Roamers (Book 2): Fear. Loss. Survival. Hope.

by Viper, Velveteen

  “We’ll have to shoot them,” Riley announced. “Scarlett, your silencer.”

  Scarlett held it out begrudgingly, apparently sulking and not yet willing to speak to him. Riley took it, screwed it onto his own pistol and stood a few feet away from the door ready to fire.

  “One… two… three!”

  On Quinlan’s count, he opened the door and the remaining four Roamers spilled into the room, falling over their lifeless peers, and allowing Riley more time to take aim. It took five shots, but once they were ended, Quinlan took on the grim job of checking their faces. It was clear that none of them were children, but Scarlett watched diligently as Quinlan lifted the heads of the men by their hair, thankful to find that none even remotely resembled Travis. There was still hope.

  “Alright, so what now?” Riley asked, dreading the response that Scarlett might give.

  “We have to check the rest of the building.”

  “Okay. But we’ve got to be smart about it. If there’re any more here, we have to take them out before they have the chance to get within grabbing distance.”

  “But we’ve only got one silenced weapon,” Quinlan said.

  Growing impatient, Scarlett got to her feet and made her way to the back wall. A tall glass cabinet containing a plethora of trophies with titles such as, ‘Class of the Week’ and, ‘Best Teamwork’, stood in the corner. Glancing back at the others, Scarlett bit her bottom lip as she pulled the display away from the wall. It collided with the ground, causing a thunderous crash of shattering glass, accompanied by the clang of metal as the trophies bounced off the tiles. They all listened to the silence that followed. Scarlett had very quickly deduced that they were alone, and Riley and Quinlan stared at her, awaiting an explanation.

  “We’re wasting time,” she said. “Come on, boys.”

  Taking her axe in her right hand, she marched toward the door and carefully stepped over the corpses in the hallway. Her accomplices dutifully followed, and she rounded the corner to the stairs.

  On the first floor, Scarlett was drawn to an old art classroom. The door was splintered and broken, lying on the floor. Entering cautiously, Scarlett quickly broke down when she found Hope’s chalk scribblings on the desk.

  “Hope,” she whispered.

  “These look familiar,” Riley added, holding Travis’ tatty old boots at arm’s length.

  “They were in here,” she replied, picking up the dusty drawings and studying them. “Travis must have locked them in here. The Roamers broke down the door.”

  Remembering the socks, Scarlett marched to the open window and looked out.

  “Oh my God. They must have jumped.”

  Chapter Six

  Travis

  Travis’ eyes flicked open and he lay absolutely still, staring at the ceiling. It took him a moment to remember that he and Hope had taken shelter in an old, dilapidated house on the outskirts of Shadowhurst.

  Worn out turquoise paint decorated its wooden beamed exterior, and three white patio chairs lay abandoned on the porch. Although from the outside uninviting, Travis had noted that the doors and windows were intact, and that was good enough for him.

  In that moment, he was sure that something had woken him, but couldn’t be certain that it hadn’t simply been an abrupt end to a dream.

  His whole body tensed as he realised that he was right. Somebody – or something – was downstairs. He heard shards of glass being swept over the doormat, a click of the latch opening, and then heavy boots on the laminate floor.

  He sat up slowly on the creaky bed.

  “All clear down here, Sir.”

  The stranger’s voice jolted Travis into action, and he gently stroked Hope’s face. She opened her eyes and smiled, about to say something, but observed her father’s index finger pressing against his lips. Her smile faded and she awaited instruction while Travis scanned the room.

  He stood and slowly scooped Hope into his arms before creeping toward the small wardrobe and placing her inside.

  “Quiet as mice, remember?” he whispered. Hope nodded and mimicked her father’s finger to lip gesture. Travis shut his daughter in and returned to the bed, reaching under the pillow for his hunting knife.

  “There’s nothing worth taking,” came a second man’s voice; deeper, more authoritative than the first. “Check upstairs, but it’s probably a waste of time.”

