Protectors - Book one of Beyond These Walls: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

by Michael Robertson

  Alice’s pulse boomed inside her skull. She held her neck and wheezed, “Help me.”

  He didn’t. He believed in natural selection. Sink or swim. How many cavemen had choked on their dinner? The ones who had been saved only weakened the gene pool. Weakness should never be rewarded.

  After several heavy gulps, Alice swallowed the meat, leaned on the table, and gasped. Adrenaline surged through her. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand to stop her mascara from running and looked up to see John watching her with his usual blank expression. A barrage of abuse rose and died on her tongue; there was no point.

  Alice retuned her focus to her dinner and flinched every time her cutlery hit the porcelain plate. The sharp chinks bounced around the quiet room. After she’d cut everything up, she stared at her food. A tightness remained in her throat from when she’d choked; another sip of warm red wine did little to ease her trepidation.

  When she looked back up, John still watched her.

  She cleared her throat. “So, when will you tell me about your work, John?”

  His dinner remained untouched; his scrawny frame and pallid skin served as a visual representation of his poor diet. Thirty years her senior at sixty-three, he looked fifty years older. He consulted his wristwatch as if their meal had a deadline and sighed. “I can’t. You know that.”

  While she watched him, she speared some potato and put it in her mouth, chewed, and took another sip of wine. The fluffy vegetable disintegrated and slid down her throat when she swallowed. Eating under John’s cold scrutiny seemed to increase the possibility that she’d choke again. Maybe he was right; maybe her tension was all in the mind.

  She ate a piece of purple sprouting broccoli. The bland vegetable had taken on the rich tang of blood from the steak.

  Despite the slow heave that turned through her stomach again, Alice focused hard on mastication. When the food had no taste left, she swallowed the weak mush.

  When she looked up again, the strip lighting sent electric shocks through her eyeballs. She shielded her brow as she looked at John. “Have the lights gotten brighter?”

  John didn’t respond.

  “The lights,” she repeated as she viewed the room through slits. “Have they been turned up?” Her world blurred, and the beginnings of a migraine stretched its poisonous roots through her brain.

  Alice changed the subject. “I know you can’t tell me about your work, John. It’s just, as my professor, I long to understand more. You’re here to teach me, after all.” Another sharp pain jabbed into her eyes, and she drew a short breath that echoed in the bare room. While she stared down at the white table, she pinched her forehead for relief.

  “Are you okay?” His tone showed no evidence of concern. It seemed more like someone on a scientific quest to collate information. She expected to look up and see him taking notes. John didn’t believe in downtime. The world should be viewed through objective eyes at all times. Emotions belonged to the irrational.

  Two hollow knocks sounded out when John dropped his pointy elbows on the table. Alice looked up to see his long and bony fingers entwine. His deep and languid voice rumbled, “Eat more, it will make you feel better. As for my work, you’ll have to keep wondering, I’m afraid. Since the Second Cold War started with The East, everything has been on a need-to-know basis.”

  “The Second Cold War? That’s always your excuse, John. Since the terrorist attacks in 2023–”

  “And the second wave a year later.” He spoke to her as if she didn’t know her history. He spoke to her as if she barely knew her own name.

  A deep breath helped her withhold her retort. “The point I was trying to make,” she said, “is that nothing’s happened for the last fifteen years. We’ve had the silent threat of war hanging over us like a thick fog. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s just a way for the government to take our civil liberties away. I wouldn’t be surprised if they put a Doomsday Clock in every city just to remind us of how much protection we need. Just so we obey their every wish.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Alice. You sound like one of those new-age paranoid types.”

  “As opposed to the old-age paranoid types? At least my beliefs don’t result in us stockpiling weapons of mass destruction.” Fire spread across her face and she trembled. Years of repressed arguments always rushed forward when things got tense between them. One day he’d get the lot, regardless of whether he labelled her irrational or not.

  His long features twisted, but he remained silent.

