by Jon Cronshaw
Heading south, Pip bounds along the road next to him, hopping over fallen telegraph poles and breaking away to sniff the bases of sagging lampposts. The sky hangs cloudy and grey. It's impossible to tell where the sun is.
With a grim smile, Abel slides the hunting knife back into his jacket. Pip darts off to the left and returns a few moments later, turning in circles and skipping on her back legs.
“What is it, girl?”
Pip makes a loop and then runs into the bushes. Abel looks around, gives a shrug, and follows. With his head down and arms outstretched, he pushes through the branches and leaves, shaking away the dust as it falls onto his face. Pip barks, but he can't see her through the trees. He pushes through, following the barks until he reaches a clearing. He scratches his beard and stares up at the old brick building, still standing. Eight windows line the ground floor and a double-door stands in the centre. The floor above has nine windows, many of them still glazed.
“I'll be damned,” he says. “Good work, girl.” He pats Pip on her side when she returns to his heel. He listens for noise but only hears the trees around him shake with the wind.
With tentative steps, he moves towards the entrance. Rotten wood reveals itself beneath peeling black paint around the doorframe. The doors are sturdy, thick oak with wrought iron flourishes. He tries the right door. It's stiff but creaks open.
A plume of dust mingles with the smell of damp and insects. Coughing and waving his hands, he leans inside. Shafts of grey light pour into the building, reflecting against the peeling wallpaper. There’s a stairway ahead and a desk to the right. The carpet squelches beneath his feet.
He goes around the desk and opens the top drawer. A ball of rubber bands rolls around inside. A faded box of pens rests on its side next to a few loose staples. He takes the ball of rubber bands and pulls one free. It crumbles in his hand when he tries to stretch it. He drops the ball and closes the drawer.
He tries the next drawer down. There's a pencil, a ruler, and a book. He takes the book. The building clicks and creaks around him. Pip sniffs at something in a nearby corner. He blows dust from the book and examines the cover. It's a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. He thumbs the pages, reads a few lines, and drops the book into his jacket along with the pencil. The bottom drawer contains the fossilised remains of a shrivelled banana and nothing more.
He looks up, watching Pip as she scurries off along the corridor. She sniffs with her nose against the crack at the bottom of the door at the far end. Reaching the fourth door on the right, he signals for Pip to stand back. He tries the door, but something heavy blocks the way. With a grunt, he shoves into the door shoulder-first and stumbles into the room. A plastic chair clatters to the floor.
Eyes adjusting to the half-light, he starts as his feet brush against the bony remains of another wanderer.
He stands over the skeleton, trying to work out whether it was a man or a woman. He shoos Pip when she tries to tug away a femur. “Go on,” he says. “Leave it.” Pip bolts from the room.
He goes over to the curtain, pulls it across, and looks around the room. A bucket, half-filled with dried faeces, stands in the corner. A second bucket brims with white ash and the charred remains of a piece of wood. There’s a tin of something on the floor next to the body, its label long-gone. Smiling grimly, he picks it up and shakes it, trying to discern its contents. A box of matches lies on its side. He opens the box, checks inside, and then pockets them.
He turns to the bones and examines the clothes. Rot and maggots have eaten through them, but the boots are good. Leaning down, he slides the boots away from the feet, shuddering when bones clatter to the floor. Out of habit, he goes to put the boots in his backpack and then shakes his head when he realises it’s not there. Instead, he grips them awkwardly under his left arm.
Stepping back into the corridor, he closes the door behind him. He takes a blue wax crayon from his jacket and marks the door with a cross.
He tries the next door on the left. It swings open without resistance. Two chairs stand on either side of a plastic-coated desk. The shelves above are empty. A computer monitor lies on its side, its screen smashed. Shards of glass spread across the floor below the window. The curtain flaps with the wind. He goes round the desk, looks in the drawers, takes a few pencils, tests a stapler, and puts it back.
