We Are The Few

by Miranda Stork

  Her eyes scanned the road ahead, primed for any tiny movement that might mean danger, her senses on high alert after the recent events with the bandits. Her gaze drifted over to her two companions, silently sizing them up as they strode ahead, Reilly chattering eagerly to Harris. He barely grunted in reply, but Freda was sharp enough to realise it wasn’t rudeness, but more that he was engrossed in keeping an eye out. Still, something about him is so… she was about to think the word ‘off’, but she shook her head. That wasn’t the right fit. No, he’s just closed off. Drawn into himself. Tight, like a fist hiding something. Fair enough. I can understand that. She more than understood it. Opening up to Reilly about Gareth was the closest Freda had come in months to showing true feelings to someone else.

  Reilly herself seemed brighter than she had before. Freda almost grinned as she saw the animated way Reilly’s hands flew about as she told a story, something about the time she had snuck into a friend’s home in their bunker as a teenager. The younger woman grated at times on her nerves, almost too naïve and too innocent to be believed, but Freda was quickly learning there were different kinds of innocence. She never said a word to me about her sister, all that time. Freda sucked her cheek as a stab of remorse at never having asked much about her companion before she got them into trouble, but she shoved it aside. She was fairly sure her actions in the bandit camp were enough to persuade Reilly that she thought of her like a sister that needed taking care of. The closest friend she had, since Gareth was still missing.

  “Freda? I asked if you thought this was a good spot.”

  “What?” Freda blinked at the abrupt line of questioning, her mind tumbling over itself to make some sense of it. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realised how far along the road they had walked, the sun almost gone as they paused in front of an old car park. It sat in front of an abandoned petrol garage, the windows of the building long since smashed through and stained. A single car frame, almost stripped completely of its bodywork, sat in the centre. She looked from Harris to Reilly in one long stare, giving a shrug. “Good spot for what?”

  Harris cocked an eyebrow as though incredulous of her abilities to actually be a competent member of their small group, but if he thought it, he didn’t voice his opinion. Instead, he merely scratched at his ear, squinting one eye as he replied calmly, “For a camp. We need to hunker down for the night. Makes no sense travelling in the dark, and we can light a fire. Get warm, eat some food.”

  “I think it’s a good plan. I ache all over,” Reilly answered cheerfully, but her voice sounded strained. Freda could see that the Illness was really starting to take its toll. Even with a few days’ rest back at the police station, Reilly seemed worn out by the few miles they had walked, dark shadows resting under her eyes as she breathed heavily enough to show it was an effort.

  “Agreed. I could do with a rest myself.” Freda smiled over at Reilly, although in truth she would have been happy to keep walking through the night. It was something she had done in the weeks before she even came across Reilly, before Ripon. Walking through the darkness, ducking into shadows when need be. Even in the Badlands. Freda shuddered despite her thick clothing. No. We are not going to think about that place. Not unless you want to have nightmares. Happy thoughts, remember?

  Harris simply nodded over at the two women, slinging the large rucksack he had carried down onto the ground and carefully unzipping it. He yanked out three tightly-rolled yellow sleeping bags, tossing them onto the ground before reaching down further and feeling in the bottom for tins of food, packed earlier before they had left on their journey. Freda almost smiled when she saw how he stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth while doing it. Without needing to be asked, she turned and scanned the nearby trees, four of them lining the road just outside the garage. The rest of the landscape was bare in this area, just long fields of dried grass that stretched all the way to the craggy hills in the distance. She hooked her rifle strap over her head and one arm, marching across to the trees to gather whatever twigs or branches she could find for a fire.

  At least my new ‘arm’ is useful for something, she thought wryly as she held it out to carry her bundle of twigs. She hated catching sight of it. The Vigilants’ doctor had been unable to find the original casing that once covered it to make it look like a true arm, so it was essentially a metal robotic skeleton attached to her body. She shivered and busied herself in gathering more firewood. She could hear the crunch of the tin-opener over her shoulder as Reilly set about making dinner for them all, preparing whatever lay in the tins before the fire was lit.

