by David Moody
She’s right. Matt realizes how much he relied on the inefficient yet frequently effective military support provided by the CDF and militia squads when he was out in the field previously. “So what you’re saying is everyone’s trying to kill us?”
“It’s not just us. Right now I think everyone wants to kill everyone else. Shoot first, worry about who you’ve killed later.”
Matt can’t stand not being able to see. He figures that as they’re moving at breakneck speed along such an unpredictable route, if he keeps his head covered he can probably risk sitting up. The motion sickness and nerves are combining to deadly effect down on the floor. “Got to get up. Can’t hack it down here.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Probably. Anyway, like you said, if we’re under attack from both sides at once, I don’t think it matters who sees us.”
“Who sees you,” she reminds him, but he already knows that. He’s seen the way the Haters react—how they don’t react—when they make eye contact with Jayce and he knows exactly how they’ll react when they see him. Killing him will become their only focus. It wouldn’t matter if there were ten thousand Unchanged a mile down the road, Matt knows they’d all be forgotten in a heartbeat if just one poor Unchanged bastard was left standing front and center in full view. And right now, that poor bastard is him.
He hauls himself up into the seat next to Jayce and sits with his mouth hanging open, barely able to take in the scale of what’s unfolding up ahead of them. The city-camp is a mass of light and activity in the near distance, isolated and exposed deep in the blackness of everything else. Fires are raging. Helicopters, drones, and jets continue to crisscross through the skies overhead. Right now, with everyone and everything being steadily sucked toward it, he thinks it looks like a collapsing black hole. The city’s destruction is of such strength that it’s even sucking in the light, nothing being allowed to escape. He looks left and right at scenes reminiscent of an old war movie: a massive forward attack from the Hater ranks. “It’s like the end of days,” he says, and Jayce doesn’t disagree.
“They can’t suppress it,” she says. “They’ve waited long enough. Now they know the city’s in free fall, they’re going in for the kill.”
Until tonight the city-camp’s position gave the impression it was strong and defendable. Now its isolation leaves it looking desperately vulnerable; the last human outpost in an increasingly inhuman world. For the moment, Jayce and Matt have a modicum of protection by virtue of the fact they’re moving in the same direction as the Hater traffic. The journey back the other way will be a different matter altogether.
“Think the CDF will be able to hold them back?” Matt asks, though he already knows the answer.
Jayce’s response is brief and to the point.
“No fucking chance.”
Up ahead there’s a huge concentration of Hater fighters. It’s a blockade. In the time since they were last here, the fighters have used vehicle wrecks to sever this route in and out of the city. Now, with the way through narrowed and the flow of traffic controlled, a bottleneck has formed. The closer they get, the more Matt’s able to make out. It isn’t just the road that’s blocked, the Hater barricade stretches out in either direction. It’s not a substantial-looking defense by any means, but it doesn’t need to be. The odd wreck here, a pile of rubble there … just enough to mean there are no longer any clear routes in and out of the city, just enough to slow down the fleeing refugees. “They’re cutting the camp off from everything else.”
“There isn’t anything else,” Jayce reminds him. “Now get out of sight before someone sees you.”
He does as ordered. They’re still a hundred meters or so back, but it’s close enough and he slides down into the footwell and covers himself up.
The truck slows to a crawl, and Matt instinctively tightens into a smaller and smaller ball. Vehicles are queuing to get through, hordes of fighters salivating at the prospect of bringing down the Unchanged enclave. There’s an air of euphoria and expectation, and absolutely no fear. It’s infectious. Jayce, surrounded by them … one of them … does everything she can to hide her reasons for being here. She knows they’d kill her as quick as they’d kill an Unchanged if they knew.
But Christ, it’s hard for her to not be overcome by the collective fury on display here, the unquestionable hate. She feels it deep down in her gut. She can hide it, she can suppress it, she can do everything she can to try and deny it, but the fact is her instinctive bloodlust still remains, buried under layers. It’s a fundamental part of her being that’ll never fade. It’s at her core. As natural as breathing. But I can hold my breath, and I can hold the Hate, she tells herself, desperate to cling on.
There are cheers and shouts, thunderous roars of adrenaline-fueled excitement as each vehicle crosses the line and races toward the collapsing city. The truck barely squeezes through the narrow gap. Haters hammer on the sides of the vehicle as it passes through, the noise reaching a deafening crescendo.
Then it stops. Nothing but engine noise again.
“You can get up,” Jayce tells him. “We’re through.”
Matt braces himself against the unsteady movement of the truck and picks himself back up. He sits down, head still covered, and glances over at Jayce. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she replies, monosyllabic.
“I was starting to think we wouldn’t get through.”
“You’re not out of the woods yet.”
He catches her eye. There’s something about the way she regards him that’s changed, something slight and almost indistinguishable. There’s a coldness to her, a newfound focus, and it catches him off guard.