  Assured that there were only two men to contend with, and with one heading his way, he decided to try and take them out.

  Footsteps grew louder, the stairs groaning with each carefully placed step. Holding his knife ready to attack, Travis was suddenly distracted by the squeaking of the wardrobe door. Turning his head to the source, he saw Hope’s head poking out. Again, Travis’ finger flew to his lips, but it was too late.

  On the other side of the door, one of the scavengers readied his weapon; the sliding of mechanisms deafening in the tense silence. Travis’ gaze fell to the ground to observe the stranger’s shadow.

  With his back pinned against the wall, Travis watched as the tip of the man’s pistol crossed the threshold, followed tentatively by the rest of him.

  He was young; probably mid-twenties, and his eyes widened on being faced with the tired, bedraggled and harassed man who was Travis, an intimidating sight for those with even the strongest of dispositions.

  Startled, he swung his pistol toward Travis, who was quick to bat it away. The weapon discharged at the same moment, so close that Travis could have sworn that he felt the bullet caress his ear.

  Using the man’s surprise against him, Travis continued to push against the outstretched arm of his attacker, before thrusting his knife into the man’s back. He didn’t scream; he just gasped, as though he was trying to think of a response to something horribly offensive.

  Travis eased him down to the ground and wrenched his blade free. He knew he only had a few moments to gather his wits before he faced a second opponent, and he needed to drive the fight away from Hope. He could hear the second man already approaching from the hallway.

  “Where are you, you villainous fuck?”

  Travis answered by showing himself. His earlier assumptions were confirmed when he laid eyes on an older man. He had a cruel glint in his eye and advanced on Travis, not with a gun, but a flick knife.

  “I didn’t mean to kill anybody. He fired his weapon, I had no choice.”

  “Let’s cut out the shit and settle this like men,” the man replied, dropping his knife.

  “Or you could get the fuck out of here,” Travis rumbled, releasing his own blade to the floor.

  The stranger threw him a one-sided smirk, lightly shaking his head. He continued to advance on Travis, who quickly threw the first punch, straight to the man’s eye.

  They began grappling each other. Travis received three consecutive blows to the face.

  They fell to the ground. Travis was pinned and the metallic taste of blood ran across his tongue as his head jolted with the force of another strike. He had to take control.

  Mustering all the strength he could, Travis propelled the man backward and held him to the ground. He struck the man’s face, again and again.

  The man tried to shuffle away, but Travis grabbed at his collar. He heard the rasp of fabric tearing as he drew his attacker closer. Straddling him, Travis fired blow after blow, only slowing when the man stopped struggling as hard.

  Travis could see that he had broken his opponent’s nose, possibly a cheek bone too.

  He drew his fist back for one last strike, but was distracted by a tap on the shoulder.

  Glancing back to see Hope’s teary eyes and wobbling lip, Travis released the man’s clothing and got immediately to his feet.

  Satisfied that he was in no fit state to give chase, Travis took his daughter by the hand, gathered their belongings, and left.

  Scarlett

  Riley brought the car to a stop at the bottom of a steep, rocky hill, with a fire lookout tower standing proudly at the peak. Stone steps
were carved into the side of the mound, and a wooden sign stood at the foot of them reading, Falloak Lookout.

  “It’ll be a slog, but if we climb to the top, we’ll be able to see for miles,” Riley observed. “We could drag the blankets up and sleep up there. Might be safer.”

  “Sure,” Scarlett sighed.

  She climbed out and made her way to the back of the car for her bag. Then, she began the climb to the top of Falloak Lookout.

  Riley and Quinlan were close behind. Riley couldn’t be sure whether Scarlett’s silence on the drive from Shadowhurst was due to hope or despair.

  The hike to the top was unsteady. The rock steps were uneven and weathered, and they were glad to make it without slipping.

  The rocks only got larger at the top, and a thin dirt path led to a small cabin one way, and the base of the tower the other. Quinlan noticed two solar panels fitted to the tower’s balcony and excitedly thought of his stomach.

