Beyond Hope (Tales from the Brink Book 3)

by Martyn J. Pass

  A breath.

  Then they came.

  He killed the first with one swing, turning to face another as they charged him with their clubs and knives. He parried a blow with the hatchet and slashed with the knife again. A second fell before she saw a blade plunge deep into his back. He spun round, hacked the man's arm off and dropped low, cleaving a knee from the shin and rising to cut upwards at another. Still they came, scurrying out of their shelters to join the fray and even the fat women turned on him with their cleavers, trying to land a finishing blow.

  Sarah couldn't watch anymore. When she heard his cries of pain her heart broke and she knew there and then that if she stood by and watched she'd never survive the guilt that she'd have to carry around with her for the rest of her life. Running to Ziggy she snatched her rifle and spare ammunition and shrugged off her coat, sprinting down the hillside. When she reached the camp she raised the weapon to her shoulder and fired, blasting a hole in one of the fat women's chests. She fired again, killing the other and then opened up on the group that surrounded Alan.

  When her first magazine was empty she popped the clip and slammed in another, firing the way her Papa had showed her, never panicking, never losing control. Each bullet tore through the feeble skins and patchwork clothes of the cannibals, felling them like saplings beneath an axe. A cry behind her made her spin round and she met the charging man with a swift shot to his sternum which blew out lung tissue through his back. Another came from a tent with a spear and attempted to throw it at her, only to find his brain opened up and spread across the canvass.

  Sarah hardly noticed that Moll had joined her master, tearing and snarling and rending flesh as if she'd been dispatched from Hades itself. The stink of blood rose up into Sarah's nostrils as she loaded a third magazine into the rifle, fired twice more before realising that the savage mountain men were fleeing to the north, leaving their dead and wounded behind.

  She found it hard to breath. The intense battle had lasted only a few moments but it'd felt like carnage that had no end. Alan was on his feet now, his shirt in tatters and dripping with blood and the deadly weapon still bound to his hand. Moll's flanks were splattered with gore and her mouth dripped with the stuff. It was as if hell had opened its doors in that camp and left behind a bloody tableau to mark its passing.

  “What... happened... here...?” she managed to splutter out between great lungful’s of air.

  In silence Alan stumbled towards one of the steel shelters, his boots squelching in the rusty looking mud. Taking a few swings at the lock, the door finally gave way and he dragged them apart.

  Inside the stinking darkness were dozens of terrified people, blinking in the light of the afternoon sun that shone in from behind her. They were pale and scarred by horror, bursting into tears as they saw their freedom wearing the blood of their captors.

  “It’s okay now,” whispered Alan. “We’re here to free you. They’re all dead. Come out.”

  It took several moments but eventually the nearest began stumbling towards them and they stepped aside to let them pass. Covering their eyes, they shambled out of their prison and into the sun.

  “Livestock,” Alan said to her. “I’ve seen dozens of camps like this before.”

  Sarah lowered her rifle as one of them came towards her. The old woman grabbed her hand and squeezed it, thanking her over and over again as the tears cascaded down her wrinkled face. There were children behind her, young women, a few teenage boys. All of them stood around and stared at a world they never thought they'd see again and which they could now, thanks to them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The evening light began to fade as the burning remains of the camp gave off an eerie glow on the horizon behind them. It'd taken Sarah and Alan a long time to clothe all of the captives with what they could find in the place. The weakest were then put onto the two horses and the rest walked in front of them, stumbling on unstable legs and sore feet. It was a sad and lonely march out of there but one which felt all the better for knowing that these people had been saved from a horrible end. They knew it too and they tried to smile, tried to look a little happier but the pain in their wounds was difficult to bear and the two expressions fought for supremacy on their faces.

  “If we can get to the road before dark we can use the slaver wagons to take them to Abbingdon,” suggested Sarah as she tried in vain to ignore the stench of death on her clothes. “From there they can contact their families, wherever they might be now. I think I've been able to get all their names with the exception of the few who can't speak.”

  “They've been through hell,” he replied. “I don't blame them.”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to pick up the Slaver’s trail once we’re done?”

  “I think so. If the rain holds off we won’t lose their tracks. It’s a tough decision to make, isn’t it?”

  “You’re telling me,” she said. “I think we need to talk about what happened back there though.”

  “Do we? In front of all these people?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don't.”

  Moll was happily padding along in the midst of the captives but they were all keeping a reasonable distance from her. She was still caked in dried blood and she'd become a constant reminder of what had just happened. Sarah slowed her pace at the back of the group and pulled Alan along with her.

  “Really?” he snapped suddenly. “We're going to do this now?”

  “Yes!” she bit back, feeling the anger rise in her throat. “You can't keep on like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like none of it hurts you, like none of that killing has an effect on you.”

  “It doesn't,” he said.

  “That's a lie and you know it - it's written all over your face.”

