Travis sighed, “Yeah. Let’s get this little guy ready to eat.”
Travis built a fire in the meadow and he and his daughter settled down beside it. Hope watched diligently as her father made careful incisions down the rabbit’s body from the base of its ribs. He glanced at Hope, pleased that she was taking an interest.
“You gotta do this bit real carefully,” he explained. “You don’t wanna pierce the guts, ‘cause it gets messy.”
While Travis delved his hand inside the animal, pulling out the offal, he talked Hope through some of the parts; kidneys, liver, stomach, heart and lungs. She listened assiduously, leaning on her father’s arm.
“Next,” he said, turning the animal around, “you wanna get rid of the legs and head.”
It took some work with his spare hunting knife, but Travis cut through the legs at the knee joints, followed by the head. “Then, we can get rid of the fur.”
He turned his attention back to the rabbit’s hind legs and began gently rubbing the knife along the skin, separating it from the meat.
“Yuck.”
“Yeah, yuck. But it’s gonna taste real good. We just need some nice sticks so we can cook it over the fire.”
Once they’d filled their bellies, Travis led Hope to the edge of the meadow again and showed her some edible plants.
For the first time since that day, Travis was having fun. Despite having to travel barefoot, he felt something very close to contentedness while he taught his daughter how to forage.
He realised that, despite what she’d been through; all that she’d witnessed, Hope was still capable of experiencing joy, and somehow, her four-year-old mind could still perceive beauty and wonder in her surroundings. He finally appreciated that he was learning just as much from her as she was from him.
“You don’t wanna eat anythin’ with umbrella shaped flowers.”
“What’s a umbrella?” Hope frowned.
“Oh.” Travis suddenly realised that she would have absolutely no idea what an umbrella was. He wondered how many other once everyday things she’d never seen. “An umbrella is what people used to use to keep dry in the rain.”
“In the old times, Daddy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. In the old times.”
Leaving the meadow, Travis spotted a bush running the length of the road, leading to a concrete bridge over the river. He took Hope’s tiny hand and led her to it. It was covered in untouched blackberries and, picking a fistful, he handed one to Hope.
“These are called blackberries. They were Mama’s favourite.”
“Where is Mama?”
Changing the subject, Travis crouched down and retrieved the canteen from his rucksack. He opened the lid and poured a quarter of the water out onto the soil.
“As long as you’re near woodland, or meadows or anythin’ like that, you ain’t never gonna run out of food.” Gently digging into the earth, Travis pulled out a worm. Hope squatted beside her father and gingerly took the writhing creature from him. “They taste better than they look, I promise.”
She held the worm in front of her face, investigating the tiny, squirming being for a moment, before sniffing it and eventually dropping it into her mouth. She squinted as it wriggled around, and quickly chomped down on its twisting body, rendering it dead. She couldn’t taste much beyond the earthy, bitter flavour of the mud it had been crawling through, and it had a slightly gritty texture.
Hope was still hungry and eager to please her father by showing off what she’d learned. She stood and began studying the ground, moving away from Travis in an attempt to claim a patch of dirt and start from scratch. She chose to squat down next to a gap in the bushes closer to the bridge, and held out her hand.
“Water,” she demanded, and Travis handed over the canteen.
Hope poured a little out and gave it back, digging her fingers into the mud. She scooped at the dirt, growing quickly frustrated that she hadn’t been immediately victorious. She decided that she was working at the wrong angle and shifted her body around so that her back was to the gap in the bushes. She shuffled backward as she burrowed through the dirt, and only then did Travis notice the sheer drop behind his little girl. The bushes had hidden it well and he had been distracted by passing on his knowledge.
He didn’t want to startle her, but he had to get her out of harm’s way. Creeping closer, Travis slowly reached out for her arm just as she looked up at him.
“Hope, you really need to take Daddy’s hand, alright?”
