by Casey, Ryan
And he felt it, too.
Oscar walked over. Looked at Ella, sheepishly hiding his face, cheeks flushing.
“Hey, little man,” Ella said. “How you keeping?”
He smirked a little. Lowered his head and moved behind Harriet, who stood beside Martin now, too. She smiled at Ella. Put a hand around her back. “We’ve missed you, kid.”
And as Martin stood there and looked at these people—his family—all together in the light of the sun, he felt at that moment like he didn’t need anything else. He didn’t need anywhere else. He didn’t need Lancaster. He didn’t need the shelter.
He just needed these people.
They were the only ones who mattered.
The moment was perfect.
If this was a story, it could’ve ended right here.
They could’ve walked off into the sunrise.
Found a new home of their own.
Worked together.
They could’ve been happy together.
But when Ella said the words, Martin knew things weren’t going to be so straightforward.
“We need to make him pay. For what he did. And for what he’s going to do. We need to finish what Jax started.”
He looked around at her. Saw something in her bloodshot eyes. Anger. A rage he’d felt before himself. A rage he knew needed satisfying. Needed feeding.
“Ella, it’s not worth it.”
“He killed Jax,” Ella spat. “He killed his people. My people. Some of them were just children.”
Martin looked away. He knew exactly how bad things were. Just didn’t want to face up to the truth. Because it might awaken a rage inside him, too.
“You got away,” Martin said. “We all got away. And we’re still here.”
“But for how long?” Ella shouted. “Because he’ll come for us. He’ll hunt us down, just like he always has. And then there’s the people there, too. The people who were like you. Do you really think they’re safe there still? Do you really think he’s got their best interests at heart?”
Martin thought about the people back at Lancaster. Good people. People who just wanted to get on with their lives. But people who would be just as appalled by Harold’s actions. Innocent people. People who were afraid after the attack.
And he feared for them.
Because Harold had shown his true colours.
And what happened when they started to question him?
Which they would. Because inevitably, people always did.
“Going back there,” Martin said. “It’s mad. We’re not strong enough. They’ll gun us down the second they see us.”
“But she’s right,” Harriet said.
Martin looked around. He couldn’t believe this. They were so close to salvation. So close to a future together. And they were on about going right back into the clutches of danger.
“Those people. Our friends. They’re good people. And they don’t deserve to be ruled by a man like that. They deserve to know the truth. They deserve to decide what happens next.”
“It’s not that simple,” Martin said.
“Nothing worth fighting for ever is,” Harriet said. “But Lancaster’s our home. And I’ll be damned if I give up without fighting for it.”
Martin stood there and looked at Harriet. Oscar. Bruce. Ella. He looked at them, and he wanted to walk away with them. To seek a new life with them.
But then he looked back towards Lancaster—towards that place of hope, that place with so many people unaware of the tyrant ruling over them—and he knew he didn’t have a choice.
“Then we go back,” he said.
“What?” Ella said. Surprise in her voice.
He looked around at her. “We go back. We take Harold out. And we get our home back. We finish what Jax started. Once and for all.”
Chapter Forty-One
Harold sat back in his office chair and stared out into the morning light.
He should feel happy. He’d dealt with the threat of Jax’s group. Martin and Harriet were gone, and if they had any sense about them, they’d stay away. He could start rebuilding this place. Not just structurally, but mentally, too. Lancaster had seen too much drama these last few days. It was time to return some stability. Time to restore some trust.
But there was a problem.
And that problem was Ella.
He remembered walking back in through the gates last night. People were out in the streets, losing their shit about the burning pipe. Talks of gunfire and conflict. Of course, Harold reassured them. Told them to get back in their homes. Told them the threat was being dealt with.
And they believed him. They just fell in line.
Most of them, anyway.
He took a deep breath as he sipped his whisky. Felt that buzz engulf his body as he stared out into the streets. He could still smell the burning. Still hear the gunshots dancing around his memory.
And above everything, he had a feeling.
A gnawing feeling right at the pit of his stomach that this wasn’t over.
All because of Ella.
He swilled that whisky around his mouth like mouthwash before gulping it down. Ella was supposed to be here. That was the plan. Watch them enter that pipeline. Set it on fire. Force them closer to Lancaster. And then snatch her, right from death’s door.
And Harold knew she wouldn’t be easy. He knew she wasn’t exactly going to fall in line with everything he asked of her. She detested him. Despised him. And the feeling was mutual.
But if he could put the idea of abandonment in her head again—the idea that her dad had left her—and at the same time keep Martin away out of fear of inadvertently killing her, then maybe they’d find some common ground.
At the very least, she was a valuable bargaining chip.
But Ella wasn’t here. She was gone, and the bodies of the two idiots Harold trusted with capturing her lay charred in that pipe.
At first, he thought something had gone wrong. He thought she’d burned to a crisp in there, too.
But they couldn’t find her body.