  “Really?” he said. “What could possibly hurt me? The fact that I just butchered at least twenty or more evil bastards to save far more worthy lives?” He jabbed a finger at the shambling group in front of them. “Why would that bother me?”

  “Because it should! Because you're not a killer and you're fighting the pain you're going through trying to-”

  “How do you know what I'm feeling? How do you know what it's like? Have you been me? Have you done the things I've done?”

  She flushed red but she refused to back down.

  “How would I know? You won't tell me, you won't tell anyone.”

  “What's the point?” he said. “How would that help?”

  “Because-”

  “Because what?”

  “Because I get it! Because I understand that that's what people expect you to do so you do it even though it's killing you inside. But you've never felt what it's like to share it with someone; to have someone care enough to help you carry the burden.”

  He fell silent then and she saw the muscles of his jaw working under his beard, grinding his teeth together in the waning light. She let the silence walk with them a little of the way and she felt her skin cooling now that she'd broken through at least one of his barriers. Sadly, she realised that there were a dozen or more still to overcome.

  “You're right,” he said after a moment or two. “You stay a while in some places, make a name for yourself by helping, and the next thing you know there's a whole queue of people all lining up with things for you to do because that's what's expected, that's your 'duty'. I never used to care; often it was something that they'd die trying to do themselves and my ability meant that I could do it for them.

  “You need to understand that we came that close to ending it all, that close to finishing ourselves off and after I left Longsteel I knew I had a chance to fan the flames back into life again. What choice did I have? Should I just have turned my back on that? Should I have left it for others to do?”

  “You could have walked away,” she replied as tenderly as she could.

  “Yes, I could have. I could've walked away and never looked back and found some nice quiet shack to live in with Moll and my books,
wanting for nothing more than the silence of my own company.”

  “But it wasn't in you.”

  “No. That's not who I am. So I helped. A little at a time until I began to realise it really was that simple, that sometimes in this dark, new world you have to go in there and end the lives of people who can’t be reasoned with, who are too far gone to negotiate with anymore. I see them all, though. At night. Every face. Every man, woman and child. And I'll see them for years to come. Do you really want to share that with me? Even for-”

  “For as long as I live?” she said. He nodded without looking at her and they walked on, letting the shadows of twilight dance around them like the ghosts of the dead, continually mocking those they left behind.

  She looked up at the stars and saw them all beginning to shine again, blinking into life as if someone were lighting candles in the heavens.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I do. I want to share it with you.”

  “Why?”

  She'd thought about that answer for most of her life. The question wasn't new - it was the same one she'd asked of others but never received an answer. She had that answer now and it formed itself on her lips without her consent.

  “Because I need someone to share my own pain with too,” she said. “And I think you're the most qualified for the job.”

  Neither of them said a word but in the darkness that flooded into those narrow woodland paths a kind of unspoken agreement passed between them. It was a promise, perhaps the worst kind of promise - one made on the battlefield and maybe one that neither of them could ever hope to keep.

  The bitter cold night came upon them and Sarah had no choice but to call the march to a halt and build a fire. Alan agreed and together they spread out, gathering as much wood and kindling as they could find. It seemed to take an age to coax the flames into life. Her hands were numb and the tinder just didn't seem to want to burn. It happened in the end and the resulting warmth spread quickly through her skin and into her bones, drawing the sorry looking band of survivors to it like moths.

  “Gather round,” she called to the others, shivering in the darkness. “Get as close as you can.”

  Seeing that there wasn't enough room, Alan began adding to the fire on one side, letting it catch before starting again until they had a sort of trough that spilled out heat and light to them all.

  “It'll take some feeding,” he said. “I've seen some younger trees over there. I'll get my hatchet.”

  “I'll come with you; I could do with working up some warmth,” she replied.

  Together they walked off into the darkness, finding the trees to be excellent firewood and they began to strip them of their branches. After the first one fell, he gave her a hand-saw which she gazed at in the dim glow coming from their camp.

  “It's in beautiful condition,” she said, turning it over in her hands. “How did you find it?”

  “Like I said, I have caches here and there. Mostly old-world stuff that I thought might be handy to keep hold of. That's from one of them.”

  She began cutting the tree into logs, carrying the pieces over to the fire where she piled them up, ready to add to the trough. When she'd finished the first, another was lying next to the neat piles of sawdust she'd made and she could feel the sweat gathering at the small of her back and cooling quickly in the cold night air.

  “Warm enough yet?” he laughed.

  “I am now, yes. It's been a bloody long day, hasn't it?”

  “Yes, it has. At least by tomorrow we should be in Abbingdon. We can buy some fresh supplies and head straight back out. Is the bar still running?”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “The Hearth. The last time I was there it was Jimmy behind the pumps. They used to serve the most god-awful spirit in pint pots. I think it was made from potato or something. Foul stuff.”

  “Old Jimmy!” she laughed. “He must be seventy at least. He sits in his own corner now while his nephew serves. He's blind and mostly deaf now.”

