by Jon Cronshaw
“Any luck?” Sal asks, walking over to him.
Abel unzips the jacket, brushes away the water, and shakes his head. “No sign. She’s not up there.” He hands the jacket back to its owner and flexes his fingers, now bright pink from the rain.
“Ouch, your neck look sore,” Sal says, taking in a sharp breath. She turns to the residents. “Will someone get some fresh water from the kitchen? Maybe a cloth?”
A short man with deep-set eyes jumps to his feet. “I’ll sort it,” he says, moving toward the door to the kitchens.
“It’s a mess out there, Sal,” Abel says, crouching down to unfasten his mud-caked boots. “All the water’s going to the centre.”
“God must be looking out for us,” Sal says. “The rains forced those raiders to turn back.”
Abel yanks the boot from his right foot and pulls off a sodden sock clinging to his skin. Freeing his foot, he wriggles his toes and rubs at his sole, clammy, and coated in blisters. He grits his teeth.
“Looks painful.”
“Yep. That rain’s going to bother me for days.” He rubs at his foot, wincing as a blister pops, clear pus oozing from a sagging balloon of skin. Turning to his left foot, he removes the boot with ease, and drags the sock away from his skin, frowning with the effort.
He looks up when the man returns with a cloth and bowl of cold water. Sal gestures for Abel to lean forward while she cleans the exposed skin around the back of his neck, wringing the cloth between dabs. “I wish Jacob was here,” she says. “He’d know what to do.”
“It’s already starting to feel alright. You’re doing fine.”
“Anywhere else?”
Abel makes an awkward look then nods. “I think there was a leak in the jacket. I’m pretty itchy round here.” He gestures along his chest and sides.
“Take your shirts off then. The quicker we get you cleaned up, the less it's going to irritate your skin.”
There’s a long pause as Abel looks around at all the faces. “But—”
Sal shakes her head. “No one’s going to look.”
Abel nods and lifts the layers of T-shirts and sweaters over his head, separating them and squeezing away the worst of the water before laying them on the ground, cold spreading across his back.
He rolls his shoulders, folding his arms against his chest.
Sal signals for him to turn as she looks him up and down. “You’ve got a lot of scars. I didn’t realise you were so skinny. You should eat.”
“Just clean me up,” he mutters. “I’m getting cold here.” He flinches, sucking in a sharp breath when the damp cloth makes contact with his back.
“Try to keep still,” Sal whispers. “It’s blistering around here.”
A bolt of pain spreads across his back when Sal prods at something squashy. “Damn it.”
“I don’t know what that is,” she says. “When Jacob gets back, we’ll get you looked at.”
“I’ll be fine,” Abel grumbles, reaching down for his clothes. He glances at Sal, holding her gaze for a long moment, and then looks down. “Thanks.” He catches David grinning at him, and frowns.
Sal takes his hand and offers him a smile. “You can get dressed now.”
Abel pulls on his clothes and goes over to the door. “I’m worried about Sis.”
“If there’s one person here who can improvise, it’s her. God has a plan for her.”
“Even though she’s a killer?” Abel asks. “What was it about ‘thou shall not kill’?”
“When there’s hope, there’s forgiveness. And where there is forgiveness, there’s redemption. You of all people should know that.”
Abel takes a deep breath and nods. “What now?”
“It’s been a long night. We should all try to get some sleep.” Sal turns to address the others. “You can stay here tonight, if you choose. If you prefer to sleep in your own homes, just be mindful of the rain. I think children should stay here.”
A few people get up and leave, while others stay where they are, rolling out coats as pillows and huddling inside blankets.
Sal drops her gaze and purses her lips. “I fear that we have lost one of our community. I am not sure who it is, but we will recover their body in the morning. I will pray for them as I know you will too. But for now, we should sleep.”
“What if they come back?” Abel asks in a low voice.
“In those rains? We’ll be safe until the morning. I’ll get a few people to keep watch.”
