by Ryan Casey
“Out here in the middle of nowhere? Really?”
Ally sighed. “There’s plenty of land around here. A few farms, I’m sure. But hell. What the hell are we supposed to do? Just take a farm for ourselves? Then what? Grow crops? Any of you guys know how to grow crops? Any of you guys know how to do anything?”
Silence fell over the group. And Ally felt the power drifting back towards him. The hold he had over these people.
“Anyone got anything to say? Anything at all?”
Nobody spoke.
Chris lowered his head and sighed. “I’m just saying. We can’t go on like this forever. That’s all.”
And then he kept on walking.
Ally watched Chris for a few seconds. And as much as he liked the guy, as much as they had plenty in common, he wondered whether he’d have any problem strangling him or beating the shit out of him when nobody was looking. He could make it look like an accident. Or he could make it look like an attack from a rival group, or a pack of dogs or escaped zoo animals. None of them were out of the question.
But then he saw Chris look back at him. Half-smile at him. “You alright?”
And he found himself smiling back. Nodding.
Snuffing that idea out of his mind before it could even materialise.
He turned around then. Walked off into the darkness. His people following closely behind.
And he felt the need to reassure them. To comfort them. To bring them some kind of peace.
“I’m trying my best here, okay? Trying my best to find somewhere decent. I want to survive just as much as the lot of you. But after what happened at Morecambe, it’s not so easy.”
“What happened at Morecambe could’ve been prevented,” Chris muttered.
Ally stopped again. Thought back to Morecambe. The majority of this group met there. Spent the early days surviving there. Initially, there’d been a decent level of community spirit. People pulling together, helping each other out, that kind of thing.
But things had soon gone south. The more days passed without power or supplies the more frustrations had grown. Fights broke out. Scraps started.
And Ally was one of the people who’d been at the forefront of those fights.
So when the military finally turned their guns on the people of Morecambe, Ally couldn’t exactly complain. He was just as responsible as anyone.
He’d been on the road ever since. Moving from place to place. Gathering supply after supply. Making the most of things.
But he’d still not found a home good enough. A home that suited.
Somewhere long-term.
And he knew damn well nowhere was going to be good enough.
So they’d just keep on bouncing from group to group. Doing what they had to do. Taking what they had to take.
He looked back at Chris. At Sajid. At Mark.
All of them nodded.
Not totally certain. Slightly fearful.
Just how Ally liked it.
Ally smiled back at them. “Good,” he said.
He turned around and saw the log cabin in the distance.
A little candlelight glimmering in the dark inside.
A Land Rover perched right in front of it.
Ally took a deep breath.
“Looks like we’ve found our hospitality for the night.”
Chapter Ten
Harriet waited in line and tried to keep her head down.
It’d been this way for six days now. Six hellish days. It started when Peter toppled this place. When him and the others savagely took out the police who were just doing their best to control things, to maintain order, struggling just like everyone else. Trying their best to keep things under control.
There were no police left now. Peter and his cronies had made sure of that. There had been a kind of savage optimism for the first couple of days, as the new leadership plundered and distributed the food supplies in abundance. But now, those supplies were dwindling again. They didn’t even get fed at all yesterday. Mutiny was kicking off again. But Peter and his allies made sure it didn’t get to the stage it’d got to with the police. They executed people who conspired against them. Took them away, and they weren’t seen again.
Every day, it felt like things were spiralling further and further out of control.
And Harriet knew something needed to change.
Fast.
“When are we eating again, Mummy?”
Harriet looked around at Oscar. She held his hand, waited in line. It was a chilly morning. Her lips were chapped. Her jeans hung looser around her waist, weight slipping away from her all the time. There were about fifteen people ahead of her, and she’d been queuing for food for well over an hour now. She could smell something in the air at least. Something that smelled like meat cooking. She didn’t want to ask what it was. There were rumours Peter’s people were killing dogs. A few of the strays who used to visit here regularly weren’t showing up anymore. One called Grey, an Irish Wolfhound, who used to visit Harriet’s block for a fuss before running off into the streets again. She hadn’t seen him for quite some time.
She didn’t want to think about what that meat might be. And she worried what would happen when Peter and his cronies grew even more desperate to provide, to keep things under control.
Where would he draw the line?
The moral line?
She tightened her grip around Oscar’s cold, chapped hand. “Soon.”
“But you said soon ages ago. And I’m still hungry.”
“Soon, Oscar. Soon. Okay?”
She saw Oscar lower his head and felt guilty right away. She shouldn’t snap at him. But the truth was, she was just finding this all so tough. So frustrating.
It couldn’t go on like this.
She crouched by Oscar’s side. Tugged his cheek. “Hey. Sorry for snapping. But Mummy’s doing her best, okay? Now if we just wait here, patiently, we’ll be fine. We’ll get some food. I promise. How about we play something while we’re waiting? A bit of ‘I Spy’, or something?”
