by Sarah Dalton
Reg had to swerve to avoid more Nomads with colourful hair and strange clothing before he ended up with the van sliding into an old car-park, sideways. He pulled up the handbrake and it screeched to a halt. Outside there were more whoops and the floodlights in the car-park turned on with a flash.
“Looks like we’re on their territory now,” Ali said.
Ginge and Mary were awake and looking at him. I’d never seen them so pensive. They didn’t know what to expect from these Nomads and neither did I. The first thing they did was surround the van, beating it with their fists.
29
“Ah crap,” Ali said. “I’m going have te go an’ talk to ‘em. Aren’t I?”
“Good luck wi’ that, lad,” Mary said, not even trying to keep the glee from her voice.
“Unless you want te? Councillor Mary?” Ali’s eyes shone in the light from the floodlights glaring through the windscreen.
Mary raised her eyebrows. “I think this is a job fer the Scavenger leader. I dunnae see nae Council in here, lad.” She added a mocking salute for good effect.
Ali tutted and pulled his large frame from the crate in the middle of the van. He paused and looked back. The van was beginning to shake from side to side, I had to steady myself. “D’ye think I should take a gun?”
Mary kicked him up the backside. “Get out there before they topple us over.”
Ali pushed the handle and swung the door open. He dropped to his feet and swaggered into the car-park, walking as though taking a stroll in the park, his head held up high with all the confidence in the world. Spiky haired man jumped forward into his path and started to swing what looking like a long chain. Ali placed his hands out – palm up. I scuttled across the van floor to the open doors, keeping an eye on proceedings in case I needed to use my gift. Mary and Ginge both had they eyes pressed to the crosshairs of their guns. Even Stevie hopped over the front seat and jumped through the roof to man the machine gun. The swaying of the van stopped, and the rest of the Nomads ran, skipped and jumped back to their leader, still whooping and screeching.
They were a chaotic mass of people; all dressed in the same leather and with bright spiky hair, even the women. There was little difference in appearance between the women and the men and I struggled to recognise gender. The leader at the front continued to swing his chain in slow, lethal rhythms. None of them had guns; instead they flipped knives or swung bats or tossed hammers from one hand to the other.
“Nae then, bruvver,” Ali said. I leaned forward out of the van to hear him. I noticed that Ali had turned up his Scottish accent, probably to make him appear more relatable and less threatening. If there was anyone who could charm them out of fighting us – it was Ali. “I dunnae want nae trouble.” He gestured back to the van. “None of us dae.”
“Who ye callin’ bruvver?” said spiky-hair with the chain. “Ah in’t yer bruvver. Ah in’t yer muvver neither.” His gang giggled and whooped. They all seemed unhinged, on the brink of violence.
“Is that so?” Despite Ali having his back to me, I could hear the smile in his voice. “Only ye look an awful lot like her.”
The leader smirked. It was small, but it was a start. This was why Ali was the leader of the Scavengers.
“Ah didnae know ye muvver was an ugle bastard,” said spiky hair.
Ali cocked his head to one side. “Ye’ve no idea, mate, no idea. Me da’ ran oot a’paper bags the week they were hitched.”
This time Spiky hair laughed heartily. “Ah’m ye mate now am ah? Thought ah were yer bruvver?”
Ali shrugged. “Ye didnae seem te like bruvver.” He paused. “What’s with the hostility, eh?”
Spiky hair glanced back to his tribe. He was determined not to be distracted by Ali, no matter how witty he might be. There was a slight edge to this guy, who was also quite skinny, that made me think that he wasn’t experienced in dealing with conflict.
“Ye know how it is, mate, ye cannae be te careful in these times.”
“That I know. That’s why ma mates in there,” he threw his head back to the van, “have two rifles an’ a machine gun on ye all.”
Spiky hair looked panicked for a moment, and around him his group – maybe twenty or so – tightened their grip on their weapons and whispered to each other. They hadn’t counted on us being so well equipped. I found myself smiling. Well played, Ali.
