they’re torched.
Inside the service station, the activity is equally frenetic. There are some people with specialist skills—Tracy Barnish and another GP, several teachers, and trained support workers who look after the few remaining kids—but the bulk of the group are just worker ants, keeping the wheels of the outpost turning by cleaning, repairing, and distributing rations to the fighters.
Parker and Dean were supposed to be helping Darren feed the soldiers preparing for battle. Problem is they’ve disappeared. Darren’s lost them. One minute, they were carrying water from the service station to the hotel; the next, they’d both disappeared. Damn shirkers. Darren’s sick of people like them who don’t pull their weight.
When he spots Dean through the driving rain, heading in completely the wrong direction toward the mass of vehicles in what used to be the construction workers’ compound, Darren chases after him, incensed. Dean’s focused on whatever he’s doing, and he doesn’t realize he’s being followed until Darren catches hold of his shoulder and spins him around. “What the hell are you up to?” he demands.
“Calm down, Darren, I just—”
“Calm down? Jesus Christ, don’t tell me to calm down. We’re on the verge of all-out war here. I catch you making a run for it, and you’ve got the nerve to tell me to calm down?”
Darren realizes Dean’s also carrying a decent-sized stash of food in a rucksack slung over one shoulder. “It’s not how it looks,” Dean says quickly.
“You reckon? I think it’s exactly how it looks. You’re stealing from the rest of us and covering your own back. Frigging coward. Wait till I tell Estelle about this. She’ll have you strung up for—”
“Don’t do that, Darren.”
&
nbsp; “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
Joseph Mallon appears from around the side of a massive excavating machine. “Because you’d be making a huge mistake if you did,” he says, wiping dripping rainwater from his face. “Same as Estelle is.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not. Look, all we’re doing is putting measures in place just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case things don’t turn out the way she’s planning.”
Darren pushes past Joseph. Around the corner, right in the middle of this maze of broken machines, is a truck that’s already a quarter filled with looted supplies. “You thieving bastards,” he says, and he turns to go get help.
Parker has appeared and is blocking his way through.
“I’m not going to let you do this, Darren.”
“This is an insurance policy,” Joseph explains, standing directly behind him.
“Insurance for who?”
“All of us.”
“Bullshit. You’re out for yourselves, fuck everyone else. Christ, do you not see how pointless this is?”
“What, the fighting?” Dean goads.
“No, what you’re doing. What do you think’s going to happen? Are you just going to try sneaking out the back door? The only chance of any of us getting through this is if we’re all pulling in the same direction.” He pauses and looks again at the relative mountain of supplies they’ve looted. “Where the hell did you get all that from, anyway?”
“We’ve been siphoning it off for some time,” Parker admits.
“Just you three?”
“A few others.”
“Fuck’s sake … who? How many others?”
“That’s not important.”
“Of course it’s important. We won’t stand any chance of winning if half of us are going to run away as soon as the fighting starts up again.”
“No one said anything about running away. Like Joseph says, this is a contingency. Aaron Rayner knows we need to—”
“Aaron’s in on this?”
“He’s aware, yes. Listen, you need to think very carefully before you start stirring things up.”