Abel yawns as a wave of tiredness washes over him. “I could do with a sleep. Where’s good for us?”
“The traders’ accommodation is free. Just take a room.”
Abel nods then looks towards the door, pulling on his socks and boots. “You ready to run, kid?”
“Run?” David asks, giving a confused look. “I’m staying here.”
Abel shrugs. “I could do with a soft bed. I’m going to brave it.”
David looks across the floorboards. “A soft bed does sound good.”
“You make sure you have a good sleep,” Sal says. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us.” She leans forward and kisses Abel on the cheek.
Flushing, he leans away and shifts his gaze to the ground. “No worries.” He turns to David. “You ready, kid?”
Abel leads the way outside, running full-speed across the settlement as the rain pours around him, lighter than it was before, his boots sliding against the mud.
Reaching the first trader’s hut, Abel opens the door and falls over Sis’s push-bike, crashing onto his side, writhing with the pain in his shins. Sis sits up on the bed and looks down at Abel. “What you want?” she asks in a sleepy voice, stretching as blankets hang over her shoulders.
“Sis!” Abel smiles then winces. “You’re alright.”
“I came when they leave. I’m tired. Watching too long.” She flops back onto her pillow and rolls over.
Abel looks over his shoulder to see David leaning against the door. “It’s Sis,” he says as David pulls him to his feet. “Looks like we’re sharing, kid.”
9. Meat
Abel rubs his eyes and pushes David’s bare foot away from his face. The clanging of Trinity’s church bell rings out with urgency. He leans over and shakes David’s arm. “Wake up,” he whispers.
“Huh?”
“Wake up.”
“Wha—” David sits up and slides his feet over the edge of the bed, yawning. “What’s that ringing?”
Abel blinks then jumps to his feet, throwing on his clothes and dragging on his boots. “Come on,” he says, bolting outside.
Copper-green pools spread across the sky as the first light of dawn shatters the darkness. A crowd of men and women surges around the gate as a shack burns to their right. Abel grabs a bucket and runs to the water tower, his body tingling with the rush of adrenaline. David picks up a second bucket, a restless line forming behind them as they work the water pump, filling the buckets to their brims.
Abel leads the way with a brisk half-jog, his feet slipping on mud as he keeps the water from spilling over the sides. Reaching the burning shack, they throw the water onto the flames with little effect.
Other people shove past, throwing water at the blaze. Abel curses and runs back to the pump, repeating the process several times as fights continue near the entrance.
Abel ducks as a spear flies past his ear. He locks eyes with one of the king’s men. Without thinking, he charges forward, swinging the bucket in an upward arc, striking the man on the jaw. Mounting the man, he pours the remaining water onto his face, tossing the bucket aside before beating down on him with fists, shouting and cursing, eyes watering from the smoke.
“Leave it,” David snaps, dragging Abel away as the man lies sobbing and bleeding from his mouth. “Get him out.”
Taking a breath, Abel looks down at the man and sighs. “Help me,” he says, nodding towards the gate. “Let’s get him out of here.”
Abel and David lift the man by the sh
oulders and knees, his flailing limbs weak and useless. Passing a group of Trinity’s residents clustered around the open gate, they drop the man next to the nearest trench.
Residents cheer as Abel steps back inside, the gate closing behind him. The bells continue to ring and he turns his attention back to the burning shack. “Get buckets. Get bowls. Get anything. We don’t want this fire spreading.”
He returns to his bucket, now dented and spattered with blood, hands trembling, breath heavy, and joins the queue to the water pump.
Filling up another bucket, he follows the stream of men and women to the fire, throwing its contents over the blaze. He covers his face when the water hisses and flames expire, giving off a cloud of thick white smoke.
Wiping his brow, he catches his breath. “I think it’s out,” he says, coughing.
“You think they’re gone?” David asks.
“I hope so, kid. I hope so.”
