Sanctuary: After It Happened Book 5

by Devon C. Ford

  One of those shapes stood clearly in the sunlight and turned her face to the sky to let out an animalistic howling noise. From all around them, the noise was echoed and amplified until the very air became a never-ending howl.

  Forcing herself to be calm, she looked at the woman who instigated the foul and terrifying noise. Seeing that she was only armed with a sharpened stick in the form of a crude spear, she selected a third choice.

  Fight them.

  REGROUP

  Sweating and out of breath from having dragged Dan to the truck, Leah regained her seat in the cab and made an executive decision.

  “Get us back to the garage,” she told Jimmy. He needed no further encouragement to be well away from the area and turned a wide circle to drive as instructed.

  Leah could hear noises in the back as Kate tried to rouse Dan from his stupor and was no doubt cursing him for again using his head to deflect blows. The girl was tense throughout the relatively short journey; at least it felt much shorter than the agonising drive there when she was unsure if Dan was still alive.

  Arriving back at the stiff metal shutters some time later, she jumped out and lowered the noisy doors with as much care as possible. Catching Adam’s eye and pointing towards the biggest window, he nodded his assent to keep watch. Pacing towards the truck, she could hear Kate’s loud and authoritative voice instructing everyone to get out of her way and leave her to work as she began the in-depth process of fixing Dan.

  Seeing Henry shuffle past her, averting his eyes, she noticed that he still held Jack’s pump-action, although he tried to shield it from her with his body.

  Stepping in front of him, she almost snatched the weapon from his hand but stopped herself. “If you want to keep that, do something useful. Go and keep watch with Adam and do what he says,” she said acidly while trying in vain to remove at least some of the scorn from her voice.

  Overjoyed at the interaction between them, despite her obvious hostility, Henry beamed at her and skipped away to do as he was told. At least that kept him out of her way and away from Dan until she could break the news of Jack’s death and the part that the boy played in it.

  Reaching the open tailgate of the truck, she saw that only Marie, Sera and Kate remained as they tried to make Dan comfortable. Mitch stayed inside too, but his presence was tolerated as moving was simply too painful for him yet and the bouncing journey had exhausted him.

  Leah cleared her throat, prompting Kate to turn. The annoyance on her face at the interruption melted away as she saw the girl, and knowing that she had put her life at risk to rescue Dan, she decided that Leah deserved an explanation.

  “He’s out of it, and all we can do is wait for him to wake up. It’s another concussion.” Her indignation about Dan’s propensity for serious head injuries was evident. “And there seems to be plenty of shot to pick out of his…” she waved a hand vaguely over Dan’s backside, not wanting to use the word she intended in front of Leah.

  Kate’s feelings of uselessness at not having the proper equipment to correctly diagnose him cut her deeply. She always tried to explain away her inabilities to perform magic, even though nobody had ever questioned her skill.

  Nodding her understanding, Leah turned to make sure everyone else was gainfully employed and not in need of instruction, more for her own sanity than theirs, but Marie called her name. Turning back, she saw the pregnant woman struggling to her feet and stand still for a few seconds until her stiff legs began to work again before stepping carefully over bags and boxes to the rear of the truck. Taking her time with Leah’s help to climb down safely, she wrapped the girl up in a huge hug and squashed her equipment painfully into her ribs. Marie would not let go, and kept repeating the same words over and over into her ear.

  “Thank you.”

  ~

  It took until the following morning before Dan woke. The first sign of it happening was an excited yap from Ash as he slobbered over his master’s face with undisguised joy. Others crowded around the open back of the truck as Kate pushed her way through the gathering throng to admonish the onlookers.

  “Enough rubbernecking!” she snapped. “Give him some bloody air!”

  Melting away to a more respectable distance, the group loitered at the fringes, hoping to snatch any snippet of news they could. As Dan tried to get up, he was instructed strictly not to try and move until their paramedic could conduct a more thorough assessment of his injuries.

  “Right, tell me where it hurts,” Kate said in a deliberately patronising tone, smiling.

  “Everywhere,” Dan moaned.

  “Stop being a baby,” Kate told him unsympathetically, “and be specific.”

  Closing his eyes and breathing through the pain, he started his own internal assessment and reported back as efficiently as his clouded brain could manage.

  “Head. Right side. Someone smacked me with a rifle butt,” he said before pausing and sending his consciousness lower. “Left side. Ribs. I think someone was practising their field goals on me…” He couldn’t think of anywhere else specific, other than that he felt like he’d been run over by a car.

  Kate had already seen the obvious trauma to his head; the angry swelling and the egg-sized lump above his temple told her enough. An inch lower and he would probably be dead, she thought, but decided not to impart that small bit of important information. The ribs were also evident in that the bruising was livid – not as significant as Mitch’s chest but still painful – and she guessed that it was nothing more serious than one or two cracked ribs at worst. She was sure a big tough guy like Dan could handle that as well as the thirty or so tiny pellets of shot she had removed from his backside.

  He hadn’t realised the handful of deep cuts on his wrists where he had clumsily cut his own bindings with a reversed knife; speed and freedom had been more important than accuracy at that point. Kate had bound them tight, but seeing some blood seeping through the dressings made her worry that some sutures would be required.

