by Ryan Casey
A blast.
Blood splattering out from Cody’s left leg.
A scream from the kid as he fell to the floor. Gripping his leg. Crying out.
When Max looked up, he saw Nathan standing by the door. Rifle in hand.
He walked over to Cody.
Put a hand over his mouth.
A new-found aggressiveness taking over him. An aggressiveness Max hadn’t seen before.
“One more noise, and I’ll put a bullet in the other leg, you little shit.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Aoife heard the gunshot and stopped.
She was in the middle of the woods, Rex by her side. She could see the estate looming in the distance, right up ahead. The exact same place she had to go to in order to find a pharmacy. She knew it was a risky journey, especially after what happened with the kids. And she knew the chances of finding the medication Max needed there were slim. After all, he needed something stronger. He needed a real cocktail of strong antibiotics. And he needed an intravenous drip. As well as a ton of other things that Nathan would know better than her—things she could probably only get from hospital.
But as she walked down this slope, back towards society, she knew she wasn’t exactly in a position to be choosy right now.
She had to take whatever came her way and be grateful for it.
But when she heard that gunshot behind her and the scream that followed, she felt a shiver creep up her spine. It sounded like a woman crying. Or a kid. And that rifle blast, it sounded just like the one earlier.
The gun Harold shot the kid with.
The gun Nathan fired towards the people, fleeing.
It sounded just like that, and it made her freeze.
On the one hand, she wanted to follow the sound to its source. She wanted to go back to Moira’s place and check everything was okay.
And she wanted to check on Nathan, too.
She was worried about him. Something had shifted in him since losing his dad. His emotions seemed fraught and raw. Understandably so.
And she felt bad because obviously, she felt terrible about what’d happened to his dad.
But at the same time… she knew she had to do everything she could to give Max the best shot possible of surviving.
She took a deep breath, and she looked at Rex.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s keep going.”
She walked further down the slope, out of the woods’ thinning trees. Clouds had thickened overhead now, and rain fell. It wasn’t as cold as it could be, though. Not the coldest winter she’d ever encountered. And she was grateful for that, at least. It was something.
But as she stepped out of the woods, she became aware of her vulnerability. She knew things would’ve changed in the last day since she’d been out here. Things would be getting more tense. People would be losing control. Suffering wildly.
She was glad she was far away from the city. In relatively remote surroundings.
But the small estate area she was about to enter to search for supplies filled her with dread.
It was strangely positioned, really. She remembered hearing about the council’s plans to build an estate right at the foot of Beacon Fell. A kind of gated community filled with social housing and packed with programs supposed to help the less well-off residents. The unfortunate.
Naturally, the people who lived around here kicked off. They weren’t best pleased. Didn’t want kids from the estate running around in the woods.
But as far as Aoife was aware, it hadn’t really become a problem. Kids were kids from time to time. But for the most part, the area was a roaring success, bridging the divide between the better off and those who weren’t so lucky.
But as she looked down the street towards this estate now, a shiver crept up her spine.
It was the sight of the cars in the middle of the road that did it, windows smashed. Shopping trolleys overturned. There was a shop up ahead, but it’d closed its shutters, and someone had painted ALL OUT OF STOCK on the front of it.
Windows had been smashed. There was a smell of smoke and fire in the air. A lot of the buildings were boarded up already. And as she walked down the road, Aoife wondered just how many people were left here. How many had moved on in search of help. Because one thing was clear: nobody had come here to help these people. They’d been left alone, in the dark.
She kept her head down and walked down the street, looking for the pharmacy but also conscious that she needed to keep a low profile. She had to keep her face covered. If any of the kids with Cody recognised her, she’d be in trouble. Big trouble.
She didn’t want to run into any of them or their families right now.
She kept on walking down the street, focusing ahead. Not looking at any of the people sitting in their homes, glancing out their windows at her. Not looking at the abandoned cars or the litter in the road.
And doing everything she could to ignore the stench of a dead body, right at the opposite side of the street.
She kept her head down, heart racing, swallowing a lump in her throat, just wanting to get to the pharmacy and get this done with, when she saw it right before her.
The pharmacy.
Right in front of her.
She took a deep breath and smiled. Even though it was shuttered up, she could figure that out. She was just relieved to be here. Just happy to have made it here.
She got the sense she was being watched.
Looked over her shoulder.
Saw a few people walking through the streets.
A few people glancing at her through their windows.
But nobody watching her. Not really.
She turned around again and looked at the pharmacy ahead.
She took a deep breath. Rex by her side.
“Come on, lad. Let’s go get Max what he needs.”
She still had the feeling someone was watching her.
Closely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Frank Holburn held Sam in his arms and ran as fast as he could, down the hills of Beacon Fell, and right back home.
“Stay with me, Sam. Please stay with me. Please.”