On leaving, he marks the doorframe with a cross and goes to the next room, its layout the same. He searches through the drawers and stops when he comes across a book. He looks at the cover and takes it in his hands. It's an instruction manual for computer software. He sighs and discards it.
Returning to the corridor, he marks the doorframe and whistles for Pip. She appears with her tail in the air and her tongue hanging from the side of her mouth. “Come on, girl,” he says.
They step outside and push their way back through the brush and onto the road. He heads north, back the way they came, but Pip insists they continue south.
“It's this way,” he says, gesturing back towards the highway. Pip runs over to him and grabs his sleeve, giving it a gentle tug. She runs on ahead, looking back at him as she skirts the right side of the road. Abel shrugs and follows.
A strong wind blows around them when Abel and Pip reach the edge of a gorge. A river snakes from east to west below, the rocks red and treacherous. Pip runs towards the edge.
“Stop,” Abel calls.
Pip disappears over the side.
“Damn it.” He runs to the lip of the gorge and looks down. A path curves down to his right, carved by nature from the sheer rocks. He catches a glimpse of Pip’s tail wagging ahead. He sighs, drops down, and follows the path.
Trembling as he edges forward, he grips the rocks and tries not to look down. Loose stones and dust fall around him, descending into the river far below. Squeezing around a large jutting rock, he sees Pip sitting on her haunches, panting happily at the mouth of a cave.
The entrance looms over him, thin and jagged and black. He follows as Pip heads inside, cold, fresh air filling the space. Pip’s claws click against the stone floor as the sound of his boots echo around them.
Moving deeper into the cave, he becomes aware of the faint glow of dripping fungus and the trickle of a stream. He can just make out the shadowy outline of Pip. She's lapping at water. He gropes towards her, finding his way forward in the darkness.
The stream stretches half-a-foot across, fast-flowing and icy-cold. He cups some water in his right hand, sniffs it, and places it against his lips. There's no smell, no taste. He waits for a few moments, waits for the burning sensation, but nothing happens. Nodding to himself, he sips the water.
“Good work,” he says, rubbing Pip behind her ears.
She paddles in the stream. He watches her for several minutes and then takes off his boots and thick socks. He drops the socks into the water, squeezing away the sweat and dirt. He lays them flat on a rock to dry.
The water's chill sends shivers along his skin when he pushes his feet below the surface. Gasping, he holds them for several moments, rubbing his blisters against the smooth rocks. He watches Pip playing in the water and smiles.
15. The Gift
Abel walks towards the setting sun with Pip at his side. He looks over his shoulder at the city’s black waters glistening against the dying light. The high branches of dead pines rattle against the breeze. He scans the horizon for signs of an approaching storm.
He stops and looks towards the campervan, no more than a distant dot on the edge of the floodwaters. “We should find somewhere for the night,” he says.
Ignoring him, Pip sniffs at the air then darts into the trees to the right. He sighs and keeps walking. The remains of a metal barrier mark the left-side of the road. They pass twisted lampposts and the crumpled heaps of wrecked cars. Trees make way for bare earth pockmarked with blast craters. Some of the craters house pools of stagnant water. Nothing grows here.
Pip returns with a dead mole locked between her jaws. She drops it at h
is feet. He leans down and picks it up, its body still warm. Blood gathers around its mouth. “Good girl,” he says.
Pip tears apart her half of the mole in the firelight. Abel sits with his back against a tree while he pokes the fire at his feet. He turns the mole over, salivating at the smell of cooking meat. He reaches into his jacket and takes out the tin, placing it on the ground to his right. Pip looks up at him for a second and focuses her attention back on the mole, her teeth scraping against its bones. Smoke drifts through a gap in the surrounding trees. Insects hum faintly above the rustle of leaves.
He pierces the tin with his knife. Pip looks up again. He lifts the tin, works the knife around the lip, and flips it open to find it filled with baked beans. He sniffs the sauce and smiles. He nestles the tin among the flames, listening as the sticks crackle and hiss against the heat. Pip scrambles to her feet, her tongue curling up as she yawns.
