by Gavin Zanker
He looked around at the dark landscape, the scale of the mountains, and the pristine slopes. The evergreen trees shadowy black under the white snow. It was a beautiful sight. However futile his situation was, he could not give up. He turned out his pockets again, hoping he had missed something that could help him. Just a handful of coins, Wesley’s bowie knife, Kate’s old blade, and the hip flask of whisky which he had finished earlier in an attempt to dull the pain and keep warm.
His throat was dry, and he knew dehydration was a growing danger. He was surrounded by snow, but the problem was temperature. If he ate the snow he would lose body heat and risk hypothermia. If only he had carried his fire lighting kit inside his pocket rather than leaving it in his pack. He cursed his stupidity as he tried to breathe some warmth into his hands.
The snow fell in the silence as Aiden picked himself up and continued. He moved with care through the sparse trees, leaning heavily on his makeshift crutch. The growing fog was making it more difficult to navigate, and he hoped he was still heading west.
Soon, the ground started sloping upwards and he found himself gaining elevation. Maybe he if he could reach higher ground he could get his bearings and look for nearby shelter. It was his best chance.
His breath came raggedly as he climbed the steepening slope. The wind was harsher here with less tree cover, and his face stung as snow blew across his path. Between the fog and the snow, visibility quickly dropped to just a few metres, and his plan to find high ground became pointless. He cursed himself for not taking the worsening weather in to account.
With his body screaming in pain with every step, he decided to take shelter for a minute to regain some strength. He found a small gulley out of the wind and curled up inside. The ground was strangely comfortable, and his shivering subsided as he watched the snow dance around above him. He closed his eyes and lay his head down on the snow. Just a small rest, then he’d be able to make it up the hill and find proper shelter.
A thought occurred to him, something he had read once. The memory was fuzzy and he had trouble recalling exactly what it was. He knew it was important though. Kate had been curled up asleep on the sofa while he had been sat in his armchair in front of the fireplace. He laughed out loud at the irony of the memory involving a fire.
Kate. He felt a warm flow spreading through his chest as the image of her sleeping came to him. He missed everything about her, and wanted to live in this memory forever.
Wait, he had been trying to remember something. Something important. He forced himself to concentrate. He had been reading a book, something about an explorer. Lost in a wilderness, the man had developed hypothermia and become confused. He had been found naked and frozen to death, having torn off his clothes believing he was too hot. Aiden giggled. He was warm but he was not about to take his clothes off. That would be ridiculous.
‘Aiden,’ Kate said, her voice drifting down to him with the snow.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked dreamily..
‘Aiden, you need to get up.’
‘Why? It’s so comfortable here. Come lie with me,’ he said looking around for her but unable to see anything.
‘Aiden, you’re dying.’
‘Remember our home?’ Aiden said. ‘I miss the time we spent there together. Me with my gardening and you-’
‘Aiden! Do you want to live?’
He frowned. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Why? What reason do you have to live?’
‘Well, I…’ his voice trailed off as he struggled to focus. ‘I used to have a reason. It was something important, I think.’
‘That’s right, it kept you alive. It kept you moving forward. But you’ve forgotten and now you’ve lain down to die.’
‘So how do I remember?’
‘Remember me. Our time together.’
Aiden smiled. ‘We were happy, weren’t we? Building our house away from the world, living in our own corner.’
‘But the world found us didn’t it?’
‘Did it? I don’t remember.’ Aiden’s brain swam in a sea of numbness as he struggled to find the thread of his thoughts.
‘Think, my love. What happened?’
Aiden spun in his mind, lost to himself. He repeated his name to remind himself of his identity. Kate’s face flashed into his mind, then faded away to be replaced by a man’s. A face with a scar over his eye, and a cruel smirk on his lips.
Trent Reid.
The memories came flooding back to him in a rush. His eyes snapped open and his body exploded in pain. He had to get up. He could not die yet, not before he had his revenge on the man who had taken everything from him.
