‘We’re not being shot at,’ he insists.
‘You don’t know that,’ Beth retorts. ‘You’re still being hunted by-’
‘People fifty miles away,’ he bites back. ‘I get that I’m special, Bethany, but I doubt they’re looking that hard. For all they know I’m long gone.’
‘They have cars!’
‘Look,’ growls Preston, a dangerous glower darkening his face, ‘if it’ll shut you up, Bethany, I’ll go back tonight and I’ll burn that bloody place to the ground, because I’m getting sick to death of your sodding-’
Lightning-fast, something whistles past him, nicking his ear, and he swears loudly, clapping a hand to the side of his head. Beth and Kerry whirl around in unison, gasping as another bullet sails past them from the window of an oncoming car. Preston removes his hand, barely acknowledging the blood, as three wide silver jeeps hurtle towards them, sending bullets ahead of them.
Preston is the first to spring to action. ‘MOVE!’ he bellows.
Freezing wind bites his skin as he slams his feet on the pedals and tears away. Behind him, Kerry screams, but Preston only speeds up, refusing to look back. Gabriel is ahead of him, pedalling hard, glancing fearfully behind him. They weave and dodge, speeding with all their might, as the vehicles roar and sputter behind them, drawing closer.
As his heart pummels his chest, Preston scours the horizon for any kind of exit, aware that if they don’t get off the motorway they’re as good as dead. On their tails, the three cars drive parallel, greedily taking up both lanes, offering no chance of escape, and the gunfire sounds louder and louder with each passing second.
How, how have they found them? For over a month no one has left the barn and no one has approached it. Preston had been so sure he’d led their enemies away, so confident they didn’t even deserve a thought as they’d departed the barn a mere hour ago. The thought angers him, makes him want to turn around and kill every last one of them for proving him wrong...
Desperation he’s never felt before encompasses him, and Preston longs to get away, to survive. He will not die like this. He pedals harder, drawing level with Gabriel, and he silently urges the kid to keep up with him. A bullet flies dangerously close to Gabriel’s arm, and Preston feels a stab of fury that he struggles to bite back. Behind them, one of the girls is sobbing, and for a split second Preston pictures Beth slowing, blinded by tears, only to be mowed down by the oncoming vehicles. Unsure how to feel, he pushes the thought aside.
Wrenching one of the twins from a pocket, Preston glances behind him and returns fire, and Kerry ducks, shrieking, as a satisfying smash tells him he’s hit one of the windows. Tyres squeal, but still they keep coming. He continues to glance back and fire, but it only slows him down, and Gabriel pulls ahead once more.
They cycle for what seems like forever, constantly dodging bullets and glancing desperately around for exits. The cold air chills the sweat on their foreheads and the roaring of the pursuing cars fills their ears, and still they pedal on. Preston wishes his heart would stop pounding in his chest and that his legs would stop complaining. The realisation that he’s about to die creeps up on him slowly and he thinks of David, waiting for him underground in London...
Gunfire is deafening, and it rings in his ears.
He remembers David’s lifeless, open eyes as if he’d just buried him yesterday.
The three silver jeeps, approaching like murderous beasts, sound as if they’re an inch behind him.
‘I’m going to kill myself,’ he’d promised a babbling baby Gabriel.
He fires another wild shot, and the bullet pings off the hood of the middle car.
He’s never been entirely sure why he never followed through with the promise, but never stopped presuming his life was his own to take.
Another scream, this one carried back to him on the wind, and blood spatters the pavement in front of him. ‘NO!’ someone cries behind him.
Gabriel’s young, six-month-old face looms before him, grinning toothlessly.
Amongst the dense roadside foliage, a white sign materialises. In a haze, Preston cannot tell what it says, but it points right, to a narrow road sandwiched between tall, thick bushes, and Gabriel wisely leads them to it, turning sharply and calling them after him. With the girls on his tail, Preston flies around the corner after Gabriel.
Bullets sing past them, but in his strange state of mind Preston can barely hear the gunshots. He pedals hard behind Gabriel, scouring for another turning, as someone cries behind him. Strange, how he can hear her but not the engines behind them.
