IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  Of course, the people of Bately had been through the impact, and its aftermath. This made them better suited to face hardship. But war… war was different.

  The patrol teams had reported nothing unusual. A few vagrants lurking around, but little to worry about. Neeson had decided to send another team out on night patrol. Although there was no clear indication of danger, he had told them to make sure they were heavily armed. They looked surprised, but asked no questions. As Bill had ordered, two Guard members were to monitor the CCTV video feeds throughout the night.

  Same old, same old, really.

  Except, that fire kept nagging at the back of his mind. The brighter it shone, in his imagination, the darker things appeared to be.

  A knock rattled at his front door. Quick, urgent thumps.

  Neeson rose slowly, holding his breath. He felt he knew exactly what was going to happen, once that door was opened. How things would unfold. As it turned out, he was right.

  Two Guard members. Young ones, faces pale. One of them was so nervous, he forgot to salute. Neeson decided he could forgive him.

  “Go on,” he said. Tell me what I already know.

  “I think we’re under attack, sir.”

  Chapter 22

  To Bately Castle

  Adrian was sleeping, when he felt a hand on his back.

  He didn’t remember falling asleep. He’d been listening to Alice’s soft, even breathing, as thoughts crowded his mind. Thoughts of setting off again, alone with her. Going back to being the only one capable of protecting her. The only man by her side. But she was sleeping so peacefully, after so many months out in the open, fearing for their lives. It felt wrong to snatch her away from the warmth they had found, here. But it was all so different from what he had expected, with aunt Hellen gone.

  The stream of thoughts had flowed unevenly, with images of Alice overlapping with those of monstrous ’wraiths, of broken landscapes, of abandoned places. At times, he saw Mathew too. He was kissing Alice.

  Then, sleep had somehow taken over, only to be interrupted by this hand pressing against him.

  “Adrian,” Father Paul’s voice was whispering. “Adrian, wake up.” There was something in the priest’s tone that he didn’t like. Something that made his heart sink.

  Adrian sat up, rubbing his eyes. Alice was already awake, arms wrapped around her chest, eyes worried. She looked at him like he was the one that needed protecting.

  “What’s wrong?” Adrian asked, his voice more squeaky than he’d have liked.

  Father Paul smiled, began to say something. Then he stopped. His smile faded. Shaking his head, he said, “No point in lying, children. We’re in danger. He have to go, immediately. The others are waiting for us.”

  Adrian looked at Alice. He felt like crying. Would he ever be able to take her somewhere safe?

  “Okay,” he said.

  * * *

  The little church was crowded.

  Moore, Mathew, Cathy, Father Claudio and an armed soldier from the Guard stood before the altar, talking hurriedly and gathering things in heavy rucksacks.

  “We have to get going,” said the Guard member. He was nervous.

  “Yes, yes, we know,” replied Claudio. “We’re in the House of God here, young man. No need for that,” he added, with a furious glance at the soldier’s assault rifle. The other man hesitated, then awkwardly passed an arm through the weapon’s sling, letting it hang off his shoulder.

  “Pablo,” the older priest said to Paul, “we put together a few extra clothes and a bit of food. I took what I could from the kitchen.”

  “Okay,” Paul replied. He peered down at the children. Alice stood close to him, her hand in his, eyes wandering around the room, alarmed. Adrian stood rigidly, staring down at his feet.

  “We’re going to head for the castle,” said Cathy. “Bill will brief us there.”

  Paul nodded. “Off we go, then.”

  The party moved towards the entrance, the Guard soldier leading the way.

  Before they left, Paul glanced towards the crucifix that dominated this small Christian temple, and the son of the God he had devoted his life to.

  They emerged onto the street, and he closed the door behind him.

  Beyond it, the abandoned church plunged into darkness.

  * * *

  There were no explosions, or gunshots, or cries. Not yet.

  All they saw were groups similar to their own, each escorted by a member of the Guard, all heading towards the looming silhouette of Bately Castle and its mighty walls.

  Cathy walked swiftly, trying to focus on the task at hand, while a million other thoughts demanded her attention – the safety of the children, Edward, so strangely silent, walking beside his son, the imminent attack she couldn’t yet see any sign of.

  People were stepping outside of their homes, random bundles of possessions clutched to their chests, confusedly eyeing others just like them, wondering what, exactly, was going on.

  All she could hear were footsteps and whispers, as if the impending danger had somehow muted the world around them, filling it with fearful anticipation.

  They joined the other groups along Castle Street, walking briskly on.

  She felt Edward by her side. “Cathy–”

  “Yes?” she said, catching her breath.

  He hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  She studied him, as they kept their fast pace. He looked serious. Tortured, almost.

  “What it is?”

  “Well–”

  “Wait!” someone shouted.

  She turned. It was Adrian. “What about Uncle Angus?” the boy said.

  They looked towards the lonely house. A light shone behind its drawn curtains.

  “We tried to get them out of there,” the Guard member said. “He ignored us.”

  “We can’t leave him and Toby there, alone,” said Adrian, his voice begging them to do something.

