All Roads End Here

by David Moody

  “Yes, as it happens, and we should avoid them. More guns than brains.”

  “You burned all your bridges, then? Would you not be welcome?”

  “Quite the opposite. They’d have me back in a heartbeat.”

  “So what’s the issue?”

  “I just think that in a shitty situation like this, a person’s sense of public duty will only last so long, know what I’m saying? If push comes to shove, they’d throw me under the bus or put a bullet in my head as fast as they would a Hater. Maybe even faster.”

  “Every man for himself, eh?”

  “In my experience, yes.”

  “So why the crowds around there? Must be something worth having.”

  “Word gets around. I could think of better places to go begging, though.”

  Matt braces himself against the wind and crosses to the other side of the hospital roof to look out over No Man’s Land and the wastelands beyond.

  “What’s going on out there?” Jason asks. There are definite signs of activity beyond the border and toward the outer edge of the dead zone. “More militia?”

  “Not sure…” Matt replies, intrigued.

  “Don’t look like military to me. Where’s the air cover for a start? I heard they never send people in on the ground without air cover.”

  He has a point.

  “It’s too far away for another attack on the border,” Matt observes. “Some kind of ground offensive?”

  Role reversal. Now it’s Jason whose connecting the dots. “Don’t think so. If it was a ground offensive they’d be pushing out from the city, wouldn’t they?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Whoever that is out there, they’re coming this way.”

  “But they’re not, are they?” Matt says. “Watch them. They get so close, then they stop.”

  “Weird.”

  Jason digs around in his bag and fishes out a pair of binoculars. “You didn’t think to get those out earlier?” Matt asks.

  “Wasn’t sure I’d need them. Brought them along just in case.”

  Matt gives him a few seconds to focus and adjust, then asks the obvious question. “Well? What do you see?”

  Jason’s quiet. Too quiet. He scans the horizon from left to right and back again and the longer he’s looking, the more Matt’s concerned. He nudges Jason, who then hands the binoculars over.

  Matt immediately understands Jason’s reluctance to speak. There’s no visible uniformity or order to the mass of vehicles he can see in the distance, nor to the many figures moving to and fro between them. What there is, however, is an undeniable shared purpose and an unquestionable intent.

  “Haters,” Matt says. “Fucking hundreds of them.”

  “Again, though, where’s the air cover? Why aren’t the military blowing the shit out of them?”

  “Because from what I’ve seen of the military, I think it’s less about civil defense now, more self-defense. They’re less interested in protecting us, more concerned with looking after themselves.”

  “So all those Haters … why don’t they just attack?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Looks to me like they’re strengthening their numbers. Building up an army big enough to try and take this place from under us.”

  “Then we have to get out of here.”

  “And go where? There’s no way out and nowhere to go. Right now I think our only option is to keep doing what we’re doing—”

  “—and just wait for it all to blow over?” Jason interrupts.

  “If you have a better idea then let me know, because I’m rapidly running out of options. Looks like we’re under siege.”

  26

  To stay locked away in the house and do nothing just isn’t in Matt’s nature, no matter how bleak things look. For the next four days he and Jason are looting from dusk till dawn to build up a decent stockpile of supplies. They target unremarkable-looking residential properties mostly, quickly developing a serviceable double-act routine: look for the houses where there are no obvious signs of life, or very obvious signs of death, then stake them out to be sure. Once they’re as certain as they can be that no one’s coming in or going out, they’ll get closer. Once they’re sure the houses are empty, they break in and strip whatever they can find.

  There’s slim pickings to be had. The effort involved does not directly translate into results. They’re more than three months into the fighting. Even if there was food here once, it’s almost certainly been used up, stolen, or gone bad by now.

  They find plenty of bodies, though. In one house yesterday they were attacked by its sole remaining occupant who they’d presumed was dead. She’d crawled across the corpses of her housemates to get to them, disentangling herself from a mass of death. Events had clearly driven her out of her mind. She had all the ferocity of a Hater, but lacked the intent.

  The military compound where Matt first encountered Franklin and Estelle is the last place he can think of trying. He’d previously made a conscious decision to stay away, but right now the military looks like their only remaining option. No one else is going to risk stealing from the CDF. He knows you’d have to either be desperate or a real fucking idiot to try it. Right now, he thinks he might be both.

  * * *

  The compound has been overrun. This place had been a walled oasis of space in the midst of the otherwise endless congestion, but not today. The entrance gate lies buckled and smashed, brought down by a garbage truck which has been abandoned in the courtyard.

  Jason hesitates when he sees the crowds. “Is there any point?”

  “We’re here now,” Matt replies, already wading into the masses.

  They go everywhere, checking the parts of the complex Matt knew and those he hadn’t previously explored. “Waste of fucking time,” Jason grumbles when they’ve completed almost a full circuit. “Doesn’t look like your mates put up much of a fight.”

  “They weren’t my mates,” Matt quickly corrects him. “Think about what you’re saying, though.”