“Well nae I feel like ye dunnae really think ah’m yer mate,” said spiky hair. “Ah’m hurt.”
“It’s nae different from ye all with ye weapons here. Why dun’t we all put ‘em down an’ talk like proper adults, eh?”
Spiky hair peered into our van. “An how de I know tha ye havenae weapons?”
“I’ll have ma people come oot.” Ali raised a hand and wiggled his fingers. Mary and Ginge both put down their guns and we left the van with Stevie following. I heard the sound of the van door open and shut, followed by Reg’s footsteps coming around the side of the van. “Now ye get ye mates te drop their weapons.”
Spiky hair nodded once and then there was a clatter as the Nomads dropped their knives, bats, hammers, chains and other paraphernalia to the cold concrete of the car park. The Nomads huddled together.
“Is’nae that better?” Ali said. “Now we can talk.”
“What de ye want?” Spikey hair was in no mood for chit-chat.
“We’re Compounders,” Ali said. “An’ we’re here te warn ye. There’s badness comin’.”
Spiky hair cocked his head to one side. “Badness, eh?”
“Aye, the worst. An’ they’re gonnae want ye. They’ll want ye te fight fer a cause that in’t worth fighter fer, an’ when they’re dun wi’ye they’ll toss ye aside like a bad fruit. That’s if they dunnae kill ye first.”
Spikey hair snorted. “There in’t no one on this planet that could kills us like that.”
“Ye dunnae know ‘im,” Ali continued. “Ye dunnae know what he and his group are capable of an’ if ye stay here ye’ll be right in ‘is way. If ye come back wi’ us––”
Spikey hair started to laugh, interrupting Ali. “Ah get it. Yer recruitin’ us. Yer playin’ us – getting us on yer side te fight wi’ye. Well we ain’t nae pawns, and we won’t be played.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a revolver from the waistband band of his trousers. A few of the other Nomads pulled out switch blades from pockets, waistbands and even their hair. I felt a twitch in my fingers.
“What’s this, mate?” Ali said. “Ye not trustin’ us nae? We came oot here unarmed. Te talk.” He folded his arms and jutted his chin at the man. He would not show weakness.
“Ah dunnae trust me own muvver,” said spikey hair. “An’ she really was an ugly cow.”
“Like muvver like son.” Ginge spat on the floor between us and the Nomads. Ali put a hand on her shoulder.
“We came here te talk,” Ali said, “not fight. We in’t forcin’ ye te join us. But I’m tellin’ ye that what’s comin’ is worse. It’s the Highlanders an’ they want nuthin’ on this Earth but power. They’ll use ye and spit ye out.” He looked around at the Nomads. “Ye’ve got a unit here. Ye’ve got women and children nae doubt.”
Spikey hair flinched. “The women are just as strong as the men here.”
“Aye, they are wi’us too,” Ali said. He kept his voice soothing but authoritative. “But ye dunnae want ye children te be spat out by a bastard like Hamish McAllister, eh? Ye dunnae want that.”
There were more whisperings from the Nomads and spiky hair shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They were thinking about it. Ali had begun to convince them. But the revolver was still held aloft with the leader’s finger hovering over the trigger. I concentrated all my thoughts on that gun, trying to keep my power at the very tips of my fingers, ready to spin it straight out of his hand if I needed to. Would I be quicker than him? My thoughts shot back to Murder-Troll with her gun against my temple, back in Area 14. It unnerved me and my heart started to pound against my chest.