He said these words as the dead weight of his son rested in his arms, but he knew deep down it was already too late. He was already gone. The bullet hole in his skull, leaking blood. The way his body felt cold already. Heavy. And the smell that came from him. It felt wrong, seeing his boy in this state, in this condition, in this way. So wrong.
And yet, he still kept on running. Desperate to just get Sam to safety. To get him some kind of help.
Because he couldn’t give up on Sam. He couldn’t just give up on him.
“Hold on, my boy. Please hold on. Please.”
It was all such a blur. Finding his son lying there on the icy, damp ground. Finding that man beside him. The one Cody, little shit, claimed had done this.
But not being able to focus on anything Cody or the other kids were doing to the man as he screamed out and cried.
Only being able to focus on Sam.
He remembered it all being a blur. The kick of pain and grief, right in his chest.
And then running away. Running down the slope, away from the scene behind him.
Hearing the gunshots behind.
All of it such a blur.
And a part of him wanted vengeance. A part of him wanted revenge for what had happened to his boy.
But mostly, right now, he just felt like he wanted to get Sam to a doctor or to someone who could help.
Just anything to help his Sam.
To help his boy.
He stumbled over. Almost lost his grip on Sam. And he felt so bad. Such a shitty parent. Such a shitty dad. He should never have let him go out with Cody and the other kids. He should have kept him close, especially in the middle of the blackout.
It was all his fault.
All on him.
He dragged himself back to his feet, tightening his grip on Sam. And he ran further down the slope, his knees weak, his body powering o
n adrenaline alone.
Just keep on going. That’s what he had to do. Keep on going, get Sam some help, and then he could figure out what he was going to do next.
He ran through the woods. But he realised he was getting weaker. Realised he was losing his shit, slowly but surely. That he simply wasn’t going to make it much further.
Because the shock. The shock of holding his boy in his arms. The shock of everything that had happened. The disbelief of it all. It pained him. Agonised him.
He reached the edge of the woods, and then he fell to his knees and collapsed.
He looked down at Sam. Looked at his eyes staring vacantly up. Felt his neck for a sign of a heartbeat or for any breathing.
But it was already too late. He was already gone.
“Sam,” he cried. “My boy. I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry.”
He crouched there over Sam for God knows how long. Just felt the rain trickle down onto him from above. Listened to the wind. Listened to the quiet. He wanted to disappear into it. He wanted to drift away into it with Sam. Wanted to drift into nothingness. Because if he didn’t have his boy, then he didn’t have his life. He didn’t have a thing. It just wasn’t worth living. At all.
He sat there and cried for God knows how long until he heard footsteps approaching. And then speaking and crying, and before he could make sense of anything, there were people around him, telling him they were so sorry, that they were here for him, that they were going to kill the bastards who did this, and so many other things that he couldn’t take in, couldn’t understand.
He walked aimlessly back to the street, not letting go of Sam, not once. Until finally, he got onto the street, and he sat there with a man who said he was a vicar at the church and who said he could do a burial and a funeral of sorts, but not the typical kind because of the limited supplies and lack of electricity.
But Frank didn’t want a burial. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to go home, and he wanted Sam to come back.
But he knew that wasn’t happening.
He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there when he saw the woman with the hood up wandering through the town.
When he felt one of the kids, the little shits who’d apparently seen everything that happened up at the “old guy’s” house, nudge him.
“That’s her,” he said. “That’s one of ’em. One of the ones from the house. One of the ones who killed Sam!”
And something flipped inside Frank then, as he saw this woman walking towards the pharmacy, looking over her shoulder, Rottweiler by her side.
Something snapped.
He put Sam down, let him rest.
And then he tightened his fists, and he stood.
He was making her pay for what she’d done to his son.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nathan held a hand over the little fucker’s screaming mouth and felt torn in two directions.
In one direction, violence.
In the other, peace.
He held his hand against the kid’s mouth as he wailed away. Blood pooled out from his left leg. He’d shot him. Got back here and shot him.
And the thing that scared him more than anything?
He’d felt no shame in shooting him.
He’d felt no shame at all.
He’d seen the little shit standing over his mum, knife in hand, and he’d done the only thing that came naturally to him.
But the kid was in a bad way. And he was bleeding out all over the living room’s wooden floor. Mum was on her knees, holding these round, squishy marbles in her hands. He didn’t want to think about what they were. Didn’t want to think of the pain Dad must’ve been through in his final moments.
But he knew exactly what those squishy marbles were.
And that made him feel justified for shooting the kid even more.
The man, Max, sat on the sofa. He looked like shit, but he was conscious now. Not in as bad a way as before, admittedly. But still not out of the woods.
And fuck it. What did it matter right now?
What mattered was his dad.
Looking after his mum.
Being there for her.
And this kid lying here screaming beneath him, bleeding out on the wooden floor, he was a problem.
“Get up,” Nathan said, moving his hand from the kid’s mouth.