Instinctively, the little girl spun around, following her father’s gaze. The drop surprised her and her little legs wobbled with unsteadiness. Travis quickly strode forward and grabbed her elbow, shocking her even more. She flinched and her foot slipped.
Stepping forward, Travis picked her up and spun her around. In his haste, he’d put himself on the edge and his feet were now teetering uncomfortably. When his foot shifted on the dry dirt, he quickly released Hope, pushing her back onto her backside so as not to drag her down too.
Before Travis had time to realise what had happened, he was tumbling down the slope.
Part way, his leg collided with a chunk of rock that was embedded in the bone-dry dirt, and the crack that followed sounded remarkably similar to a wood bat shattering and crushing gravel underfoot.
When he landed, he barely had time to gather his wits before waves of pain flooded every nerve in his body, like they were gasoline and he’d lit a match – whoosh! Laying at the bottom of the hill, it took Travis several seconds to realise that breathing was necessary, and when he did, he cried out in agony. His shin was on fire and he sat up, rolling his trouser leg to his knee to examine the damage. It was swelling already, and the pain was like a firing canon, running from his ankle to his hip.
There was nothing he could do. Chills were running through him and he was overcome by nausea, with droplets of sweat rapidly forming on his face, mixing with the blood which was seeping down from his forehead. He laid back onto the grass, dizzy and disorientated. It was cold, and his gaze drifted to the peak that he’d fallen from. There was Hope. She was looking down at her father, her face awash with terror. Travis could see that her mouth was wide open, her eyes and nose scrunched up, and her face flushing red. He knew that she was crying, but the only thing he could hear was a faint ringing which was growing louder with each passing second.
He willed his body to move; to stand, but it was futile. His vision narrowed like a feathery black fog curling inward from the edges, until it was filled with static and lights as though he’d been rubbing his eyes for too long.
Taking a gasping breath, Travis wrenched his eyes open, and his daughter’s screams sent terror shooting through every fibre of his being. She was calling for him; her voice was shrill and becoming hoarse.
“Daddy, get up!” she screeched.
Still flat on the ground, Travis saw that Hope was frantically looking around, with tears dripping from her chin. He realised that he must have lost consciousness, although he had no idea how much time had passed.
“Daddy, the monsters are coming!”
Hope’s cries were filled with desperation and trepidation, and her words dissolved into more ear-splitting shrieks while she hugged herself, trying to make herself disappear. Travis’ fear was quickly realised when he scanned the hill and clocked two shambling Roamers approaching his little girl. The pain was blinding him, but he somehow tore his hunting knife from his belt and, grunting and groaning, mustered the energy to throw it directly into the head of the Biter closest to Hope.
Next, he stretched his arm out to the right, desperately panting and grappling for his crossbow. At that moment, it almost felt too heavy and cumbersome for him to lift. Grumbling and wheezing with the strain, he dragged it onto his chest, aiming as best he could from the angle he was at, and fired the loaded bolt into the second Roamer’s skull.
Hope was immobile and sobbing, staring at the rotting piles of flesh beside her, but Travis was still woozy. He dropped t
he ‘bow and stared up at her.
“Daddy’s alright,” he panted. “I’m comin’ back, Hope. Stay right there so I can see you.”
He had no idea how he would get to her. He leant on his elbows to better observe his surroundings. But Travis didn’t have a chance to fully rid himself of the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach before he heard the raspy, panted calls of the sprinters. Clearly, Hope had already seen them; she was in full panic, crouching and covering her head, still flooding the area with her screams.
Travis lay helplessly in the ditch, his face contorting with pre-emptive grief, unable to believe that he was about to see his daughter die. He desperately shouted to her, trying in vain to get to his feet.
“The knife! Hope, get the knife!”
He could see them now. Their dirty, veiny, outstretched hands reaching for his little girl, their mouths hungrily hanging open, baring teeth clogged with partially chewed remains.