  “What?”

  “How many times have I told you to not just accept everything you’re seeing? To think about why instead of just what?”

  “You piss me off when you get pretentious like this.”

  “I’m being serious. Look around. What do you see?”

  “Loads of people looking for stuff that isn’t there.”

  “My point exactly. Where’s the weaponry? The CDF people who were based here would have defended themselves. They were heavily armed, for Christ’s sake. Where’s the battle damage and the bodies?”

  “So you’re saying they abandoned this place?”

  “Exactly. I reckon they packed up and shipped out while no one was looking.”

  He changes direction, heading back across the courtyard toward the stores building Estelle showed him first time he was here.

  “What’s this?” Jason asks as they enter the lockup.

  “When I first came here this place was filled with supplies, now there’s not a single scrap left. There was heavy duty, dual-controlled locks and everything. They must have airlifted everything out, either that or they’d been gradually emptying it over time.”

  “Great.”

  “There’s no point wasting any more time here. If the CDF had left anything worth taking, someone else would have had it by now. Let’s go home.”

  Back out on the street, Jason pulls Matt closer. “So who’s in charge when the military disappear? The people? Militias?”

  “You tell me. Scares me to think about it. It used to be whoever had the most cash or influence or fame … None of that counts for anything anymore. I guess it’ll be the strongest who survive.”

  “Those who can hit hardest?”

  “Probably.”

  “So the Haters, then? ’Cause that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? The strongest will survive, and that’s them. Stuck in here like this, we’re just sitting ducks.”

  27

  “I�
�m scared, Matt.”

  “I know you are, love. I am, too. We all are.”

  They’re lying in bed together, listening to the rain-soaked chaos consuming the streets outside. Another heavy downpour. Matt pities anyone who’s out there tonight. He pictures people struggling to rescue the little they have left from raging torrents and waterfalls, storm drains failing to cope with the deluge. He imagines already overcrowded buildings becoming busier still as people look for shelter, rammed up against each other until they’re unable to move.

  “So what are we going to do?”

  He doesn’t immediately answer. His head’s full of conflicting thoughts.

  “That makes me feel even worse,” she says.

  “What does?”

  “Your silence. You’ve always been so sensible, so grounded. My friends used to say you were boring and safe, but they didn’t know you like I did. You’re always weighing up the options and considering all the possible outcomes. I reckon that’s how you managed to get back home when everyone else was panicking and fighting.”

  “So why do you feel worse now?”

  “I know you better than anyone, and I know that when you’re quiet like this, you’re thinking. And the longer you’re quiet, the more it makes me think you don’t have an answer. Don’t bullshit me, Matt, please. The time for that’s long gone.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “And don’t apologize. You don’t need to. Just answer me honestly. What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” he admits. She must have asked him that exact same question upward of a hundred times since he got home, but before today he’s always had some kind of lifeline to throw to her.

  But not tonight.

  All their escape routes have been blocked off.

  There’s no way they can leave the city. The risks were already too great, and that was before he saw the Hater activity out in the wastelands from the hospital roof. The fact the population appears to have been largely abandoned by the CDF compounds the hopelessness of their position.

  Hell, who’s he kidding? It’s getting too dangerous to even leave the house. From what he’s seen he thinks the streets inside the barriers will become as wild as what’s left of the world outside. He thinks back to when he and Jason looted the hospital ruin, and when Jason suggested they should stay there. Matt had argued that the building would inevitably become a tomb for them, but isn’t that what the city itself has become for the six people in this house and hundreds of thousands of others? How long will they last here, struggling to eke out a meager existence on the derisory amount of food they’ve managed to forage over the last few days?

  Since the first death on Skek all those months ago, Matt’s tried to remain positive in the face of increasing uncertainty. As his colleagues were picked off one by one on the island, he was still able to cling on to something. The need to get back home to Jen kept him moving forward, and he allowed nothing else to get in his way. Even when he’d made it back to the mainland, when the stakes felt like they were increasing by the hour, almost by the minute, he was still intent on getting back to this house and Jen.

  And for a time, even after he’d made it home, he remained focused. Provide for Jen, protect Jen, make sure we’re both okay … Tonight, though, things feel very different. Tonight, for the first time, he can’t see any way out. It feels like they’re just waiting for the inevitable.

  28

  East Kent Road always used to be a desirable address: a quiet little road in a quiet part of town. But there’s nothing quiet or desirable about this place today. The rain hasn’t let up, and it’s now so heavy that at times it’s like a mist, making it impossible to see. The water puddles and pools in the gutters, forming huge lakes because there’s so much detritus that the drains are blocked and there’s nowhere for the standing water to go. Yesterday’s streams have become raging rivers of foul-smelling water. “Just when you think this place can’t get any worse,” Mrs. Walker says to Jen, “it does.”

  Over the last couple of weeks, the number of people living in the streets here has grown exponentially. Outside the house, the floods have caused chaos.