ABEL CHEWS IDLY ON a chunk of stale bread as he watches the trail towards the highway, leaning with his back against the fence. The crucifix’s shadow stretches ahead. Wind catches dead ash in the trench at his feet, shifting it around in shuddering swirls. He looks past the barricades and barrels, his eyes fixing on the dead horse’s body, and sighs.
“I’m going back up,” Sis says, gesturing to the cross.
“You didn’t need to kill that horse,” Abel says.
Sis scowls and follows Abel’s gaze along the trail. “Didn’t kill people. Did what I said.”
“Still...” Abel’s voice trails off.
“If I didn’t, they’d be in there,” Sis says, gesturing to the gate. “Don’t say I shouldn’t.” She heaves herself up the crucifix. When she reaches the crossbeam, she takes her rifle from her shoulders and sweeps the sight along the trail. She points her rifle down and rummages in her pockets for some bullets, taking them out one-by-one and holding them up to the light.
“Any movement?”
“They behind big road. Can’t tell.”
The fence rumbles open. A few men with spears file past. Sal follows with a water bottle under her arm. “I brought you a drink,” she says, unscrewing the cap.
“Thanks, Sal.” Abel takes a swig and wipes his mouth. “Sis,” he calls, holding the bottle up.
“Your friend has been very helpful around the kitchens. He’s very smart—I think he has a lot of potential.”
“Yep, he’s a good kid. He’s been through a lot, but he’s come through the other side.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
Sis drops down to the ground, takes the bottle, and gulps down several mouthfuls.
“You did very good work last night,” Sal says, smiling at Sis. “We’re very lucky to have you helping us.”
“Abel said I shouldn’t have killed horse.”
Sal looks between them and sighs. “You saved many lives. Their spirits were broken, and they had no choice but to run. After this morning, I’m sure they’ll move on.”
“They’re camping just past the highway,” Abel says. “This place is too good to let go.”
Sal makes a grim smile and nods along the road. “They’ve found it.”
“What?” Abel asks, confused.
“One of our people died last night. I’ve sent them to recover the body so we can find out who it is and give them a proper burial.”
Three men haul the woman’s limp body onto their shoulders and trudge back towards the gate. Tears streak their grimy faces. Abel dips his head respectfully as they pass.
Sal touches Abel’s elbow and offers another smile. “Thank you for helping us.”
Abel gives a half-shrug, turning to the road. “You do what you need to. We’ll keep an eye on stuff here.” He nods towards Sis as she scales back up the cross. “You should get some of your people to take that horse in. There’s a lot of meat there.”
“I will.” Sal brushes her dreadlocks back from her face, hugs Abel, and then goes inside, closing the fence behind her.
ABEL TUCKS IN HIS ELBOWS as the residents shuffle aside for Sal as she makes her way towards the altar.
An untreated pine coffin rests on a table at the front of the church, a single beeswax candle burning on its lid. Herby incense does little to block out the smell of damp clothes and scorched wood.
Sal places a hand on the coffin and frowns. She taps her fingers on its lid, brushing a rusted hinge, and shakes her head. “Our community is a darker place today,” she says in a low, sombre tone. “We all knew Mary—a sister, a mother, a friend. She was skilled with wood. Indeed, the table her coffin rests on was made by her own hands...” Sal swallows, her voice cracking. “In these end days, it is easy to lose hope. It is easy to curse God’s name and wish to die. But what Mary has shown us with her great sacrifice is that even when all is lost, there are still things worth fighting for, still things worth defending.”
She shakes her head and sighs. “I am not going to give you false hope—we are at a crossroads. As we gather here, raiders have designs on taking our community for their own. Mary did not die so our community can be taken over by thugs. We have worked too long and hard for this to happen.” She sweeps her gaze across the residents’ faces, raising her chin. “We will not let Mary die in vain. We will not lose our community. We will defend what is ours by any means.”
“What do you mean by ‘any’?” a woman on the front row asks.