  It didn’t take long for the three of them to make a decent camp out of the garage. Harris had taken the sleeping bags and a bright solar lantern into the building of the garage, screeches coming from within as he shifted the aluminium shelving to create an uncluttered area. Freda brought over the large pile of wood and lit it in the way she had taught herself only a few months ago, using a small lighter she kept in her pocket for such an occasion. A waft of deliciously scented smoke went into the air as the twigs lit and fed the small flames, Reilly placing a large pot on a metal stand over it. She placed several small packages around the bottom of the fire, digging them deep into the heat, winking at Freda. Cocking an eyebrow, Freda looked back at her with confusion. “What are those?”

  “Potatoes. They grow some back at the Vigilants’ headquarters, and they said we could have some. There’s a tiny bit of butter—synthetic, of course—but I’ll spread it on them once they’ve baked through.” Freda’s mouth watered at the sound of them as Reilly passed a tongue over her lips, the flames reflecting in her eyes as she stared down towards them, hugging herself. Potatoes, once the staple of dinners across Britain, were now scarcer than a tin of meat. “Cary and I used to love making these in our bunker. We had an indoor area where they grew plants. Did you have one of those?”

  “Like a hydroponics farm? No, but I think we tried for a while, when I was a kid. The plants wouldn’t take, for some reason.” Stepping carefully so as not to slip into the now growing fire, Freda came over and settled herself on the ground, crossing her legs and leaning into the heat. It glowed over her cheeks and eyelids as she closed her eyes for a moment, soaking it in. “We had to make do with the dried and tinned food for a long time. Until we opened the door, that is. When I was fourteen. Then we managed to get a small farm going just outside, growing some veg and fruit. Still hunted, of course, but potatoes…I remember the first time we grew them. None of us ate anything else for a week.” Freda snorted at the memory, bitterness filling her as she realised how few of her remembrances were so happy. Giving Reilly a sideways glance, she asked in as casually a voice as she could manage, “Cary…was that your sister?”

  Reilly paused as she leaned over the fire with a large branch, poking the freshly-made embers underneath as she coated some of them over the potatoes. Drawing in a deep, soft breath, she replied in a tight voice, “Yeah. Cary was my sister. My best friend, too. We did everything together. We, uh…” Hesitating, the blonde woman glanced up sharply, something hard in her gaze. “Do you really want to hear about her? I mean, it doesn’t have a happy ending or anything.”

  Not missing the knot of tension as Reilly spoke, Freda gave a slow nod. “Sure, I do. Tell me about her.”

  “Alright.” Reilly let the long branch drop to her side, gazing into the flames as though she was in a trance. Tucking her fisted hands under her chin and leaning on them, her elbows resting on her knees, she pursed her lips for a moment. Even in the near-darkness, Freda could tell she was trying not to cry. “Cary and I both caught the Illness at the same time. Literally the same day. My poor mum was beside herself.”

  “I bet. That must have been hard,” Freda interrupted, her tone softer than usual. She always felt a pang of jealousy whenever someone told her about a loving parent who actually gave a damn. She hated it. She wanted to feel nothing.

  “Yeah. She cried for days. Everyone in the bunker knew it was a death sen
tence. First it was just like getting a cold. A few coughs, runny noses, that sort of thing. Tiredness. We didn’t even believe we had it, at first.” Reilly licked her lips again, more frantically this time. Her eyes never blinked as they stared into the fire. “But then we started aching everywhere, and throwing up. That’s the first real signs that it’s got you. Stage one. You get this rash all over your body that…well, look.” She pointed to the ravaged skin on her face and arms. “You just scratch and scratch because it’s so itchy, and then it heals over, leaving scars.”

  Freda swallowed hard, feeling awkward again. She knew she was probably going to say the wrong thing. Nevertheless, she broke in, “It sounds awful. Does it still itch?”