  “Besides, when you’re connected to those in power, I’m sure it does seem preposterous. You’ll be okay, John; you have a space in their fallout shelters when you want it. Ironic really.”

  “What is?”

  She gasped when her stomach lurched. She coughed several times before she said, “The fact that the wealthy and privileged will survive if it all goes to hell, left to remake the world in their own greedy image. I mean,”—she forced a laugh that fell dead in the sparse room—”that’s what got us in this state in the first place. It would seem that humanity is destined to repeat itself if they’re the people who will crawl out of the ground after this planet has been ravaged by a nuclear war.” A huge gulp of wine, and she slammed the glass back down on the table. When she pulled her hair from her face, the light in the room hit her like sharp needles fired into her eyeballs.

  A gentle slur dampened her words, and the warm liquid that she’d tried to drink dribbled down her chin. “Anyway, maybe we’ll work together when I graduate.”

  When she looked back up, she saw regret in his cold eyes. The flicker of emotion sat awkwardly on his stony face. “Maybe,” he allowed. “How’s your food? Wilfred is quite the chef, don’t you think?”

  If Wilfred never cooked again it would be too soon. Alice didn’t reply.

  John maintained the silence.

  No matter how much she wriggled, Alice found no comfort on the hard plastic chair. Sweat dampened her back. Before she spoke, she paused. The words had abandoned her, so she fished in her increasingly foggy mind for them. The first three words came out as a slur, “Yes, he is. However, the steak is a little rare for my liking.” A hard throb surged through her temples. She drew a sharp breath through her clenched teeth and slapped her hands to her face. When she pushed against her eyeballs, it did nothing to ease her pain; they felt ready to burst.

  John showed little concern. After he’d regarded his watch again, he lifted a small black box and pressed a button on it. “I agree. Wilfred likes his meat bloody.” He said the word like a vampire with a thirst. “This is well done by his standards.”

  A gentle whir sounded, and darkness fell over the room.

  When Alice twisted her head, she saw heavy metal shutters close over the windows. “When were they fitted?” she asked. Her own words echoed through her mind.

  A half smile twisted John’s face. “Earlier today.”

  Every beat of her pulse kicked her brain. Her stomach tensed. She stammered, “W… why are you… um, why are you locking us in?”

  His laugh echoed through her skull and her world spun. “I’m not locking us in, dear. I’m locking them out. We’ve had information that suggests the Cold War may heat up tonight. We believe that China and Korea have mastered biological warfare. This apartment is already well fortified; I’ve just added the shutters to prevent an airborne virus from entering.” As if in afterthought, he added, “I’m sure that nothing will happen, but it’s better to be safe.”

  Fire barrelled through her guts. Sweat gushed from her brow, and the thick black bars of tunnel vision shut off her peripheral sight. Everything fell into soft focus. She felt disconnected from the words as she said them. “Oh, so we have to stay here?” Several blinks did nothing to clear her vision.

  With a sombre nod, John said, “Yes. We have plenty of rations though.”

  Where? The apartment had seemed empty—not that she could see much now; maybe she’d missed a stash of suppl
ies.

  Another rush of heat forced sweat from every pore. John vanished from her view as his white coat blended into the surroundings.

  Alice wheezed. “Is that why you’re checking your watch? You know when it’s supposed to happen?”

  Before John replied, everything went dark and she fell sideways. Sharp pain exploded across her cheek as she hit the table. The smell of bleach slithered up her nostrils.

  “It won’t be long now, dear.”

  She heard his chair scrape across the floor.

  “Would you excuse me while I go and use the bathroom? I want to make the most of that luxury because we’ll need to stay in this room from here on out. It’ll be a bucket in the corner after thissssssssss…”

  His words faded as her vision failed her.

  The sun shone directly into Rhys’ eyes when he pulled up outside Dave’s house. On the first attempt, he flapped at the sun visor and missed it, the glare so strong it blinded him. The thing creaked when he flipped it down on the second attempt. The car was a relic, but it wasn’t like he could afford anything else. When the custody battle for his boy was finally over with, he’d get one of the latest models. The Audi Aurore had automatic sun visors as standard from the 2035 model onwards. It may be a few years old, but something like that would be much nicer than the twenty-year-old Peugeot piece of shit he had to drive.