And there were the gunshot wounds on his people, too.
The missing rifle.
Proof something happened.
Something went wrong.
All the proof he needed.
Martin, he could deal with. Harriet, the same.
But with Ella out there… Harold just had a bad feeling.
If they got back together, they could be vengeful, and they could be dangerous.
Because Harold killed Jax. He knew damn well just how much this Ella seemed to care about him. And he knew just how dangerous a tool vengeance could really be.
He felt at a crossroads. On the one hand, he wanted to leave them to do their thing out there. After all, what threat was a young girl and a few other idiots to their community, really?
But on the other hand… he thought back to Jax’s group. He thought to how they’d started as just a few idiots, and how they’d grown.
And how Harold should’ve gunned them all down, right there and then before they even had the chance to become a problem.
He took another sip of his whisky. His throat burned. But warmth filled his chest. A sense of contentment. Happiness.
And then he heard footsteps and a knock at his office door.
He sighed. “Come in.”
The door creaked open.
“Harold?”
Harold turned around.
Damien, one of his closest aides, stood there, hands in his pockets. Fidgeting. Ginger lad. Tall. Skinny. Awful posture. Struggled holding eye contact, too.
“Something bothering you, Damien?”
Damien swallowed a lump in his throat. Always seemed nervous as hell. “It’s—it’s Martin. And Ella. We’ve had a sighting of them a couple of miles away.”
Harold felt a combination of emotions. Anger. And also relief.
Because they were so close.
Still so close.
And that gave him an opportunity.<
br />
“There’s another problem,” Damien said, shifting his gaze once again. “The people on the streets. A few of them have questions about the fire. They—they said they saw us laying down the petrol in the pipeline. They’re not buying your explanations. Not fully. And I’m starting to worry it’s going to spiral out of control.”
Harold shook his head. Tutted. He stood up and walked right over to Damien. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll fall in line. They always do.”
Damien opened his mouth like he was going to protest, sweat trickling down his forehead. And then he just closed his mouth. Gulped. Nodded. “So… so Martin. The girl. How do you want us to progress?”
Harold looked right into Damien’s eyes. He pictured Jax arriving at the gates. The hope on his face. The optimism. The belief that everything could be okay. Everything could work out.
And he saw the man Jax turned into, and all the problems he’d caused since.
“Go out there,” Harold said. “Crush him. Kill them all.”
“Even—”
“Kill them all,” Harold said.
Damien nodded. Then he turned around, shakily, and left the room.
Harold closed his office door.
Walked back over to the window.
Grabbed his whisky and took a sip.
And then he smiled.
Everything was going to be okay.
Everything was going to return to normal.
Martin wasn’t going to be a problem for much longer.
And neither was his bitch of a daughter.
Chapter Forty-Two
Martin saw Lancaster looming on the horizon, and he knew what he had to do.
The afternoon sun burned through the clouds. Much nicer day than yesterday. The ground was still a bit slushy from the sudden downpour last night, though. Hard to believe that was only last night. So much had happened. So much had changed.
And yet here he was. Heading back towards Lancaster. Even though everyone he cared about was here. By his side.
All because of some kind of twisted sense of duty towards that place.
They could walk away. They could seek out a new life together.
But Ella was right.
They had unfinished business with Harold.
They couldn’t just let him reign over that place when they knew the truth about him.
“Martin?”
Martin looked to his side. Saw Harriet standing there. For a moment, weird as it sounded, she reminded him of Sarah, his ex-wife. Younger. Didn’t even look that similar.
But there was just something about her. Something that reminded him of her.
He pushed it to one side. Couldn’t let himself get too close. Couldn’t risk attachment. Because attachment just led to loss. And he wasn’t sure he could take any more loss.
Which made this whole journey into the unknown all the harder to take.
“Look like you’re mulling some shit over there,” she said.
Martin took a deep breath. Looked back at Ella, who was playing with Oscar and Bruce. It was so nice, seeing them like this. Almost like they were a family. A happy family.
Everything had a lifespan, though. Everything had an endpoint.
And that’s what got to Martin more than anything.
The thought that even if they did turn around now, even if they did seek out a new life, nothing was certain about it. Nothing was permanent about it. There were always going to be roadblocks. There were always going to be issues along the road.
But in Lancaster, he knew people were settled there. He knew people were happy there.
And he’d put that down to Harold. To the sense of stability he created. To how much he cared about it.
But Harold wasn’t everything.
There could be life after Harold. A better life after Harold.
The people of the shelter deserved it.
“I’m thinking of going alone,” Martin said.
Harriet frowned. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “What?”
Martin cleared his throat. “Down to Lancaster. To take out Harold. It’ll be better if it’s just me. I can work my way inside. I can keep a low profile. I can—”
“No,” Harriet said.
