Occupation

by Dave Lacey

  Smithy flattened the children onto the ground. His first thoughts were for their safety. He found a small niche among some rubble, and moved like a manic robot, rubble flying in all directions, to make the opening bigger. After a couple of minutes of Jack laying down suppressing fire, Smithy had done all he could. He crammed the kids into the hole, and crawled back to Jack’s position. It was still light, so the enemy couldn’t creep round and flank them too easily. But eventually, it would happen.

  If Jack and Smithy had had the chance to pick their redoubt, they would have done a better job than this.

  “We’re screwed here,” Jack muttered under his breath.

  “Yeah, you just keep that up, chuckles, and we’ll be fine,” Smithy said. “I agree it’s not the best position to defend, but it’s what we have.” Smithy looked askance at Jack, and his expression changed to one of concern. His brow furrowed and his eyes became suspicious. “Something tells me you haven’t been entirely honest.” As he spoke, a burst of automatic fire came from across the way. It raised a cloud of earth and brick dust from in front and behind them.

  “You think now’s the best time to discuss this?” Jack asked, then sent back a burst of his own. It did no damage, but at least the three heads they had been able to see ducked down below the horizon.

  “Maybe not,” Smithy started, then let off a volley at ninety degrees to that of Jack’s. He had seen movement there. “But you look like shit. And I don’t want your blood on my hands.” He turned now to look Jack full in the face. “How bad?”

  Jack turned his head away from Smithy, donning a frown of his own. “Now isn’t the time, Smithy. We’ve more pressing concerns.” Jack refused to make eye contact with Smithy, who cocked his head to one side and continued as if they were under no pressure at all.

  “You know, this is typical of you. Get pissy so we don’t have to discuss anything too meaningful. Well, it may not be that important to you, but I really don’t want your death on my conscience.” Bullets and debris landed all around them, as Smithy continued. “Nor do I want to be left here alone, trying to defend your son and three other kids.” His tone was angry now, he continued at a full shout. “So, if it’s not too much trouble, Jack, I’d like you to hang around as long as you can, so I don’t have too much fucking explaining to do.”

  “You really are a prick sometimes,” Jack shouted back. “I’m the one who’s dying here, and you get on your high horse about it.”

  “Glad you could join us.” Smithy shouted. “Now, if you’ll just concentrate on the enemy, I’d be much obliged.” Smithy turned his attention back to the men who had begun to surround them. Jack stared at Smithy a moment longer, his mouth hung open slack. Then he remembered the assault. He wondered how their brief exchange would have played out to the men lying in wait for them.

  “They’re making their attempt at flanking us right now,” Smithy said. “The three in the middle of our sights are just keeping us interested.”

  “How long?” Jack asked. He was scanning the peaks and troughs of the rubble that lay all around them. Whitish concrete, mixed in with red brick. Skeletal beams of wood jutted up here and there, twisted metal jagged and dangerous. Smithy never got to answer. The bullet he had taken from Coffey had done little to no damage at all. It had been a straight in and out of his love handle, barely slowing down as it went through. This one was different. The enemy had indeed outflanked them, even quicker than they’d anticipated. They had managed to place a sniper high up, to the right. And he was good.

  Even though it wouldn’t have been a sniper rifle he had used, it had done its job. Smithy was looking at Jack one moment, and flying backward through the air the next. For a few seconds, Jack was stunned. His lower jaw hung slack as he stared at the unmoving body behind him. Smithy lay in the dirt, his arms thrown back behind his head, blood pooling under his body. Finally, Jack crawled over the ground between them. He grabbed a hold of Smithy’s left ankle, and tried to drag him close, but he didn’t have the strength. He felt the last inconsequential reserves of strength deep within him, and, like the muddy water at the bottom of a deep well, it wasn’t enough to slake his thirst for energy. He let go. He flopped backwards, and looked around him like a drunkard.