The endless ruination of No Man’s Land perpetuates the illusion of this being some medieval battle being fought with modern-day machines. Here amidst the mountains and valleys made of rubble, the ruins of the past, the definition and delineation of the roads has all but disappeared. The low light completes the deception. Each individual vehicle has to hunt for a way through, others following close behind when one manages to find a clear path. Occasionally an Unchanged military strike takes out one of the attackers. A well-aimed warhead slams into the front of a battered sedan that’s currently alongside the truck, and Matt watches in the side mirror as the flaming wreck rolls over and over and over behind them, disappearing into the dark.
In the chaos Matt’s become completely disoriented. “You know where we are?” Jayce swerves the truck to avoid a ruin, again making it feel like it’s about to overbalance. The other traffic around them has thinned out the deeper they’ve made it into No Man’s Land. The truck is one of the few vehicles to have made it this far and the darkness is beginning to feel impenetrable. The moon occasionally peeks out from behind the clouds when it dares, and its stark light helps Matt pick out the shapes of things; no details, just the faintest of outlines. He’s totally lost in this apparently endless devastation. “Do you know where we are?” he shouts at her again. “For fuck’s sake, Jayce, answer me.”
“Yes, I know where we are,” she replies. Her voice is monotone and flat, her eyes fixed forward. Another jet races out across the city and flies overhead, raining oblivion down on the Hater hordes still massing on the border behind them. Jayce watches the carnage in her mirrors, scores of people like her wiped out by an indiscriminate, white-hot wave of fire.
Another sharp turn and now, to Matt’s relief, there’s finally some familiarity to their surroundings. The edges of half-ruined buildings he recognizes start to come into focus, and once he’s recognized one place other landmarks begin to become clear. Way over to their distant left is the eerily comforting glow of the still burning landfill site he remembers. They’ve almost made it.
Jayce brakes hard. Almost tips the truck up onto its nose.
“What?” Matt asks, frantic.
She flicks the headlights onto full-beam and illuminates a mass of people up ahead, coming toward them. Scurrying, insectlike movement everywh
ere he looks. Some cover their eyes at the sudden brightness, but most just keep moving. They quickly reach and pass the truck, moving around either side of it like it’s a rock in the middle of a stream.
“The ship’s sinking,” Jayce announces ominously. “Your people here are the rats, getting out while they still can. Stupid fuckers don’t have a hope in hell. They’re heading straight to their deaths.”
But Matt’s not looking at any of the terrified faces in the surging crowds. Instead, he’s now looking directly at Jayce and is unable to turn away. That unnerving edge he thought he detected a moment ago, that uncertainty … he now senses it coming off her like a stench. The Hate.
“Don’t do this, Jayce,” he says. “Please, try and fight it.”
She grips the wheel and screws her eyes shut, dropping her head. “I can’t…”
“You can. Think about your brother. Think about everyone you’re helping here. Think about Franklin and the others…”
She breathes in deep, and Matt has no idea what she’s about to do. If she loses control now he’ll not get anywhere near the people waiting in the chapel. He feels for the door handle beside him, not wanting her to see, not wanting her to react …
Jayce sits up straight again and lets out a cry that’s a half-pitiful, half-terrifying scream of stifled pain. She lashes out, slamming her fists against the steering wheel and door, then shunts the truck forward again, pushing through the crowds until their numbers begin to thin slightly and she’s able to pick up a little more speed. The refugees are out here in massive numbers and yet he knows these are a mere fraction of those still to come.
These are the trickles of panic which precede the flood.
44
The chapel.
Matt’s reassured when a burst of light from an exploding munition illuminates the scene like a camera flash. Save for some minor damage to the roof at one end, the imposing building appears to still be standing defiant while all the newer buildings which have been built around it have crumbled.
There are people everywhere here, swarming through this space on their way out of the city. Their constant movements mask their true numbers, making it look like there are more of them than there actually are. “Are any of these ours?” Matt asks, aware that Jayce can only see as much—or as little—as him.
“No, the door’s still boarded up. Franklin told the group to stay in the basement whatever. Even if we never made it back, it’s safer down there.” She stops the truck in a pocket of space right in front of the chapel, then reverses back up to the door. “Get moving. I’ll stay here, you get them loaded up.”
Matt does as he’s told without hesitation. He jumps down from the cab and is immediately aware of a constant noise all around, an eerie, suffocating din. It’s the death throes of the camp. Until now the truck insulated them from the very worst of it, but all he can now hear is a succession of awful, horrific sounds which seem almost to be vying with each other for his attention. Screams of pain and fear. Savage attacks, some taking place in the distance and others close at hand. Uncontrolled panic. Anger, desperation, and confusion everywhere.
He forces himself to block it all out.
His only focus is the people in the chapel cellar and Jen.
He weaves through the throng to get to the chapel door and squeezes through the gap Jayce has left, knowing he has to move fast now because the second this crowd realizes the truck is heading back out of the city, every last fucker will be trying to hitch a lift. There’s a very real danger they’ll be overwhelmed, the truck filling so fast that there won’t be room for those who’ve been waiting underground for this moment for weeks on end. For now there are as many trying to get away from the truck as there are trying to move toward it.
