by Casey, Ryan
Of course, there was a chance it was from somebody else. His community wasn’t on their own in this world, after all. There were other groups. Other survivors. Stood to reason someone might’ve dropped a hat.
But he had another feeling, too.
A feeling like there was something else to this.
Because this was the middle of the woods. Deep in the middle of the woods.
And he’d walked this way yesterday.
What if someone was out here?
What if someone was…
He looked closer at the ground, past the hat, and he saw something else.
Footprints.
He studied those footprints. Small. Small enough to belong to a girl.
And he knew he should keep his calm. He knew he should stay composed. He knew damn well he was probably getting carried away.
But he stood up.
He walked alongside those trails, being careful not to touch any of them, clutching that wool hat, staying focused on the ground at all times.
Bruce ran along with him. Sniffing at the ground. Like he sensed this was something big too. A hunt.
And the way he held his tail in the air.
Wagged it.
What if he was doing that ’cause he recognised the scent?
What if this was…
Martin reached the end of the trails, and he froze.
The footprints stopped.
The trees thickened, right up ahead.
And right ahead of him, right at the other side of those trees, Martin heard something.
Voices.
Chapter Six
Martin heard the voices, and he froze.
The woods were still dark, the morning grey and grimy. The thick trees blocked his view, surrounded him, suffocated him. He couldn’t hear any birds. He couldn’t hear anything. Only Bruce panting beside him. His heartbeat racing, echoing around his skull.
And those voices.
Up ahead.
Right up ahead.
He could smell sweat, probably from himself. That sour stench from Bruce, who was still damp after his morning plunge into that pool a few miles back. His mouth was dry. He needed a drink. Needed food. Needed something in his system.
But all he cared about were those voices right up ahead.
All he cared about was that woollen hat in his hand. And those footprints he’d followed.
Small footprints.
Ella’s footprints?
No. He couldn’t keep telling himself that. He had to stop getting carried away. He had to stay rational. Stay calm. Stay composed.
He couldn’t lose his shit here.
He found himself caught in a dilemma. Part of him wanted to step forward and find the source of those voices. But the other part of him... well. He wasn’t sure. ’Cause there was the risk of finding something that’d unsettle him. And then, on the other hand, there was the risk of finding that Ella wasn’t with this group after all.
And in a way, it was that mystery that drove him. Mad as it sounded, if he found her living with this group, surviving with this group, and he wasn’t able to do a thing about it... what would that do to him?
No. He was acting ridiculous. He needed to find Ella. But then he needed to stay composed if she wasn’t with these people, too.
Because she wouldn’t be.
“You’re losing your mind,” he muttered. “You’re obsessed, and you’re losing your damned mind.”
But he knew he only had one choice.
He looked at Bruce. Tongue dangling out. Panting.
And then he looked at the trees ahead, and he took a deep breath.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go see what we can find.”
He stepped further into this thick bundle of trees. The further he got into them, the more he felt a sickness growing inside. Because there were some unsavoury characters out here. They’d had a few skirmishes at the shelter. Most of them had been neutralised in no time, but there were a few that were tougher to handle. Tougher to deal with.
He dreaded running into a group like that out here. A group that might pose some kind of threat to the shelter. Because as much as he hadn’t settled in, Harriet had. Oscar had. So many people had.
And it was their home.
It was their best chance of survival.
It was their source of hope.
He stepped further forward, Bruce panting along by his side. Heard those voices get louder.
And as he edged further towards them, closer to those trees, he stopped, and he peeked through that gap just up ahead.
There was a group of people right up ahead. At first, he thought there were only about five of them, but there were more than that. Double figures. Hard to tell from here how many exactly.
There was a mixture of men and women. They were all dressed pretty normally. They all looked fairly healthy as this world went. Not too dishevelled. Not too emaciated. Which was something.
And there was something else about these people.
Many of them were holding guns.
Rifles.
They were armed. Heavily armed.
And they were sitting around a fire. Tucking into barbecued deer.
Martin crouched down. Salivated a little at that deer. Bastards. That could’ve been his capture. Could’ve taken it back with him for the community to enjoy.
But here these people were. Right on the shelter’s doorstep. Too close for comfort.
Heavily armed.
And enjoying food that should be Martin’s and the shelter’s.
He couldn’t hear what they were saying. Just that they were talking about something. A heated discussion.
He tightened his grip on his rifle. Pointed it through those trees. Because these people. They weren’t good news. He wasn’t happy with them hanging around so close to Lancaster.
The sooner he could pick as many of them off as possible, the better.
And then he heard something.
There was a bloke in the middle of the group. He could only just see him through the thick leaves and branches, but he was clear to see.
He had a bald head. Tall. Quite well-built in an understated kind of way. Spoke with a permanent smile on his face. Looked in his late thirties, early forties. Bright green eyes.
And he spoke with calmness, too. Confidence.
