After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set

by Charlie Dalton

  “Why?” Jamie said.

  “A crossed wire in her brain or something,” Fatty said. “Something stimulated her to have that reaction.”

  “She was only looking at the Reavers,” Jamie said. “Why would that make her react like this? She saw lots of them at the commune.”

  “It must have been something about these Reavers that made her respond like that,” Donny said.

  “Not necessarily,” Fatty said. “Sometimes it can be something small, unrelated to what she was really looking at. Like a migraine. There are different ways it can be triggered.”

  “Like what?” Jamie said.

  “Blinking lights at a certain angle,” Fatty said. “Something that sends the wrong chemicals to the wrong part of the brain. Even eating the wrong food can do it. It could be anything.”

  Lucy began to stir, eyes flickering open like rusty doors.

  “Lucy?” Jamie said. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said after a moment.

  She moved to sit up, jerky and uncertain. Jamie was there to give her a hand. Lucy looked up at the others.

  “What happened to me?” she said.

  “You had a fit,” Fatty said.

  “A what?” Lucy said.

  “An epileptic fit,” Fatty said. “Have you had them before?”

  Lucy put a hand to her temple.

  “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “What triggered you?” Fatty said.

  “I can’t remember,” Lucy said. “I was looking at the Reavers who’d come up the mountain to the emergency compound. And then. . .”

  Her eyes moved to the side. Widened.

  “And then I saw it,” she said.

  “It?” Fatty said.

  “The one dressed as a Reaver, but not a Reaver,” Lucy said. “The one wearing the Reaver’s skin.”

  The others shared a worried look.

  “It was a regular gang of Reavers,” Jamie said. “And they’re out here, looking for us.”

  “We need to get moving,” Donny said. “The Reavers will be on us soon if we don’t keep moving.”

  Concerned, Jamie filed the details away for later study. He helped Lucy to her feet. She didn’t seem to need him as a crutch. She was strong for a small girl. He had to admire her. She wore a frown of intense concentration. Trying to figure out what she had seen, what had kicked her off. What was the reason for the fit she’d experienced? It must have been a terrifying ordeal but she didn’t let it show.

  “We need to keep moving,” Donny said. “Grab your things.”

  88.

  THE REAVERS struggled to keep up with the fast-moving figure in front. The Mantis hacked at the undergrowth, carving a path through it. The Reavers were big and bulky fellows and not used to tight areas like this. They were accustomed to zooming across the wild flat planes of the desert. Donald barely made any sound as he carefully stepped through the forest, his skills developed over a lifetime coming to the fore.

  He knew this forest better than anyone. He knew how the ground undulated beneath his feet, which bushes provided a delicious snack, which plants to be wary of. And he knew what lived in this woodland. If Donald could thin out their number, it would make any kind of confrontation later—if the opportunity presented itself—that must easier. Donny, he knew, was armed, and would make a stand if there weren’t too many Reavers to face.

  Donald scanned the hedgerows at his feet. The marks in the soil and etches in tree bark. The undergrowth clawed at the thin soil for whatever purchase it could maintain, reaching for the dull sunlight that broke through the foliage above. It was the leafy umbrella Donald focused his attention on now. He knew what he was looking for, the shapes and delicate shadows.

  He was at the back of the group with a single Reaver assigned to keep an eye on him from behind. The rest of had fanned out, forming a long line that snaked through the forest, the Mantis out front. He had an intense and angry look of concentration on his face as he scythed through the wildlife. Not for the first time, Donald thought about what the leader would want with a girl like Lucy. She was sweet and innocent. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good. Perhaps it was best not to think about it.

  The hours ticked by, and Donald still hadn’t spotted what he was looking for amongst the trees’ plumage. On a normal day, he’d spot dozens of the damn things. Why, of all days, were there none of the things there?

  The Mantis did not slow, did not stop for food or water. Sweat dripped from the heavyset Reavers in their attempt to keep up with him. They hadn’t gotten any serious exercise in years. In a fair race, they’d have no chance of keeping up with any member of the community.

  The Reaver shoved Donald again, forcing him onward. But even he was weakening, his aggression less effective. Donald fell, tripping on exposed tree roots. He landed on his back. And that was when he spotted it.

  The shadowy lump in the foliage, absorbing the light from the sun and heating up its cold-blooded body.

  “Gerrup!” the disgruntled Reaver said, kicking Donald in the ribs.

  Donald held up a hand for the man to stop as he slowly got to his feet. The backs of the Reavers ahead were already rapidly disappearing into the thick mass of the forest.

  “You’re putting me behind!” the Reaver said. “Gerrup now!”

  Donald did, then continued walking. He identified the tree that provided the foliage for the creature to perch upon above. They passed directly underneath the coiled shape. Donald slowed, turning his body toward the tree trunk.

  “Get a move on!” the Reaver said, kicking Donald.

  The blow was what Donald needed. The added momentum forced him forward. He added his own weight to the movement and slammed hard into the tree trunk. He grunted as the air was knocked from his body. The Reaver grinned, grunting with grim satisfaction.

