by Casey, Ryan
“These groups. I’ve known about them for a long time. Outsiders hell-bent on destroying us. I didn’t want to tell you about them because I wanted you to keep on living your lives as normal. To feel safe. To feel free. But I realise I failed you now. I realise I made the wrong call. I should’ve been open. I should’ve been honest. I’m sorry.”
More side glances from the crowd. A strange silence still hanging over them. Like this could still go either way.
And then Samuel spoke again.
“You could’ve just told us. You could’ve been straight with us. ’Cause we could’ve fought back. All of us, we could’ve fought back.”
Harold smiled. Because that’s exact what he wanted. They were disappointed in his dishonesty, sure. But they were willing to rally around him. They were willing to fight for the same values as him. They still sympathised. Believed in his message. And that would count for everything.
He took a step forward, closer to that crowd. So close, he was practically in the middle of them. “I realise that now. And I accept where I went wrong. I just didn’t want to put you in any danger. I wanted you to live the lives you deserved. And soon, you will. Because it’s almost over. All of this is almost over.”
The faces in the crowd stared at him as he stood there in the middle of them. One by one, he saw their looks softening. He saw their anger disintegrating.
He saw himself winning his shelter back.
His community back.
His Lancaster back.
“But now I know you’re all by my side. Now I know you’ll help me fight to protect this place. And that means everything to me. It means everything.”
He looked around and saw the nods. Saw the half-smiles.
And he saw the fear in their eyes, too.
The fear of losing their home.
The fear of outside forces.
And the fear of this enemy Harold planted into their minds.
He looked around at these people, and he smiled.
“So we do whatever we have to do. We stand together. No more lies. No more secrets. This is our home. And we protect it. We—”
“Harold!”
Harold froze.
He turned around.
Looked back towards the gates.
When he saw him standing there, his entire body went numb.
Martin stood at the entrance to the shelter.
Holding a body in his hands.
Ella’s body.
He stopped. Stood there. Looked Harold right in his eyes.
And then he said the words Harold never expected to hear.
“I need your help.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Martin stepped inside the boundaries of the shelter, Ella in his arms.
Harold stood opposite. A wide stare to his eyes like he genuinely never expected to see Martin again.
And the rest of his people standing around him in the middle of this street looked on, too. People Martin recognised. People Martin used to speak with, every day.
But these people looked at him with suspicion, now.
Armed guards pointed their rifles at him.
Like they didn’t trust him.
And Martin had no idea what Harold had told them, or what they thought of him now.
He could only hold on to Ella’s unconscious body.
Hold her tight.
And hope for the best.
Martin waded further into the town. Scorching sun beating down from above. The smell of the warm tarmac filling his lungs. And Ella’s body, still bleeding, still gently breathing in his arms. “Please, Harold. I need your help. My—my daughter. She’s been shot.”
Silence followed. Harold looked on. Frowning. Like he genuinely didn’t know how to react.
And Martin kept walking. “Please. She needs treatment. It doesn’t have to be this way. It doesn’t—”
“Don’t take another damned step this way,” Harold said.
Martin froze. His stomach sank. “What?”
Harold looked around at his people. “The traitors. The interceptors. He’s one of them. Martin is one of them. And that girl in his arms... she was responsible for the explosion a few days ago. The explosion at the wall. The deaths of so many of our people.”
Fear washed over Martin. He shook his head. “That’s not how it happened.”
But it was too late.
Because he could see the way the people turned to him.
He could hear the things they were muttering. The things they were saying.
And he could see the fear in their eyes.
“I’m not going to pretend my daughter wasn’t a part of a rival group. She was. And the man. The man she served. He was called Jax. He was responsible for the attack on the wall. He was responsible for the deaths of so many people. But... but he did it because he was hunted down. Because Harold killed his family. Unprovoked.”
He saw the people turning to one another. Heard some of them shout out to him. Shout that they didn’t believe him. That he was a traitor.
But there were two other things that caught his eye.
First, there were other people. People who weren’t going along with the mob.
And then there was Harold.
The way he stood there.
The way he stared over at Martin.
That look in his eyes.
That fear.
“He’s lying,” Harold shouted.
Martin held his ground as Ella breathed lightly in his arms. He stood there, staring at this mass of people, awaiting his fate. Awaiting judgement.
And all he could do was stand there.
Shake his head.
“I know there’s two sides to every battle. But this is my daughter, Harold. This is my daughter. Let her live. Help her. Please.”
Harold stood there as two of his armed guards rushed towards Martin. As they headed towards him, preparing to grab him. Seize him. Kill him.
“We can move on from this,” Martin said. “We can start again. Even after everything, we can start again.”
But those people kept on heading his way.
Harold’s allies. His closest allies.
