by Casey, Ryan
She frowned. Then she smirked back at him, sighed.
She lowered the rifle. Trailed it along the ground beside her as she walked.
And then she looked right at Martin, and she smiled.
“Mum would be so—”
A blast.
A blast out of nowhere.
Ringing in Martin’s ears.
He didn’t know where it came from.
He didn’t know who’d fired it, or who it’d fired at.
But then he heard something.
A shout.
A shout from Harriet.
And then a scream from Oscar.
And then a bark from Bruce.
He looked at them. Saw the terror on their faces. The horror in their eyes.
And then he turned to Ella, and he saw something else.
Ella’s face looked pale. Her eyes were wide. Her jaw shook. Clenched tight. Confusion across her face.
He looked down at her stomach.
Followed her gaze down.
And then he saw it.
The blood.
The blood trailing down her white T-shirt.
Oozing out from her torso.
Covering her fingers.
She looked back up at him. Confusion in her eyes. Panic on her face. “Dad?”
Martin rushed over to her. “Ella!”
But then she fell forward.
Into his arms.
Consciousness drifting from her eyes.
Life drifting from her body.
And somewhere over Martin’s shoulder, before he could even process what was happening, he heard more gunshots.
Chapter Forty-Four
Martin held Ella in his arms as the gunshots blasted over his shoulder.
He didn’t know where he was. Lost all sense of his surroundings. Didn’t know what time it was. What he was doing. Where he was going.
All he knew was Ella.
She’d been shot.
She was bleeding out.
And she’d fallen unconscious in his arms.
He held onto Ella tightly. Reached for her neck, tried to find a pulse, all the while bullets continued to fly over his shoulder and Harriet and Oscar continued to shout out.
“Stay with me, Ella. Don’t you go anywhere. Don’t you dare go anywhere.”
He reached for her neck. Checked for a pulse. Tried to find one. And he couldn’t. There was none. No trace at all.
“Martin!”
Martin looked around.
Harriet stood there. Oscar and Bruce by her side. She had a look of such fear in her eyes. Such terror, as those bullets continued to pepper through the trees.
“We need to go,” she said. “We—we need to go.”
Martin turned away, back to his daughter. Her eyes were closed. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not, or even if her heart was still beating. His hands were just too shaky. He was too possessed by shock to do a thing.
But he heard those gunshots overhead, and he knew one way or another, he needed to get Ella away from here.
They all needed to get away from here.
He lifted his daughter up. Felt her warm blood against his torso. “Come on. We’re gonna be okay. I’m here. I promise. I’m here.”
Another few gunshots sprayed against the trees. So close they almost grazed his shoulder.
He ran right away. Ran towards Harriet, Oscar, Bruce. He didn’t know whether this was the right direction. He didn’t know whether they were heading in any direction at all.
Just that he needed Ella to be okay.
He needed to get her to some kind of safety.
He needed to get her some kind of help.
They ran. The five of them. Harriet holding Oscar. Bruce trailing by their sides. They ran further into these woods. Further away from whoever was pursuing them.
And Martin wanted to turn around. He wanted to face them. He wanted to stand up to them. To go after them. To get his revenge.
But he could only keep running.
He could only keep holding on to Ella.
He could only keep hoping and praying she was okay—
He slipped and fell to the ground, his full body weight landing right on top of Ella.
She let out a little pained cry.
His first instinct was one of guilt. She was suffering, and he’d hurt her. He’d made things worse.
But then something else struck him.
She’d made a sound.
She’d let out a cry.
Which meant she was alive.
He looked down at her and saw her staring up at him.
Her eyes were wide. Her face looked even paler than before. And that blood trickling down her chin. Oozing from her torso. It was urgent. It needed attention. Better attention than he could give.
“Martin!” Harriet shouted.
Martin looked up at Harriet, Oscar, Bruce. Saw them standing there. Running into the trees. Getting further away.
“Come on!” Harriet shouted. “We’ve gotta keep moving!”
He looked up at Harriet, and he smiled at her. In all the panic, in all the chaos, he smiled.
“Go,” he said.
Harriet frowned. “But—”
“Just go. Save yourselves.”
She shook her head. Not wanting to run away. Not wanting to turn her back on Martin.
But clearly knowing damned well she didn’t have a choice.
So she nodded.
She turned around, Oscar in her arms.
And she ran into the trees.
But there was a problem.
Bruce.
He wasn’t moving.
He ran over to Martin and Ella. Licked Martin’s face. Cried.
“Go, Bruce. Go.”
Bruce let out a little whine.
“Bruce, please. Just—just go dog. Go!”
But he wasn’t moving.
Even as those footsteps grew closer.
Even as the gunshots grew closer.
He just held his ground.
Stared into Martin’s eyes.
Loyal.
Never leaving his side.
