by David Moody
At least this time his question elicits something resembling a half-decent response. “Just do me a favor and shut the fuck up. It’ll all make sense soon enough. You need to see this. Ask me all the questions you want later, but not here and not now. Understand?”
Jayce forces the trucklike vehicle up a steep hill, the engine struggling temporarily with the ascent, then takes a sharp left at the top, following a narrow track around into a country park. Now this place Matt definitely knows. It was a local beauty spot, though there’s little beautiful about it today. Many of the tall pine trees he remembers have been destroyed by fire. The wreck of a downed plane has carved a deep, black furrow in the scenery. There are bodies—what’s left of them—lying everywhere in various stages of decomposition. Some of the dead look relatively fresh but most are hideously withered and decayed. The fact that the death and devastation have extended out into isolated spots like this leaves Matt in absolutely no doubt as to the apparently endless reach of this infernal war.
Jayce revs the engine hard again and forces the vehicle off-road and up another steep rise. Matt remembers this, too. It’s a lookout. A local landmark. There’s an observation point up here with an uninterrupted three-sixty-degree view. She stops at the highest point then kills the engine and checks for movement.
“Get out,” Franklin says when Jayce signals that it’s safe.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. There’s no one up here but us. Get out.”
He’s deadly serious, and he’s also still armed. Matt does as he’s told, instinctively eyeing up escape routes should this all go shit-shaped. The local geography will work to his benefit if they’re attacked up here, he thinks. He’ll use the natural downward slopes to build up speed and he’ll run and keep running until he can’t go any farther. Getting down from the top of the hill is easy. Where he goes after that, though, is anyone’s guess. If he’s forced to travel at the pace which got him back to the city in the first place, it could take him a week or more to get back home. Much as he doesn’t like it, it’s another reason for sticking with Franklin and Jayce for now.
The viewpoint is a waist-high, semicircular gray stone construction with several brass relief maps which correspond visually to the location of certain distant landmarks: more hills, a church, parts of the city. But Matt’s not interested in the maps and what the world was, instead he’s looking out over what it now is. The city and its traumatized population are behind them. Ahead of them the wilderness stretches out forever. Franklin nudges Matt and hands him a pair of binoculars. He almost doesn’t want to take them because the less detail he sees, the better. He grudgingly holds the glasses up and soaks in the full extent of the devastation. “What do you see?” Franklin asks.
“A fucking ruin.”
“Correct. Look harder.”
Matt does as instructed. The view is immediately reminiscent of what he saw with Jason from the roof of the hospital. The longer he looks, the more movement he sees. “There’s still plenty going on out there. Lots of activity.”
“Correct again.”
“It’s all very one-sided. More Haters, but not a lot of CDF response.”
“No response at all, actually. You know the city gates are finally closed now?”
“No more room at the inn?”
“There hasn’t been a lot of room for a long time. The Hater attacks on the border have stopped, too. Had you noticed that?”
“I’d thought as much.”
“Doesn’t make sense, does it? The CDF stop defending the borders, and at the same time the Haters stop attacking.”
Matt agrees. “So what’s behind it?”
“Work it out for yourself. Go on, look closer at what’s going on out there.”
It’s hard to make out any order in the distant chaos. There’s constant fleeting, scurrying movement within the massed Hater ranks in places, but they’re largely camped in one spot, sitting and waiting. There are likely tens of thousands of them out there. “They know where we are, and they know we’re not going anywhere. I guess they’re biding their time, waiting to strike. Either that or they’re trying to starve us out.”
“Maybe.”
“I saw something similar on the other side of the city from the roof of the Royal Midlands a few days back.”
“Yep, we’re pretty much surrounded.”
“Why aren’t we carpet bombing them? They’re easy targets in such large numbers.”
“Word is the CDF has gone into lockdown at the airport. Every man for himself and all that shite. This is just one city, don’t forget. There’s a possibility we’re caning them elsewhere.”
“You think?”
“Not really.”
Matt continues to study the distant Haters. “So what are they planning?”
“Come on, man,” Jayce says, sounding exasperated. “Decode the behaviors. What would you do if you were in their shoes?”
“Their aim is only ever going to be to get rid of us, that much is a given,” he begins, thinking out loud, “but they’ll have their work cut out if they’re planning an attack. It’s shoddy and improvised, sure, but the camp’s relatively well fortified. It’ll take a certain amount of firepower to break through, and they just don’t have that down there, from what I can see, just numbers. People power. Hater power. They’ll have trouble getting into the camp, and it’ll cost them big-time. Aggressive as they are, they’ll still go down if they take a bullet. They don’t know what defenses we’ve got.”
“I agree,” Franklin says.
“So is this a siege? That was my first thought. Like I said, are they trying to starve us out?” He thinks further about what he’s just proposed, then talks himself out of it. “No, I don’t think so. That doesn’t fit. If that was the plan they’d be more visible. They’d want us to know they were there to send a message, let us know they’re waiting. But they won’t do that, because if they’re too close, it could leave them prone to attack. And it would take a hell of a lot of effort for them to do that. Self-control’s the thing they struggle with most. When they see us, when they know we’re near, they generally have no option but to attack. So unless your friend Joseph has worked his brainwashing magic on all those nasty bastards out there, they must be planning something else. If it’s not a direct attack and they’re not trying to intimidate us into submission, then they’re obviously trying to take a different tack.”
