by Ryan Casey
Squeezed its shaking body, just slightly.
And then he loosened his grip.
“You’re okay, matey. You’re strong.”
And then he put the duckling down on the water and let it drift off with its family.
He smiled. It was nice to do something good. To help where he could. Sometimes, the weak just needed a helping hand in life. He was happy to offer help where he could. He wished he’d had more of a helping hand in life. Instead, he was just a duckling trapped in the reeds, trying to get away.
You’ll never be good for anything, son. You’re a worthless piece of shit...
He bit his nail and tasted a metallic tang of blood.
He looked over his shoulder, then. Looked at these beautiful surroundings. He could tell the power was still out. He knew it had to be deadly serious at this point. He expected things to be back online by now. Some kind of order to be restored.
Looked like he was in a lot of luck.
He looked back along the water side. Over in the direction of the village he’d passed by yesterday. Eskdale Green. He had a choice. Head towards the busier, more populated areas. Or spend a little more time in the countryside. Enjoying the scenery. The views.
The seclusion.
The opportunity.
He looked ahead. And then he looked back. Remembered that village he’d passed by. Eskdale Green.
It wasn’t well populated. But people would stay there.
And if they stayed there, he had a chance.
A chance to have fun with them.
A chance for something greater.
He took a deep breath and smiled as he walked past a tall, concrete Viking statue rising out of the water.
He knew exactly where he needed to go.
And he knew exactly what he had to do.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Martin and Ella headed further down the road, but already he was starting to regret it.
They were at the edge of a small town called Grasmere. The sight was very much familiar now: cars stacked up against one another. Telegraph poles dangling across the street. Flames rising where an aircraft had plummeted into the earth nearby. The new normal.
Martin held Ella’s hand. Mostly just because he wanted to keep her close. He’d decided to head back north towards the cabin. It wasn’t so much a spoken decision. Just found himself heading that way after this morning with Ella.
He told her they needed to take stock of things. Their plans to get down to her grandmas were on hold. Not permanently, but just for now.
More important was getting out of the chaos. Into the calm.
And that meant back to their log cabin.
He’d stumbled upon Grasmere almost accidentally. Wanted to avoid it, but figured he’d push through it ’cause it’d be the most direct route back to the cabin. Time felt of the essence right now.
But the further they got towards civilisation, the edgier he grew about this whole journey. It was the afternoon of the third day, so people were growing desperate. Almost all of them had abandoned their cars now. Houses at the side of the road were boarded up. There was chaos in the streets as people grew hungry and out of control; as they grew desperate for information. The old Gingerbread shop, a landmark of this place, was ghostly. Dead.
“Come on,” Martin said, clinging his bug out bag to his shoulder. “The sooner we make it through here, the better.”
Most of the little terraced houses on this street looked empty, but Martin knew people would be holed up in there, locked inside, hoarding whatever supplies they had for as long as they thought this would last. Again, it was like a war zone. Smashed glass peppered the streets. Every now and then, he saw kids cycling past in hoodies, bags over their shoulders. Looting always came first. It only took a few people to start it for it to become normality. Throw in an area where the police weren’t so present, and you had yourself a recipe for disaster.
He clutched Ella’s hand tighter. Walked further down this road. It was too late to turn back now. There were people at the top end of the street. He’d heard a shout from someone. Looked like two men on bikes were mugging an older guy.
He wished he could step in. He wished he could help.
All he could do was keep walking.
Getting Ella to safety was his priority.
He headed further down this street. He passed by an old man sitting on a bench, staring out at this town. He had a smile on his face. Like everything was normal. Like he was oblivious to the chaos around him.
He headed further, but he smelled something in the air. Burning. He swore he felt the air heating up, too, growing smokier.
When he reached the crossroads, he saw exactly why.
A corner building was ablaze. Thick black smoke rose from it. A group of people stood outside it, crying. A few people rushed to throw what little water they had on it, but it was to no avail. It was a waste.
“What’s gonna happen?” Ella said.
Martin looked at the blaze. He was caught in that awkward state of, on the one hand, wanting to come clean with Ella about the reality of their situation, and on the other, wanting to protect her from the truth.
But he decided honesty was the only way to go.
“That fire isn’t going out,” Martin said. “And it won’t be the only one. Not with no fire departments on call. It’ll be out of control.”
Ella looked at the people standing there in disarray, tears in their eyes. “So what do they do?”
Martin swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. “They do what we all do now,” he said. “They find a way to survive until this all... until it all blows over.”
“And you still think it’s all going to blow over?”
He felt that tug again. Honesty or harsh truth.
He squeezed Ella’s hand. “Let’s just see, hmm?”
They walked further down the street. Martin heard the cries of these people. It was like stumbling through a movie set, a set where everything was spiralling out of control. He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to see the debris in the street. He didn’t want to smell the tang of bodies who had fallen to the road, probably because they had pacemakers in their chests. He just wanted to get through this town.