“We have lived under a set of laws laid down by God. And these laws are not open to interpretation. ‘Thou shall not kill’ is a cornerstone of our community—if we lose that, then we have no right to call ourselves Christians. All I’m saying is, you can live through a lot.”
Abel shifts uncomfortably as whispers and murmurs spread across the congregation.
“So you’re saying we go after them with an intent to cause harm? What happened to turning the other cheek?”
Sal raises her hands. “Our commandments are our commandments. There is no turning the other cheek against raiders wishing to destroy our homes and lay waste to our lives. I am not advocating hunting them down like wild dogs, I am saying that we need to be prepared to defend ourselves against this menace. Some of you will know our trader friend, Abel.” Sal signals towards him. “Only this morning, he fought a raider and ejected him from within our walls. The raider was left beaten and bloody, but Abel did not kill—he protected more of our homes from being razed.”
Sal dips her head and clasps her hands together. “Let us pray,” she says, lowering her voice. “Dear Lord, we pray that you will accept your servant Mary at your side in Heaven, that you will cleanse her soul of all sin and bless her with eternal life.”
“What’s she on about?” Sis whispers, looking up at Abel.
“Just God stuff. It gives them hope.”
“I’m bored.” Sis looks around. “And I’m hungry.” She goes to the door and leaves.
SIS HANDLES THE SPOON with awkward, fumbling fingers, chunks of stringy brown meat dropping back into her bowl.
“Don’t rush it,” Abel says across the table. “Not often you get meat like this.” He pushes his tongue around his mouth, frowning at the unfamiliar taste. He looks over at Sal as she wanders around the tables, leaning in to talk to the residents, nodding with a forced smile.
“Not used to eating like this,” Sis says, dropping the spoon and reaching out for a slice of bread. She folds it in half and uses it to scoop up the meat, letting the stew soak in before ramming it into her mouth. Chewing, she gives David a defiant look, her cheeks round and filled with food.
David nudges Abel’s side, sniggering. “She’s put too much in.”
Sis leans over her bowl and spits, letting a half-chewed chunk of meat roll from her tongue and into the stew. Swallowing the bread, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ate too much,” she says, grinning.
“You should eat it though,” Abel says. “It will do you good. Get some meat on those arms.”
Sis looks down at her bony wrists
and nods. “Okay.” She prods the meat with her finger. “What is it?”
“It’s beef,” says David.
“What’s a beef?”
“Cow.”
Sis nods and raises her fingers to her temples. “Oooorm,” she says.
“Moo’s better.”
Abel shakes his head, smiling as he inspects the meat. “This is horse, kid.”
“Sis’s horse?”
“Yep.”
David turns to Sis. “Good food for everyone.” He offers Abel a sly grin.
“Yeah, yeah.” Abel waves him away. “You’re right. We all got to eat a good meal.”
“This is why we should have let Sis take out that king guy. We wouldn’t be worrying. He’d already be dead.”
Frowning, Abel reaches for his cup and takes a sip of water. He examines the scores of faces—the tense expressions, the hushed words. He places his cup down and gets to his feet. “I’m going to get some air,” he mutters.
10. The Bullet
The box truck glows in the moonlight, its front wheels dipping off the highway’s edge. A pair of guards lean against its side, one of them laughing while the other checks his rifle.
Abel crawls prone, his head dipped and legs flat against the dirt as he reaches the asphalt. Fires burn in trenches behind him while Trinity’s residents keep sentry along the trail.
Across the highway, twists of white smoke mark the king’s camp. Taking a deep breath, he rises to a crouch and crabs his way towards the highway’s central barrier. He exhales and scans through the trees, stopping when he spots the king’s tent.
He takes out his pistol and checks the bullet, turning it in his hand before slipping it back inside the cylinder. Dark clouds cast shadows across the moon, ghostly swirls of powdery black.
Pistol in hand, he vaults the barrier and looks over the truck. He waits for several moments for a guard to move out of view, then runs across the three lanes of concrete, his head low and knees bent.