His arms gave way and he crashed back to the ground, sobbing irrepressibly. He knew that there was no way Hope could defend herself. Maybe, by some miracle, she might have the strength to hoist the knife from the lifeless cranium at her feet and kill her aggressors before they sank their teeth in.
It was a matter of seconds before his daughter’s life would be ended in the most horrific way. Travis squeezed his eyes shut and his heart pounded in his chest. In those moments, he thought about Scarlett and how he should have honoured her properly by staying put. He’d let his girls down and now Hope was going to be ripped apart. He was going to be alone again.
Growling, he slammed his fists on the ground with frustration; furious with himself for being responsible for Hope’s impending death, and unable to do anything to prevent it. He had failed them both. He’d failed to keep the one promise that he’d made; that he would always protect their baby. In those uncertain seconds, Travis resolved that it was time he gave in. He’d rather share Hope’s fate than live through it and carry on alone. After all this time, he never wanted to be alone again.
Gunfire quickly sparked his attention. He sat up once more to look for his daughter and could clearly hear a man’s voice. Four more gunshots sounded, and Travis watched one of the lifeless runners tumble slowly down the hill, its tattered clothes snagging on sticks and rocks as it fell, eventually making contact with his foot.
“We’ve got a survivor, it’s a little girl,” the man said. “She seems fine. I’ll check her for bites.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ touch her!” Travis yelled, his voice brittle and stentorian all at once.
The man got to his hands and knees and peered down at Travis before bringing a walkie talkie to his lips.
“Make that two survivors. One female child and an adult male. The male is badly injured. Bring a vehicle and radio Kate.”
Chapter Seven
Scarlett
Scarlett was sitting cross-legged on a rock, fiddling with Number Six’s collar. The red leather was worn and cracked, and Scarlett rubbed her thumb over the tatty hole where the buckle was always fastened. She seriously missed the soppy old dog and his aptitude for calming her.
Her optimism had already been replaced by doubt. She couldn't help thinking about what jumping from that classroom window could do to a four-year-old. Even Travis; she knew him well enough to know that he would be weary, and probably scared by the responsibility of keeping their daughter safe. She hoped that, at some point, he would have a moment of clarity and turn around. Perhaps they would be lucky enough to find each other on his journey back to Newhill.
When she heard Quinlan approaching, she hastily looped the collar back in her belt, fastening it on the same hole. He sat down next to her, nudging her arm.
“You alright?” She looked at him briefly and nodded. “You look shattered.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You must be too.”
“I am. But the good news is that Riley and I, otherwise known as your knights in shining armour, have hauled the blankets up from the car, and the bed in the tower is just about big enough for all of us to have a comfortable night.” Scarlett smiled at him.
“Knights in shining armour? I think you mean idiots in tinfoil,” she chuckled. “Thank you. You go and get your head down. I’ll be right there.”
“I like to be the little spoon.”
Scarlett forced a snigger while Quinlan stood with a grunt and made his way to the steps, swapping places with Riley. He sat down and stared at Scarlett in the way that only he could; with empathy, concern and pity, all at the same time.
“I’m just tired,” Scarlett said knowingly.
“I know you better than that, Scar.”
Scarlett paused. She wasn’t sure she wanted his pity, but that was almost certainly what she’d get. What she needed at that moment was for Riley to crack a joke and follow it up with, “They’re probably just one step ahead of us.”
“We’re not going to find them, are we?” she said candidly. Riley sighed; he knew she was probably right. “You can be honest with me, Riley. It’s been weeks and the only lead we’ve had was a pair of sweaty old socks.”
Riley shifted so that his whole body was facing her.
“What I think isn’t important. Quin and I, we’re here to help you, to support you.”
“I’m asking for your opinion. Do you think we should go back?”
“That’s not my decision to make. But if you really want to know…” He studied her face, saw her desperation for him to say the right thing, and reconsidered his answer, “I think that Hope needs her Mama. I think Travis needs to know that you’re still alive, and I think that they both need to know how much you love them. And that won’t happen if you give up.”
