by Casey, Ryan
A burning sensation, right across his body.
An intense, searing heat, melting the clothes to his skin.
And then a cold blast of fresh night air as he landed on the other side of that opening; on the other side of that wall.
He hit the road. Coughed up thick, stringy green phlegm. His eyes stung like mad. Could barely see a thing through them.
But he couldn’t afford to wait around.
He looked up. Pushed himself to his feet. “Ella?”
But when he got back to his feet, there was a problem.
Ella was nowhere to be seen.
He froze. Heart racing. Looked up the street. Up into the distance, towards the darkness of the surrounding woodlands.
“Ella!”
He ran down the road. Stumbled over debris; manoeuvred past the rusty doors of cars that hadn’t been closed.
He kept on going, even though he could hear those shouts behind him, even though he could hear people calling him to come back. And even though he could hear screaming. The screaming of people who needed help. People he needed to be helping.
But he couldn’t.
Because Ella was out here.
His daughter was out here.
He couldn’t give up on her.
He couldn’t lose her.
“I’ll find you. I swear I’ll find you.”
He ran the length of this street. He looked down every road, every alleyway. He looked through every window he passed. Searched for a sign of life. A sign of movement. A sign of anything.
But the more he searched, the more desperate he grew.
The more he searched, the more he felt that awful truth closing in on him all over again.
You’re not going to find her. You’re going to lose her. Just like you lost her before. Just like you lost your brother. Just like—
“Ella!”
He stopped. Stood in the middle of the road. He felt a speck of warm rain fall from above as the moon illuminated the street. Heart racing. Body shaking. Chest tight.
He stood there, and he looked all around for a sign of life. For a sign that she was somewhere nearby. For a sign that she’d been here. For anything.
But then he fell to his knees, and he buried his head in his hands.
“Ella,” he muttered.
Behind, he heard the screams. He heard the panic. He heard the desperate attempts to salvage a home that was burning right before their eyes.
And he knew he’d lost Ella all over again.
Chapter Twelve
Martin lifted the heavy blanket and tried not to think about what was tucked inside it.
It was a bright morning. Beaming sun. Blue skies. Looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. The kind of day where once upon a time, kids would’ve filled the streets. The sound of laughter would’ve resonated everywhere. The gentle hum of ice cream vans chiming their way down the road. The smell of sun cream.
But today was different.
The streets were a sombre place. People were out in full force, doing their best job of cleaning up after last night. Cleaning up debris at the exploded wall, some of which still flickered with flames. Cleaning up the blood etched against the walls of houses near the site of the explosion.
And cleaning up the bodies.
There was a strange silence to the shelter. A sadness in the air. Every now and then, Martin heard a cry. Another survivor of the blast finding the body of someone they knew. He didn’t know exactly how many had lost their lives in the explosion. Not yet. But it didn’t look good. Twenty lived in the houses nearest the wall. None of them had survived, as far as he could see. And then there were the guards who were supposed to be watching this place and protecting it, too.
All of them swallowed up in an instant.
So much loss.
Martin held on to that blanket. He felt the weight inside it. He knew damned well what was in there. He didn’t want to think of it as a person, though. He didn’t want to think of it as Ivor, someone he’d known. He didn’t want to think about how friendly he was. How jovial and easygoing he was. How passionate he used to be about the farming project they had going here.
He just had to think of it as a blanket.
An empty shell.
And he had to convince himself that was the case, moment after moment, as hard as that was.
But as he walked across the city, towards the remains of the wall, there was something else on his mind. Something that stopped him in his tracks. Something that made him look up the streets, into the light, past the broken down cars and the empty houses.
Ella.
He thought about what he’d seen as he’d stood in this exact spot last night. In the distance, through the smoke, beyond the flames, he’d seen those people from the woods. The bald guy. Their leader. But behind them, his daughter, Ella. He was sure of it. He’d gone running out there. Had a few minor burns to show for it. Had a nasty cough, too, tickly, right at the back of his throat.
He knew what he’d seen. He knew he’d seen Ella. But he’d gone out there, and he hadn’t found a trace of her. None whatsoever. He didn’t know what to think of that. Didn’t know what to make of it. A part of him figured he must’ve hallucinated her, but he knew damn well this was no hallucination. Another part of his mind said she was in danger. She was a prisoner. She had to be.
So why was she standing there?
Why was she watching?
Why was she right by the scene of the explosion?
He kept on staring up the road, off into space, when he heard footsteps by his side.
“What did we do to deserve this?”
Martin spun around. Saw Harold standing there. There was sadness to Harold’s chubby face. Dark circles under his eyes. Paleness to his skin.
He looked at Martin, and he half-smiled at him. Then at the bundle in his arms. “Nobody should ever have to do this. Especially when we’ve just kept our heads down. Looked out for our own.”