  He left the engine running to keep the air conditioner on. Dave wouldn’t be out straight away, and Rhys refused to cook in the car while he waited.

  Nauseous dread sat in Rhys’ stomach as it did every Monday morning. As clichéd as it was to hate Mondays, Rhys couldn’t fucking stand them. They served as a sharp reminder that another weekend had passed where he hadn’t seen his son.

  A quick toot of the horn, and he leaned back in his seat to wait.

  Rhys checked his watch for the sixth time, at least; a minute had passed, maybe more. The cool air blew on Rhys’ face. It stung his eyes slightly as the prolonged jet dried them out while he stared at Dave’s blue front door. Rhys expected him to be late, but he’d usually acknowledged Rhys’ presence by now. Dishevelled hair and bleary eyes would have normally poked their head out of the door and winced the usual apology of the perpetually late, but he got nothing today.

  Another check of his watch, and Rhys tooted the horn again.

  Dave ‘ten more minutes’ Allen always needed ten more minutes. They now had an agreement in place; Dave could have ten more minutes, but once that time had elapsed, Rhys left for work with or without him. At thirty-five, Dave could take responsibility for getting himself to work on time. Rhys often felt like his fucking mother.

  Seven minutes left of the ten and still no sign of Dave. The corners of Rhys’ eyes itched as he continued to watch Dave’s front door. A quick check in the rear-view mirror, and he saw his own scowl. No wonder his eyes ached. Maybe he should just go now. Sod ten minutes. Dave can find his own damn way to work.

  A heavy sigh, and Rhys shook his head. He couldn’t do that, no matter how much he wanted to… not with their agreement in place. He reached up to press the horn again, but before he had the chance to, a loud bang crashed into the window next to him.

  Rhys’ heart leaped into his throat and he spun around to find himself face to face with the messy-haired Dave. His afro looked like a bird’s nest. “What the fuck, man?” Not that he needed to ask; the stubble and bloodshot eyes told Rhys exactly what Dave had been up to. When he wound the window down, the heat of the morning rushed into the car with the reek of stale booze. Surprise, surprise.

  “I’m sorry, mate,” Dave said.

  Rhys looked past Dave at the house he’d just left. Like Dave’s house, it provided affordable living for the young professional. “You fucked Julie again?”

  A half smile, and Dave shrugged. “How long have I got before you leave?”

  After a glance down at the dash, Rhys said, “Four minutes.” He had six, but Dave always needed the wiggle room.

  Without another word, Dave jogged toward his house. A sprint would have no doubt reproduced most of the consumed alcohol from the previous night, and Rhys didn’t need to see that, even if it did mean Dave moved slower.

  The electric window whirred as Rhys did it up again, and the leather seat groaned when he leaned back into it. Despite the cool air conditioning, the heat of the sun warmed his face, and he closed his eyes. One day, Dave would surprise him by being on time.

  Yeah, right.

  When Dave opened the car door, Rhys opened his eyes again. A glance at the clock, and he quickly sat upright. The cheeky fucker had taken twelve minutes from him; it best not fuck things up for seeing his boy. The opportunities for him to see Flynn were few and far between. The last thing he needed was Dave ruining that, even though he couldn’t ever know what time to pass Flynn’s school because his mother was so damn inconsistent. When they’d been together, Larissa kept time like an army sergeant. Now she turned up whenever she fucking liked. She used it as a way to fuck with him, a way of repeated punishment for his one mistake.

  “Sorry again, mate,” Dave said as he strapped his seatbelt on. “I don’t have my alarm at Julie’s.”

  Rhys made a quick check over his shoulder and signalled before he pulled away. Being pissed with him wouldn’t help, but Rhys couldn’t let go of the tension that gripped his jaw. Not that he could really blame Dave; he could have left him after ten minutes like they’d previously agreed.