�
�I’m Ali Sheikh,” he said to the group, sensing a shift in attitude. “This here is Mary MacDonald, she’s lived in Scotland all her life an’ saved me when I were a scrap o’ a kid in the Areas. This is Ginge. She dunnae talk much but ye’ve never met a better shot in yer life. She dunnae have nae last name.” He thumbed to Reg. “This is our driver, Reg Sparks. He’s got us outta many scrapes with his quick thinking. An’ next te him is Stevie Jones, worst singer in the bloody world but a damn good shot and an’ even better fighter.” He glanced at me. “An’ this is Mina Hart. Ye dunnae want te underestimate this slip o’a girl. She’ll have ye off yer feet sooner an’ ye can pull that trigger. That’s our group. There’s hundreds of us in the Compound an’ the Highlanders are comin’ fer us. Nae I know that this in’t yer problem, but we have kiddies to look after, young ‘uns, little bairns. If ye fight wi’us we might have a chance, an’ we’ve got places te keep ye kids safe in return. If ye dunnae fight wi’us then ye’ve got te get out. Get away from what’s comin’ ‘cos ye gonnae end up involved, nae matter what ye think.” Ali paused. “Nae, I’ve said ma piece an’ that’s it. That’s everythin’. It’s up te ye nae.”
Spikey hair stayed very still, his finger still hovering over the trigger of his gun. There was a tiny wobble in his arm. His left eye twitched just a little bit. The Nomads behind him shifted, some whispered to each other. The pause seemed to go on for hours. My fingers longed for the burn but I held it back. I had to let them decide their fate. Spikey hair held the gun higher and grimaced. My fingers twitched in anticipation, just waiting for even the slightest movement against that trigger, every part of me focussed. But then he dropped his arm. With a sigh he held out his free hand to Ali.
“Ah’m Spider an’ this is the Neds. Let’s go get fed, eh.”
30
An hour later and Spider had us sat round a campfire, each with a sausage. The children were out of hiding and stomped around like mini-neds, with the same punk hairdos and strange outfits. We were in a darker corner of the car-park surrounded by motorcycles. On our left was a large multi-storey, which Spider told us was where they all lived. It was easier to defend than a house, they’d spent so much of their youth fighting in it that they knew every corner, nook and cranny.
“Ah’ve heard of the Highlanders,” Spider said. “Mean sons’a’bitches. Ah dunnae want that fer ma group. But what kinda shelter ye offerin’? What kinda protection for ma Neds here?”
Ali and Spider negotiated through the smoky campfire. Ali told him about the Compound, the castle and the soldiers. He didn’t put a positive spin on it; he told it like it is, even about how the army lived in the castle whilst the rest of us were in trailers and tents. I noticed that he left out the Celebration. Even thinking about it put me off my food.
“Och, sounds about right. Even wi’all this,” he swept an arm over the abandoned car-park, “even after the world has gone te hell the army has te be in charge. There’s always someone tellin’ ye what te dae.” He snorted. “Least it in’t nae English gobshite Prime Minister though, eh?” He laughed and the Neds laughed along with him. But soon the mood turned serious. “Aye, we’ll come along with ye. We’ll fight an’ we’ll help ye win.” There was a cheer from the other Neds. Some rattled chains.
“Yer a good man, Spider. Yer all good people.” Ali clapped the leader of the Neds on the shoulder and then explained that the Scavengers were on a mission to send back as many Nomads as possible before moving on to the Perthans. He gave Spider a map, a password and words of good luck. We stayed for an hour while Spider gave us tip offs about friendly and hostile gangs and then we were back on the road.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I said.
Ali laughed. “Ye just know they’ll be famous last words.” The back of the van erupted in laughter and we were moving into the night.
*
We followed Spider’s instructions to find the other Nomads, none of whom were in gangs quite as large and intimidating as the Neds. Mostly they were individuals who didn’t belong to anyone, or small families suspicious of change. Ali managed to convince some but not all. He gave them the map and the password, urging them to at least seek some shelter in the Compound. But the truth was that Ali didn’t have all the answers for these people. He didn’t know how powerful the Highlander army was or how long it would be until an invasion. He didn’t know if we would be outnumbered or how many weapons the army had in their possession. He couldn’t tell them about me and the rest of the Freaks because he didn’t want to scare them. It was a tough job trying to convince people so suspicious and so used to being alone, but if there was ever a person for the job, it was Ali.