  She relayed this to him, seeing the surprise on his face as he tried to recall how he had cut himself, and said that she needed to check them. Peeling away the bandages, she found that the cuts weren’t as severe as she feared, and in consultation with Sera decided to use steri-strips to bind the flesh together in place of sutures and apply new dressings. His main bag of kit was found among the heap and he dressed in his own clothes with difficulty. He then settled himself down next to Mitch. Battered and currently of little use, both of them still had weapons within arm’s reach.

  The two warriors were propped up in relative comfort and brought hot food. Mitch didn’t know how to tell Dan what had brought them to this place, and he seemed so confused that he wasn’t sure he should even be told yet.

  Being proved wrong moments later, Dan spoke quietly to him.

  “Who shot you?” he asked.

  “Don’t know,” Mitch answered after a sigh. “I assume it was catwoman and her mates.”

  “Tell me,” Dan urged him, trying to hide the concern in his voice.

  Mitch raised his eyes skyward and answered in the only way he felt truly comfortable. In succinct sentences, he gave Dan the action report without emotion or speculation.

  “I was on stag,” he said, meaning he was acting as sentry, “and took one to the chest. Heavy calibre but not enough to penetrate the vest. It put me down hard. Everyone tried to get on board the truck but we got attacked from the rear. They came swarming out of the woods and we were close to being overwhelmed.” He swallowed and paused to take a sip of his drink before continuing. “Henry broke cover and tried to give them fire and Jack went to drag him back. He took two low in the back. One through-and-through, another lodged inside. He bled out over there” – Mitch pointed towards the dark patch on the ground – “because we’d lost most of the medical gear when we ran. We stopped here and Leah went out to raid a hospital for supplies, but Jack passed just after she had left. She was gutted when she got back and took it out on the kid,” Mitch
said, meaning Henry.

  Dan sat in stony-faced silence as he listened to how his group were attacked and had to flee because he wasn’t there to protect them.

  “We would have been at the ERV yesterday, but the truck was knackered. Neil grafted all day and fixed it, but by then I guess you’d already made new friends,” Mitch said to Dan, making him issue an involuntary but agonising laugh.

  “Yeah,” Dan replied when the pain had subsided. “I saw the truck missing from the gateway but had one of them chase me on a bike. One of our bikes. I put some distance in but they came after me in my own bloody motor. I tell you what, seeing that Foxhound in your wing mirror is intimidating. I outpaced it but the bike stayed with me…”

  “Did you kill any?” Mitch asked out of a genuine want to know if any of them suffered.

  “Not sure, but the biker went under the back wheel so if he’s not dead, I doubt he’s having a good day,” Dan answered with a cruel smirk which pleased Mitch no end. “After that, I waited at the bridge for two days and was about to make plans to move on until they came for me. Front and back. Dropped one at distance but then I got taken out. Fucker nearly beheaded me with an axe!” he said, as though the audacity of such behaviour was unheard of. “Woke up and met some twat who calls himself ‘the hunter’, so I popped his nose and slotted a few more of them before Leah saved my ass.”

  “Again!” they chorused, prompting more laughter and the subsequent wincing in pain.

  “Your gear?” Mitch asked when the cursing had subsided.

  “Lost the Land Rover, my go-bag, a slab of 5.56 and my M4 was pretty much bent in half courtesy of the axe,” he answered sadly.

  The two sat in silence for a while until Dan peeled the cellophane off a new packet of cigarettes and lit one.

  “Oh shit,” Mitch said with a start. “I completely forgot! What about the radio message?”

  Eyes wide, Dan too realised he had completely failed to recollect the reason they were separated in the first place.

  “Leah!” he yelled, regretting it instantly as his ribs went into spasm.

  “What?” came the sarcastic sounding reply from ground level a moment later.

  “Fetch me a map showing the south coast and get the others. You’re going to want to hear this,” he said, suddenly alive with renewed energy.

  NOT SOMEONE YOU WANT TO MESS WITH

  Panting from the effort, Lexi bent down with her hands on her knees and breathed hard as her rifle dangled on its sling. The bloodied knife was still in her right hand, and as she watched a thick globule of blood gather and drip from the sharp point of the blade, she marvelled that she felt nothing. No appalling sense of morality, no guilt like when she had killed her first person all that time ago from the roof of a disused building.

  She had killed, Paul had killed, even Chris had shot two of the attackers although the spaced-out look on his face made her feel sure that he was going to throw up at any point.

  Looking over at the last member of their group, she watched in awe as he stalked the remaining survivor of the attack on them; a thin young man was dragging himself away with part of his leg in ruin from a blast of Simon’s shotgun. Crying with fear and pain, he squealed like a piglet lifted from the teat when he felt the big boot land high on his back to pin him to the ground.

  Lexi’s head tilted to the side as she wondered what Simon was doing, then that look of curiosity turned to abject horror as she witnessed the big man reach down with both hands and take a firm grip under the chin of his victim. With a savage grunt, he wrenched the head upwards, instantly stifling the cry of anguish and terror, and was rewarded with a sickening series of sinewy popping noises as the spinal cord was snapped back and the delicate conjoining of the upper spine was mangled into unrecognisable ruin.