  A deep sigh, and Rhys rolled his shoulders. It loosened the tension slightly. “What’s going on with you two? That’s the fifth time in the past fortnight that you’ve stayed over there.”

  “You know what it’s like, mate; we go out on the piss, bump into each other all drunk and horny, one thing leads to another…”

  “Why don’t you just start dating her? You’re thirty-five now, Dave, you ain’t getting any younger.”

  “Exactly.”

  Rhys raised an eyebrow at him. “Huh?”

  “I have less time left in my life,” Dave explained. “Do you seriously think I need to fill what’s left of whatever existence I have with the bullshit of being attached to somebody? I like fucking; I don’t like going to garden centres on a Sunday and picking out potted plants. Besides, you’re hardly a shining example to follow when it comes to relationships.”

  “That was below the belt, mate.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Whatever.”

  “Do you remember when you were out on the weekends with us? The wild nights on the town with the boys?”

  Of course he remembered them. The hint of a smile lifted his lips.

  Despite his apparent lethargy, Dave jumped on it. “See? They were fun times… bullshit chat up lines that worked more often than not, a different woman every night, dancing until the early hours, and a takeaway on the way home. When you wake up in a strange bed with a naked woman and a half-eaten kebab in your pocket, you knew you’d had a good night. How’s that not fun?”

  When they rounded the next bend, the sun shone directly into the front of the car. The glare burned Rhys’ eyes, but it seemed like nothing compared to Dave. First he shrieked, hid behind his forearms, and then flapped around until he’d found his sunglasses and slipped them on.

  “What are you,” Rhys said, “a fucking vampire?”

  “The hangovers get harder with each passing week, man. I’m getting too old for this.”

  “Yeah, I don’t miss that.”

  “You should come out with us one weekend. I know the boys would be pleased to see you.”

  “I would,” Rhys said, “but I have different priorities now. I’m a dad and I need to behave like one. I may have troubles with Larissa, but Flynn is my reason for being. I need to do the right thing by him.”

  The route to work always passed Flynn’s school. Of course, Rhys wanted to arrive at work on time, but he lived for the chance to pass Flynn when he got dropped off at the gates. Just one glance of his littl
e boy could keep him going for a week or more.

  When they got close, Rhys slowed down and looked across at all the children. Dave shut up as Rhys continued to search. Between eight and nine, all of the kids got dropped off by their parents; a quick glance at the clock on the dash showed him it was eight twenty-three.

  Even after they’d passed the primary school, Rhys continued to look over his shoulder. Not that it served any purpose; there were only a handful of kids, and most of them were girls.

  As Rhys sped up, Dave rubbed his temples and reclined into his seat again. “No Flynn today?”

  Did it look like Flynn was there today? Rhys pushed out a heavy sigh to try to force some of his frustration away. “No, I swear she drops him at a different time every day just to fuck with me. All I want is a small glance of him, a wave before I go to work. I just want him to know how much I love him. I don’t want him to forget me. Instead, I feel like a fucking stalker… a nonce that slows down and stares at the children going into school.” With his jaw clenched, he added, “I swear she gets some sick pleasure from it.”

  It may have been a clumsy hand, guided by an exhausted and clearly still intoxicated man, but when Dave squeezed Rhys’ shoulder, it sent a shimmer of sadness through his heart. The sting of tears itched his eyeballs, and he continued to stare straight ahead.

  “He won’t forget you, mate. Six year olds know who their parents are, even if they’re separated. When did you see him last?”

  “About a week and a half ago.”

  “So Saturday’s your next day with him?”

  With a grip so tight on the wheel it hurt his hands, Rhys’ breathed quicker. “That’s the plan. If she doesn’t fucking cancel, that is.”

  “She’s still cancelling a lot?”

  “Yeah, whenever she damn well feels like it.”

  Dave let go of Rhys’ shoulder, leaned back, and shook his head. “What a bitch.”

  Rhys didn’t reply.