  To her relief, Reilly didn’t berate her, just shaking her head instead. “Not anymore. That’s…that’s a sign that you’re in stage three of the Illness.” She let out a shaky breath, breathing in deep again through her nose in a calming manner. Freda reached across and laid her hand over hers, hoping it would offer comfort in some small way. “But first came stage two. That was the worst stage, and Cary got it quicker than me. First your hair falls out, as you can see. It doesn’t grow back. You have fits, and your vision blurs all the time. You’re sick more often. You eat nothing, and still you want to vomit. You can’t walk, you can’t pick things up, and you have no energy. I remember feeling hot and cold all the time too, like I had a fever.” A small tear, reflecting orange from the heated flames, slid down her cheek, but her face remained impassive. “It wasn’t the fear of dying that I thought about. It was the thought of dying in pain. I couldn’t stand that.”

  “And then…then you get stage three?” Freda could hardly get the words out. Her heart broke as she watched her friend. Can’t we do anything?

  Reilly nodded brokenly. “Yes,” she whispered. “You know you have it when all of that goes away, when you stop vomiting and feeling tired, and you almost feel well again. I still tire out when I have to run or walk a lot, though. My lungs are packing up, that’s why. I can feel them straining sometimes.” She ran a thin, bony hand over her chest as though to emphasise the point. “Cary got to that stage a lot earlier than me. In fact, she seemed so much better, that everyone began to hope she was actually getting better. That somehow her body had fought the Illness and lived, the first person in there to do so. Our medical staff talked about using her blood to make a new inoculation for it. But…a few days later, she was dead. She passed away in her sleep.” A sniff. “I didn’t even know. She was her usual cheerful self before we went to bed, talking excitedly about all the things she was going to do now she was getting better. Then in the morning, my mother found her. Cold.” Reilly shivered despite the campfire. “So cold.”

  Freda stared back at Reilly for a few seconds in silence, watching her face as she blinked back her own tears. It wasn’t just the story that made her so upset. It was the thought that one morning, she might wake up to find Reilly dead and gone, and she would have lost her new friend forever. Shuffling across the gritty concrete ground beneath, Freda wrapped an arm around Reilly, hugging her fiercely. She didn’t feel awkward this time. “Oh, Reilly. I’m sorry. At least…” She bit her lip. She wanted to comfort her, but she didn’t know how. What did people normally say in these situations? Death had been treat with a casual iciness in her bunker, as though it was something to just suck up and get on with. “At least she went peacefully. With no pain.”

  Reilly’s face crumpled at her words, but she fought back her tears this time, passing the sleeve of the coat over her eyes as she nodded. “Yes, I thought the same thing. It was the only thing I was grateful for.”

  “Can’t we do something? Find a cure, or…something? There must be a cure, somewhere.”

  An obstinate shake of the head was the response to Freda’s hopeful question. “There isn’t one, as far as I know. They never made one in time before the Big Hit. Although maybe someone made one since then.”

  “What about Brit Bunker?” Freda gave an encouraging smile. “They might have survived somehow in the headquarters, or have some information on it. I know you’re going there for answers, but…maybe they could help.”

  “Maybe.” Reilly’s tone was disbelieving.

  Their conversation was interrupted as Harris re-emerged from the petrol station building, his expression one of triumph as he wheeled something out behind him. The two women turned to get a better look, squinting in the darkness to see what it was he had found. Coming closer as he saw them both narrowing their gaze, lit up from the soft blue-white glow from within cast by the solar lantern, Harris tilted his head back proudly. “Look what I found. Four of them, actually. They’re a bit rusty, but I reckon we can get them cleaned up.”

  Releasing her arm from around Reilly’s shoulders, Freda reached up to tuck loose strands of hair away from her eyes as she turned around to see him better, her boots scraping on the ground. “What is it?”