That’s when Martin picked up on some of what he was saying.
“It’s simple. We confuse them. We strike fear in them. And then we attack. We shock them, and we grind them down and draw him out. Because he’s the priority, okay? Everyone else... they’re collateral. He’s the priority.”
Martin froze. This talk of an attack. Talk of a strike, and taking him down. He couldn’t know who they were on about or who they were referring to.
But he feared the worst.
He crouched further down. Pointed his rifle at that bald guy as he stood there. Smiling. Talking.
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” the man said. “I’m not saying I’m totally comfortable with this. None of us are. But it’s what we have to do.”
“What we have to do?” a short, ginger woman cut in. “Or it’s what you have to do?”
“It’s what we have to do. They’ve hunted us long enough. They’ve taken from us long enough. It’s time we levelled the playing field. It’s time we gave them a taste of their own medicine.”
Martin didn’t know what these people were talking about. And he wanted to stay here. He wanted to find the source of those footprints. See a woman small enough to make those prints in the ground.
But all thoughts of Ella had drifted, now.
Because this group. They were a threat.
They were dangerous.
They were...
Just as he went to turn away, he saw something.
A girl. A young girl. Looked about ten. Blonde, curly hair. Smile on her face as she waded through the dirt.
They had children here, amongst this group.
> Which complicated things.
“I know it’s not always easy to accept what has to be done,” the leader said. “But it’ll make sense. In time, it’ll all make sense.”
He looked around, then. And for a moment, Martin felt like he looked right into his eyes.
He crouched down. Ducked into the trees. Held his breath. Prayed the bloke hadn’t seen him.
And then he heard the talking start again. Not panic. Not confusion. Just talking.
Martin looked at Bruce, and he took a deep breath.
“Come on,” he said. “We’d better get out of here.”
He crept out of those trees and headed back towards the shelter, knowing full well this looked serious.
When he glanced back over his shoulder, he swore he saw a young girl about Ella’s age, standing there in the misty haze...
Chapter Seven
Martin sat in Harold’s office and told him everything.
It was early afternoon. The haziness had cleared and made for a nice, bright day again. Harold’s office was boiling as shit. Stunk of body odour, too, something Harold clearly tried to counter with the tree-shaped car air fresheners dangling from strings around the place.
The office was in a three-storey detached house at the top of the main street. It was pretty typical of a classic office, the kind you might see on a movie. Big wooden desk right in the middle, a laptop perched on its edge. Books lining the walls, covered in dust, unopened in years. Even one of those antique style globes in the corner of the room, just to complete the cliché.
There was a big bay window at the back of the room which looked out over the streets. Outside, Martin saw people wandering around. People working on building up the wall. People walking with buckets of water and carrying eggs from the hens. People transporting cattle. People getting along with their lives in the best ways they could.
And it looked perfect. It looked idyllic.
But then he thought about what he’d seen in the forest, and something didn’t sit right.
Harold sat opposite Martin, arms against this big wooden desk. He was a fat bloke, with a balding head and thick glasses, which were chipped a little. He always had a smile on his face as he sat there in his full suit. Funny as he was, Harold cared about this place. Used to be a councillor for the city before the blackout. Now he’d stepped up to the plate and was determined to secure a better life for the people here. As good a life as he could fight to secure, anyway.
And so far, he was doing a decent job. There’d been no major mutinies. No major conflicts. Food was sometimes a struggle, and winter was tough, but the bulk of this community was still here.
That had to count for something.
Harold leaned forward against the desk. Sweat trickling from his top lip. “So you’re telling me you saw a group out there?”
Martin nodded. “They were armed. And there were quite a lot of them.”
“And they were talking about some kind of attack?”
Martin nodded. The more Harold relayed the information to him, the more he started to think he should’ve done something sooner. Taken more decisive action.
But then that child.
Those footprints.
And that girl...
“They spoke about an attack,” Martin said. “But they were on about... some kind of revenge against someone.”
Harold stared back at him, frowning. Still smiling a little, though, like he was bemused. “Revenge?”
“Something about a group taking things from them. Hunting them. Or something. I don’t know. They looked heavily armed, and they looked mad. But I can’t see how that relates to us.”
Harold leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his immense weight. He interlocked his fingers. “You’re right. It does sound a little bizarre, that’s for sure. This fella. The one you said was doing all the talking. What did you say he looked like?”
“Bald. Tall. Quite well built. I’d say in his early forties. Had this smile to his face. This calmness to his voice. These green eyes.”
Harold looked over Martin’s shoulder. He was silent. Like he was straining his memory for some trace of this guy. Silent for too long.
“Ringing any bells?” Martin asked.
Harold looked back at him. That smile returned to his face. He let out a little chuckle. “Not ringing any bells to me.”
He stood up, then. Plucked his trousers out of his arse and walked over to the window. He stood there. Looked outside. “You know how long I’ve been a councillor for this city?”