‘Keep going!’ he hears Beth call as Gabriel glances uncertainly back at them.
It’s then that Preston realises they’re no longer being pursued. He slows his pedalling and twists around in his seat. The main road is still visible in the shrinking distance, but the silver jeeps are gone. He exhales, temporarily favouring relief over suspicion.
They follow the narrow road onto a different main road, and the trees and bushes give way to wheat fields and barns. They cycle past warily, listening for any malicious sounds, until a green sign appears indicating the approach of a roundabout. Preston vaguely recognises some of the names on the sign, and relief floods through him. They’re close to a town.
‘Second exit,’ he calls, and Gabriel signs okay.
Whizzing around the roundabout is a temporary joy, eliciting even a laugh from Kerry, and as they approach a second roundabout, buildings begin to crop up in the landscape, partially obscured by leafless trees. Excitement, not just at the sight of salvation but at the confirmation that they’re still alive, wells up in them, and as they approach the town they’re spoilt for choice: on one side of the road is a supermarket, and on the other side is a retail park.
Opting for the retail park, they veer left, and they pile into the first building they approach – a coffee shop – abandoning the bikes outside in their enthusiasm to be off the road.
The cafe is just as cold as outside and, as they come to realise, has been abandoned for a very long time. Dust covers every surface, thick enough to leave footprints in, and every single appliance, piece of cutlery, plate and mug has been taken over the years. Even the chairs are gone, leaving a few lone tables and a couple of booths, one of which the group occupies. A damp, musty smell fills their nostrils. Beth and Kerry brush dust off their seats before sitting down, but Preston doesn’t bother.
‘Well that was fun,’ he says happily, plonking down in a layer of dust, which flies up, offended, before drifting back down to settle.
‘Are you hurt?’ Beth asks Gabriel, gesturing for him to sit down next to her.
‘Ah,’ says Gabriel, wincing, as his mother tugs his coat off him.
She gasps at the sight of blood, which has soaked the sleeve of his grey jumper, and begins tugging that off him too, making his eyes water. He shivers in the cold. Kerry hands Preston a bottle of water from her rucksack as they assess the damage to Gabriel’s arm.
‘I think it’s just a graze,’ says Gabriel bravely, hastily wiping away a tear as Beth dabs his wound with the end of her scarf. ‘Ow, Mum!’
‘Sorry!’ she hisses, still dabbing frantically. ‘Oh, I knew we should’ve stayed in the barn...’
‘Is now really the time for “I told you so,” Bethany?’ snaps Preston.
‘What, you think I’m enjoying this?’
‘Well, you enjoy being right-’
‘DON’T!’ Kerry shrieks, slamming her water bottle down on the dirty table. She looks sheepish as Preston raises an eyebrow at her. ‘Please,’ she says levelly, ‘just don’t argue right now. We’ve still got things to do before we have to cycle all the way back, and I don’t want us bickering the whole time, okay? I’m sick of it.’
‘We’re sick of it,’ Gabriel agrees, looking from Beth to Preston.
Silence descends for a moment, and all but Preston has the good grace to look shamefaced. Instead he rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. Tension loosens as smoke fills his lun
gs, and he feels instantly calmer. Beth quietly continues to tend to Gabriel’s arm.
‘What sorts of buggers go on a manhunt on Christmas Eve, anyway?’ grunts Preston. ‘Like, don’t you have anything better to do?’
‘Probably the same sort of idiot that goes shopping on Christmas Eve,’ Kerry says.
‘Christmas Eve is the day to go shopping!’
Beth looks at him. ‘You were one of those?’
‘Well yeah,’ he snaps. ‘I wasn’t going to spend months agonising over one day. Not that I got presents for more than one person, anyway.’
‘You men are all the same.’
Preston scowls. ‘You women are all the bloody same.’
‘Don’t start,’ warns Kerry.
‘No one is like me,’ Preston mutters.
‘Thank God,’ says Gabriel, grinning, and Preston kicks him under the table.
‘Fortunately it is just a graze,’ Beth announces, handing Gabriel back his jumper.
‘I told you that,’ says Gabriel impatiently, tugging it over his head. ‘Is everyone else okay?’