  “You don’t suppose there might be cooking facilities up there, do you?” he panted. “It’d be nice even just to boil some water without the song and dance of starting a fire.”

  “That’s a good point. Let’s find out,” Scarlett answered.

  They trudged up the three flights of wooden steps to the top of the tower and entered through the open door. It was deceptively big on the inside. Around the edges of the room were cupboards for storage, a basic oven, under counter fridge, a table and two chairs, and a bed.

  In the centre stood a large, circular map of the area, complete with gold plated sights for pin-pointing specific areas. On the wall adjacent to the table hung another map of the area, used for marking out the locations of smoke or fires with string and pins.

  A small shelf above the bed held about a dozen well-used books, their pages dog-eared and yellowing.

  Riley investigated the table, absent-mindedly scanning the old notebook on its surface. Each used page was marked with a date and various times listing occurrences such as, new smoke report. Alongside the notebook, Riley found a radio, binoculars, a brown, leather strapped watch, and a whistle.

  Quinlan nosed through the cupboards, helping himself to a large roll of duct tape, several pouches of cous cous, and a sealed packet of biscuits.

  “Fucking jackpot!” he beamed. “Can I tempt anyone with a chocolate digestive?”

  “Oh my god,” Riley grinned back, “I can’t remember the last time I had a biscuit.”

  Quinlan gleefully opened them and sat down on the bed. He shovelled two in his mouth at once and held onto a further three before handing the pack to Riley.

  Scarlett scanned the horizon from the balcony with the binoculars from the table. The distance she could see was overwhelming, and the thought that she might have to scour all of it looking for Travis and Hope made her dizzy. She wasn’t deterred. Shadowhurst had proved fruitful, even if all she found were Travis’ socks and boots, and her daughter’s drawings, they were there. They’d made it that far and survived.

  Scarlett tugged at her hairband and allowed it to glide down her ponytail. Her scalp ached with the release of the pressure and she ran her fingers through her hair a few times. She felt the breeze blow through it, and strands found their way onto her neck and chest, sending a shiver through her; a sensation she had missed.

  “I’ve rescued the biscuits from Quinlan.” Riley’s voice startled her and she turned to face him. He could see that he’d frightened her, “Sorry, Scar.”

  He watched her hair dancing around her face, perfectly framing it. She looked completely different with her hair down. Momentarily distracted by her appeal, Riley slowly offered the packet of biscuits.

  Scarlett reached her hand in and took one. The chocolate was coated with a white bloom and the biscuit felt soft, but Scarlett longed for the sweetness of chocolate.

  “There’s a river a few miles that way,” Scarlett said, pointing past Riley, “looks like some woodland too. Might be worth exploring. But we should rest first. I’m exhausted.”

  “I think we could probably sleep up here tonight,” Riley agreed. “Unfortunately the stove is gas, so we’ll have to make a fire outside to heat some water, but at least we have something to eat.”

  “What about that cabin?”

  “We can check it out, but I don’t think it’ll amount to much. We can lock the door up here too. Not that I think anything will find us up here.”

  Scarlett nodded, chewing on her soft biscuit, before pointing to a large fenced off building in the distance.

  “What do you think that is?” she asked, handing Riley the binoculars.

  Riley gazed into them and slowly lowered them again, still apparently staring at the structure.

  “I know exactly what that is. That’s the base me and some of the others were supposed to be stationed at when the shit hit the fan,” he said disbelievingly.

  “An army base?”

  Riley nodded, “It was set up as a medical facility at the beginning.”

  “Maybe we should go there?”

  “It’s quite a way off from the river though. Let’s make a decision in the morning. I’m going to head down and get the fire started. I’m starving.”

  Scarlett's eyes followed Riley as he left her on the balcony. She already knew that Travis wasn't likely to risk going to a military base. He would stick with what he knew; a reliable water source and woodland to hunt fresh food.