But then there was that other sense. The sense that if a small town was in this state, then bigger towns and cities would be even worse.
Which posed the question.
What use was taking Ella home if home wasn’t going to bring any security?
What good was home when the chances of there being some kind of military or police led safe compound were so minuscule?
He tightened his grip on his rucksack. Pressed on anyway. The end of the main street in sight. The horrors close to being behind them, at least for now.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s...”
He saw something up ahead, and he stopped.
A man rushing towards them both out of the side street.
Knife in hand.
He was tall. Dark-haired, balding. His skin was flaky, and he had a yellow tone to his skin. He could barely look Martin or Ella in the eye.
But he was waving that knife right at him.
Shaking.
Sweating.
“Hand your stuff over,” he barked. “Right this second.”
Chapter Thirty
“Hand your stuff over right this second. There doesn’t need to be any trouble here.”
Martin stared at the man in the early afternoon sun and felt his stomach sink. Typical. Frigging typical. He’d been so close to getting out of this town. And right at the death, he’d stumbled upon a nutter with a knife.
It was his own stupid fault. He should’ve never come this way in the first place. He should’ve known better.
He clutched his crowbar with a shaky hand.
The man was tall and gaunt. He wore tight black jeans, which still hung loosely to his body. His cheekbones were narrow. He had a green wool hat on his head. Something about him gave Marti
n serious junkie vibes.
“Come on,” the man said, poking that knife closer towards Martin and Ella. “Just—just hand your stuff over. Anything useful. Right now.”
Martin tried to keep his calm. He could smell the smoke from the burning buildings behind him. He could hear the crying. And he knew he was just as much a part of the disarray here now. He’d got himself and Ella caught up in this. It was his job to get them both out of it.
“Not gonna happen,” Martin said.
The man tightened his jaw. He waved that knife closer to Martin’s face. It was the way he shook that bothered Martin. How reckless he seemed. It was often the reckless people who did things they regretted in the heat of the moment. Which made it even more important to keep a grip of this situation.
“Hand your stuff over,” the man barked. “Right this second. I’m not messing around—”
“You don’t want to do this.”
Martin wasn’t sure where the voice came from at first. He recognised it, but he didn’t expect to hear it.
It was only when he turned around that it really hit him.
Ella.
She stood by Martin’s side. She’d let go of his hand now. She took a step towards that man. Sadness in her eyes. Arms covering her body, as usual. “You don’t want to do this,” she repeated.
The man’s eyelids quivered. His gaze darted from Martin to Ella like he suspected this was some kind of trick. “What the hell do you know about what I want to do?”
“Ella,” Martin said.
But she kept on going. “I know you’re scared. We’re all scared. It’s been three days. The power’s gone. Everything’s collapsing. There’s no sign of when things might get back to normal again. Things might never get back to normal again. But this isn’t how we stay together. We’re all struggling. We’re all just... we’re all just trying to float as well as we can. But this isn’t us.”
Silence followed. The echoing sounds of disarray filling the streets surrounded them once again.
The man stood there. Kept that knife pointed at Martin. Eyes settled on Ella now. Like her words resonated with him. Like she’d actually got through to him.
“I just... My wife. She’s—she’s ill. I need to look after her. I need to care for her.”
Martin didn’t expect to feel any sympathy, but hearing this bloke’s sheer desperation struck a chord with him. And it made him realise he had an opportunity, too. “We’re all just trying to look after someone else, pal. But going down this road... it’s not the way to go. Like my daughter said.”
He looked back at Martin then. A glassiness to his eyes now. The knife shaking in his hand like he could barely hold it anymore. “I just... I’m not sure I can do this. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”
Martin gulped. He took a step closer to the man. Heart thumping. Fists clenched. Grip tight around the crowbar. “We’re all in the same boat. Just don’t go down this road, mate. For your wife.”
Something changed in the man’s face, then. A shift in his demeanour. A clarity growing in his glassy eyes. His shaky grip on his knife steadied.
He took a step to Martin. So close that Martin could see right into his brown eyes. He could smell his rancid breath. Hear his shaky, rapid breathing.
“Don’t you dare mention my wife. Don’t you dare pretend to know me. Don’t you dare pretend to know our situation.”
Martin stepped back, just a little. “That’s not what I—”
“She’s ill. She... she has cancer. And she needs medication. But her meds haven’t arrived. The hospital’s a write-off. It’s a war zone in there. And her meds. They—they need to arrive. But if they don’t... if they don’t, I need to keep looking after her. I need to keep helping her. I need to keep her alive. So just... just give me your stuff. Please.”
Martin stared at this man. He was crying now. Looked like he was having a breakdown right here on the street.
And Martin felt for him. It sounded like he was going through hell.
If there were any way he could help, he would.
He took another step closer to him.