‘Fine,’ Kerry confirms, passing Gabriel a bottle of water.
‘I’m just wondering why they stopped chasing us,’ says Preston, glaring out the window. ‘The road wasn’t narrow enough to prevent them following us.’
Kerry shrugs. ‘Maybe they have other enemies here, didn’t think it worth the risk.’
‘It feels like a trap,’ he grunts.
‘We just got away,’ says Beth, waving the matter off and helping herself to Gabriel’s water, ‘why do you have to question it?’
‘Why are you so laidback about it? Your precious son was shot-’
‘Beth’s right,’ Kerry says over him, before he can start another argument. ‘We outran them. That’s what must’ve happened. It’s not like you to worry about these things, Pres.’
‘Well, I’ve got a newfound fondness for not dying, if you must know.’
Listening intently, Gabriel stares out the window, and Preston follows his gaze. No signs of life catch their gazes on the road or around the retail park, but Preston isn’t convinced. Suspicion places imaginary foes around each corner, crouched behind old cars or lurking in doorways.
As they sit and catch their breath, Beth rummages in her bag and produces a tin of rice pudding and a spoon. It’s passed around, but when it reaches Preston he waves it away, settling instead for brooding and smoking. Any small movement outside captures his gaze, but it’s only ever a bird or a fox enjoying the clear, calm day. Preston takes his guns out of his pockets and holds them in his lap. They’re cold against his palms.
Given the state of the coffee shop, Preston is doubtful they’ll find anything here, and the wasted journey annoys him. Perhaps the furniture shop across the car park might house a couple of mattresses – he’s sure he could attach them to the trailers, but they’d be a hindrance if enemies are waiting around some corner, or parked on a roadside. Abandoning the barn isn’t an option; the cat is still there.
They leave the cafe when the rice pudding is gone, leaving the tin on their table like a flag on the moon. As they wheel their bikes across the car park, Beth voices Preston’s doubts.
‘It seems finding food will be out of the question here,’ she says.
‘A new sleeping bag would admittedly suffice for me,’ says Kerry, ‘and perhaps some washing powder.’
‘Pants,’ adds Gabriel. ‘We could always use more pants.’
‘I do miss our jigsaw puzzles too,’ says Beth with a smile.
‘Santa isn’t listening, you know,’ grunts Preston.
‘Scrooge,’ says Kerry, earning herself a rude gesture from him.
As suspected, over half of the shops are completely empty. Each shelf is perused with utmost scrutiny and no luck, until Gabriel triumphantly produces a half-empty box of matches, and the girls cheer. Rolling his eyes, Preston leads them out of the third otherwise empty shop and into the next one.
Upon entry they ditch their bikes in the doorway and Beth hurries over to a rack, where a lone pack of Christmas cards sits, and she snatches it up, grinning. Only when Gabriel discovers a pair of bed socks do they turn it into some sort of seeking game that Preston has absolutely no patience for. He groans and breaks away from the group, losing himself in dark, empty aisles and kicking up dust. Occasionally he’ll hear a triumphant cry, and he wishes for a pair of earplugs, just in case Santa is listening.
At the very back of the shop, Preston takes out his lighter and flicks it on, dimly illuminating the dark shelves next to him and part of the floor. He comes across a small campsite halfway down an aisle, consisting of a patchy rug, a dead solar lantern, an empty cigarette packet and an empty thermos mug, the latter of which Preston picks up. The campsite is clearly old and long abandoned, but he still wonders where its occupant has gone.
He finds out at the end of the aisle. A corpse sits slumped against a broken shelf, next to which lies a bent umbrella. Preston kneels before the body, lighting up its empty eye sockets and patches of shrivelled, decayed skin. Cobwebs cling to the body’s crevices, and dust sits in its lap like a dirty blanket. He wonders how this person died: Ailing attack or scavenger attack? Perhaps he’d contracted pneumonia or some other hideous disease. Glancing at the bent umbrella, the disease argument seems unlikely. So who did this person lose a fight against? And where is his opponent now?
Straightening up and still holding the travel mug, Preston lights a cigarette and moves on from the dead man, allowing him to resume resting in peace. On his way back towards the light of the doorway, he pockets a packet of coloured pencils and discovers a pillar candle, which he uses to light his way to save the fluid in his lighter. He leaves a packet of chewing gum where it is, presuming it’s very far past its expiry date.