It’s pitch black in the chapel but Matt remembers the way through. A voice calls out to him from the gloom. “Matt!” It’s Jason.
Thank fuck.
The relief he feels is overwhelming. “Get in the truck. Make sure you both get in the fucking truck.”
“Wait, Matt, I need you to—”
Matt screams back into the blackness. “No time. Get in the fucking truck! Now!”
Matt could disappear back out to the wastelands now he knows she’s here, but he has a job to do first. He feels his way through to the steps behind where the altar used to be, climbs down and lets the refugees out. He’s aware of muted panic in the cellar when the door first opens. Dull light spills out like a puddle. Inside a wave of people shuffle farther back instead of moving forward.
“The truck’s out front. If you want to stay alive I suggest you get on it now. The city’s going down in flames.”
They move like a sticky mass: once the first few start to shift, the rest follow, bound together almost as one, their speed increasing as they head up the steps and over to the chapel door. Jayce has reversed farther back so the truck’s almost up against the brickwork, preventing those outside from getting in. Matt can see Jason helping people up into the back.
Outside, other desperate people are starting to realize what’s happening. Many of those who’ve found themselves here by chance are beginning to sense a possible way out and are banging on the sides of the truck. The last of the group are helped up. As soon as he’s sure they’re all on board, Matt shouts to whoever can hear him. “Close the door. Close the fucking door!”
A man he doesn’t recognize stretches up and grabs the roller-shutter, then pulls it down and seals them in.
No time to waste. The noise outside continues to increase, and Matt knows he has to get out to Jayce to let her know they’re clear to leave. He drops to the ground and crawls under the truck on his belly, figuring this is the only way through. He scrambles back onto his feet and brutally shoves away a would-be escapee who’s about to try and steal his seat in the front. Grabbing hands pull him back into the crowd and he kicks out at them as he climbs into the cab, barely managing to pull himself up into his seat.
“Go!” Matt shouts at Jayce. “Now! Fucking move!”
But Jayce doesn’t react. There are masses of people crowded around the front of the truck now. She stares unblinking into a sea of desperate Unchanged faces looking back at her, pleading for help, demanding help. More of them try to pull Matt out of the cab and he grabs on to anything he can.
“Jayce, we need to go now,” he says again, clinging on to the edge of his seat for dear life, and the lightning flash of a nearby detonation seems to snap her out of her dangerous malaise. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
When she turns and looks at Matt, the answer to his question is immediately clear. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and before he can fully comprehend the enormity of what she’s saying, she launches an attack.
All the programming. All the work. All the dedication. All the control and the long-fought suppression of instinct … all undone. All gone. All forgotten.
As Jayce lunges toward him, Matt reacts with equal speed. She goes for his face, he dives for her feet and, in the process, he frees himself from the grasp of the crowd outside. Jayce freezes at the sight of another baying mass of Unchanged faces beneath her. Matt takes advantage of her momentary distraction to squeeze through the narrowest of gaps between the seat and the gears and handbrake, then drags himself up onto the driver’s seat on the other side of Jayce. No time to think, he shoves her in the small of her back and she half-falls, half-leaps out into the cold night air, fists flying.
Matt reaches across and snatches at the passenger door handle, pulling it shut, locking it, and doing everything he can to block out the panic that’s rapidly consuming the ever-growing crowd now that they realize there’s a Hater in their midst. Matt’s on autopilot, his survival instinct kicking in, knowing that everything that still matters to him is in the back of this truck, and knowing also that the lives of every last one of these people are his responsibility alone to protect. Adrenaline and fear stop him freezing up.
The noise inside the truck is deafening: is it the people i
n the back trying to get out, or those outside trying to get in? He glances in the side mirrors and sees that it’s the latter. The truck’s surrounded, and more people are converging on it by the second. They’re streaming through the devastation from all directions, attracted by the headlights and noise. Others do everything they can to get away from Jayce, who’s blood-soaked and killing freely now, and as she moves deeper into the mob, more people do everything they can to escape her reach. A slender strip of space opens up in front of the truck. Matt puts his foot down on the accelerator and stalls.
Fuck. Calm down. Don’t panic.
Hands shaking, he turns the key and starts the engine again, and this time he coaxes the heavy vehicle forward inch by inch, little baby steps, trying to nudge his way through the tightly packed masses. But they’re so dense now that they refuse to part and he wonders if this is how it’s going to end: stranded here in this truck and killed not by Haters, but by the population of the dying city preventing him from getting away.
He knows he has only one option left.
He revs hard and the truck lurches forward like a battering ram. One man is dragged beneath its wheels and Matt feels the crack and crunch as he drives over him, bumping up as the huge tires crush the poor bastard’s rib cage. The masses begin to part because it’s that or be mowed down, and with each passing meter the way through becomes clearer.
He knows he has to stay focused. He’s almost done it. One last trip through the madness beyond the edge of the city and they’ll be at the printing house.
45
Time is evaporating. It’s the early hours of the morning, and Matt knows there’s no going back now. This was inevitable. It was never a question of if the camp was going to fall, the population was always just waiting for when.