Oscar’s face lit up. He looked around, cheeky grin on his face. “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with—”
“Harriet?”
The voice jolted Harriet out of the moment. She thought she’d imagined it at first. She turned around. Looked to the front of the line.
Her stomach sank.
Peter stood there. Towered over everyone else. Tattoos on show, right across his muscular arms. Black beard even bushier now.
She wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard him. He’d shown her less attention these last few days, which suited her great. Supposed he had bigger matters at hand.
But she couldn’t ignore him. Not now her eyes were locked with his.
“Yes?”
He smiled at her. That smile that got under her skin and gave her the creeps. Walked over towards her, past everyone else, ignoring them. “How’re you? You’re looking exhausted. I haven’t seen you in days.”
Harriet nodded. Looked at the ground. “Fine. Hungry, but fine. We’re coping. We’re—”
“And the little man,” Peter said, crouching down, grinning at Oscar, playfully punching his arm—a little bit too hard for comfort. “How you doing, chap?”
Oscar grinned and laughed. That was partly his problem. He was so trusting of other people. There wasn’t anyone he hadn’t got along with, bless him.
But the way he’d taken to Peter and the fact that admittedly, Peter was pretty good with him, made it even harder to Harriet to tell him to back off.
“I’ll tell you something. A little secret. I’ve got a whole stash of food up there. Stuff we found a few miles from here in an old warehouse. Chocolate. Sweets. All kinds of dreamy stuff. How about we go check them out? You look like you could both use a treat.”
Harriet looked at Peter, and she wasn’t sure how to interpret his offer. On the one hand, she found it doubtful he had so many supplies in abundance. She hadn’t seen any evidence of these supplies, so she didn�
��t know whether to trust them.
But on the other hand, perhaps she’d got Peter wrong. Perhaps he really was just being kind. He was savage. Brutal. She didn’t trust him.
But perhaps the best thing to do was just go along with him. Humour him.
For as long as she had to.
He stood up again. Looked Harriet right in her eyes with that hazy, detached stare.
“What do you say, Mum? Fancy joining?”
Harriet’s heart pounded. She felt caught in the moment. Follow him. Or resist. Stand her ground.
And if she stood her ground, what kind of repercussions would she face?
What kind of repercussions would Oscar face?
She took a deep breath and tightened her grip around Oscar’s hand.
And then she nodded. “Okay.”
Peter’s face lit up. He looked... kind of surprised. Which worried Harriet.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Good. Well, come on then. We’d better get searching for that treasure.”
He led her out of the line, Oscar by her side. She saw the looks she got from the other people in front of her in the queue. Felt her face reddening as people shouted out at her, spat at her, shouted about how unfair this was.
She even saw Karen standing there. Karen, who was far more loyal to Peter than she was. Snarl to her face. Owen by her side. Saying something to her. Creepy bastard. She steered clear of him as often as she could. She actually liked him even less than Peter if that was possible. Heard he had visions on this place of his own. One of Peter’s allies, but not someone who could be trusted.
She followed Peter right to the top of the road, where the food was waiting. She saw the meat in the pot, steaming. So succulent. Mouth-wateringly moist and fresh.
And she wanted so much to tuck in, regardless of what it was. So much to eat it.
And then Peter took a left and walked over to a doorway.
He stopped there. Smiled at Harriet. Held out a hand.
“You coming?”
Again, that resistance. That pushback. That urge to do anything but follow this man. Anything but step in line.
But then she thought about Oscar, and there was only one thing she could do.
She took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
The first thing that struck her was just how homely it was in here. It was kind of like an old person’s lounge, with old family photographs lining the walls, and shiny, expensive ornaments on every bit of space.
And right there on the sofa, a box of Mars bars.
“Mars bars!” Oscar shouted.
He rushed over to that box.
Stuffed his hands into it, dragging three bars out, pretty much drooling already.
“Oscar,” Harriet said, still in a little disbelief. “Don’t—don’t be greedy.”
Peter laughed. “Oh, he’s fine. Let the lad have a little fun. Anyway. Come to the kitchen. I’ve got something for you too.”
For a moment, as she followed Peter to the kitchen, she wondered whether she’d got him wrong. Whether she’d misjudged him. Whether he really was just trying to do the best for his people. For her.
And then she stepped inside the kitchen, and she saw the way he looked at her after closing the door behind her.
“Now,” he said. “I’ve been good to you. I’ve been good to your son. It’s about time we talked about our emotions.”
Harriet frowned. Her words caught in her mouth. “What... Emotions?”
Peter didn’t have to answer.
She saw him grab his belt, and right away, she understood.
“Our feelings. You and me. We need to talk about it. Right?”
He unclipped his belt and dragged it away.
And as Oscar laughed and cheered at his Mars bar discovery in the room behind her, Harriet felt sick to her core.