“You’re getting there,” Jayce says. “Christ, this is like pulling teeth.”
The penny drops.
“Wait. This isn’t about what the Haters are doing at all, is it? They’re surrounding us, and they’re waiting. Things are already on a knife-edge in the camp. It’s like a pressure cooker, and when it explodes…”
“Go on,” Franklin urges.
“When it explodes as it inevitably will, the hundreds of thousands of people in the city will have no option but to get out if they want to stay alive, and getting out means they’ll be forced out into the wastelands…”
“Which is exactly where the Haters are.”
“Christ, that’s it. They’re waiting for the camp to fall. If it goes down they’ll take us out in the thousands, those who aren’t killed in the initial panic. They’re not going to risk a full-on attack, they’re waiting for us to go to them. We’ll be even more vulnerable on the run. At least there are places to hide in the city.”
“Exactly right. And it’s not a question of if the camp falls, it’s when.”
“You’ve seen enough. We need to move,” Jayce says, and neither man argues. They both take cover in the back of the military transport again. Matt’s relieved to be out of sight.
Jayce drives at speed back down the track to the road, but instead of going back the way she came, she instead drives farther away from the camp. Matt senses the change of direction. “Wait … Where are you going? Thanks for the guided tour and all that, but we should be going the other way.”
“Not yet,” Franklin te
lls him. “We’re not done.”
Jayce accelerates again, heading deeper into Hater-held territory. Matt’s quick to point out the imminent danger. “You do realize you’re driving straight toward them, don’t you?” He shuffles in his seat to get a better view of the world outside. They’re motoring along a dual carriageway strewn with abandoned cars. There’s a blockade up ahead, people swarming all around it. Haters, they must be. “What the fuck is she doing, Franklin?”
“Trust me.”
“Trust you? Fuck, I can’t think of anyone I trust less.”
Franklin gets down on the floor of the vehicle and covers himself with a blanket, gesturing for Matt to get under with him.
“You’ve got about ten seconds,” Jayce says from the front. “Don’t make it your last ten seconds.”
Matt risks one final look out. Jesus, they’re in trouble now. The military truck is already attracting plenty of attention. All the attention, in fact. He’s only looking for a half second, but it’s long enough to see just about every visible Hater stop whatever they’re doing, pick up arms, and get ready to face the oncoming vehicle.
“Last chance,” Franklin says.
No chance, Matt thinks.
He gets down and tries to make himself as small as possible, finding his face uncomfortably close to Franklin’s. As much as he doubts the other man’s motives, he doesn’t think he’d be stupid enough to risk everything so spectacularly.
Matt tenses up as he visualizes the pack of rabid Haters that will be stampeding toward them now, the scent of Unchanged blood driving them wild. He braces himself, and is surprised when the truck comes to a slow, controlled halt. This is audacious even by Franklin’s standards. Matt listens for the sound of gunfire, because that’s the only way he can see them getting out of this impossible situation.
But in the driving seat, Jayce doesn’t panic. She doesn’t pull a gun or knife, she simply winds down the window and acknowledges the nearest Hater.
“What the fuck is she doing?” Matt hisses to Franklin, but Franklin doesn’t answer.
“Nice wheels,” he hears a man say.
“Yeah, came across it a few days back,” Jayce casually replies. “Thought it might be useful.”
“Where you heading?”
“Looking for some folks who are camped just outside Droitwich. Seen much activity that way?”
“Some decent numbers out toward Bromsgrove…”
The conversation sounds bizarrely relaxed. Must be a particularly dumb Hater, Matt thinks, because the only other explanation he can come up with seems impossible.
The truck starts to move again.
Matt stays where he is. Franklin lifts his head half a minute or so later then yanks the blanket off Matt, leaving him exposed. “Worked it out yet?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re both Haters?”
“Not me,” Franklin says. “She is.”
Jayce continues to watch Matt from the front. She can see the instinctive panic in his eyes. “Relax. You’ve spent hours with me. I’d have killed you by now if I was going to.”
“Thanks, that’s really reassuring. You could have told me,” he says.
“We could have, but we didn’t,” Franklin says. “Wasn’t worth the risk. Jayce is sound. She’s on-side, and that’s all you need to know. Now sit back down and strap yourself in, we’ve still got a lot to do.”
Matt does as he’s told, his mind racing. “So Joseph’s bullshit really works?”
“Well the jury’s still out on him,” Jayce explains. “I worked with a chap called Simon. And don’t go thinking it’s all one-way traffic and we’re all subscribing to the gospel according to Saint Joseph and seeing the error of our ways … some of us don’t want this war and we’ve chosen to make a stand. I think the essence of what Joseph and the others are saying is right. Fighting’s not the answer.”
“Jesus, I’ve heard it all now.”
“No, you’ve only heard half of it,” Franklin says ominously.
