Although Hugh scoffed, he didn’t reply.
“Let me start first with his military background.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Hugh said.
“Nothing,” Vicky replied, “because you don’t have one. ‘Door-kicking in Mogadishu’? What the hell, Hugh? I think you’ve read one too many space marine novels.”
With his lips pinched so tightly his mouth ran as a horizontal line on his face, Hugh glared at Vicky.
“Good,” Vicky said. “You don’t deny that was a lie.”
And he didn’t. Maybe he knew he’d have to defend some far more controversial accusations and he’d chosen to pick his battles.
Vicky walked close to the crowd and pointed at her two black eyes. “I got these from a community no more than a fifteen-minute walk from here. Many of you haven’t been outside of Home, but Hugh has allowed this community to exist, despite knowing the depths of their evil.” Surprisingly, Hugh remained quiet as Vicky relayed the details of Moira’s community and what they did to people. When she finished by explaining that Hugh had sent her down there on purpose, many of the gathered crowd tutted, shook their heads, and threw dirty looks Hugh’s way.
“While I was caged in Moira’s community, I saw a man who worked in the farm here. Hugh locked him up—or at least that’s what he said he did—it turns out he actually kicked him out because the man had started to cause trouble. But I found out that he was causing trouble because he knew our food was running out and he wanted to do something about it. Isn’t that true, Piotr?”
The large farmer looked up, his face flushed from the attention that suddenly turned his way. After he’d looked around the room, he turned back to Vicky and nodded.
“And that’s why I’ve made people go to the gym,” Hugh said. “We need to train people up to go outside and help hunt and grow more food.”
“So why did you tell me that the gym was too little, too late, Hugh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You told me that the people in Home were parasites and the place should be purged of anyone who couldn’t make themselves useful. You told me that Jessica found out about your plans to evict lots of people and challenged you about it. She also wanted to call off the affair she was having with you, right?”
Red-faced and tight-lipped, Hugh ground his jaw at Vicky as more gasps came from the crowd.
After a quick glance at the clearly distressed Serj, Vicky returned her attention to the crowd. “I’ve found several pieces of evidence in Hugh’s room that link him to the crimes I’m accusing him of.” She produced the first one and held it up for the crowd to see. “For those of you at the back, this list has everyone’s name on it. Next to each name is a number between one and ten. Now, although the key isn’t here for what each number means, I have a good hunch that it’s about how useful Hugh thinks each person is.”
Although Hugh tried to speak, Vicky spoke over him as she pointed at one of the names. “Sally Jacks,” she said. “Can you please stand up, Sally?”
The woman got to her feet.
“Thank you. Where did we find you this morning, Sally?”
A shake ran through the woman and she cleared her throat before she replied, “Hugh was kicking me out.”
“Thank you, Sally.” Once the woman had sat down, Vicky turned back to the crowd. “So maybe it’s a coincidence that Sally’s a two on this list, but maybe it’s not. And by the way, she’s not the only two.”
“This is all speculation,” Hugh said. “You don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about. You …”
Hugh lost his words when he saw Vicky pull out a letter. He knew exactly what letter she had, and he knew what it meant.
“This is a letter from Jessica,” Vicky said, the stillness so complete in the room it almost choked her. “Let me read you an excerpt.” Vicky cleared her throat. “You need to rethink your plans. You can’t kill everyone you deem to be useless. I know you call it setting them free, but you and I both know they won’t survive, especially with their hands tied together. I implore you not to go ahead with this.”
When Vicky looked up from the letter, she glanced first at the crowd. Many open mouths stared back at her. A look at Hugh and she saw him drop his head and stare at the floor. Any fight he might have had had just been ripped from him.
With no sense of satisfaction, Vicky turned to the crowd. “So I think it’s pretty clear what Hugh was planning to do. And I, for one, think we should evict him before he can kill anyone else. Who here’s with me?”
Chapter Fifty-One
If someone had asked Vicky to guess how Hugh would react to his eviction from Home, based on his previous reaction to the diseased in the abandoned office building, she would have had him down as a snivelling wreck.
Not so.
Instead, Hugh stared at her, hatred continuing to burn in the polished oak of his irises. The man that currently stood in front of her had accepted his fate, but he did so with a silent promise to wait for her in the afterlife.
Everyone had followed Vicky, Serj, and Flynn up from the canteen with their bound prisoner. The case they’d put against Hugh had been enough to inspire hatred in the mob and a thirst for retribution, not only for Jessica, but for what he’d planned to do to most of them too.
“Normally,” Vicky said and the crowd fell silent, “I’d ask you if you had any last words. But I don’t think anyone has any interest in hearing them.”
The sides of Hugh’s wide jaw swelled and settled down again at the clenching and relaxing of his bite. Violence clearly coiled within the man, but it had no release; his wrists were bound tighter than he could wriggle out of.
A deep breath did little to settle the flip that turned through Vicky’s stomach at what she had to do. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she stepped toward the door and undid the first of the two bolts.
The crack rang out like a gunshot inside her skull. Her head spun when she leaned down and released the second lock with another crack.
When she stood up, Flynn put his hand in the centre of her back and raised his eyebrows at her. Vicky nodded that she was okay, drew one final breath, and pulled the door wide.
As Serj and Flynn led him from the foyer, Hugh watched Vicky and Vicky watched him back. A thousand words hurtled between the two, but neither spoke.
Once he’d passed her, Hugh didn’t look around again. Instead, he stared out at the tall grass and kept his head high, his wrists clamped together out in front of him.