Martin started walking, Harold alongside him. He could see a mound in the distance. A mound he didn’t want to think about. A mound of bodies. A group of people standing around them, mouths covered. One of them was Quentin, a big bloke who always wore the most ridiculous chains. Right now, his favourite was this medallion with an elephant on it. Didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t care to ask.
He smelled the flames engulfing this mound. A bitter taste crossed his lips.
And Martin didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Because he felt this loss.
But there was an added element to all of this for him.
Something else to consider.
“You’re still adamant you saw her out there, aren’t you?”
Martin stopped. He looked at Harold. Saw the suspicion in his eyes. “I know what I saw.”
“And I’m not one to doubt that,” Harold said, scratching the back of his neck. “I just... I know what you’re like, Martin. You’re strong. Very strong. But I fear you’re going to do something you regret. And I don’t want that. For you. Or for the people who care about you.”
Martin looked away. That mound of burning bodies growing closer. “I can’t just pretend everything’s normal. I saw my daughter out there. And if she’s out there, she has to be in danger. Some kind of danger.”
“And you’ll put yourself in danger if you go out there, too.”
“Then so be it. I can’t just back down. I can’t just give up. Could you?”
Harold sighed. He stood by that mound. A tear trickled down his face as he looked up at it, which he wiped away with his sleeve. “I don’t envy your position. I just... I just urge you to think about this place. To think about how much we need strong people. Strong leaders. Like you. What you did last night... it was reckless. People needed you. People could’ve been saved. I know it’s not what you want to hear. But it’s the truth. And sometimes the truth is a difficult pill to swallow.”
The hairs on Martin’s neck rose. He heard what Harold was saying, and he wanted
to tear his head off. Because he was implying Martin was responsible. Responsible because he’d gone running after Ella when he should’ve been there helping people.
But he couldn’t say a word.
Because he knew Harold was right.
Harold planted a heavy hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I know you’d never do anything to put anyone you care about in danger. But you need to watch yourself, Martin. You need to be careful. Because... well, I’m concerned, to be honest with you. I’m concerned that the only way this explosion could’ve possibly happened—what with the presence of our wall guards—is if someone on the inside knew about it.”
“An inside job?”
“I’m not saying that explicitly. I just have reasons for concern.”
Martin thought about everyone in this place. He saw the group standing around the mound of bodies. Saw Quentin look right into his eyes, then turn away. He thought about who would be involved in something like this. There were always bad eggs. But here, there was nobody Martin could think of. Nobody who came to mind.
“Who would do this?” Martin asked.
Harold shook his head. Shrugged. “I don’t know. But it leaves me with no option but to put the shelter on lockdown.”
“Lockdown? But—”
“We need a thorough investigation. Until we know exactly what happened here, and until we absolve everyone here of guilt, we can’t have people coming in. And we can’t have people leaving, either.”
“But I—”
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Martin?”
Martin stared into Harold’s eyes. He wanted to tell him his daughter was out there. He couldn’t just leave her out there. He couldn’t just give up on her.
But then he saw the way Harold stared at him, that sincerity in his eyes, and he had no choice but to agree.
Martin nodded. “Right.”
Harold smiled. “You understand?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”
He tightened his grip on Martin’s shoulder. “Good. Because we’re going to need all the help we can get right now. It helps having someone like you around. Someone strong. A true leader.”
He stepped away, then. Looked at the burning mound of bodies. Martin looked up at it too.
He held that heavy, cold blanket in his hands. The sour smell of death filling his nostrils.
He looked up at the flames. Looked at the faces he once recognised, burned away. Looked at the glistening jewellery glimmering in the light.
And then he lowered Ivor’s body onto it and stepped back, stood by Harold’s side.
He stared at that burning mass.
But he found his focus drifting up the street and into the distance.
He found himself staring at the spot where he’d seen Ella.
And he knew he couldn’t just give up on her.
Chapter Thirteen
Martin sat at Harriet’s table and moved his food around his plate.
It was night. Quite a chilly night for spring, too. Outside, Martin could hear rain rattling against the windows. Probably a good job it was raining. A good way of extinguishing any of those remaining flames.
He stared at the chunk of venison in front of him and felt his stomach turn. He smelled that rich beefiness and tasted acid at the back of his throat. Not that he wasn’t hungry. He just wasn’t sure he could keep any food down him. His body wouldn’t stop shaking. Felt like he’d taken something. Totally wired. He’d lost control of his mind. Thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.
“Are you going to eat any of that? Or are you just gonna sit there staring at it?”
Martin looked up. Saw Harriet sitting opposite, chewing down on her piece of meat. Oscar tucked into his too, quieter than usual. The explosion last night looked like it’d got to him. Worried him. At least Bruce was shadowing him, making him feel more comfortable, making him feel a little better.
Martin put down his knife and fork. “Sorry. Sure, you two finish it. Give Bruce some too if he wants.”
Bruce’s ears pricked up. Where food was concerned, anything grabbed his attention.