He held on to Ella as Bruce sat there, right beside them, when he heard the footsteps stop.
He held his breath. He didn’t want to look around. He didn’t want to see.
But he had to.
He turned around. Looked over his shoulder.
Three men stood there. Masked. Rifles in hand.
But clearly Harold’s people.
Martin took a deep breath. Then he stood up in front of his daughter. Tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked at them all, one by one. He couldn’t even lift Ella’s rifle because they’d dropped it in the panic. They were defenceless. Totally defenceless.
“Do what you want with me,” he said. “But my daughter. Take her back. Look after her. Please.”
But the men held their ground.
And they held their rifles.
Kept them pointed them at Martin.
And at a growling Bruce.
“Please,” Martin said. “My daughter. Look after her. Do what you can for her.”
Silence.
And then a voice.
“I wish we could, Martin. But—but orders are orders. I’m sorry.”
And then he lifted his rifle.
Martin squeezed his eyes shut.
And then he heard the blasts.
Chapter Forty-Five
Martin heard the blasts, and he braced himself for the bullets to fly against his body once more.
But not for the first time when he’d been cornered, he didn’t feel pain. No bullets slammed into him. He was still alive. Still conscious. Still very much aware of the wind against his body. His heart hammering against his shirt.
And his daughter, bleeding out on the ground behind him.
He opened his eyes.
The three men in front of him lay dead on the ground. Gunshot wounds covered their chests, their necks, everywhere.
And Martin
didn’t understand. Not at first.
Not until he saw her emerging from the trees, rifle in hand.
The rifle Ella had dropped.
“Harriet?” Martin said.
Harriet ran past the bodies, over to Martin’s side. “I had to help. I couldn’t just run away.”
“I told you to—”
“You’re here now. You’re still alive. And Ella. She has a chance.”
A knot tightened in Martin’s chest. He spun around. “Ella?”
Her eyes were closed again. Blood trickled from her lips. Her skin looked even paler than before.
“Ella!”
He landed by her side. Checked her pulse with his shaking hands. Please hang in there. Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t go away.
He searched for a pulse. Pressed his hand against her wrist, then her neck. Please. Please, Ella. Pl…
And then Ella coughed.
He looked down at her.
A little blood splattered down her chin.
“Ella?”
She looked up at him with this look to her eyes. A look he didn’t recognise. But at the same time, a look that reminded him of something. Reminded him of long ago.
Reminded him of Ella when she was a child.
He remembered the day. A sunny day in the middle of summer. A trip to the local pond. The sound of the ducks splashing against the water. An ice cream van’s chimes as kids laughed and played.
And Ella on that swing, begging to be pushed higher and higher.
And Martin heard her laughter. He heard how much she was enjoying herself. So he pushed her. Kept on pushing her. Pushing her as she laughed. As she screamed.
And then something happened.
The swing seat. Something must’ve gone wrong.
Because it twisted in mid-air and sent a three-year-old Ella tumbling to the ground below.
He remembered the sudden stab of guilt. The pain of responsibility. The fear that he’d hurt his own child.
And as he rushed over to her, he remembered praying she was okay. Praying there was nothing wrong with her.
He reached her side, expecting her to cry, and he saw her looking up at him.
A little blood on her chin. Sand on her face. Her brown eyes wide, staring up at him.
But then she did something, as she lay there on the ground.
She let out a little giggle.
And that’s what she did now.
“Ella?” Martin said. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you help.”
She reached up her shaky hand. Put it on Martin’s neck. Her fingers were icy cold. “I remember,” she said.
Martin frowned. Tears stung his eyes. “Remember what?”
“What you told me. What… what you said to me that day.”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t—”
“Don’t be… don’t be scared of falling. Because angels always float back up.”
A stabbing pain right in the centre of his chest.
That day at the pond rushing back to him, all over again.
The sun.
The sounds.
The warmth.
All of it.
And then Ella’s hand went limp and dropped to the ground.
“Ella?” Martin said.
He shook her. Checked her pulse. Checked her breathing.
Couldn’t feel a thing.
“Ella,” he said. “Please.”
He looked at the wound. He looked at her limp hand. And just faintly, just faintly, Martin heard a gentle breath.
“She’s alive,” he said.
He looked around at Harriet. Oscar holding on to her leg. The sadness in their eyes told the whole story. “Martin—”
He stood up, then. Walked over to Harriet. “I’m taking her to Lancaster.”
Harriet shook her head. “But—”
“You and Oscar are going to wait out here. I know what you said about not wanting to lose other people. About how much that’s held me back. But that’s not what this is about. This is about doing the right thing. For everyone. And right now, I know what I need to do.”
Harriet shook her head. Tears streamed down her face. “Martin. I’m sorry. But it’s... it’s too—”
“It’s not too late,” he said.