“Tell them the truth,” Martin said. “About Jax. About his people. About the children.”
“Kill him!” Harold spat.
But something happened then.
Something shifted.
Samuel, he was called. He turned around to Harold. Looked right at him. “What about children?”
Harold shook his head. “He’s lying. Kill him already.”
The two men were just feet away.
Guns in hand.
Ready to strike him down.
All Martin could do was stand there.
Hold his breath.
“Wait,” Samuel said. “What’s he talking about children?”
“He’s a liar. He’s trying to poison you.”
“He’s telling the truth.”
The voice came from Martin’s left.
He recognised it. Didn’t know how to react.
Not until he saw her.
And him, too.
Harriet stepped out of the darkness of the alleyway.
Oscar and Bruce by one side.
And on the other side, Frankie.
He stood there. Still dressed in the same gear as the other night. Rifle still in hand.
And a wide-eyed look of guilt across his face.
And it hit Martin, then. Frankie. He was the one in the woods. He was one of the people with Quentin, hunting him down in the woods. The one who got away.
Harold stared back at him. Eyes wide. Mouth open. “Frankie?”
Frankie looked at him with those dead, wide eyes. “You killed those children,” he said. “You gave us the orders. And not just that. What he says. What he says about Jax. About—about you waging the war. It’s true. Why don’t you just tell them it’s true?”
Martin looked over at Harriet. Oscar. Bruce. He didn’t expect them to be here. He wanted them to run away. To d
isappear. It wasn’t safe for them here. And it was going to get a whole lot less safe.
But then he heard the crowd’s anger building.
Heard it growing.
And when he looked around, he saw them turning on Harold.
Shouting at him.
Pushing at the armed guards and trying to get to him.
He saw the tide turning. Saw everything falling apart for Harold.
And he saw the defeat in his eyes.
“It doesn’t have to end this way,” Martin said. “We can... we can start again. We can move forward. We can work together. We have to.”
Harold stood there as the crowd approached him from behind, and he smiled.
For the first time in as long as Martin could remember, he smiled.
“You know that’s not true,” he said.
And then he nodded at someone to his left.
The three men beside him lifted their rifles.
And before Martin could do a thing about it, they started firing at the crowd.
“No!” Martin shouted.
He tried to race forward. Tried to get to those people. Tried to help them.
But as he watched Harold stand there, his dynasty burning down all around him at his own hand, all he could do was listen to their shouts. Their cries. Their screams.
A man with nothing left to lose.
A man giving it all up.
The sound of cries.
The smell of gunfire.
And the taste of blood.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Martin heard the gunfire blasting all around him, and he knew he needed to get Ella somewhere safe.
Gunfire. Screams. Blasts. Harold’s loyalists opening fire on the civilians of this place. And some of them fighting back. Chaos unfolding out of nowhere.
But one thing was for sure.
There was no going back.
There was no turning back now.
This was the real Harold.
People could see him for who he really was.
And those who didn’t like it weren’t going to survive to protest his leadership if he clung on.
He ran across the street, over to Harriet, Oscar, Bruce. Frankie, one of Harold’s old loyalists—and a retired army medic to boot—stood with them.
He didn’t want to let Ella go. He didn’t want to give her up or put his trust into anyone else to look after her.
But he had to.
He had to.
He let her go. Put her on the ground beside them.
“Look after her. Make sure you stitch her up and you stop the bleeding.”
“Martin?” Harriet said.
Martin looked at her and then at her rifle. “There’s something I need to do.”
She shook her head. Like she was going to argue. Like she was going to protest.
But in the end she just handed Martin that rifle.
“Make him pay. Make the bastard pay.”
Martin took the rifle from her.
He stood up as the gunfire continued to rattle all around.
He looked at Ella. Didn’t want to turn his back on her. Didn’t want to leave her side.
But he had to put his faith in others.
He had to trust them.
“Look after them,” Martin said.
Frankie nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
He looked at Harriet. Half-smiled.
And then he turned around and ran down the street.
He saw Harold. Head down. Racing his way towards his office. He lifted his rifle. Fired a few times at him. Because this wasn’t just about revenge. It was about a change. A change of leadership. A change of order.
A non-negotiable. For the survivors of this place. For the future of this place.
He ran along the street. Kept his focus on Harold at all times. Lifted that rifle. Went to fire.
And then someone turned around. Another of Harold’s men noticed him. Pointed his gun at him.
Martin lifted that gun. Took him down immediately.
No room for compassion anymore.
One bullet after another.
He saw this battle unfolding, and he saw something remarkable. Something unexpected. The civilians of this place were overthrowing Harold’s people. He saw the blood. Saw the gore. Saw the anger and the pain.
Because people were fighting back.