Harriet folded her hands and sighed. “What is it, Martin? Is this about what I think it’s about?”
Martin didn’t want to have this conversation again. But then what choice did he have? He’d seen Ella out there. He’d seen his daughter in the street. He wanted to go out there. He wanted to find her. He wanted to make sure she was okay.
But this place was on lockdown now.
There was nothing he could do. Not without bringing attention to himself.
Not after what Harold said.
“I can’t stop thinking about her. And I’m sorry if that’s a problem. But if it was you, and this was Oscar, you’d be the same.”
Harriet sighed. She put down her knife and fork, too. “Martin, I—”
“And I know it’s wrong. I know what you say about putting this place first. About... about moving forward. But when Ella’s out there, I can’t just do that. I can’t just do that.”
“But you don’t have a choice,” Harriet said.
Martin frowned. “I always have a choice. I don’t care whether Harold says this place is on lockdown or not. If there’s a chance Ella’s out there, I can’t just give up on—”
“How many drinks did you have last night?”
Martin stopped in his tracks. “What?”
“Last night. Before you heard the explosion. How many drinks did you have? The usual?”
“I don’t see how this is relevant.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way. But I’ve seen how much you drink. I’ve seen how withdrawn you’ve grown. How much your sanity’s slipping.”
Martin’s cheeks flushed. “You’re saying I hallucinated Ella? I imagined my daughter?”
“I’m saying there could be other factors at play here. And I’m saying you threw yourself into a burning inferno to get to whatever you thought you saw last night with no damned care for your own life. Or for those—those it might affect if you died. I’m saying you need to take a breath. You need to really think about where you’re at. Because I’ve spent the last six months around you. That’s long enough to see the road you’ve been going down.”
Martin could barely contain himself. “And what road is that?”
Harriet sighed. “Don’t kid yourself, Martin. You refuse to get close to people. You refuse to be responsible for people. You push everyone who cares about you away. You need to wake up. You need to see it. Before it swallows you whole.”
Martin opened his mouth to argue with Harriet. But then he saw Oscar looking over the table, wide-eyed. He closed his mouth. Looked away. He didn’t want to think about Harriet’s words. He didn’t want to think about the reasons for being the way he was. The guilt over losing everyone he was supposed to be looking out for. Not wanting to get close to anyone—not even Harriet or Oscar—because he feared he’d fail them, just like he’d failed everyone else.
But in the end, he could only sit there. Stare off across Harriet’s dining area, out of the dark window, rain trickling down it. “I didn’t hallucinate her. I know what I saw.”
Harriet didn’t speak. Not for a moment.
Then she walked across to Martin’s seat.
She put a hand on his. “Look at me.”
“Harriet—”
“Look at me.”
Martin turned around and looked right into Harriet’s chocolate brown eyes.
“I’m not saying you’re insane. I’m not saying you’re an idiot or anything like that. Even if you are a bit of one.”
“Charming.”
“I’m saying... you’re hurt. You’re grieving. And it’s eating you whole. But it doesn’t have to be that way. The past... it doesn’t have to define the present or the future. Life’s not on rails. It can change. You can change. At any time. I know that more than most people because I’ve lived it more than most people.”
He sat there and looked into Harriet’s eyes. He wanted to believe
she was right. He wanted to agree with her. He wanted to stay here. He wanted to rebuild this place. He wanted to have a family. He wanted to fall in love.
But then he thought of Ella standing there in the smoke—so distant he could barely even see her face—and he wondered himself.
What if he was wrong?
What if he hadn’t seen Ella out there?
He’d seen someone. But she was blurry. She was distant. Like in his dreams.
What if it wasn’t Ella?
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Harriet said. “Because it’s suicide, and you know it. And none of us want that, do we?”
Martin looked across the table at Oscar. He smiled at him, and Oscar stuck out his tongue and pulled a cheeky face.
He looked at Bruce sitting there. Ever optimistic scraps of food were coming.
He looked at this nice, warm home, and as he sat there in the rain, Harriet’s hand on his, he nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay what?”
“I’ll stay. I might not have seen her. Could’ve been a hallucination. Could’ve been the drink. And going out there is mad. I’m needed here.”
He glanced around at Harriet, barely able to look her in the eyes.
He saw her watery eyes. The tears building.
And the smile.
“We’ll help you through this. Just like you helped us. I promise. Okay? I promise.”
And then she wrapped her arms around Martin and held him tight.
Martin wanted to sink into her arms. He wanted to believe she could make everything better. He wanted to believe this was the end of the matter.
But as Harriet wrapped her arms around him, all he could do was stare out into the darkness.
All he could do was think about what he’d seen.
And all he could do was keep on thinking, what if?
What if?
Chapter Fourteen
Martin opened his eyes and knew exactly what he had to do.
It was dark. Middle of the night. He hadn’t slept a minute, though. Couldn’t drift off if he tried. Didn’t want to.
He’d lay in bed and thought about what he was going to do.