Martin stood up. Walked to his side. “Ten years, right?”
“Ten years. I’ve seen good days, and I’ve seen bad days. I’ve made good choices, and I’ve made mistakes. But one thing’s for sure. I’ve always tried to do the right thing. For the people of this city. If I’ve ever made any errors of judgement, it’s always come from a good place. And that won’t ever change. The lights might’ve gone out long ago, but this city is still alive. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep it that way.”
He looked out that window. Out into the streets. Smile on his face. And Martin wanted to ask him what he was talking about. But it didn’t seem like he was addressing him. It sounded like he was just vocalising his thoughts.
He looked around at Martin, then. Snapped out of his trance. “Thanks for bringing that to me, Martin. I’ll make sure we up guard for the next few days at least. Send a few patrols out, see what we can find. But I’m sure it’ll be okay like you say. I’m sure it’ll be nothing to worry about.”
Martin nodded. Surprised Harold had brushed it off so promptly. He took the silence as a cue to turn and walk away, across the creaky office floor, towards the door.
“Oh, Martin?”
Martin stopped. Turned around.
Harold leaned against the edge of his desk. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Don’t go outside into the woods for the next few days. If you don’t mind. Not while that group is out there. Because we have to show some precautions. They could be dangerous. And, respectfully, I don’t want any of our people wandering into a trap. Understand?”
Martin stood there. He looked into Harold’s eyes. He didn’t want to agree.
But then he took a deep breath, and he nodded. “Sure.”
Harold’s smile widened. “Good. I’ll see you around, Martin. Have yourself a cracking day.”
Martin nodded. He turned around, walked out of Harold’s office.
But as he walked down the dusty corridor, footsteps echoing in the silence, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had.
A feeling like something wasn’t quite right.
Chapter Eight
Martin listened to Oscar running around the house, laughing his head off, and he couldn’t help cracking a smile.
It was late. The sun was just about setting, which meant Oscar would be heading off to bed soon. It’d turned out a decent day. A sign of a warm spell to come.
Harriet’s place was nice. Far more homely than his. She’d made efforts to decorate it, trading paintings and furniture with other residents so it totally suited her tastes. A leather sofa, very old-fashioned and warming. Paintings of country settings lined the bright, cream walls. She’d even stuck a few of Oscar’s drawings onto the television to lighten the place up a little. It was nice. Homely. He liked it here.
He heard Oscar jumping around the house, Bruce barking with him playfully, and he sipped on a cup of green tea as he sat on Harriet’s living room chair. The air smelled fresh, like cloves. Reminded him of Christmas. The tea was good. A few old bags Harriet had left stored in the cupboard. Always saved them for special occasions. For some reason, Martin visiting was always a special occasion.
They hadn’t said much to one another today. Martin hadn’t said much at all to anyone, really. He couldn’t stop thinking about earlier that day when he’d run into those people in the woods. He couldn’t stop thinking of how Harold had been so lost in thought when he’d told him about it. Like
he knew something. Like he was hiding something.
“Don’t go outside into the woods for the next few days. If you don’t mind. Not while that group is out there. Because we have to show some precautions. They could be dangerous.”
“Something on your mind?”
Martin looked over at Harriet. Saw her staring over at him. Her hair was tied back. Her eyes were glued to him, that cup of steaming tea right before her face. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise. Well. If you did, you’d be apologising all the time. You’re always spaced out. What’s bothering you?”
Martin scratched the back of his neck. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s clearly not nothing. I mean, you’re always a bit detached. But this… this is different. This is… hey, young man! Quieten it down a bit!”
She looked around at the hallway as Oscar’s screams and laughs grew louder. Martin swore he heard someone bang on the walls from next door.
He didn’t want to tell Harriet about his meeting with Harold. Didn’t want to tell her about his concerns. Because they were unfounded. They were based on nothing at all.
But he couldn’t shake that feeling Harold wasn’t being totally straight.
And that hurt. ’Cause he liked Harold. He was a good guy. A guy he respected.
He saw Oscar appear at the door, Bruce panting by his side. He looked over at Martin and grinned. “Bruce just chased me out of the castle. He knocked the castle down and—and then we fought to be the new king of the land!”
Harriet shook her head and smirked. She got up from the sofa, walked over to Oscar. “Okay, okay. I’m sure the kingdom can wait ’til tomorrow. Come on. Bedtime, young man.”
“Aw, Mummy.”
“No, come on. No tantrums in front of Martin. Say goodnight, and I’ll be up to tuck you in, in no time.”
Oscar rolled his eyes and walked over to Martin. “Night, Uncle Martin.”
He wrapped his arms around Martin. And it made Martin want to hold him back. To laugh.
But he just kept his arms by his side. Not wanting to get too close. “Yeah. Night, kid.”
“Can me and Bruce finish fighting for the kingdom tomorrow?”