The man edged toward James, his crossbow snapping back and forth between the three others. “This needs to be done.”
“No, it really doesn’t. Think about it, mate; you don’t know for sure that he’s going to change. You can’t be certain that he’ll be affected by this virus or whatever it is in the same way as everyone else. Not until you see it. People have survived severe cases of cancer despite being told by doctors that they wouldn’t. And you also don’t know what the government could be doing right now, whether they’re working on a cure. At least let us try—”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been preparing myself for scenarios like this for what feels like my whole fucking life, and I just can’t count on that. Your friend here is a liability, and I can’t afford to take chances... And don’t call me mate. I doubt we’ll be friends after this.”
With that, Darren strode forward, took aim at James’ head and fired a bolt through his eye. His head flopped with the force of the projectile entering it, and the fingers of his left hand twitched briefly before curling back into a lax pose. A puddle of blood leaked out around James’ head.
Kingsley watched it all unfold with that same ringing echo in his ears. The song of his guilt. His chest felt tight under a sudden expanded pressure, his neck throbbing with phantom whiplash.
The crossbow clattered onto the laminate floorboards, Darren snatching up the machete instead, wary of the anger of James’ friends and the time it would take to reload the crossbow. The man stood guard in front of his table of weapons, blade raised and glinting like a hazard light in the dimness.
“Get out,” he growled. “Now. Don’t make this difficult.”
Eric, kneeling next to James’ body, bowed his head in grief as he plucked the bolt out of his friend’s eye. Then standing, he took a deep breath before turning to face Darren.
Eric took one loping stride towards him. Darren moved forward as well, probably thinking that Eric was going for the crossbow to reuse the bolt in his hand. But he wasn’t.
As Darren swung the machete in a wide horizontal arc – more of a threat than a defensive action – Eric dropped like a sack of stones and planted the bolt in the other man’s calf.
Darren yelped and swore as he keeled over, slamming the hilt of the machete down between Eric’s shoulder blades. It was a hard enough hit to drive the air from Eric’s lungs. He crashed face first to the floorboards.
Darren reached down and yanked the bolt out from his leg in one sharp motion and one loud, enraged yell. Flinging the bolt to the side and out of reach, he pointed his blade at Eric and demanded one last time that they all turn around and leave him be and never come back.
But his demands were cut short when blood suddenly filled his throat and choked out his words.
Focused on Eric, he hadn’t seen Sammy approach him quickly from the side with her Swiss pocket knife gripped in a white-knuckled fist. Even if he had, he likely wouldn’t have expected her to plunge a blade into his neck. He had probably assumed that the knives behind him on the dining table were the only ones in the room.
The man called Darren – just one of the many people they had witnessed die that day – collapsed, spluttering and finally letting his machete fall beside the crossbow so he could use both hands to grasp in desperation at his irreparable throat. His eyes didn’t look so sunken anymore after the life had faded from them. They bulged large and dry from their sockets, accusing, asking questions of Kingsley that he realised he had already answered for himself a while ago.
*
They did not have time to give James a proper burial outside. Even if there was no possibility that the other three people from Darren’s group would get back from their supply run any minute now, there also weren’t any places to bury him. The flat block backed up against a wide car park and it had no gardens or green spaces around it.
The best they could do was cover his body with a bedsheet where it lay on the scarred floor of the flat.
Tears streamed down Sammy’s face. Eric cheeks and brow trembled as if anger and sorrow were battling for control over his facial expression. Kingsley cried soundlessly.
“We need…” Sammy struggled to speak between sobs. “We—we need to do something for him. We can’t just leave him here for other people to...”
“There’s nothing else we can do,” Kingsley said. “We don’t have time. We should already be gone by now. If Darren’s friends come back to this mess, they’ll want someone to blame, and if they’re as well armed as he was, we could be in real trouble. I don’t think James would have wanted a funeral. He wouldn’t have liked us mourning him, he wouldn’t have wanted that kind of attention... He would have wanted to empower us, not make us grieve.”
Eric was already looting Darren’s flat – grabbing food, weapons, his meagre medical supplies, dropping them into the duffel bag on the chair beside the dining table.
“I think you’re right,” Sammy whispered after a long, tear-filled pause.
Eric went into the bedroom and came out with two pillows and a bottle of multivitamins, both of which he also crammed into the bag.
The chain mace he held in his right hand. He frowned at the spiked head dangling by his hip as if the weapon was an unpredictable beast in need of taming.
Sammy leaned over James’ shrouded form and balanced something on his chest, her hand remaining over the object for a few seconds before she stood up and turned away, wiping her eyes. Her pocket knife, still wet and glistening from its recent use, lay on James’ body like a sick flower petal, coated in a crimson sap.
Kingsley knew then what he needed to do. The events of the day had repeatedly dug up sour memories of his bad choices, and now he saw exactly what needed to happen for him to forgive himself.
He needed to get back to Emma, he needed to make sure she was okay, and he needed to try to make a real apology to her. Just like when he had sat in the doctor’s office after the accident, thinking about how unhealable Emma’s wounds would be while he received his own diagnosis – a minor concussion, some bruising on the ribs – Kingsley realised it was past time he took action to make things better.
Back then, the action he had resolved to take was to distance himself from Emma, to give her space so that he wouldn't be able to ruin her life anymore. But now he needed to do the opposite – to find her and make sure she was okay.
*
The sombre trio had no idea they were being watched as they exited the block of flats.
They were too busy watching the group of snappers at the butcher’s van as they snuck away to notice the three pairs of eyes regarding them from behind a communal bin next to the building, paying special attention to the chain mace and the overflowing duffel bag they were carrying.
And of course, they didn’t see Darren’s friends enter the block after they were gone, or creep into the flat with knives and a cricket bat poised. The look of pain and disappointment on those faces when they saw the carnage inside.
One of them picked up the Swiss pocket knife from the body, twirled the sticky weapon between his fingers for a moment, and then announced through clenched teeth, “We’re going to make those fuckers pay for this.”
To Be Continued
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking the time to read this book. It took me more months than it probably should have to write it, and just as many to edit. I am proud of the finished product, though, and I hope you have a blast reading it.
You know what doesn’t take months to write? A review. I would appreciate it more than I can possibly express if you left a review of my book on Amazon or Goodreads – or better yet, both – even if it’s just a few short sentences saying whether you liked it or not, and why. Reviews help authors improve their craft and are also crucial to the success of a book.
This is the first episode of the serialised story, Thrive, and there will be many more to follow. In the next episode, Kingsley and his friends face a tough journey home, in more danger than they realise
with Darren’s vengeful friends on their trail.
I hope you’ll stay with me for the whole journey. It’s gonna be a hell of a thrill ride.
Yours sincerely,
Harrison J. Lamb
Thrive [Episode One] Page 5