  Paul caught Cathy’s eye. The urgency of the situation pushed them to keep going, to get to the castle, to the temporary safety within it.

  “Adrian’s right,” said Paul. “I’ll go. I’ll convince him to come along with us. We’ll join you as soon as we can.” He delicately ran his fingers through the children’s hair, then turned to go.

  “Hang on,” said Cathy. “I’m coming with you.” She turned towards Edward, “We’ll talk about it later, I have to go.”

  Moore frowned, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, absolutely. I know Angus, and I can help with Toby. As Paul said, we’ll be right with you.” She held Moore’s glance. I’ll be okay. After a beat, Moore dipped his chin.

  “See you all soon,” said Paul. “You go, now.”

  Cathy and the young priest watched as the group hurried towards the castle gates, and disappeared beyond them, swallowed up by the crowd.

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  Paul’s smile was a sad one. “Yes. You?”

  She nodded. “I suppose so.”

  They shared a moment’s silence.

  “Okay,” Cathy said. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “We’ve gathered all the people we could behind the walls, sir. We’re checking to see if anyone’s missing, but it might take some time,” Neeson said to Bill Hughes.

  They were in the monitoring station within Bately Castle. Bill’s eyes were glued to the CCTV screens. He nodded. “Make sure everyone is accounted for before we seal the gates.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Spot anything new?” Bill asked the Guards manning the monitoring desks.

  “No sir.”

  Bill sighed. They had spotted the first ’wraiths about two hours ago. A couple hundred of them, armed to the teeth, creeping towards town under the cover of darkness. All monitors were streaming the feeds from the cameras concealed in trees and shrubbery, in the north-eastern sector, outside town, where the Pack had decided to attack from.

  With the civilians being safely ga
thered, most of the Guard had already been deployed along Bately’s north-easterly borders, weapons and artillery at the ready. It was going to be a tough fight, the largest they’d seen so far, but one he was confident they could win.

  “Sir?” it was Neeson. He, too, was staring at the images. Bill could tell that something was bothering the young soldier.

  “What is it, Neeson?”

  “How many ’wraiths have we spotted so far?”

  Bill turned towards his men at the desks. “We’re estimating between two and three-hundred, sir,” one of them replied.

  Neeson considered this. “That’s not enough,” he said, finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if their intention is to strike a full-blown attack on Bately, sir, why not use more men? We know they have them, so why are they holding back?”

  “During their last attack, they only had about one hundred fighters,” said Bill. “This is a significantly higher number.”

  “Yes, sir, and we gave them such a beating, it looked like they’d give up on trying it again. But their numbers have been growing. And they can likely also count on the Afflicted who left town. So,” concluded Neeson, “why not employ more men?”

  Bill rubbed his chin, silently. He understood Neeson’s doubts. The Pack must have been aware of the fact that three-hundred or so fighters weren’t enough to pose a serious threat to Bately. So why try?

  “Can we check the other CCTV feeds?” asked Neeson.

  One of the surveillance officers shook his head. “We’ve checked again and again. No movement other than in the north-east sector.”

  “Please switch to the other feeds,” insisted Neeson.

  The officer did as he was asked, clearly thinking it was a waste of time.

  The images in the monitors switched to dull, empty landscapes. No ’wraiths in sight.

  “Nothing there, sir,” the soldier insisted.

  Neeson studied the images. “It doesn’t make sense,” he whispered. In one of the feeds, he saw a lonely bird fly across a corner of the screen. Other than that, they were right. No one there.

  “Neeson,” said Bill, “I think it’s best if we stick to the N-E cameras, so we can track–”

  “There!” said Neeson, interrupting him. Bill was surprised, this was very unlike Neeson. The young soldier lay a finger on the monitor. “Did you see that?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said the security officer, “it was just a bird, sir.”

  Neeson shook his head. “Not just a bird. Wait, keep watching.”

  The men stared at the screen, eyes focussing on the area he was pointing at.

  Again, nothing.

  A few seconds went by, and Bill heard Neeson whisper, below his breath. It sounded like he was counting down. Three, two, one…

  The bird flew by once again.

  “There it is!” Neeson turned towards Bill. “The exact same bird, the exact same trajectory. We’re not looking at a live feed, gentlemen – we’re looking at a loop.”

  Bill felt his muscles contract. He stared at the monitor. After a few seconds, the bird flew by once more.

  “Reset the feed!” Bill shouted, his deep voice echoing from within his broad chest. Immediately, the men at the desks scrambled to follow his orders, fingers flying on the keyboards. They were accessing the remote cameras, in an attempt to re-start them.

  But all the monitors turned black.

  “What’s going on?” Bill asked.

  “I don’t know, sir…” came the hesitant reply.

  They watched as the blackness within the screens seemed to get darker. Then, a brief flash, and white letters filled them. A single image, echoed across all the feeds, like an insistent message from a deep, dark cave.

  Fuck you, Cathy.

  Fuck you, Cathy.

  Fuck you, Cathy.

  Those same words, over, and over, and over again.

  “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” roared Bill. Everyone but Neeson instinctively withdrew, fearing their commander might pick them up and shake them until their bones rattled.