He pats the ground to his left. Pip walks over, makes a circle, and flops down next to him with her back to the fire.
He rubs her hips, grinning when her tail beats against the ground. The beans start to bubble. Taking a kerchief from his pocket, he wraps it around his hand, and takes the tin from the fire. He scoops his fingers into the beans and takes a mouthful. He holds the warmth in his mouth. When half the beans remain, he tips them onto the ground for Pip. She gets up, eats them, and then lies back down.
Tossing the tin aside, he takes the mole from the flames. He bites down, hot fat dripping into his mouth. He tears the meat from the bone and then leaves the bones for Pip. She chews them idly, crunching them with her back teeth.
“We've got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow,” he says. He makes a bed from his coat, lies down on the ground, and closes his eyes.
He shivers against the cold when he wakes up. The sky glows red with the first hints of dawn. Pip sleeps, curled into a tight ball, growling with each breath. Abel picks up his jacket, brushing away the fallen leaves, dust, and soil. Pip jumps to her feet and shakes.
“Hey, girl,” he manages, his voice croaky. He rubs his eyes, stretches, lets out a long yawn, and crouches to stroke her. Still shivering, he pulls on his jacket.
He looks between the trees for dry twigs and gathers a dozen or so under his arm and walks back over to the ashes from the previous night to build a fire.
Pip wanders off, and by the time she returns, the fire burns brightly. She sits in front of him and gives an expectant whine.
“I got nothing, girl,” he says, crouching near the flames. Pip licks his hand and whines again. “We’re all out.”
After several minutes, he gets to his feet and stamps out the fire.“Let’s go.”
The sun hangs low and red above the city when they get back on the highway. Sunlight catches the rooftops with glaring pools of white light, extending over the floodwaters’ surface, rippling in swathes of rainbow colours. Abel covers his nose with his right forearm as a gust of wind brings with it the city's stench — the odour of rot and decay.
He finds himself smiling as the sun warms the tops of his shoulders. Pip runs on ahead, weaving between gutted cars and upturned trucks. He checks each vehicle he passes but finds nothing worth taking.
They come to a stop around noon at a place where the river curves towards the road. Pip jumps into the water, swims for a few moments, and then scrambles back onto the bank. She stands next to Abel, spraying him with water as she shakes herself dry.
“Damn it,” he says. “Watch where you're doing that.”
Pangs of hunger tug sharply at his empty stomach. He looks over his shoulder towards the city. There's movement on the road behind him. Without hesitation, he grips the handle of his pistol and takes his knife with the other hand.
The shape of a woman comes into focus. A rifle rests over one shoulder. When she gets closer, he recognises her hard and scarred face. He gives a cautious smile and approaches, keeping his hands on his weapons. “It's been a while,” he says.
The woman squints and tilts her head. “I know you,” she says. “You’ve not been to the Grid for a while.”
“Nope, I'm running alone these days, keeping with the dog, keeping myself clean.”
The woman nods. “Can always tell with the eyes.”
“Yep.”
“Got some plez on me if you’ve got stuff to trade,” she says. “Fresh batch. Good stuff.”
He shakes his head. “I'm clean. I don't want to go back to that.”
The woman's eyes narrow. “You never get clean. You always come back. The Family is always waiting when you do.”
“I'm not going back.”
“Alright.” She gives a half-shrug, waving a dismissive hand. She reaches into her jacket and takes out a purple crystal, the size of a thumbnail. “Consider this a gift.” She drops it into Abel’s hand.
He watches her for several minutes as she makes her way west, the crystal gripped in his palm. Pip returns to his heel.
“Damn it,” he whispers.
16. The Chair
Abel takes a right off the highway and along the single-lane trail towards Trinity. Pip sniffs at the lip of the road, stopping only to relieve herself. He squints as the setting sun ducks behind a distant hilltop, casting its orange glow across the wheat fields to his left. He hunches his shoulders into his jacket and dips his head against the cold, weakened by thirst and hunger. The boots he found rub against his side, digging into his ribs.