  Travis

  Despite delving his head inside the open windows of every abandoned car they passed, Travis failed to secure another vehicle. The town of Shadowhurst was a lost cause; it was clear that dozens had been before them in search of shelter and supplies, and Travis didn't want to find out who – or what – might still be lurking.

  He took Hope's hand and led her out of the shithole, to continue their journey on the main road.

  Part of him hugely regretted not stopping at a military base he’d passed not long after the highway. It was a large, fenced off facility, but Travis had reasoned that the risk of running into hostile survivors was incredibly high somewhere like that. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d made the wrong call. Undoubtedly there would be food there. Perhaps actual soldiers, and at the very least, a new pair of boots. But it wasn’t a risk worth taking with a four-year-old and no back-up.

  The main road became rural and isolated within a few miles, and Travis took note of a meadow on one side. He considered trying to find food there. In a large, open space like that, he could hunt and watch Hope at the same time.

  “Hey, Hope,” he said, “let’s go for a walk over there. I’ll see if I can get us somethin’ to eat that ain’t freeze-dried.”

  The little girl nodded, and Travis led her to the wooden fence. She inelegantly climbed between two horizontal beams while Travis clambered over the top.

  Once in the meadow, Hope followed her father to the outskirts. Her leg caught on a line of brambles trailing along the ground.

  “Ouch!” she cried.

  Travis span around so fast that the movement made him dizzy, and he squatted next to his daughter while she inspected her leg.

  “What happened?”

  “That was sharp,” she whined. Travis lifted her trouser leg to her knee to find that her shin was bleeding from a shallow cut.

  “You’re alright,” he soothed.

  He took his bag off one shoulder and rummaged around until he found a pair of Hope’s socks. He poured a little water on them, bundled them up and tucked them against Hope’s cut, rolling her trouser leg down again. Travis turned back in the direction he was heading and investigated the ground. Although they’d hurt Hope, the brambles were a good indicator that there may be rabbits close by. He replaced the bag on his back in favour of his crossbow. He loaded it and continued walking slowly, gazing out over the meadow for signs of life.

  “Daddy, my leg really hurts,” Hope whimpered. “I wanna go home.”

  “I told you, we’re gonna find a new home. A better one, okay? Right now, I need you to be q
uiet.”

  Travis crouched and studied the ground. There were scratch marks in the dry soil, and his mouth began to water.

  “Daddy, I gotta pee.”

  Once again, his concentration was disturbed by his daughter, and his hunger and lethargy, along with Hope’s complaining, allowed a glimpse of anger to bubble to the surface.

  “Fuck,” he mumbled before turning to his daughter. “I ain’t gonna catch a damn thing with your noise, Hope.”

  Hope stared back at him and Travis watched her eyes glaze over with tears. Her head drooped forward and she whispered a sad apology.

  When Travis lifted his head again, he saw the head and ears of an adult rabbit poking out over the grass. Immediately, he brought the stock of his crossbow to his shoulder, aimed and fired. He remained still until he saw the animal fall with a bolt through its head.

  Travis ran to claim his kill before he forgot where it fell. He hoisted it up by the ears triumphantly and span around to show his daughter.

  She wasn’t there. Hope hadn’t followed him to the rabbit, and she wasn’t near the brambles. Travis’ stomach lurched.

  “Hope!” he yelled, already breaking out in a sweat from the fear. “Hope!”

  He sprinted back toward the brambles and spun three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, frantically trying to focus his eyes.

  Finally, he spotted her, back in the direction they’d entered the meadow from. He raced toward her and snatched her up into his arms, holding her close. Hope could hear her father’s relieved panting and took hold of his face with one hand.

  “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

  “I couldn’t find you, Hope. I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  The little girl held up a fistful of wildflowers in front of her father’s face and grinned.

  “These are for Mama.”

  The guilt that Travis already felt for snapping at her was suddenly amplified, and he gently stood her on the ground.

  “She’ll love them,” he said sadly.

  “Rabbit!” Hope beamed, pointing at the lifeless creature hanging from Travis’ hand.