  Donald glanced up. The shadow had slid slightly to the left, toward a lighter patch of foliage, where there was less resistance for the sunlight to penetrate. The strike wasn’t enough. Donald pulled his leg back and kicked at the trunk again. The shadow jolted more to the left. It began to unfurl, sensing its predicament. Donald would need to act fast before it moved away from the target zone.

  “What’s taking so long?” the Reaver said. “Are you playing with yourself?”

  Donald kicked the tree again. This time it worked.

  The red and black body of the snake slipped through the foliage hole. It would fall fast, Donald knew. He threw himself to one side.

  “Now you move fast?” the Reaver said.

  The moment the words were out of his mouth, the snake landed. It wasn’t an altogether large specimen. It was the smallest that were the most dangerous. They attracted the most attention from larger predators and so needed to evolve powerful venom to take them on. Still, falling from that height made the Reaver grunt and fall to his knees.

  The snake lay wrapped about the Reaver’s shoulders like a thick muffler. Its scales glistened black and red. It was angry from having been disturbed from its slumber. Its head came into the dazed Reaver’s vision. The Reaver’s eyes widened to the size of dishes. He screamed. Fast movements were never a good idea when it came to snakes.

  The snake pulled its head back and struck three times in quick succession, injecting its venomous poison into the man’s face. The Reaver screamed louder, pushing at the snake, at the same time terrified to touch the damn thing. Panic was setting in.

  A pair of Reavers had stopped hacking through the underbrush and came to check what the holdup was.

  “Jesus!” one of them shouted before leaping forward with his machete. “Give me a hand!”

  The two men hacked at the snake. They caught their friend several times, tearing open his cheeks. Once they cut the snake loose, they unloaded into it with unnecessary vengeance, blowing it to pieces with gunshots.

  They rolled the affected Reaver over. His face was red with bite marks, swollen where the venom had entered his system, han
ds curled into claws. His face was frozen, contorted in an expression of terror.

  “He’s dead,” a Reaver said, letting him fall back to the forest floor.

  The Mantis had turned back to see what was happening. He said nothing and showed no emotion, as he turned back to the foliage and continued hacking away. The other Reavers shared fearful expressions. Unsure.

  They glanced up at the foliage with mounting fear. If one snake could fall from the foliage, then how many more were up there? The natural limbic system of the average man would push those fears to breaking point. To the extremes. When a host’s survival was at stake, no level was too high. Too far only meant being over-prepared for the terrible things that might happen. And being better prepared was never a bad thing.

  Donald’s plan had worked. He wanted the others to focus their attention where it shouldn’t be. On the treetops. That left them vulnerable to the other dangerous things, the things that resided in the undergrowth at their feet.

  89.

  POP POP POP.

  The kids stopped and turned to look back in the direction of the gunshots, at the endless sheer green walls. The thick foliage would have dampened the noise, so the Reavers could be much closer than they sounded. Donny wasn’t as experienced as his father in these woods, but he knew well enough of the dangers that existed there.

  “What are they shooting at?” Fatty said.

  “Hopefully, each other,” Donny said.

  It was unlikely to be the case, Jamie knew. Still, it was a nice thought.

  “We need to shake them off,” Donny said. “They’ll try to track us.”

  They dropped down a muddy embankment and into a clear-water stream. A mere trickle now, but it gained in strength further down. They would head down it for some distance before later coming out and continuing on. It might buy them a little time.

  “What is it these Reavers even want with us?” Fatty said, cursing under his breath at the cold water. “You’d think they’d leave us alone. They have the commune and now the Crow’s Nest. What more do we have to give them?”

  “Maybe they saw evidence of our stay there,” Jamie said. “The fire. The food. So they’re chasing after us.”

  That was ignoring the reaction Lucy had to seeing the Reavers, Donny thought. She had a connection to the Reaver leader. Something she suddenly recalled about him. Clearly, they possessed something the Reavers wanted. But what?

  They had nothing on them. No great amount of food, no weapons. Only themselves. And what exactly did Lucy’s comment about it mean? Something dressed in human clothes? In human skin? Perhaps it meant nothing at all. Did she know more than she was letting on? Looking at her now, he wasn’t sure he believed that. She seemed like a good sort. She was a kid. What could she possibly know that the Reavers would want possession of? He didn’t know. But there was nothing else they had with them. It had to be her.

  And if the time came, would he give her up if it meant saving Jamie? Or their father? Or the community?

  It was a dark question, one he didn’t know the answer to. He put it in the back of his mind. He didn’t need to concern himself with it right now. He had bigger fish to fry. He needed to ensure that situation never arose.

  His feet were drenched to the ankle. The water flow was getting stronger, deeper. They waded through the water, raising their knees to push forward. That was when Lucy had another funny turn. And this one was a whole lot worse than the first.

  90.

  “HOLD MY hand,” Jamie said, reaching for Lucy.

  She was straggling, drifting behind as the water swelled about her. She was the smallest member of their little troop and needed help.

  “I can’t keep going!” Lucy said. “I can’t do it!”

  “You can!” Jamie said. “Just keep pushing!”

  Lucy was a tough little thing. She had managed to pull the ammunition cart with the best of them, but something about the fit she’d suffered had drained her. She was still struggling now. Her face was pale, her eyes dark and gaunt. It wasn’t looking good.