A patchwork of colours and materials surround Trinity — a fence constructed from sheets of corrugated iron and blocks of stone and cracked concrete. Cables and ropes weave through the fence, holding everything together.
The sounds of movement and laughter, the grunting of pigs, and the lowing of cows comes from inside. Smoke drifts high into the air, rocking with the breeze as it catches the dying sunlight. The trail ends abruptly, cut off at the fence.
He bangs his fist against a wooden panel. “Hello,” he calls. “Sal?”
He waits, looking back up the trail. He turns his attention to the towering crucifix standing to his right.
He bangs the wood panel again. Leaning his head back, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Sal? Jacob? Anyone?”
A rattling comes from inside. He steps back as part of the fence scrapes along the ground.
A lean man pokes his head through a foot-wide gap. “Yes?”
Abel removes his tattered baseball cap, forcing a smile. “Is Sal around? Jacob?”
The man nods. “Wait there,” he says, closing the fence.
Abel sighs and shifts his weight, trying to relieve the pressure on his blistered feet. He turns west and catches the last moments of light before the sun dips behind the hills, leaving behind it a sky streaked with reds and purples. He scratches his beard.
The fence rumbles behind him. “Hey, Sal,” he says, his smile genuine now.
Sal wears a thick brown robe, its hood draping down her back. She smiles, leans forward, and embraces him. “You okay?” she asks with concern in her voice. She strokes Pip's head.
“I’ve got some things to trade.”
Sal nods and gestures for him to follow. “You missed the evening meal,” she says. “I'm sure we could knock something together with the leftovers.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says, rubbing his hands together.
Sal closes the fence behind them, securing the entrance with a sturdy length of rope.
Trinity opens out before him — rows of huts and buildings, a granary, a water tower, and a church. Flaming torches line the fence as bonfires burn in a few dozen steel barrels. They walk along a dirt track that dips in a gentle slope towards the centre.
Over to his left, Abel hears the humming of bees and the grunting of pigs. Muffled voices come from inside the shacks as they pass. A woman with a flaming torch passes across their path, a pair of small children chasing each other behind her.
“Has the wizard been back?” he asks.
“That charlatan?” Sal shakes her head. “I think we we
re all glad to see the back of him.”
“He ran out on me, took my stuff.”
“I was worried you’d go with him. I didn’t trust him.”
“We tried to help some kids. The Family had them dragging a van down to the city.”
Sal shakes her head and sighs. “The Family,” she mutters.
They pass vegetable patches, marked out by wire fences. A pair of cows and a goat look up, staring at Pip. The smells of wood smoke, herbs, animals, vinegar, and toilets fill the air.
Sal opens the door to a wooden hut, pushing a shoulder against the stiffness. He wrinkles his nose at the stench of sweat and damp. Pip sits on her haunches, brushing the ground with her wagging tail, her ears twitching.
“Sorry,” says Sal. “The bedding has been changed, but the trader who came yesterday had a real odour problem.”
“Right.” Abel can just make out the single bed resting flush against the opposite wall. At the end of the bed, a wooden chair has been squeezed in to the corner at an awkward angle. To the bed's right, a squat side-table stands with a fresh beeswax candle resting on its top.
“Leave your pack and we'll sort you something to eat.”
Abel frowns. “He took my pack.”
She shakes her head.
Pip pushes her way inside and sniffs around the edges of the room, pushing her nose against the join between the wall and floorboards.
Abel tosses the boots onto the bed and turns to the door. “Come on, girl,” he says, patting his hip.
They head towards a large wooden building. Sal pushes the door open as they enter the pitch-black communal hall. Pip runs on ahead and finds something to eat on the floor.
Sal steps outside and returns a short time later with a flaming torch. She moves around the room, lighting candles as she goes, and then places the torch in a wall sconce to the door's right. “Take a seat, I'll be right back,” she says, waving towards the three long tables filling the room.