After Serj and Flynn withdrew back into Home, Vicky closed the door and secured it with the two locks.
For a moment, silence surrounded Vicky again as she stared at the button for the alarm.
“Do you need me to press it?” Serj said.
A shake of her head and Vicky reached up. It should be her burden to carry. When she slapped the button with the palm of her hand, the pulsing alarm called out through the speakers that faced away from Home. A shrill and mechanical caw, it let the diseased know they had an offering for them.
Vicky moved to the window to the right of the door, and when she looked through, Hugh had turned to face her. The sight made her jump and forced her back a step. A sheet of reinforced glass partitioned the metre that separated them. A ghost made from living flesh, Hugh continued to stare.
Where there would usually be noise from the crowd, they all stood mesmerised by Hugh’s icy glare. They seemed as entranced by it as Vicky was.
A disturbance to the grass in the distance and Vicky saw the diseased appear. A pack of about seven or eight of the fuckers, they ran toward Home with all they had. Even over the alarm and through the thick windows, Vicky heard their furious screams. Still, Hugh fixed her with his rage. He must have heard his demise closing down on him, but he paid it no mind.
As the pack drew closer, tension wound so tight in Vicky she felt like she could snap.
When the first of the diseased crashed into the back of Hugh, it forced hi
m forward so his face smashed into the window that separated him and Vicky. The entire room—Vicky included—jumped backwards as if they would break through the pane.
An explosion of blood stained the window where Hugh had collided with it. The pressure of the diseased behind him kept him upright as several more of them crashed into him. A second or two later they dragged him to the ground. Hugh’s nose drew a line of blood down the glass as he went. All the while he watched Vicky and showed no sign of pain.
One of the diseased bit into the top of Hugh’s shoulder. It kept its mouth locked on and blood spilled from the sides of its sealed bite. Hugh’s khaki shirt turned dark with his blood.
Another diseased bit Hugh’s face and tore a deep hole in his cheek. If it hurt Hugh, he didn’t show it. Instead he remained fixed on Vicky.
In the moment before a person reanimated, they appeared to die. Even during that time, Hugh stared at Vicky, his glassy glare almost obsessive in how it locked onto her.
Vicky didn’t need to see him get back up again. With a lump in her throat and her legs so weak she could barely walk, Vicky turned away from the window and stumbled back through the crowd toward the canteen.
Chapter Fifty-Two
When Vicky walked into the canteen the next day, tired despite what must have been at least fourteen hours’ sleep, she looked at all of the people gathered there. Most of home seemed to be dotted around the room and she felt the eyes of every person in the place turn her way. Flynn sat at a table with Serj, so Vicky walked over to them and sat down.
Speaking from the side of her mouth, she said, “Am I being paranoid, or is everyone watching me?”
Both Serj and Flynn smiled.
“What’s so funny?”
“We don’t have a leader any more,” Serj said. “I think the people may want you to do it.”
“But I don’t want it. I don’t mind helping out, but I really don’t want to run this place.”
Flynn nudged Serj. “Why don’t you do it?”
Serj shrugged like he wouldn’t mind the position.
“Good,” Vicky said. “It’s settled, then.”
“Someone needs to tell them,” Serj replied. “And by someone, I mean you. Think of it as officially handing the baton over to me.”
A deep sigh and Vicky stood up on her chair. On any other day, she might have needed to clear her throat to get their attention, or call out or even ring a bell. Today, however, every person in the room hung on her every action.
“We need a leader for Home now Hugh’s gone.”
Nods swirled around her and a few grunts of agreement.
“I know some of you think I would suit the task, but I’m really not leader material. I want to help run this place, but I can’t be the main person here. I’ve just spoken to Serj and he seems up for the task.”
A few shrugs, but most people nodded their acceptance of Serj as the new leader.
“Flynn and I will work closely by his side,” Vicky said, “but Serj will have the ultimate say in what we do moving forward.”
Before anyone had a chance to respond, Vicky sat down and Serj stood up in her place.
“We need to work out how to survive as a community,” he said. “With food running out, we have to change and become more productive. We need to all contribute in the best way we can. And, from what Vicky’s said, we have an unstable situation no more than fifteen minutes away from us. If we don’t deal with the other community, we may end up regretting it. Besides, we have one of our own down there. I want this community to be just that: a community. When one of us is in need, all of us are in need. I’ll be more than happy to hear suggestions from people as to how we’d be best taking our neighbours down, and if anyone has any other thoughts, then please let me know. But the way I see it, we need to get ready to fight.”
Silence descended on the room. Piotr then stood up and clapped his hands. The solitary sound called through the large area and up into the high ceiling. Another man from the farm stood up and joined in.
Soon, the swell of applause rushed through the room as each and every person in that canteen got to their feet and clapped Serj’s speech.
In the almost deafening noise, Serj leaned down toward Vicky, the hint of a smile lifting his lips. “Maybe Hugh underestimated this lot.”
As Vicky looked at the room, roused by Serj’s speech, she smiled too and shook her head. “Maybe he did.” She then turned to Flynn and raised her eyebrows. “It looks like we’re going to war, mate.”
Ends.
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Michael Robertson has been a writer for many years and has had poetry and short stories published, most notably with HarperCollins. He first discovered his desire to write as a skinny weed-smoking seventeen-year-old badman who thought he could spit bars over drum and bass. Fortunately, that venture never left his best mate’s bedroom and only a few people had to endure his musical embarrassment. He hasn’t so much as looked at a microphone since. What the experience taught him was that he liked to write. So that’s what he did.
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