  The water was up to her waist now, pushing her back.

  “Jamie!” she said, frantic.

  She panicked, lost her footing, and fell into the water. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer racing through the forest, no longer in the swollen river. She was somewhere else.

  She was in liquid. And she was as surprised by where she was now as she was in real life. It was a memory, she realized. Her real self saw the scene through her own eyes. The emotions oddly reflected her own at finding herself in this place. She was underwater. She panicked, sucking in the liquid. . . Except it wasn’t really liquid. It was oxygen. Air. She was breathing underwater. Her heart raced, beating hard against her chest. She calmed, realizing she wasn’t going to drown.

  She turned to look at her surroundings. She was in some kind of glass tube. It was large enough for her to float with her legs tucked in. She reached back to touch the back of her head and back, finding something plugged into her. It wasn’t painful but it wasn’t altogether pleasant either.

  Someone put a hand to the glass wall. It was big, an adult hand. Lucy could make out the lines and crease marks in his skin. She could tell his fortune if she had the gift. For some reason she didn’t quite understand, she reached out and put her hand to the wall, to the man’s hand. Was it a connection she was feeling? Or was it the need not to be alone?

  Then the liquid began to bubble and shift. A hole appeared at either end of her capsule, the liquid rapidly draining. Looking up, she made out the roof of her liquid prison. Lucy floundered, terrified.

  As the liquid began to fall, the capsule emptying, the top bubbling and jagged, Lucy glanced through the glass wall and saw a white coat, arms, body, and then the face of the man whose hand she’d reached for. Lucy did not know who the man was but she recognized him. It was the same man from her first memory. The one where she’d woken up in a strange bedroom with a metal floor. It was the same man. The man with the round glasses.

  Lucy screamed as the bubbles around her mask erupted, forcing her to breathe not via a tube but her own lungs. The bubbles spun, converged, and became thicker as Lucy was returned once more to the real world. Only now, she was beneath the stream’s surface, underwater. Choking. Drowning.

  91.

  THE REAVERS were getting tired, puffing and panting. They needed to stop and rest. The Mantis was still going strong. Sweat dripped down Donald’s face at the relentless pace but he too kept on.

  The new Reaver guard behind him didn’t push or shove him half as much as the previous one had. Donald could hear the reason. It was whistling, puffing and panting through his chubby cheeks. The man was exhausted. He’d be tired and disoriented. The ideal situation for him to make a mistake and step on something he shouldn’t.

  Donald had been waiting patiently for the little holes that bore the creatures he was seeking. Then he found them, sprinkled like pepper across the forest floor. They were located on either side of the path they were walking down. Where small, local game would traverse. Donald had always had a healthy appreciation for wildlife, in particular, those with unusual abilities to capture prey and defend themselves.

  The Crystal Spiders were among his favourite. They burrowed underground and set up little traps with quartz crystals. The crystal had atoms closer together than rock, and so conducted touch to a stronger degree. The spider would wait for the appropriate sound to be transferred through the crystal. Then the spider would strike, burying its fangs in the creature’s flesh, dragging it underground if it was small enough, or attaching a web and holding it in place until it was exhausted. A human was much too large for the spider’s venom to kill but it was powerful enough to knock someone out for a few hours.

  It had been previously noted by Donald that the Reavers did not take much care of themselves. This was true of their health as well as their clothing. They had holes in every garment they owned. This was no surprise as the Reavers had no reason to maintain
anything they possessed. They didn’t even grow their own food or dig wells for their water. They stole everything, and good quality clothing that fit was hard to come by.

  Donald tapped the crystal at the entrance to the holes with his foot. The spiders came up and tentatively bit into the leather of his boot. It was too thick for their fangs to pierce. He tried again and again, coaxing the spiders further out of their miniature caves. Each time, the spiders came out, and each time, the Reaver’s foot passed closer and closer to the holes until finally. . .

  “Ah!” the Reaver said.

  “What’s wrong with you now?” another Reaver said.

  “Something bit me!” the first Reaver said, rubbing his foot and looking down at the forest floor but seeing nothing.

  “Just a mosquito,” the Reaver said.

  “Mighty big mosquito,” the bitten Reaver said under his breath.

  He looked at his boot where he’d been bitten and poked a finger through the large hole in the side of his boot. He found a pair of small itchy red bumps, like something a mosquito might produce. Perhaps it was a mosquito after all. Donald could see the transparency of his thoughts easily enough.

  They continued through the forest, Donald speeding up to affect as many of the men as he could before the spider holes were no longer concentrated around their path. By the time he was done, three more members had been bitten. It would take some time for the Reavers to succumb to the full effects of the spider venom. When they collapsed, Donald wanted to be ready with his next attack.

  It was almost too easy, what with the Reavers’ ignorance. Donald grinned. He was enjoying himself too damn much.

  92.

  THERE WAS nothing quite like the wind rushing through your hair on the back of a powerful bicycle. The Worm could travel in a matter of minutes what it would take an entire day to do on foot. If that wasn’t freedom, he didn’t know what was.