  Jack’s breathing became ragged once more, his vision began to shrink. He knew the children were tucked away, still safe, and he was dimly aware of the popping sound of gunfire coming from far off. Jack’s head leant back against the earthen wall. He looked at Smithy lying there. The wound was high in the left side of his chest. Through the dark tunnel of his vision, Jack couldn’t quite work out whether it was in the danger zone. But, if he wasn’t sure, surely that was dangerous enough in itself? The blood continued to flow like molasses down Smithy’s flank, where it was absorbed by the dry patch of earth.

  Bullets continued to find their way, the ground kicking up small explosions of soil wherever they hit. Jack could no longer hear them, and he could only just see them as his sight continued to dim. The only sound he was aware of was that of a soft rushing, like waves upon the shore. But as he listened, so it developed a rhythm like a slow beating drum. Like the man calling the pace on an old warship, feeding the rhythm to the men before him at the oars. It was his heart. And it was slowing all the time.

  He knew the signs, even through the fog in his eyes, mind and ears. His body was beginning to shut down. Even if he couldn’t admit defeat, his internal workings could sense it for themselves. They had called time. Jack’s eyelids fluttered and closed. It felt like a butterfly trying to land on his face. It was not unpleasant. Somewhere, outside of his ever shrinking world, he could hear more gunfire. His eyes, though, were welded shut. He heard triumphant shouts from behind him, and figured Coffey’s men had finally figured out there was no return fire. He thought briefly about the children, then slipped gratefully into a grey, soft, warm place and thought of them no more.

  Chapter 17

  Diary entry, January 2015

  There we waited. Below ground. Safe. The bunker had pretty much everything you could want, or need. My uncle had taken it seriously. There was a room, twenty by twenty, stacked with food and water. There was power, courtesy of a combination of diesel and newer technologies of wind and solar. It provided us with a home. Part of the power system was used to recirculate air. But within a few weeks we discovered that the air above was more than breathable, and there were systems to allow us access to it.

  Initially, shock was our biggest problem. The shock of loss, and the shock that what had happened had actually happened. My father took it badly to begin with. He moped around, listless and unresponsive. But after time, he recovered his usual vigour. Mum was fine; she just got on with things. Junior was calm and placid. Almost as if he knew the seriousness of the situation, and made a conscious decision to behave. Unusual for a child of two. I was a different matter though. For the first two months, I was a nightmare.

  I regularly left the bunker to roam the disaster strewn countryside, looking for an excuse to take out my anger on something, anything. Sometimes, I found it. I fought both my fellow humans and the ‘Landers. On one occasion, I even came close to dying. Only my family’s efforts saved me from myself. But I adjusted. That’s what we do, humankind. We always adapt. We adjust. We survive. And, after six months or so, I settled. I got over Selena’s death. I got over myself, and my self-pitying rants. And we did okay. We had power, food and each other. In a funny way, once we had settled, it was probably the best and most family centric part of my life to that point.

  I know how that sounds, and it’s hard to explain. We had each other, with no other concerns outside of our home. I read books that I might never have done above ground had we gone on as we were. Reading was something I hadn’t had the chance to do for a long time. I remembered the authors I had loved: Conn Iggulden, Wilbur Smith, Jo Nesbo, James RR Martin. I remembered what I had loved about reading, and the man who’d introduced me to it. Escaping into a book allowed me to visit places I might
never see again. We watched films together, like old fashioned family movie nights. We had nothing else to do, but to relax and enjoy each other. It was… remarkable.

  Then, Smithy found us. He told us he’d been lucky, that he had been on the move for a while, and had eventually figured that this was where we’d be, if we’d survived. But, as time wore on, we realized we couldn’t stay like this forever. At some point in time, we would need to surface. We needed something more. With so many mouths to feed, the food dwindled much more quickly than you’d imagine.