Aiden forced his limbs to move through sheer will. A layer of snow fell off him as he rose to his feet, swaying in the blizzard that blew around him.
‘I’m not dying yet,’ he shouted, anger rising up inside him.
He put one foot forward, then the other. He forced himself on, concentrating on every painful step. He had no idea how long he had been climbing for. It felt like he had lost all sense of relatively, nothing else had ever existed except this hill. His life had always been him climbing, ever onwards, up this snow-covered slope.
As he climbed, the wind subsided and the snow started whipping past less furiously. He found he could see further now. Maybe his luck was changing. He felt a surge of energy drive him forwards. His foot came down and missed the ground. He frowned as he stumbled and fell face down into the thick snow, wondering what just happened. He raised his head to see the ground was no longer sloped but flat. He had made it to the top.
Something tall loomed up out of the white flurry ahead. A light flicked on somewhere in the sky. Then another. Aiden realised he was looking at a large wall. More lights blinked on along the top.
He tried to rise, his arms trembling as he tried to lift his weight, but his strength was gone now, sapped away. He tried to shout but his voice was little more than a croak. A light flashed in his eyes, blinding him. He reached out for it, then slumped face down in the snow. A voice shouted in the distance, distorted by the thick layer of snow over the world.
Then he everything faded away to darkness.
CHAPTER 41
THE HEAD OF the Dawnist Church setting foot inside Syndicate headquarters was not a regular occurrence, and doing it alone was unprecedented. Knowing the danger that faced him, Travis concentrated on projecting an appearance of calm confidence as he walked between the two large bouncers stood at the entrance of the Brentford. They watched impassively with hands resting on their submachine guns as Travis strode inside. Despite his reservations about going alone, Samuel had assured him that his presence would be treated with more curiosity than hostility. So far it was holding true.
Inside, the Casino was surprisingly quiet. Just a few of the more habitual gamblers filling seats around the card tables. The crowds probably arrived in the evening, and Travis could only imagine the odour of so many unwashed bodies crammed in here. An upbeat dance track played through the ceiling speakers as he headed towards the long bar and took a seat on an empty stool.
‘What can I get you?’ the barman asked, a barrel-shaped man wearing a dirty apron over his bulging stomach.
‘Just water, please,’ Travis replied. He pulled out a handful of coins from his pocket and slid them across the bar.
The bartender eyed him curiously. ‘You’re in a bit early. The place doesn’t pick up until around seven.’
‘I’m not here to gamble.’
‘Cards not your poison then? Had to give up the cards myself. Almost lost my kneecaps to some unsavoury types back when I was in over my head.’ The barman placed a glass of water on the bar and scooped up the coins. ‘Here for the entertainment then, is it? We got a new dancer performing tonight. Chastity, her name is. I saw her rehearsing up on stage earlier and oh boy,’ the barman leaned forward and raised an eyebrow, ‘I can tell you, you don’t want to be missing what that girl can do with a pole.’
‘Thanks for
the tip, but I’m here on business.’ Travis turned his head away to avoid the man’s fetid breath.
‘Your loss,’ the barman said. A customer called for a drink further along the bar, and he moved away to serve him.
Travis picked up the glass but placed it back down on the bar when he noticed flecks of orange rust swimming in the water. He was not thirsty enough to risk dysentery. Instead he ran through some prepared lines in his head for the coming meeting.
‘Mr Kendrick,’ a nasal voice said behind him.
Travis turned on his stool and found himself faced with an older man he did not recognise. Dressed in a smart, but threadbare pinstripe suit, he had an air of impatience in his demeanour.
‘That would be me,’ Travis said. ‘I figured someone would be along soon enough.’
‘What can we do for you today? It’s not often we have such… distinguished visitors in our establishment.’
‘I’m here to call a meeting with Julian,’ Travis said, ignoring the pointed comment.
‘Mr Caldwell is an exceedingly busy man.’
‘I’m sure he is, but he’ll make time for me.’ Travis met the older man’s unimpressed stare with a broad smile. ‘I am a distinguished visitor, after all.’