Stevie, reg and Ginge took turns driving the van until Ali thought it would be hilarious if I had a go. It was a grey morning and we were on a long, wide road on the way to Glasgow. The middle of the road was separated by a metal barrier about a foot tall and on either side there were green hills and fields. The clouds were low in the sky, with some dark patches threatening rain. I gripped the steering wheel as though my life depended on it, my eyes wide and glued to the road. My foot hovered on the gas pedal and the van spluttered forward.
“That’s it, easy does it, gentle on the accelerator,” Ali coaxed.
“How do I stop?” I asked, in a panicked voice. The van lurched forward and I took my foot off the pedal, scared.
“Ye don’t need te stop, kid, can ye see anything around ye? Put yer foot down!”
I pressed the pedal harder and the van jumped forward, picking up speed. The speedometer needle started to rise and I laughed.
“That’s it! Now yer cookin’.”
“Oh wow, this is so cool!” I pressed the pedal down even further and the van roared in return. There was a surge of power that jolted through my spine. I could get used to this.
“All right, that’s enough speed,” Ali said. “Ease yer foot off the accelerator a little, that’s it. Now, steer around that pot-hole. Left, Mina, left… LEFT!”
I swerved at the last minute, narrowly missing the large hole in the road. Ali grabbed his chest in over-exaggeration.
“Fer gawd’s sake, Mina, we’re tryin’ te sleep back ‘ere,” Reg shouted over the front seat.
I glanced at him through the rear view mirror. “Sorry.”
“Eyes on the road… EYES ON THE ROAD,” Ali shouted.
“All right – all right.” I manoeuvred around another pot hole, taking the turn smoothly this time. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
Ali snorted. “Where did ye hear that?”
“My dad says it.” I grinned. “It’s proper old-fashioned.”
Ali laughed.
We drove on in silence and soon the city lay in the distance. We passed little towns, rows of old houses, and an abandoned hospital. Crumbling concrete buildings, haunted windows smashed and jagged, with teeth jutting out of the frames like the mouth of a shark. Large office blocks loomed above overgrown parks. Ali directed me as we turned from the large road onto smaller, narrower streets that snaked through the city. Then we crossed over a river and snaked around more offices, cafes and shops. Ali wanted to show me the old University buildings, so tall and grand like old churches with their stained glass windows and tall steeples. He told me about how people would train and study. Academics like my dad taught there in hundreds of different subjects. I imagined what it would be like to walk around the campus holding books, chatting away to friends. The first person to pop into my head was Angela and my heart panged a tiny bit.
“Slow down,” Ali said.
I hadn’t been driving fast. I’d been following the length of the University buildings at a steady pace so that I could look at the architecture. They were almost like castles to me, red-brick grand castles that I’d seen in Dad’s history books, with ivy growing on almost every wall.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I think someone is watching us,” he replied. “Turn right at the end of this street. We need te get outta here.” Ali r
eached for his waistband and I noticed the gun. He took it and put it on his lap in one slow movement, watching all around him.
My stomach flipped. I’d been driving for an hour and I had no idea how to get away from a threat.
“Do you want to swap places?” I asked.
Ali shushed me, turning his head to the left and looking out of the window of the van. I turned right, next to a more modern University building with a lot of glass, trying to drive the van fast but at the same time keeping it smooth, pulling and pushing the gear stick as Ali had shown me. But as I slowed down to get around the bend I missed the clutch with my foot and the van jerked. When I tried to correct my mistake the van spluttered and the engine died.
“Start it back up, Mina,” Ali said.
It was one of the rare moments that he used my name, so I knew just how serious he was. With a deep breath I turned the key in the ignition. The car started to splutter and shake. It chugged and chugged for what felt like hours. I turned the key back, my fingers shaking as badly as the van.
“Move over,” Ali instructed through gritted teeth. “What was I thinking letting ye drive right through the city?”
He clambered over me, and I slid along into Ali’s seat. He tossed me his gun and started the van. Then I saw what had him on edge. In a building to our left, a tall University building with many windows, you could see people on every floor. They all stared at our van spluttering in the middle of the street. Some were moving. Some were streaming out of the building and running towards us. The van cut off and Ali swore.