  At first, Smithy and I figured it was the best way to go on sorties under cover of night. Then we learned the ‘Landers patterns, their movements, and we realized we were wrong. The night was their time. The night was dangerous and deadly. So we went out during the day. And that was what contributed most to our reality of the new world. By day, the horror was so much more visceral. The ground was scorched black. No greenery, just blackness. Acre after acre of bristly, black earth. Craters dotted the landscape, making it look like the pitted surface of the Moon. It looked as if enormous moles had take over, with mounds of earth and rubble signposting their frantic activity.

  We searched the wreckage of empty buildings that were sprayed with the blood of those unfortunate enough to be caught out by the first wave. Over time, almost as we watched, the marks turned black with age and exposure, until it looked like nothing more than graffiti. When we found the twisted remains of people, we did our best. We dug graves and buried those who had perished. At other times, when the numbers were too great, we piled them high and burned them. We talked at times of these things, and each time we marked the loss of a little more of our humanity.

  On occasion, we found feral survivors. Children mostly. Ill dressed and often dangerous, we tried our best to avoid them when we could. We hadn’t buried the dead just out of respect; it had also been of necessity. Piles of rotting corpses posed a biological threat almost as deadly as that of our invaders. And the wild children only added another layer of danger and threat. They would grow, so long as they survived, into a much greater threat. At times, I admit I had some very dark thoughts, and on occasion I caught Smithy watching me. I was certain he could see what I was thinking, and shame chased the black heart from me.

  But it came back to haunt me one day. As the light began to fade in the sky, we were caught in the open. There were around twenty or so of them. It was like a scene from Lord of the Flies. I almost laughed, except I could see they all carried weapons of one kind or another. We had one pistol, with three rounds in it. They ranged in age, anything from ten to about eighteen. I couldn’t shoot them all, and it only took one of the bigger ones to land a blow and we were done for. It was a strange scene. A silence descended like something physical and malevolent, like nothing I had ever experienced.

  The impeding night and the gathering clouds enhanced the drama. The children, if you can call them that, made low growls, high demented giggles and the sucking sound of saliva being drawn back into their mouths. Some moved like animals, hesitant monkeys maybe, or watchful cats. Then their leader raised his huge knife and screamed. We turned and ran. But God they were quick. The things they must have done to survive. We really did run like our lives depended on it. I felt no fatigue at all, as I powered my arms and legs like pistons. I felt light as air. But something hit Smithy, and he collapsed like he’d been shot.

  He fell heavily, and it took me a moment to figure out he was no longer running. I stopped and turned, and they had almost reached me when I realized I had no choice but to shoot. My only hopes were that they didn’t know I only had three bullets, and that the first two might scare them enough for them to run. The leader drew back his cutting arm, and my first shot, from just twenty feet, took him straight through the throat. The contents of his neck sprayed over those behind him.

  Some blinked, red gore spattered on their faces, arms held aloft with whatever weapon they possessed. Another kept coming on, and I shot him in the face. His body stopped supporting itself as though somebody had cut off his power. They stopped then, all of those that remained. I could see they were hesitating. I moved forward, my gun arm extended before me, hoping they couldn’t see it shaking.

  “You should go now, before it gets ugly,” I told them, but they just looked back with blank stares. I continued to move, and decided to make my final move. I picked on one of the older ones again, a boy really, who was snarling without making a sound. I shot him in the stomach, and prayed that God didn’t judge me. I shot him there, so that his screams might make them run.

  It worked. He curled up on the ground, clutching his irreparable wound. As he lay there, the contents of his bowels leaking into his blood, I knew nothing could save him. The rest of them turned and capered off into the darkness.

  Smithy wouldn’t make eye contact with me as I helped him to his feet. I’d expected as much. He’d sprained his ankle and needed my help all the way back. We hardly spoke for a month after that. My family knew something had happened, but never asked. That was the new way. No questions. At some point, everybody had to do something bad, and it did no good to dwell.