A scream from the back of the store indicates Kerry has found the body. Preston chuckles and heaves himself up onto a counter, waiting for the others to return while he finishes his cigarette. To his irritation, a nap beckons and he feels his eyelids droop. His body begs him to lie back against the counter and doze off, but the sense of unease has not yet deserted him. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he fights off sleep and lights another cigarette.
‘Spoils!’ announces Gabriel as he hurries over holding the box of matches, a small stuffed bear, a pair of floral flip flips and a pair of scissors. Beth isn’t far behind him, holding the Christmas cards, a key ring and a Buddha bust.
‘I win!’ he yells as Kerry shows them a phone charger and the packet of chewing gum Preston had neglected.
‘Don’t count your chickens just yet,’ objects Beth, discarding the Buddha and key ring, but keeping hold of the cards, ‘we still have other shops to look in!’
Preston is dismayed to realise that this trip has fast turned into a fun day out as opposed to a quick food-shopping trip, in and out, like he wanted. But he follows the others without complaint into the next shop, where he decides to nap after all while they run around on their wild goose chase.
Sleep, flirtatious as it had been mere minutes ago, does not deal with rejection well, and Preston only manages to doze while the others run around yelling and laughing. It feels like two minutes before they return with more armfuls of rubbish: a squeaky dog toy, a canvas with a hole in it, a fake bunch of flowers and a travel pillow. Grumbling, Preston grabs his bike and wheels it after them to the next shop.
As he reaches for Gabriel’s sword to pry open the sliding doors, Preston pauses to look up. His ears buzz with cold and his breath comes out in clouds, but despite having seen it a dozen times before, the snow captivates him. It falls, fast and thick, kissing their faces before melting away, and for a time they stand in silence, staring. Quickly, the ground is carpeted in patchy, wispy white.
Nostalgia threatens, a snowflake lands delicately on Preston’s lip and he can almost feel a hand in his before he shakes off his childlike wonder and irritably snatches Gabriel’s sword from him. Even now, almost nine years later, somethin
g as simple as weather wakes in him a sentimentality that he does not welcome, and the memories come unbidden. He is beginning to wish they’d stop.
Shaking the snow out of his hair, Preston slips the sword between the automatic doors and forces them open. The dry, dusty atmosphere of the dark home improvement store is the complete opposite of what’s happening outside. Preston takes a moment to let the darkness calm him before he allows his mind to process the squeaking a few aisles away.
‘What’s that?’ mutters Gabriel, stepping in behind him.
‘Shh,’ breathes Preston.
A cement mixer stands to their right, coated with dust, and across the way a few empty paint tins lie sadly on the ground. Tills stand in a row between the entrance and the shelves. The squeaking comes closer, and Preston is beginning to doubt the presence of an overexcited mouse. Slowly and quietly, he leans his bike against the cement mixer.
‘Stay here,’ he murmurs to the others. ‘I’ll investigate.’
Passing Gabriel back his sword, Preston reaches for his own weapons. The others exchange worried glances as he creeps past the tills and into the shop, the darkness thickening around him. He relies on his other senses as he squints in the gloom, unwilling to let go of his guns. The squeaking sound floats ahead, and he follows it, aiming blindly forward.
Slowly, a shape seems to materialise, black against the thick grey, and Preston points both guns at it. As it approaches, he backs into the light, scrunching up his eyes in anticipation of the culprit. As light offers him vision, Preston stops moving, puzzled. A zombie, looking vacantly into space, pushes a trolley towards him, completely unaware of its new company. Frowning, Preston watches as it bustles right by him, pushing the trolley with a squeaky wheel. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t seem to hear. Shaking his head incredulously, he lowers his weapons.
He allows himself to chuckle, just as a loud CRASH breaks the silence, followed by a wail. Rolling his eyes, Preston leisurely makes his way back to the entrance and wonders who broke what. Then, suddenly, Beth swears audibly, echoing in the quiet, and multiple groans and screams rise up from the gloom.
After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four Page 28