He turned around.
Ella lay there on the ground.
Eyes closed.
But breathing.
Ever so gently breathing.
He walked over to her. Picked her up. Held her there in his arms.
And he leaned in and kissed her on her cold face.
“We’re going to get you help,” he said. “We’re going to do something for you. No matter what it takes.”
He turned around again then.
Harriet, Oscar, and Bruce looked back at him. Tears in their eyes. A look like they knew what was coming next. They knew where this was going.
And they knew there wasn’t a thing they could do about it.
Martin walked over to them. Right up to Harriet. “I’ve got this. And so do you.”
And then he leaned in and kissed her.
He pulled away. Ruffled Oscar’s hair. “You look after your mummy, okay?”
Oscar nodded. Puffed out his chest like it immediately made him stronger.
And then Martin looked down at Bruce.
Bruce sat there. Tilting his head. Confusion in his wide eyes.
And Martin felt so bad for him. This loyal dog. This companion. He wanted to take him along with him. He wanted him by his side.
But he knew it wasn’t safe for him.
It was too dangerous for him.
He leaned in, and he wrapped an arm around Bruce. “I’ll miss you, lad. But I’ll be back. I promise.”
Bruce let out a whine. Licked Martin’s ear.
And when Martin stood up and stepped away, he didn’t follow.
Like he understood.
He stood there. Ella in his arms. Harriet, Oscar, and Bruce standing opposite.
And he knew he had no time to waste.
He knew exactly what he had to do.
“I’ll be back for you. But if I’m not—”
“You will be.”
“But if I’m not... you’ll look after each other. You’ll protect each other. But more than that. You won’t turn your back on other people. You’ll... you’ll open yourselves up to new people. Always.”
Harriet looked like she was going to say something. And then she just closed her mouth. Forced a smile. “Stay safe, Martin. Please.”
He nodded.
Held on to Ella’s bleeding body.
And then he turned around to face Lancaster, and he took a deep breath.
“Come back,” Harriet said. “Please.”
Martin didn’t say a word.
He just took a deep breath, and he ran.
He didn’t look back once.
It was too painful to look back.
Chapter Forty-Six
Harold walked out into the streets, and he knew right away, something was wrong.
It was another warm day. The sun burned against the top of his head. Usually the kind of day he preferred spending inside. He liked the sun, but from a distance. Preferred to be sat in a nice air-conditioned room looking out at the streets, looking out at the children playing; at the women in short skirts.
But he’d heard shouting outside. Some kind of disagreement. Some kind of argument kicking off.
And he knew he couldn’t just stay inside and hide.
He was still the leader of this place. He had some standards to maintain.
He walked out into the street. Walked down towards the sounds of shouting, the sounds of arguing.
And when he turned a corner in the road, he saw it, and his mouth went dry.
There was a gathering of people in the street. Twenty or so of them. People pushing against one another. Something kicking off between civilians and armed guards.
And this wasn’t good. Because sure, there’d
been arguments before. There’d been disagreements. But this. It looked serious.
And the timing. The timing right in sync with what happened at the pipe.
It seemed too convenient.
And Harold just sensed something troubling about it.
“There he is!”
Harold heard the voices and saw the people turn to him. People he thought he knew. People he thought he got along with. People he trusted.
All marching towards him.
Anger in their eyes.
Like they knew something was wrong.
And Harold couldn’t turn around.
He couldn’t abandon his duties.
He had to stand firm.
He had to brace himself for whatever barrage came his way.
“What really happened at the sewerage pipe then, Harold?”
Harold looked towards the voice. Saw a man called Samuel standing there. A big bloke. Well built. Muscular, despite the rations, despite food not being as abundant as it used to be.
He took a deep breath, and he prepared the same old statement. We were attacked. A dangerous force struck us. We’re still in danger.
But then he stopped himself.
The people opposite shouted at him, just feet away from him.
Screamed at him.
Demanded answers.
“We saw our people pouring the petrol,” someone shouted. “And we saw them lighting it up. What’s happening? What’s the truth?”
Harold stared defeat right in the eyes.
He saw everything slipping from his grip. Everything he cared about. The city. The shelter. Everything.
And then he said the only words he could.
“The truth is I gave the order to light that pipeline up.”
The shouting stopped. Everything went silent. The people stared on. Like they weren’t expecting him to say what he’d said.
“I gave the order to light it up because we have a problem. A very real problem. Groups on the outside. Groups who want to take what’s ours away from us. And there’s another problem, too. They’ve had people helping them from within. People intercepting us. People trying to break down the very fragment of our society. The society we’ve built. Together.”
A few mutters amidst the crowd. People glancing at one another. Whispering to one another.
And Harold got a sense something was changing.
The mood in the air was changing.
And that was an opportunity he had to claim with both hands.