  Neeson was still staring at the monitors. Slowly piecing it together.

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid, sir,” he looked up at Bill. “We need to find Sean. Now.”

  Chapter 23

  Angus

  They had come for them. For him, and Toby.

  Two men, armed, in Guard uniforms. Knocking and knocking, then talking in low voices, then knocking again.

  Angus’s rifle was loaded and ready. But the men had left.

  He knew they’d be back. Next time, it would be the priest, and that nurse.

  The beer was finished. His tears were finished. Everything was drying up.

  He was sitting in a chair, by the window, an eye on the street. Toby was nearby, on the sofa, murmuring something in his delicate, unknown language. Angus looked at him, and felt his heart fill with love and remorse.

  “Good boy,” he said quietly. “My good, darling boy.”

  Since Ady’s visit, he’d felt the house shrink around them. Stale air filled the rooms, and sometimes he thought he heard footsteps, upstairs. But there was no leaving. Not with the priest and the nurse, out there.

  They slept in the living room, now, and never left. He’d dragged Toby’s mattress downstairs, huffing and panting and sipping beer along the way. During a pause, he’d stopped, eyes wandering across the wooden boards, now cracked and splintered, from the gunshot.

  The one that had almost killed his son. The one he had fired.

  A few pictures were still hanging there, although some had fallen off. Hellen, Toby, himself. Or someone like himself, only better, younger, stronger. Someone he could hardly recognise. The remaining photographs were hanging at odd angles, as if following the gravitational pull of that other, distant world the three of them had belonged to.

  You’re my rock, Hellen used to tell him, looking up at him, and running her hands along his tall, robust body. But she had it all wrong. She was the one who had always been the strong foundation of their family. Once that foundation went missing, everything had fallen apart.

  As he watched the street outside through the closed shutters, he remembered the nurse (not that Cathy bitch, but just as dumb) who had told them the child Hellen was expecting would be born with a serious condition. Abnormal, was the word she used. Then, she had asked them if they indented to interrupt the pregnancy.

  “Of course not,” had been Hellen’s simple reply. “We’ll keep him, and we’ll love him, and everything will be perfect.”

  And, as she spoke those words, he had known she was right. They had filled him with strength and resolve and love for this tender young life they would bring into the world.

  Toby.

  Angus rose from his chair and sat beside him, on the sofa. He lay the rifle on the floor, close by, and gently caught Toby’s hands, as they floated through the air. The boy recognised his touch, and smiled. Hello, daddy.

  I could stay like this forever, thought Angus, rubbing his thumb on the boy’s pale, delicate skin. Toby’s sightless eyes scanned the darkness, as if searching for his father. Angus leaned forward, and lay a kiss on his forehead.

  “I’m here, son. You’ve found me.”

  Yes, Angus could have stayed like that forever, sitting there next to his sick, but perfect son, feeding on the warmth and the love, while the world rotted and wasted outside. But then he heard the voices.

  * * *

  It was them. The priest, and the nurse. Coming for Toby.

  He watched them through the window, as they walked through the small garden gate, heading for the front door.

  Angus raised his rifle, and swallowed. They were never going to take his son.

  He checked the rifle. It was loaded. Moving quietly, he sat on the sofa again. It was good, after all, that the beer was gone. He wanted his wits about him. He wanted real feelings, not the muddled emotions stirred up by alcohol. After so long, he could finally see things clearly. I
t hurt, but it was good.

  The voices grew closer. They were at the door, now. He could hear them talking. Quick, hurried words – his name was mentioned, so was Toby’s.

  It didn’t matter.

  They’d come in, any second now. He’d unlocked the door, when the men from the Guard had left. It was open, for them to enter.

  Angus aimed his rifle. He balanced the barrel on his knee, one hand on the trigger. The other, he rested on Toby’s cheek.

  “Quiet now, son,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  Just as Paul and Cathy entered the room, Angus fired twice.

  * * *

  The two bodies lay dead.

  Angus had aimed quickly and efficiently, the shots landing exactly where he had wanted them to. Death had come painlessly.

  Paul looked in horror, incapable of doing anything at all. Angus had fired as they walked through the door. There had been no way of stopping him.

  “Oh no, no…” Cathy buried her face in his shoulder.

  Angus’s body had collapsed upon his son’s. Paul noticed the man’s hand was still resting on Toby’s face. The shadows concealed the blood, and to a casual onlooker, it might have looked like the simple embrace between a loving father, and his sick child.

  “Paul. Paul,” Cathy said. But she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  He looked away. It felt like there was enough sadness, in that room, to pour out and fill the whole world. He crossed himself.

  Releasing Cathy from their shocked embrace, he knelt down, beside the bodies, and prayed. Then he rose, and said,“Let’s go, Cathy. There’s nothing we can do here, any more.”

  They walked quietly towards Castle Street, where few people remained. All were rushing to the castle, scared and confused.

  Suddenly, Paul was overwhelmed by the feeling that all good had vanished from the Earth. That, try as they might, there was no joy or safety ahead of them.

  As if confirming this hopeless premonition, gunfire erupted through the night-time mist.