* * *
They’re driving for another half hour, maybe longer. Matt’s lost all sense of direction now and has no idea where they are. He’s forced to take cover with Franklin again several more times, but the roads are largely clear. He heard aircraft engine noise a while back and Franklin confirmed they’d skirted close to the CDF-controlled airport. Other than that, the only thing he knows with any certainty is that he’s farther from Jen than he wants to be. Farther than he should be. The fact he has a Hater chaperone makes him feel secure and vulnerable in equal measure.
Without warning there’s a sudden change in direction followed by a succession of several more sharp turns. The end of the line? “Stay low,” Jayce warns. “Plenty of movement around here.”
Matt figures they must have left the main road and are now in a housing estate or similar. He’s about to ask when the transport is plunged into darkness. It then comes to an abrupt stop. Matt barely even breathes. He’s ready for trouble, and though he can’t understand why they’d go to such lengths to bring him out here and kill him, right now he wouldn’t put it past either of them.
“Move,” Franklin orders.
It’s pitch black in here, wherever here is. Matt’s tense, ready to make a quick getaway in case this is the trap he fears. Avoidance is preferable; fighting a last resort. At least the darkness will give him half a chance, he thinks, although a half might be generous. His usual tactic would be to take his chances and run, but out here—wherever here is—he’s just as likely to run straight into a pack of Haters as anything. His options are reduced to zero when Franklin takes hold of his arm and pulls him out of the truck and into the darkness.
“If you wanted to get rid of me, why not just kick me out for the Haters?”
Franklin laughs. “Now don’t start giving me ideas. I’ve been trying to get rid of you for ages, but you keep coming back. You’re my good-luck charm, mate.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not, I’m serious. By all accounts you should have been dead a hundred times over or more, but you always manage to find a way out.”
The gloom begins to lift as Matt’s eyes become accustomed to the lack of light here. “What is this place?” he asks as he’s taken through a cavernous, warehouse-like building.
“Home,” Franklin answers. “At least it will be.”
“This was a printing house,” Jayce explains. “Don’t ask me anything more technical about it than that, because I can’t tell you.”
The floor space they’re currently crossing is vast and is dotted with long-silenced machinery. Huge, dust-covered rolls of paper sit on colossal spools at the beginning of numerous snaking production lines, all frozen mid-job. Matt’s taken aback by the sense of scale and the space. He can’t remember having this much room to move freely since before he left home for Skek. For a while he’s preoccupied, given an unexpected glance back into recent history. The printers must have been working on government contracts because the half-finished letters on the conveyor next to him are about benefits that’ll now never be paid into people’s bank accounts that’ll never again be used. It’s only after a few seconds that he finally reacts to what Franklin just said. “Wait. What did you mean, this is home?”
“Come with me,” Franklin says, and together they head deeper into the building. Beyond the main shop floor there are a succession of offices, equally preserved and untouched, abandoned mid-shift and mid-meeting. Beyond them, a staircase leads down into a basement full of now redundant computer equipment. It feels like a tomb. “We’re going to get all this cleared out eventually,” he explains. “It’ll give us more space.”
“When we found this place it was pretty much untouched,” Jayce says. “Why would anyone bother with a printing house?”
“So that’s why we’re based here,” Franklin continues. “There are other places nearby which attract all the attention.”
“Such as?” Matt asks, his mind racing.
“A couple of dis
tribution centers. Amazon, supermarkets, places like that.”
“Yeah, I can imagine there’s not a lot of stuff left there.”
“We’ve got a lot of it in here, to be honest,” Jayce says, and she pauses to open another door which has been secured with a padlock and chain. This second room appears to be watertight, airtight … everything-tight. She holds the door open then hands Matt a flashlight and nods for him to go through.
“Fuck me.”
He shines the light around a second, much larger underground space, and everywhere the light hits, he sees piles of supplies.
“This is where the UPS and power and all that was. Makes a perfect shelter,” Jayce explains.
“Who for?” he asks, still trying to come to terms with the scale and richness of this place.
“Well that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Franklin says.
“I’m guessing you two have spaces reserved. So who else? Your boss Estelle? The camp commissioner … Jenna whatever-her-name-was?”
“Nothing to do with either of them. Jenna Holbrook’s been dead for ages. She died a few weeks after the city-camp was established, but it was easier just to let people think she was still in charge.”
“Who then? Why are you showing this to me? We’re not exactly best buddies, Franklin. You left me for dead last time we worked together, so I’m hardly expecting my name to be on the guest list.”
“This is how we see things panning out,” Franklin explains, ignoring Matt’s antagonistic tone. “As you know, the remaining population of the camp is cut off and can’t go anywhere. The bulk of the military have either decamped to the airport, assumed control of the administration center, or have disappeared completely. We see the odd bit of aerial support these days, but nothing worth writing home about.”
Matt takes over, because after what he’s seen today he’s already played this scenario out in his mind. “So the camp’s going to reach tipping point sooner or later—probably sooner—and the place will implode. Anyone who manages to get out alive will be wiped out by those evil fuckers hovering on the outskirts. No offense,” he hastily adds, nervously looking over at Jayce and hoping he hasn’t pissed off the Hater in the room.