Chapter Eleven
Martin woke abruptly from his sleep and immediately sensed something was wrong.
He opened his eyes. Darkness above him, surrounding him. That familiar sensation running through his body; a nausea, a sickness, a tension. His body was always alert, even when he was sleeping. Even when he was trying to switch off from the horrors of everyday life.
He heard rustling, and he heard a bang.
And then he heard voices.
His body went cold. The hairs on his arms stood on end. By his side, Bruce started to growl. He got up. wandered over to the door. Scratched at it. Like he was determined to get out there. Determined to investigate and see what was going on for himself.
All kinds of thoughts filled Martin’s mind, raced through. Ella? What if this was the group who’d burned the bodies? What if they were coming for him and Ella?
What if they’d followed them from the woods and were just waiting for darkness to fall before striking?
He shook his head. He couldn’t let himself fall into speculation. There was only one thing he could do, and that was find out who was in his home. Find out who was creeping around.
And make sure they got the hell away from here.
He climbed off the bed. Crept over to the door, trying not to make a sound, and grabbed his hunting rifle. He knew these floorboards were creaky as hell. They always had been, even when he and Sarah used to stay in this room.
But he’d walked them enough to know roughly where to stand. Crept to the bathroom in the night enough.
He reached the door and stopped.
He heard more rustling around downstairs. A few pots and pans banging.
Whoever was here, they weren’t being so stealthy about it.
Which worried him, in a strange kind of way.
Why were they so confident?
Could it be Ella down there after all?
He pushed Bruce back. He didn’t want him to get caught up in any of this, as much as having a barking dog by his side could be an asset.
“Sorry, lad,” he whispered as he pushed him back even more, opening the door with the other hand. “You’re gonna have to sit this one out, okay?”
Bruce sat down, placed his head on his paws, and whined. That look in his eyes said it all. He was worried.
Martin stepped out of the door and closed it quietly as he could behind him. Being out here on the landing corridor made him feel even more exposed, especially with the sounds coming from downstairs. He crept slowly across the landing, trying to stay as light-footed as possible. He reached Ella’s bedroom. He had images of her missing. Or images of her being the one downstairs, something that they’d laugh about in the morning.
But those voices.
There was more than one.
And they sounded male.
He reached Ella’s door and pushed it open, just slightly, just enough to see.
He saw her lying there in bed. Snoring. Sleeping.
At least she was here.
At least she didn’t have to get caught up in this mess.
But that meant somebody else was down the stairs.
He moved away from her door, then. Crept further across the landing towards the top of the staircase. He ran through the plan in his mind. There was no room for sympathy. No margin for error. Whoever was in his home—regardless of age, gender, whatever—was a threat. They were an enemy. They were trespassing. Stealing from him.
So he’d react with necessary force.
He reached the top of the staircase. Looked down into the darkness. Held his breath as more of that rustling around continued.
And then he took a step down the stairs.
He took it quietly. One by one. Heart pounding right through his body. Arms shaking. As much as he felt an urgency to get to the bottom of the stairs and confront whoever was in his home, he knew he had to stay as patient as possible. He couldn’t jeopardise his position. He had to use the element of surprise. He didn’t know how well armed these people were, how many of them there were, or anything.
He had to keep a low profile.
Step by step.
He crept further down t
he staircase. He was around the middle now. He could just about see through the gap in the bannisters the lounge and kitchen area.
And when he did, his stomach dropped.
There were three people in his home.
There was someone else standing by the door.
They were all searching his home.
Grabbing whatever they could.
Taking what they could.
And they were armed with hunting rifles of their own.
Martin’s defences rose. He knew he could just let them rob him and not get into any conflict.
But he wasn’t just standing by while they took what didn’t belong to them.
He shifted his weight.
Lowered his rifle.
Went to point it at the guy nearest to him.
And then he heard the wooden stair creak underneath him.
The three men looked around right away.
Martin felt frozen in the moment.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody said a word.
And then Martin did the only thing he could.
He fired at the men.
Pulled that trigger as they scattered out of the house, shouting, ducking, racing away.
He kept on climbing down the stairs, gunfire echoing in his ears, when he got a clean hit on one of them, right in the back.
But the others.
The others raced out of the house.
With his supplies.
Martin ran to the front door. He looked outside. Saw one person running away, off into the distance.
But then one of them stayed stood there.
Staring at him.
Smiling.
“You made a mistake here,” he said.
Martin lifted his rifle, went to fire.
Pulled the trigger.
No ammo left.
“Shit.”
Right on cue, when he looked back up, the man was gone.
He turned around. Walked across the room towards the man struggling on the floor. Bleeding from his back. Spluttering blood.
Martin crouched down. Lifted his head.
And when the man looked up at him with his blood-stained teeth, he saw something that haunted him.
A smile.
“You—you made a big mistake,” he said. “A really big mistake.”