Martin took a deep breath. Sighed. “Oscar. Bruce. Ella... well, she can look after herself. I’m starting to realise that more. But Oscar and Bruce. It’s not safe for them down there. And if anything happens to them when we go that way—”
“We go together,” Harriet said. “If we go down there in broad daylight, right when it’s busy, he won’t touch us. And if he does touch us, well... the people of that place. They’ll know everything they need to know about him. They’ll have seen it, straight up.”
“You’d put Oscar in danger like that? You’d... you’d be willing to gamble that much?”
Harriet looked around at Oscar and Ella. Chasing Bruce around. Playful. Happy. “I want the best life for my son. But... but I look at the lives those people are living at Harold’s, and I know I want better for them, too. He won’t hurt us in front of everyone else. His pride is everything. Ella was all he had, Martin. Or at least all he thought he had. We go down there. We look him in the eye. And we look his people in the eye, too. Our people. They’re good people. Decent people. You know that, just as well as I do. They won’t stand for his way of doing things. They won’t just watch.”
Martin nodded. He looked away. Back off into the distance.
“If you go alone, you’ll die before you even get a chance to speak your truth,” Harriet said. “And I don’t want that. None of us want that.”
She took his hand. He felt the warmth of her fingers wrapping around his. He wanted to tell her to let go. He wanted to snatch his hand away. He didn’t feel comfortable like this. Didn’t want to risk getting close. Because getting close always equalled loss. Always.
But then he let her hold his hand. Even found himself holding it back. Feeling the warmth in his body. The tightness in his chest. Something that felt like happiness.
“I don’t want to lose any of you,” he said.
And then Harriet did something.
Something he didn’t see coming.
She leaned over and kissed him, right on the lips.
She moved away. Put a hand on his face. “Then we’d better make damned sure we get this right, hadn’t we?”
Martin smiled back at her.
He smiled at her as he heard Oscar and Ella laughing.
As he looked over at them, saw them looking over, smiling.
He looked into Ella’s eyes. Smiled. She smiled back at him.
And then he looked back into Harriet’s eyes.
“We’ll give it our best shot,” he said.
And then he stood up.
Held Harriet’s hand in his.
Looked out over the sun-drenched landscape, over towards the trees, over towards Lancaster.
He felt something that felt like hope.
He didn’t see them watching.
Chapter Forty-Three
They were so close when everything fell apart again.
It was mid-afternoon. Still sunny. Still warm. Sweat trickled down Martin’s face. His feet were sore. He still had a nasty cough from last night, being trapped in that pipe, so close to losing his life.
And this felt mad. It felt absolutely insane.
But it was the only path he could see now.
Ella walked alongside him. Rifle in hand. Focused up ahead. She hadn’t turned her focus from Lancaster once. And Martin could see something in her eyes, too. That look. That urge for vengeance.
He felt her pain.
But they couldn’t let it cloud their judgement.
“You might want to lower that rifle,” Martin said.
Ella looked at him. Frowned. “What?”
“The rifle. I don’t think it’s the best look, is all. Especially not if we’re going to try and force Harold out peacefully.”
“I’m not interested in
peace.”
“You might not be. But we’ve got to think in the best interests of the community there. The people there. My friends.”
She looked up at him, eyes glistening. “Jax was my friend. All of his people, they were my friends. Harold didn’t think about him. He didn’t think about any of them.”
“And Jax attacked our people. He killed members of our community. Good people. People just like your friends.”
“Only because—”
“That’s just it, Ella. This bloodshed. This tit for tat revenge. I know it’s awful, and I know it feels unjust, but it can’t go on like this. We can’t go on like this. There has to be a turning point. There has to be a point where we say ‘enough.’ Because I detest him too, Ella. I detest him for knowing about you all this time and keeping that from me. But I realise what’s right. The compromise we might have to make. Don’t you see that too?”
She opened her mouth. Looked like she was going to say something.
And then she just closed it and sighed.
“I know this isn’t easy, Ella. I know it’s damned near impossible when something’s tearing you up so much inside. But you have to step back in life sometimes. You have to make compromises. And this place... even if we don’t end up living there. Even if we end up dying proving our point. It’s worth it. And you’ll see that too.”
She looked up at Martin as they walked together. Then over her shoulder towards Harriet, Oscar, Bruce, a little smirk to her face. “I guess you do need to show off to your new girlfriend a little.”
Martin’s cheeks flushed. “She’s not—”
“Just go with it, man. You’re punching well above your weight, anyway. Embrace it. It’s the end of the world. What’s the worst that can happen? A messy divorce?”
Martin laughed. And Ella laughed, too. And as they walked together, side by side, it felt like old times again. It felt like hitting rewind. Rewinding to a past between them he’d missed. A past he wanted to last forever. But one he couldn’t cling to.
Step by step.
Day by day.
That’s how it had to be.
“Lower your gun, Ella. Seriously. You look stupid carrying it anyway. Doesn’t suit you.”