‘Very well,’ the man in the suit said, glancing down at his wristwatch impatiently. ‘Follow me, please.’
Travis rose and followed him through the casino floor. Rows of battered looking slot machines flashed colourfully, and the calls of the croupiers cut through the music. A few gamblers stared at them as they wound their way between the card tables, but they were soon forgotten.
They came to a solid wooden door with a sign that read, ‘No entry.’ A set of keys on a cable appeared in the older man’s hand. He unlocked the door and passed through, holding it open behind him. Travis entered, finding himself in a long corridor with framed pictures hanging from dark green walls. Portraits of long forgotten faces and landscapes of scenery since destroyed.
After a few turns Travis was soon lost in the maze of dimly lit corridors. The Brentford Casino was obviously larger than it first appeared. It seemed that the Dawnist Compound was not the only facility in the city that extended underground into the cliff walls of the canyon.
They eventually came to a halt by a set of large double doors. The man glanced at his watch again, then turned and gestured for Travis to enter. Travis took a deep breath and composed himself. No going back now, he was in the heart of the snake pit. He grasped both door handles and swung the doors wide open.
The smell of rich, antique furnishings struck him as he was faced with a large boardroom. Decorated similarly to the corridors, there were more framed paintings hung on the darkly painted walls, and an oversized oval table surrounded by chairs dominated the centre of the room. Travis recognised the lone man with slick black hair sat at the table. Julian Caldwell, spokesman for the Syndicate.
‘Travis Kendrick,’ Julian’s voice boomed out as he rose from his seat. ‘Here, in the Brentford. Who would’ve thought?’
‘Julian.’ Travis strode forward and shook the man’s extended hand, matching the firm grasp. ‘It’s been a long time since we sat down together. I thought it was time.’
‘Then please,’ Julian said, gesturing towards a chair. ‘Take a seat.’
Travis quickly surveyed the corners of the room to check they were alone before taking a chair at the table. Noticing the wary act, Julian narrowed his eyes.
‘You insult me, Travis. You think we would hurt you here?’
‘It always pays to be cautious.’
‘True enough,’ Julian said, nodding. ‘But rest assured, no harm will come to you in our place of business.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Travis said. ‘Just because civilisation died doesn’t mean we can’t act like civilised men.’ He nodded towards the grey-haired man who had entered behind him. ‘Your man doesn’t say much, does he?’
‘Hah. My advisor. Hasn’t been with us for too long. He’s all business, I’m afraid. I’m guessing he didn’t even tell you his name. Travis, meet Malcolm Turner. He’s a man of few words, but he does his job better than anyone. Isn’t that right, you old fossil?’
Malcolm ignored the comment as he walked across the room and took a seat in a corner away from the table. He opened his briefcase and flicked through a sheaf of papers.
Julian waved at him dismissively and sat down. ‘I’ll get a rise out of him one day.’
Travis rubbed his hand over the polished wooden table. ‘This is beautiful. What sort of wood is this?’
‘I’m told it’s a type of rosewood. A rare find in these times, especially one in such immaculate condition.’
‘And to think in my quarters I just keep a shabby old writing desk.’
‘Hah, well I suppose there’s something to be said for simple practicality in these times.’ Julian leaned back in his chair. ‘So, what brings a Dawnist to our neck of the woods then? Our organisations have never exactly seen eye to eye, so I can’t help but wonder at the purpose of your visit.’
‘An understatement, but I appreciate the tact,’ Travis said. He cleared his throat and launched into his rehearsed speech. ‘Our organisations have been at odds for too long. We bicker and squabble over perceived slights that are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Even back in Antousa, where our organisations were founded, we squabbled and fought each other over territory.’
‘It’s true we have a long and colourful history.’
‘While we fight between ourselves,’ Travis continued, ‘the Mayor of this city has free reign to do as he pleases. He no longer sees himself as an equal, instead he thinks himself above us. We’ve become elements to be dealt with and kept in check rather than feared. He hides behind his police force, distorting the evidence to sway public opinion and reinforce his position.’