  “Bikes. Can’t you tell? Pedal ones, you know.” He did a cycling motion with his hands, letting the metal frame of the bike lean against his hip for a moment. “We can get to York even faster with these. And Reilly, you won’t get so out of breath.” He gave that quick half-smile again. Grabbing the handlebars of the contraption, he swung his leg over the saddle, seating himself and pushing off. The bike gave a protesting squeak, but he sailed smoothly over to one side of the forecourt before turning and pedalling back slowly, despite wobbling a little. Gracefully hopping off again as the bike came to a jarring halt, Harris leaned it against the white-painted boards of the wall, just below a half-broken windowsill. He gave a comical bow as he turned around.

  Letting out a peal of laughter, Reilly clapped her hands delightedly. “They sound perfect.” Her voice was lighter than it had been before, as though Harris had provided a welcome distraction from her painful thoughts. “But, er…how do you keep it from falling over?”

  “I’ll show you tomorrow,” he promised, striding across and seating himself across from both of them, folding his long legs up so that they were almost brought up to his chest. He leaned to one side for a second, fumbling in the pocket of his jeans, before pulling out a squashed cardboard packet and a lighter not unlike Freda’s. He tapped the bottom of the pack, grasping the end of the cigarette between his lips and pulling it out smoothly.

  “Ugh. You’re not actually going to smoke that, are you?” Wrinkling her nose, Freda cocked an eyebrow questioningly. She could still remember the stern lessons her parents had told her about cigarettes, how if she ever found any in the bunker—or later, outside, when her father had grudgingly accepted it was a good thing—she wasn’t to even touch them. How they were full of poisonous chemicals that could kill you, in the end. She didn’t want to know what thirty-odd years of sitting around the Illness and mild radiation could have done to them.

  Harris gave a shrug, using his hands to shield the end of the white stick as he lit it, blowing out a plume of blue smoke. Placing it between two fingers, he gave a short, harsh laugh. “Why? In case it kills me? I might get shot or clawed by anything out here, sweetheart. Might as well enjoy myself before that happens. Not like there any many of these things lying around, anyway.”

  Although his use of ‘sweetheart’ rankled her, Freda refused to rise to the bait, instead choosing to glower back at him. “I suppose. Although you might find it comes quicker than you thought, smoking those.”

  In response, Harris fixed her with a cool stare, purposefully blowing his next exhale of smoke in her direction. Ignoring her morality lesson, he jerked his head towards the pot hanging over the fire, the lid now wobbling from side to side as liquid hissed around its edges. “Smells good. What’s in there?”

  “A bit of meat, some carrots, onions, and a couple of herbs I found in a bag,” Reilly shrugged. “It’ll make a decent stew though. And some jacket potatoes to go with it, once they’re done.”

  He nodded, and his stomach gave a growl as though agreeing with him. Even Freda couldn’t help smiling as he
chuckled at the sound, rubbing his large palm over his thin shirt. “It definitely sounds good. Even my stomach agrees.” He took another drag of his cigarette, leaning back against a metal post that held up the ceiling of the petrol station. “Certainly not the worst thing I’ve ever had to eat.”

  “What was the worst thing?” Reilly inquired with a hand near her mouth, as though she was already thinking about what the worst thing could have been, and it didn’t agree with her.

  “Skin-Eater.”

  “What the hell?” Freda broke in, tilting her head incredulously. She narrowed her eyes, making them glint in the bright firelight. “Bullshit. Why would anyone want to? You know they were once human.”

  Harris shifted uncomfortably under her penetrating stare. It was the first time she had seen his cool demeanour shaken to any standard. His hand trembled a little as he brought the cigarette to his lips again, lowering his eyes to the ground as he blew out a calming breath. “I was young. I didn’t have anything else to eat. I mean, really. Nothing. And it wasn’t just for me. Food was needed, I came across a Skin-Eater…I tried to eat it.”

  “What happened?”

  “I took one bite and threw up.” Harris dropped the stub of the cigarette into the fire without looking up, lacing his fingers together so tightly that the knuckles turned white. He finally raised them again to fix Freda with a stare so pleading she felt her heart soften towards him. “I didn’t want to do it, Freda. I had to. Survival. You know how that goes.”