“My leg! My fucking leg! It hurts! It hurts so fucking bad! Please—”
“And it’ll hurt even more if you don’t shut the hell up,” Nathan said.
That seemed to quieten him a little bit. But he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The gunshot looked nasty. Really nasty. He was bleeding heavily. And without emergency medical care, he was in real, real trouble.
“Nathan,” Mum said.
“I don’t have time for this right now, Mum,” Nathan said. Regretting his tone right away.
“But your dad. Your—”
“Mum, I’m sorry,” Nathan said. “I’ll be with you soon. But I need to… I need to deal with this wound first. And I need to figure out what I’m going to do. All of us need to figure out what we’re going to do.”
“They’ll come for you,” Cody shouted as he punched weak fists into Nathan’s back repeatedly. “My—my friends. My dad. He’ll come for you and—”
“Shut up,” Nathan said.
He looked around at Mum. At Max. Saw them both in the lounge. The blood on the floor. And he felt sick. Sick that this fate had bestowed him. Bestowed his family.
But he had to step up.
He had to do the right thing here.
The pragmatic thing.
He turned back around. Walked towards the back of the house with Cody, who kept on hitting him, crying out, screaming.
He took him to the kitchen. Lay him down on the kitchen table.
“Are you going to be still?”
Cody spat at him.
“Hey,” Nathan said. “Still. Or I’ll leave you to bleed out. How does that sound, hmm?”
“Just—just, please. My leg. Fuck. Please. You’re fucked for this. You’re fucked.”
Nathan kept his composure. He was used to dealing with abusive patients. But patients who had just murdered his father? Not so much.
But he had to detach himself from who the patient was right now.
Because he was well aware that if this kid died, even more trouble would come his family’s way.
He needed to decide what to do with him. And he would, in due course.
But now wasn’t the moment.
He pulled the kid’s joggers away, which made him scream out.
The wound was bad. Loads of blood. The key concern with any wound of this kind was to stop blood loss. Repair any damage to major vessels and close the wound.
But right now, he didn’t have the tools he needed. All he could do was tourniquet the wound and hope for the best.
“Keep still,” he said, grabbing Cody’s cheeks, tightening his grip around them.
He grabbed a towel from the side of the kitchen. Tied it around his leg. But just touching him made him cry out.
And it was when he tied the tourniquet around his leg that he realised just how bad this was. Just how serious the blood loss was.
And just how in danger this boy actually was.
“He’ll come for you,” Cody said, shivering, teeth chattering, blood trickling down from his bitten lips. A look of total hatred on his face. “When they find out what’s happened, he—he’ll come for you. And you’ll regret it. The fucking lot of you will regret it.”
And as Nathan stood there, he found himself in the operating theatre again.
Looking down at the patient, Indian male, aged 45, who died before his eyes.
The first patient to die on him.
And all because of something preventable.
Something only he knew was a mistake.
“I’m not letting that happen again,” he muttered.
He rushed for the first aid kit on the other side of the table. Grabbed stitches. G
rabbed all kinds of instruments. The sort of things he needed. It’d be makeshift, and it’d be a slim chance, but it was all he had.
He rushed over to the lad’s side, and he went to stitch him up.
“I’m going to save you. I’m not expecting you to thank me for it. But I’m a doctor. So keep still. It’s what I’ve got to do.”
He went to stitch up the wound when Cody said the words that shifted something inside Nathan.
“I enjoyed it,” he said. “Your dad. Listening to him scream.” And then he started laughing. “I enjoyed plucking his eyeballs out. It was quality. Loved every second of it.”
And Nathan felt something come over him, then.
Something washed over him and changed him, in that instant, as he looked down into the boy’s smiling, laughing face.
“And you’re still gonna save me,” he said. “’Cause you’re a wimp. You’re a fucking wimp, and you’re gonna save me. Even after what I did.”
Nathan gritted his teeth.
He held the sharp medical instrument in his hand.
And then he took a deep breath.
He covered Cody’s mouth.
His eyes widened.
“You’re wrong about that,” Nathan whispered.
Then he buried the blade into Cody’s thigh, right by the gunshot.
Jammed it around in there, opening the wound, even more, making blood pool out.
He felt Cody shake and twist and watched his eyes widen as blood covered him.
Listened to him scream underneath his hand.
It took three minutes before he went totally still.
NATHAN STEPPED out of the back of the house, covered in blood.
“Is he okay?” Moira asked. “The boy. Is—what’s happened?”
Nathan shook his head. A dead look in his eyes.
“He didn’t make it,” he said.
And then he opened his arms, and his mother landed into them.
Harold’s eyeballs stared up from the bloody patch on the floor below.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Aoife walked up to the pharmacy and stared at the shutters.
They were down. And it didn’t look like there was any way of getting in there, either. There was graffiti on the shutters. The windows were boarded up. And there was glass on the pavement in front of it, which made her think there’d already been some kind of commotion here.