Julian nodded as he listened. ‘The man has become more of a problem of late, that much can’t be denied.’
‘He assumes himself too powerful to be touched. Just a couple of months ago, he signed an unfounded warrant for his officers to raid the Dawnist compound. They forced their way in and assaulted members of our Church. The same thing could happen to you.’
‘We heard about the incident.’ Julian glanced at Malcolm who was still shuffling through papers. ‘I hope no one was badly hurt.’
‘How many of your businesses have been raided by the police of late? How many of your members arrested and tossed in prison without a fair trial, left to rot with the filth under the city?’
‘Reinhold is a growing concern for everyone with a position in the city, the Syndicate included.’
‘We should not let this disrespect stand any longer. It’s time we put aside our differences and worked together against the real threat to our organisations.’
Julian rubbed his chin, looking pensive. ‘It’s possible we would be open to such an arrangement, as long as it was favourable to the Syndicate.’
‘During these trying times when citizens need help, the Mayor no longer works to feed the people. Instead he abuses his position to stockpile food and drive up prices so he can make a fortune selling to those who have no choice but to pay what he asks or starve. I’m sure even your organisation has felt the effect of the food shocks lately.’
Julian nodded. ‘We have all suffered under the man’s greed. Can you prove any of this though? The shortages are easily explained by the state of the city farms. Accusations and direct action against the man without concrete proof would be unwise.’
‘Our Church uncovered the location of one of his stockpiles months ago,’ Travis lied. In fact him and Samuel had discovered the information only a few days prior. ‘We were waiting for the appropriate time to put this information to use. I believe that time is now.’
Julian raised an eyebrow. ‘That would certainly open up some interesting possibilities. What is it you plan to do?’
‘Well that’s why I’m here,’ Travis said. ‘The stockpile lies inside Syndicate te
rritory.’
Julian scoffed. ‘I think we would know if such a thing existed. Malcolm, do we know of any hidden stockpiles in our territory?’
The older man pulled out a notebook from his jacket pocket and flicked through it. ‘We have no knowledge of any,’ he said without looking up.
‘Do not underestimate David Reinhold,’ Travis said. ‘He got to where he is by being a cunning man. Think on why he would keep the stockpile inside your territory.’
Julian tilted his head and frowned. ‘Culpability,’ Malcolm said. ‘He can deny and divert blame.’
‘Right,’ Travis agreed. ‘If it’s ever discovered then he can just claim the store belongs to the Syndicate. He’s already thinking two moves ahead.’
‘Smart.’ Julian said. ‘So what do you suggest? Tensions are already running high with the police.’
‘This is why I came to you with the information. I have no intention of sending armed men into your territory and causing a conflict on the streets. I know if Syndicate men moved into Dawnist territory we would take it as an act of aggression.’
‘I appreciate the discretion, though I hear you’re running low on man power lately,’ Julian said. ‘Something about your Seekers losing a fight with some northerners.’
Travis forced an even smile. ‘The rumours were blown out of proportion, just a minor altercation really.’
‘Well either way,’ Julian said. ‘I think we can both agree it would be in everyone’s interest not to start a war on the streets.’
‘So here’s my line of thinking,’ Travis said. ‘I give you the location of the store and you send your own men in to clean the place out. It won’t be guarded, Reinhold will be relying on stealth rather than force. Once he discovers what happened, he’ll be unable to report the theft without admitting the store existed, and he can’t do that because if the public find out he’s been stockpiling food they’ll turn on him.’
‘Well, what’s to stop him shifting the blame on to us?’ Julian asked.
‘If you clean the place out there’ll be no evidence for him to claim a stockpile ever existed. After which, I’ll head over to the town hall and have a chat with our mutual friend. I’ll explain the situation and let him know that he’s vulnerable, that any more action against either the Syndicate or Dawnists will result in him suffering consequences.’