“But I’m tired, Riley. I’m so tired. And what if Travis has told Hope that I’m dead? What would it do to her if I showed up?”
“All Hope is going to be concerned about is that she has her mother back. Can you imagine the looks on their faces? Travis has spent all this time thinking that the only woman he’s ever loved either shot herself in the head or turned.” He took her hands. “If the tables were turned and Travis was the one out here looking for you and your daughter, would he give up?”
“Not a chance.”
“And what would he say to you right now?”
“He’d tell me to suck it up and get on with it.” She looked at the ground and smiled, mimicking Travis’ accent, “Stop thinkin’ about yourself and wallowin’ in self-pity.”
“Well then. In the morning, we’ll pack up and keep going. We’ll take the map from the wall up there, and you tell me where we’re going.”
Scarlett nodded and gave a mock salute, and Riley quickly rubbed her shoulder, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. He stood, holding out his hand for her. She took it and got to her feet, but Riley didn’t let go.
“What?” Scarlett said.
Riley smiled, cleared his throat and began to sing:
“Was I drawn into your orbit,
Or were you drawn into mine?
In any case, you’ve given me
A new reason to shine.”
Scarlett finally gave a genuine laugh and Riley pulled her closer, continuing to sing as he danced with her like he did on the day they met.
“I don't know where you came from
Or the way the wind will blow.
I only know I'll follow you
No matter where you go.
And when the candles start to fade
Slowly, we'll descend
But I will never be afraid.
And even as we start to fall
I won't shed a tear,
‘Cause for a time, we had it all.”
When he’d finished, Riley drew Scarlett into a hug and instructed her to go to bed. He watched as she dragged herself up the stairs.
The sky had been unrelentingly bright all day, and as night crept closer it wasn’t giving up without a fight. The streaming clouds were awash with intense pinks and oranges; like a fire was burning pass
ionately on the horizon, appearing to Riley like a drawn-out end to a summer’s day. The only difference was the chill he felt in his bones.
The world fell still for him as he gazed skyward, remembering for the first time in a while just how deceptively beautiful it could seem. He felt as though he was being mocked when he turned to follow Scarlett, noticing a striking contrast in the other direction. It was grey, miserable and dark, and rain clouds were threatening to extinguish the campfire. Thus, Riley decided, at the very least, that he would attempt to get some sleep.
Inside the tower, Quinlan and Scarlett were already sleeping back-to-back. Scarlett had had the presence of mind to leave enough room for Riley to squeeze in next to her, and Riley slipped off his boots, too cold to remove anything else, and sidled in.
He pulled his blanket over himself enough to cover half of his torso and rolled over to observe Scarlett’s sleeping face; the vulnerability unconsciousness gave her made Riley’s chest hurt.
The sun gave in to the night, but Riley still couldn’t ease his fatigue. He began to wonder how long they would be on the road before Scarlett permanently capitulated. Spring was coming to an end and it was late winter when they’d left Newhill. Despite his attempted pep-talk, what Riley had really wanted to say was that he thought they should go back. They were living hand-to-mouth, surviving each day by the skin of their teeth, looking for two people who may well have driven in the opposite direction after Shadowhurst.
Riley snapped back to reality when Scarlett’s expression contorted. She appeared to be in pain and began mumbling in her sleep. He didn’t want to disturb her. Her lethargy had stayed with her no matter how much she slept, and living on scraps of barely edible food wasn’t helping, so broken rest was the last thing she needed.
“Travis,” she garbled, “Travis, where is she?”
The rest of Scarlett’s words where inaudible. And then she started to cry, quietly repeating the word ‘no’ until it faded to a whisper.
Riley stroked her head to try and calm her without waking her up. It worked; her breathing slowed and her tears stopped flowing. Her hands were shaking, just under her chin. Riley took one and held onto it. By shuffling closer so that their foreheads were touching, he was able to drift off to sleep.
Roamers (Book 2): Fear. Loss. Survival. Hope. Page 6