  “Really? He used to tell me this story about the time he was running ration packs into one of the Scavenger camps. It was all done just to see a beautiful blonde girl who also happened to be the gang leader's daughter. He'd run all kinds of crazy risks just to see her face as she came to fill the water butts from the well.”

  “Six in the morning,” she continued. “On the dot. He'd carry the boxes past her and she'd smile-”

  “Showing one missing tooth.” He stopped chopping at the trunk for a moment and laughed. “Did he tell you how the story ended?”

  “He always said that one day she saw him carrying his boxes and asked him if he'd take her away with him.”

  “And?”

  “And he lives with the regret of saying 'no' to this day.”

  “That's the one,” he said, letting the laughter die on his lips after spending a few moments there. “That's what he always said. He's seventy now, you say?”

  “Somewhere around there.”

  Alan continued to hack at the tree with renewed strength. Sarah was about to resume sawing the trunk when she turned and looked at him, suddenly realising something that bothered her about that story.

  “What is it?” he asked, looking up.

  “What really happened to her?”

  “Who?”

  “The blonde girl?”

  “How would I know?” he said.

  “Because you knew full-well that I'd know him; he always sends his niece a letter every week and once a month he sends a jar of honey from his hives to her. So why did you ask a question you already knew the answer to?”

  When he didn't reply, she threw down the saw, putting her hands on her hips with as much mock-defiance as her years as a toddler had taught her.

  “Tell me!” she said. He stopped cutting and took off his coat, hanging it on a nearby branch. She noticed that his smile left him the moment he stepped back into the only shaft of light coming from the fire.

  “There wasn't a blonde woman,” he explained. “There never was.”

  “He was lying?”

  “No. It was a blonde man and Jimmy loved him very much. His name was Tony and he was the Scavenger leader's only son, the one who'd eventually take over when he died.”

  “Why did he lie then?”

  “What would have happened if he'd told the truth?”

  “Oh,” she replied, sitting down on the log. “I see.”

  “Exactly. Jimmy was stealing rations from a settlement in order to gain access to Tony in the hopes that one day he'd be able to convince him to run away with him.”

  “And?”

  “Tony's group of Scavengers was settled in an old football ground on Cheapside. They'd been there a while and they often harassed a survivor settlement south of them, killing or capturing the people there. These struggling survivors couldn't seem to catch a break and when I showed up I saw a way to help them. I made the trip to the football grounds and wiped them out - every last one of them. They were an evil bunch and I hate to use words like 'good' and 'evil' but they were. They didn't come as nasty as that gang. Moll and me went in there, killed them where they slept. They were already suffering from the effects of the rad cloud at the time but that didn't make any difference to me.

  “Tony must have been in those tents, dying from the radiation in his body when I shot him. I think I remember seeing him but after living so long the memories start to blur a little. Blonde hair. Missing tooth. I've seen many that fit that description and I still see them sometimes when the nights are particularly bad. But it was only later, much later, when I met Jimmy and he told me the story about the blonde at the camp that I knew. He'd described the girl as having this mark on her cheek, kind of like a kiss just above her jaw. For some reason, when I shot Tony, I'd noticed that same mark. I pulled Jimmy to one side and wormed an answer out of him over a bottle of that vile stuff. He told me it all. He told me how one day he got word that the camp had been attacked an
d he was dead.”

  “And did you tell him how it had happened?” she asked.

  “I told him that they were all dead.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He just smiled. Not a happy smile, Sarah. He smiled like a man who knew it was over, that this was as good as it was ever going to get for him. Resignation perhaps? The realisation that his life was over now that his only love was dead.”

  “I see,” she muttered.

  He looked at her across the darkness and seemed to be waiting for something, some kind of response. When it didn't come he took up the hatchet again and continued to hack at the tree. That was when she knew that she'd missed the moment. He'd tested her and she'd failed straight away. The honest truth that came from deep inside her was horror - that'd he'd done such a thing and robbed a man of his love. He hadn't even had the guts to tell him the truth. She was appalled at him and her cheeks burned with the fire of shame, making her glad that the night hid her face from his.

  She finished cutting the trunk into pieces and carried the logs over to the fire where the mood seemed lighter now. Some of the prisoners were talking to each other and a couple held one another as the fire warmed them through.

  “We can't say how grateful we are,” said one of the older men. “We really thought that we were going to die.”

  “It's okay,” she replied. “I'm just glad we were coming this way when we found you. I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but...”

  “Yes. There were more of us,” said another. “Yes, they... murdered them and...”

  “It's okay, Cecilia. I think the woman understands.”

  “I do. You're all so very brave,” she said. “Soon you'll be back with friends at Abbingdon and then maybe you can move forward somehow, try to put this all behind you.”

  “Tell me,” said a boy at her elbow who shivered in spite of the warmth of the fire. “Is he a ghost?”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “The man. The one who saved us.”

  “You mean Alan?” said Sarah.

  “Yes. He was so badly wounded and then he wasn’t, just like that. How?”