  Turning back towards the others, Lexi saw a flash of the inner monster Simon had just become, and just as her hand began to flutter towards the grip of her gun to raise it in instinctive fear, the look dissolved and his passive and reassuring face was displayed there instead. Lexi looked at him in shock, unable to tear her eyes away from the horror of what she had just witnessed their passive companion do to another person.

  True they had all just killed, but she was worried that Simon had enjoyed it. Just before her mouth began to move and say something which she wasn’t even sure of yet, his self-effacing smile returned and disarmed her instantly.

  “I’ll make a start on those wheels, shall I?” he said, striding off towards the Land Rover without waiting for a response.

  Reloading his weapon, Paul walked up to his partner and misread her look of utter horror.

  “Are you OK?” he asked, concern evident in his words. “Are you hurt?”

  “What? No,” she replied, shaking herself out of her stupor and questioning if she had really seen what had just happened. “No, I’m fine,” she said, gaining control of herself. “It’s just Simon…”

  “Is he hurt?” Paul asked with worry.

  “No,” said Lexi again, pausing and gathering her thoughts, “he’s not hurt, but I did just see him snap a man’s neck like it was dinner.”

  Paul didn’t understand her fully. How could he? The look on Simon’s face wasn’t something anyone could accurately describe.

  “Good lad!” Paul said cheerfully, before walking towards the Land Rover and gently taking the gun from Chris’s shaking hands.

  Lexi stood alone and surveyed the carnage around her. She was certain at the time that counterattack was the best option for survival, and her assertion was made true by the eight dead bodies around them, which was all that remained of the failed ambush. Thoughts crowded in her head, bumping off one another like dodgems and not allowing any of it to connect and make sense. She couldn’t understand why a group of people had attacked them with weapons more suited to cavemen than new world survivors, but mostly she couldn’t understand how anyone could enjoy killing.

  Unable to articulate her thoughts just yet, she returned to the truck to keep watch while the two ruined wheels were discarded and sixty per cent of their spares were used to get them underway again. And she watched Simon like a hawk.

  ONWARDS TO SANCTUARY

  Dan told them about the message he had heard. He told them, from what he could remember as his notepad had been taken from him when he was captured, what the words meant and what he had found on the map. He showed them now as everyone lined up to pass him and look at where he held the tip of his knife on the small bay on the south coast of the continent. He told them that the place was where they should go to try and seek help in getting themselves patched up and over the water towards their eventual goal of Africa.

  The group buzzed with excitement. A welcome excitement after the traumatic events of the last few days which left them cramped in a single vehicle with limited supplies. It had left two of them badly hurt and one of them dead. It had left them all feeling hopeless, scared and lost. Now they had renewed energy, a sense of purpose and an achievable goal instead of an open-ended trek into dwindling hope.

  Although still in a bad way as a whole, the group readied themselves and set off the following morning with a bearing of south-west and taking the long way around to avoid crossing the wide ravine via the ill-fated bridge. Before they left, Dan insisted that he get to see Jack’s final resting place. Leaning down stiffly under constant threat of falling over thanks to the concussion wreaking havoc with his equilibrium, he rested a flat hand on the crude wooden cross which marked the grave.

  Standing up straight again and looking down, he uttered a few words before he turned away. “Blessings of God to you, friend.”

  ~

  After forty-eight hours, their fuel supply began to run low. They had used up all of the diesel from the jerrycans they had packed as an emergency reserve, and Dan silently blamed himself for losing his vehicle and the fifty or so litres of go-juice he had on board.

  They were reduced to siphoning what Neil jokingly referred to as “liquid dinosaurs” f
rom decaying cars and having to add a small dose of ethanol acquired by Neil at the garage to keep the engine running on the poor-quality fuel. They could not take the risk of shutting down the engine for fear it wouldn’t restart, so the few able drivers took it in turns to take the wheel and make slow progress so as not to put the truck under any undue pressure.

  Dan hated the journey: not that he couldn’t stand the discomfort he was in, but because he was unable to help run the show. That honour and responsibility fell to both Leah and Neil, as neither Dan nor Mitch were of any use. To know that he was more of a hindrance than a help crucified him, and he had to force himself to take a metaphorical step back and allow the people he trusted most to do what he knew they could do.

  Despite the very close proximity, he was happy that he didn’t once see Henry’s face looking at him; the boy was probably too scared or ashamed to make eye contact even though Dan felt that Leah had already punished him as much as was needed. His own conscience would do the rest.

  Nestled among the bags in the back of the truck, he found that he actually enjoyed the time spent cuddled up to Marie and Ash, despite the painfully uncomfortable ride.

  Enjoyment was probably a strong description for what he felt overall, but he found himself thinking that he might even like taking a day off in the future. Either way, the sense of semi-enjoyment he felt was shattered when the engine stalled and the truck ground to a juddering halt.

  Neil climbed down from behind the wheel, walked to the front of the lifeless engine, and just stared at the dirty green metal. His face showed a twitch, quickly brought under control, until the involuntary movement returned with more force and his face contorted as though possessed.