The man had a hand on his knee now. Stared down at the road. Knife loose in his grip.
Martin cleared his throat. “I... I’m sorry about your wife. I’m sorry about everything you’re going through. But violence isn’t going to get you anywhere. Not with me.”
The man glanced up. Tears soaked his cheeks. His dry lips quivered. That glassiness had returned to his eyes.
He stood up straight. Knife lowered. Wiped his face, puffed out his lips.
“But we can talk,” Martin said. “We can negotiate. We can—”
“You’re wrong about something,” the man said.
Martin frowned. “What—”
“When you said violence isn’t gonna get me anywhere. When it comes to my wife, I’ll do anything.”
He stared at Martin.
Time froze.
Everything stood still.
And then the man lifted his knife and lunged towards Ella.
Chapter Thirty-One
The man with the knife threw himself at Ella.
All of Martin’s surroundings disappeared from his focus. He didn’t see the car-lined road. He didn’t smell the burning. He didn’t hear the shouts and the cries.
All he saw was the man.
The knife.
And Ella.
Everything unfolded in slow motion.
Ella’s eyes widened.
She stumbled back.
But it was already too late.
The man’s knife caught her arm.
Martin didn’t even think.
He threw himself at the man, crowbar in hand.
The man turned as Martin approached. Went to swing his knife.
But Martin slammed into his stomach and tackled him down to the road.
The pair of them landed on the road. Martin heard a crack, the back of the man’s head against the concrete. He felt him wildly swinging that knife at him, its edge catching against his coat, time and time again.
But Martin had the upper ground.
He had the advantage.
He lifted himself up. Pulled back his crowbar. Rage poured through his body. The blood on that knife—Ella’s blood—all he could see.
“I told you to back the hell off,” Martin shouted. “I told you to—”
A punch, right in Martin’s stomach. Nausea filled his body. The man had swung at him with his free hand.
And now the knife powered towards Martin.
Martin tumbled back. He had no choice. Gave up his upper ground.
And before he knew it, the man was on top of him.
He clamped himself down on top of Martin. Pressed Martin’s right hand down with one arm, stopping him from swinging the crowbar, and held that knife in his other.
All that clarity was gone from his eyes now.
All Martin saw was anger.
Bloodshot anger.
“You should’ve just handed it over,” the man said, his voice shaky. “You—you should’ve just handed your shit over and this wouldn’t’ve had to happen.”
Martin lay on his back. His neck ached from the impact of the tackle. He worried about his own life of course. But there was someone else he had to look for. Someone else he had to check on.
Ella.
He looked around. Squinted over at where she’d stood just moments ago.
Ella crouched on the ground. She clutched her right arm. Blood spurted out of it.
“Ella,” Martin said.
And then he felt something.
His head slamming against the road.
A cold, sharp pain right against his temple.
It didn’t take him long to realise it was the knife.
His grip on the crowbar loosening completely.
“Hand your stuff over,” the man said. “One last chance. Hand it over, or I’ll kill you, and I’ll kill your daughter. I don’t want to do that. So... so don’t make m
e do it. But just hand it over. I need it. Please.”
Martin heard the desperation in this man’s voice. And as precarious and shitty as his situation was, hope sparked inside. ’Cause they didn’t sound like the words of a guy who was dead set on murder.
But then it was often those guys who were the most dangerous. The reckless ones. The emotional ones. So Martin had to be careful.
He looked over at Ella. Saw her staring at him. Face paler than ever. Blood seeping between her fingers.
“Just keep holding it,” Martin said. “Just... just keep compressing the wound. You’ll be okay.”
But Martin could see something else in Ella’s eyes.
He could see fear.
Fear that she was going to lose somebody.
Fear that she was going to lose him.
Martin felt that knife press down on his temple. He tasted something on his lips and realised it was blood. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Readied himself.
“Just hand your stuff over, and nobody needs to get hurt. Okay? Nobody needs to get hurt.”
Martin cleared his dry throat.
Then he opened his eyes again. “Okay.”
Silence. A pause. The man’s knife shaking like he wasn’t totally sure he’d heard correctly.
“What?” he said.
“My stuff. You can have it. All of it. Just... just let my daughter go, okay? Just let her go.”
“Dad,” Ella said.
A cold shiver ran through Martin’s body. Dad. He hadn’t heard her call him that in years. He didn’t even deserve to be called that.
But he heard the way she said it—the way she uttered it with such trust, such fear—and he knew that’s who he needed to be right now.
He turned onto his back. Pushed the knife aside. Looked up at the man crouching over him, knife still loose by his side. “Just let her go. Do what you want with me. Okay?”
The man looked down at him with wide, panicked eyes. Martin saw black smoke from the burning buildings overhead. Heard more shouts. More smashing glass. The sound of a town falling apart.
The man shook his head. Held his knife loosely by his side. Tears streamed down his face. “I—I don’t know if I can—”