They weren’t just lying down and accepting their fate.
He turned his attention back to Harold. Saw him tumbling up the steps of his office.
And Martin tried not to let emotion drive him.
He tried not to let revenge drive him.
He kept his focus on him as he staggered towards that door, key in hand.
And he pulled the trigger.
Harold fell to the ground.
Let out a cry as the bullet pierced his leg.
A clean shot.
Martin walked over to the entrance to Harold’s office. Saw him clutching his bleeding leg. Dragging it along, trying to reach the handle of his door.
Martin aimed at Harold’s hand and pulled the trigger.
“Argh!”
Harold looked around at Martin. Covered in sweat. Fear in his wide eyes. Bleeding from his leg and his hand.
“You... you’ll never lead this place. You’ll never protect this place. You’ll never keep them under control. You’re not strong enough.”
Martin took a deep breath and swallowed a lump in his throat. “Maybe not,” he said. “But I’ll tell you one thing. I’ll never turn my back on other people. And I’ll never slaughter children.”
He lifted his rifle, and he pulled the trigger.
Harold’s head hit the door.
Exploded with the gunfire.
Blood splattered all over his body, chunks of brain and skull on the white wooden door. A permanent stain. A permanent reminder.
A reminder this shelter would need.
He dropped the rifle. Turned around.
And he ran back towards Harriet. Towards Oscar. Towards Bruce, and towards Ella.
And as he ran back that way, he saw other things. He saw the civilians pinning Harold’s people down. Donning their weapons. He saw a victory for the people, against all odds. A changing of the guard.
And then he turned a corner, and he saw them.
Harriet. Oscar. Bruce.
And Frankie.
Ella right before him.
A sombre look on his face.
“Ella?” Martin said.
He staggered down the alleyway, away from the gunshots and the cries.
She had to be here.
She had to be okay.
She had to—
And then he heard something.
A voice.
“Dad?”
He stopped. Froze, right in the middle of that alleyway.
Ella looked up at him.
Still bleeding. Still pale. Still not out of the woods.
But still alive.
Still alive.
He raced over to her, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m here.”
And as he held on to his daughter, he listened to the gunfire diminish.
He listened to the shouts and the cries ease off.
And then he heard nothing but the birds singing in the bright blue sky...
Chapter Forty-Nine
Martin stared at the graves and felt a knot in his chest.
It was afternoon. Another gorgeous day. Birds sang overhead. A gentle breeze blew through the streets. There wasn’t a smell of burning there anymore. There was freshness, instead. Freshness that brought optimism. Hope.
A month had passed since the showdown at the shelter. Not a day went by that Martin didn’t think about it. Whether it was waking up in a morning to the smell of burning or falling to sleep at night to the sound of screams in his ears.
Nobody should have to live with the horrors that’d unfolded on that day. Especially not the children of this
place.
They’d dug the graves in an old playing field just outside the initial boundaries of the shelter. Thirty-six of them, in total. The people of this place had crafted wooden crosses to mark them. A reminder of what happened that day. Brave people who’d stood up. Who’d laid down their lives in the face of a man they’d had so much faith in just moments before. Not a comfortable reminder, but an important one.
Because forgetting was dangerous.
You could never forget a thing like that.
If you did, you risked history repeating itself all over again.
And that was something Martin was adamant not to allow.
He looked at the graves as the sun beamed down. It was quiet here. Peaceful. People didn’t make much noise when they visited. They tended to just come here to pay their respects to the dead. Or to think about the losses this place suffered. How close to losing it all they were. And all at the hands of a man who right up until the end seemed like someone who cared about them. Someone they could trust.
Martin thought about Ella that day. Or that whole damned week, in fact. Learning she was alive. Finding her, only realising she was on Jax’s side. Learning the truth about Harold. The conflict. The slaughter.
And Ella.
The hairs stood on Martin’s arms when he thought about her. His fists tightened. He thought about Sarah. The pain he’d felt when he lost her the first time. And the pain he’d felt when she’d died, too.
He’d felt that again with Ella.
Only even stronger. Even more painful.
He heard footsteps, and he turned around.
Harriet walked over towards him. Bruce ran alongside her.
And on her other side, Oscar.
Pushing a wheelchair.
Ella’s wheelchair.
Martin smiled when he saw her. Stood up, turned around.
Ella looked pale. She looked even thinner than she used to, which was a damned impossibility as far as Martin was concerned.
But she was alive.
She was smiling.
Weak. Still had a fight on her hands.
But smiling.
He thought back again to that day. He’d left her in the care of Frankie, and he’d really thought he’d lost her. The surgery to remove the bullet wound, stitching her up, all of it wasn’t easy. Not in a world without power.
But Ella was a fighter.
She’d stepped up.