  “They’re in the garden, Matt,” Jen says, watching from behind the net curtains in the bedroom.

  “And as long as they don’t try and get in the house, it’ll be okay. If we went out there and forced them to move on, more would only take their place.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I’ve got it covered. I took the shed apart last night. I’ll use the planks to board up the doors if I have to and we’ll move Mrs. Walker and the kids into the back of the house. Let them think there’s no one here.”

  “What, apart from the bloke doing the hammering?”

  “Give me a break. I’m trying my best here.”

  “I know, but what is this, Matt? Night of the bloody Living Dead? We’ll all end up locked in the attic at this rate.”

  She has a point.

  “Maybe we will. There are worse places, though, believe me. Look, when the rainwater subsides there will be more space outside again and they’ll start to spread back out. It’s only because the road and pavements are flooded that they’ve moved onto the gardens.”

  “I’m not convinced.” Right on cue, someone starts hammering the door. “See,” she says.

  “Shit,” Matt says. He wasn’t expecting that. He moves toward the top of the stairs, but she grabs his arm and pulls him back.

  “Don’t. Just ignore it.”

  “I can’t. I’ll just go and see.”

  “Please, Matt … Like you said, let them think there’s no one here.”

  He shakes her off. Heart thumping and feeling unprepared for the inevitable confrontation, he goes down and peers out through the spyhole.

  Is this better or worse? He can’t decide. He rests his head against the door, trying to process who he’s just seen out there. More knocking. This time it doesn’t stop.

  “Well?” Jen demands from the top of the steps, frantic.

  “It’s okay. I know who it is. Stay here.”

  Before she can protest, Matt goes outside to speak to Franklin. He shuts the door behind him.

  “How the hell did you find me?”

  “It’s taken a while,” Franklin replies. Matt notices he’s wearing civvies. Is he trying to hide the fact he’s CDF, or is he now a deserter? “I’ve been looking for you for days.”

  “Why?”

  “Anywhere we can talk?”

  “You’re not coming in, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Fine. We’ll do it out here.”

  “I don’t see we’ve got much to talk about.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Look, mate, stop pissing me about. This is important.”

  “Why should I believe you? I was the bait on the end of your line, remember?”

  “Listen, if you don’t talk to me, you’ll regret it.”

  “Is that a threat? I can look after myself.”

  “Yourself, maybe, but what about that girlfriend of yours I saw watching from the window just now? She didn’t look too happy.”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “With pleasure. Let’s cut the crap, though. If you don’t talk to me then you’re both as good as dead.”

  “No thanks, Franklin. I’m through with you and your crazy friends.”

  Matt goes to shut the door but Franklin’s boot is in the way. The soldier has a pistol aimed at Matt’s gut, point-blank range, hidden from the crowds around by his long trench coat. “I’m not asking, I’m telling. Get your hunting gear on, mate, we’re leaving.”

  * * *

  He thought it might be better out here in the fresh air after the stale confines of their overcrowded house, but it fucking stinks out here. Stagnant water and sewage. But it’s not the smell that’s making Matt’s guts churn, it’s nerves. His pulse is racing, and its pace increases tenfold when they rou
nd the next corner. The pug-nosed military vehicle he remembers from the Hater hunts is here, tucked away in the shadows. Jayce, Franklin’s ever-present driver, is leaning against it with arms crossed defiantly, watching them make their way through the heaving crowds.

  “What the hell am I doing?” Matt says to no one in particular. Franklin, a step behind him, loaded pistol still pressed against his back, has his answer ready.

  “You’re doing exactly what you need to do. You’re helping me, and you’re doing something that’s going to give you and your girl a fighting chance.”

  29

  “Where are we going?” Matt’s question goes unanswered. He asks again, frustrated by the lack of response. It’s just him, Jayce, and Franklin in the military transport, and they’ve barely said a word to him. “We’re pretty low on numbers if we’re hunting,” he says.

  “Just shut up,” Jayce tells him, her eyes fixed on what’s left of the road ahead, wipers clattering back and forth across the glass. They followed their well-worn but otherwise little-known route out of the city to get here, but then drove in the opposite direction to usual. Matt’s sitting behind her in the back of the vehicle, craning his neck to work out where they are. He can’t see much through the grille-covered windows. “Keep your bloody head down,” she curses. “Jesus Christ, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  Matt slides back into his seat. He’s seen enough to know they’re south of the city. Before the apocalypse he remembers there being an unusually sharp dividing line between the urban and suburban here, and it strikes him this is exactly the kind of place they don’t want to be. “What are we doing out here?” he hisses at Franklin, who’s sitting alongside him, also keeping low. “There’s nothing much ’round these parts, you know? You probably won’t find Haters here, and there’s fuck all around if you’re thinking about looting.”

  “We’re not looting.”

  “Then if we’re not looting and we’re not hunting, what are we doing?” Matt demands.