  Two months later, one of our daytime excursions turned up something different. Human beings, who still spoke and still held a reasonable view on humanity. The community. That’s when things began to change. We discussed it, Mum, Dad, Millie, Smithy, me, Nan and Granddad, my uncle and his partner, and even Junior. It took some time, but we got there. And it was hard to leave our home. Our shelter from everything.

  It had been our cocoon, our warm, safe womb. But that was our decision. And it turned out to be the right one. We never would have survived on our own. Food would have become a problem after just another year. We needed to see new faces too. Until it’s gone, you don’t realize just how important daily social interaction is. We hated our jobs, but at the very least they put a roof over our heads and gave us a selection of society with which to interact. So, after a year in the bunker, we moved.

  Members of the community came to help. We took some things with us we thought we couldn’t live without, and we helped load our remaining food and water onto the carts our new friends brought with them. And we left. I sat on the back of the cart, my meagre possessions behind me, and watched our home disappear into the dusk. A new life awaited us.

  Chapter 18

  Millie sat in the middle of the public area in Coffey’s commune. She realized that it was the first time in over fifty hours that she had had a conscious thought that wasn’t fraught with tension. She had made it back to the enemy stronghold, unchallenged and unharmed. They had been so happy to see her that she had been swamped within seconds of her return. She couldn’t blame them. They had waited here for days, not knowing their fate.

  Would their rescuers return and free them for good, or was it just a temporary reprieve? Would their tormentors return and enslave them once more? After a number of days, they had their answer. Millie had returned. She had not even considered how they might have responded.

  It gave her pleasure to have been the bearer of good news for a change. They had wanted her to stay for a day, to eat and sleep. But she had refused. Her brother, his son and her boyfriend were out there somewhere, she’d told them, and they were also looking after another three kids. So she told them no, they must go now. And so they had. All of them, without exception, wanted to leave. To start a new life.

  Darren had been the spokesperson. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “Not after everything.” He gave a simple shrug. “Too many memories. None of them good. If you’ll have us, we go with you.”

  Millie smiled and nodded her assent. “You’ll be more than welcome.” She paused and looked around at the glowing features of everyone she could see. “I can assure you,” she said, “we have enough room, and it’s a nice place to be.” She smiled. “All things considered, that is.” There was a small chorus of giggles.

  She left them smiling in her wake, taking Darren’s elbow and leading him to a quiet corner. Sh
e smiled back at the others again while muttering out of the side of her mouth. “I need some support. For a few hours, no more. We take a few of your guys, just a handful. We go and find my brother and his small crew. The rest of your guys can make their own way to our community. I’ll tell them how to get there. Yeah?””

  Darren’s face clouded over and his hand moved up to remove the bony fingers digging into his elbow. “I thought it was done. I thought you’d finished them off?” He looked angry at the perceived deceit.

  Millie bridled at his accusing stare. “It’s nice to know you care, Darren,” she snapped, jabbing a finger in his chest as she spoke. “Do you have any idea what it cost to follow them, to defeat them?”

  Darren drew himself to his full height and spat back a response. “Yeah, but it wasn’t for us was it, Millie? You did it for yourselves, then rode in here like the conquering hero.” He jerked his chin up in defiance.

  Millie’s eyes flew wide. It was like being slapped in the face.

  “You wanker! You cheeky bastard! I came in here like nothing. I came back here for you, for your friends and for your family. If I hadn’t come back, I wouldn’t be asking you for help now. We’d have been just fine on our own.” Her lungs pumped like a bellows as they fought to feed her fizzing blood. Darren backed up a little. His eyes lost a little of their fire too. He held up a hand to still Millie’s next words, but it was too late.

  “I’ve a good mind to leave you here, you loser, you and your people. There are four children and two men out there that may or may not need a little help. I’m being cautious. But your self absorption goes straight to the worst place it can think of.” She paused to draw breath, and Darren jumped in while he had the chance.