by Terry Tyler
We're going too fast, leaving the others behind, so we stop for the luxury of bladder emptying and a bite to eat before we turn and head north-east.
Before we get back on the bike, Ace tells me to be doubly alert from now on.
"We know they're in Norfolk. We just gotta hope that we can get out to the coast without them seeing us."
The autumn countryside is spectacular, but now I watch for nothing but army convoys and stop signs.
A short while later, I see them. Across fields, out on an old dual carriageway. So far away that they look like toy cars, but I count six huge army trucks, with smaller vehicles in front and behind. Heading north, though, not east.
Ace turns off the engine, and we just sit, until they've disappeared into the distance.
"Bit of luck, they're going home for their tea," says Ace. He does a half laugh. Yeah, he's joking. I can't always tell with him.
It's dark by the time we get to the Cross Keys, and I don't think I've ever been so glad to reach any destination in my life.
Ace says, "Made it, then," as we push open the door, but his words send a shiver through me. If we hadn't made it, if we'd been seen by that convoy along the road, if we'd come across a road block, unable to escape like we did this morning―it doesn't bear thinking about, except that I can't stop.
I keep seeing the faces of those people in that truck; it was just a glimpse, but the image of their expressions sticks in my mind.
I admit to feeling a certain sympathy with how Colt reacted now, too―I didn't leave MC12 to spend my life in a Hope Village, either. I feel like a different person from the one who rode out in that pod with Colt and Nula. I didn't have a clue, back then.
With luck, we'll escape Hope. A Dutch refugee camp looks like the best we can expect.
All being well.
We rummage in an old storeroom at the back of the pub and find some candles; by the time we've lit them, a quad bike turns up carrying two guys called Chris and Sal.
"We've spent the last two miles on red," says Chris. "There's a bit left but I'm not risking it―we're catching a lift in the van the rest of the way, even if we have to ride on the fucking roof."
We eat, drink, obey calls of nature, and we wait.
Q's bike shows up next, then the van in which I was delivered to Fennington. The back doors open and they clamber out, complaining about numb limbs and people sitting on top of them. There are more people than I would have thought possible to get in the back, and I'm panicking in case we can't all get on those boats. Dan and Lilyn have their community to help, before us. What if we have to leave people behind? How would we decide who stays and who goes? Survival of the fittest, or would some volunteer to stay and chance their luck?
We're waiting for just eight more people: Colt and Sloane, in the car with four others, including Yara, and Mick, on his quad with Dior.
I'm more than a little relieved when the car turns up, half an hour later. Sloane storms through the door.
"Okay, so we got lost," she says, flopping down on a stool. "Has anyone got a beer, or preferably some blitz? We had to do a detour; saw a whole fucking gang of them, setting up a road block. I had to reverse up a country lane with the lights off."
Colt stands behind her, massaging her shoulders. "She was brilliant."
"And we're out of fuel, or as near as damn it," she says. "You'll have to make room for us in the van."
The other four look drained from the experience.
"Mick and Dior not here yet?" Yara looks at her watch. "They're way behind schedule. What d'you think, guys; wait for them, or not?"
King stands up. "It's not even up for discussion."
"Too fucking right," says Sloane. "You were elected leader of our community―that means it's your responsibility to make sure everyone's safe, in my book."
Yara holds up a meaty hand. "Don't stress. I just wanted to check what we all thought. Right, Ace, you and Q better get straight out to these boats―suss out the situation, see if the route's safe." She waggles her radio in the air. "If it is, great; if it's not, find another. Come back for us either way, and we'll follow your lead. You got enough fuel for that?"
"Yeah." Ace gathers up his stuff. "On it."
I am painfully aware that I don't want Ace to go without me. I feel like if he does, I might never see him again.
"I'll come with you," I say.
He puts his hand on my cheek. "No. Let me check it out, first. Whatever happens, I'm coming back for you."
I take a big gulp of air, in an effort to calm myself. "You promise?"
"I promise. Half an hour, max."
Chris says, "If they've reached the coast, we're fucked."
"Not necessarily," says Yara, "but Ace and Q can find out, and we're better off staying here for now."
"I don't know. I think we should all go. We're sitting ducks, here."
"We're waiting for Mick and Dior," says King.
"Well, the sooner the two of them get going, the better." Yara frowns, and claps her hands. "We've got eight more to fit in the van―sorry, people, you'll have to leave your luggage behind. Go and put any essentials in your pockets, right now. Don't look at me like that, Thea―getting people out is more important than your book collection."
I go to say goodbye to Ace, and he surprises me by saying, "Come here," pulling me into his arms, and kissing me.
I smile up at him. "So that first time wasn't just a one-off, then?"
"Jesus; do you need everything spelling out?" He kisses me on the forehead. "Don't worry. I'll be as quick as I can."
I watch him ride off into the night, trying so hard to shake off this feeling of doom coming for us just around the next bend in the road.
Feelings don't predict the future. I read that somewhere. Just because you're haunted by the idea that something might happen, it doesn't mean it will. I've got to hang on to that.
I head back to the cold, dark pub, to find King and Yara standing at the doorway; Mick and Dior have still not arrived
"They should have been here forty minutes ago," King says, peering up the road.
Yara puffs on her vaping pen. "Probably had to make detours, like we did."
"Yeah, but even allowing for that they should be here by now."
As he says that, his radio crackles; he whips it out. "Who's this?"
Crackle crackle. "King? You can hear me?"
"Mick? Mick? That you?"
"Yeah."
"We're at the regroup spot, all of us; you far out?"
Yara and I close in, ears to the walkie.
"We're done for, mate; they got us. Dior and me. They're heading your way. Get out―"
We hear shouting in the background, then nothing. Silence.
"Jesus," says King. "Poor bastards."
"Shit and fuck," says Yara. "Come on. Never mind waiting for the lads to get back; we need to get everyone out of here."
She tries to raise Q on his radio, then Ace, but they don't respond.
My stomach caves in.
King touches my arm. "Could be out of range, need charging, he might not have heard it, anything. Don't assume the worst."
I am weak with fear. I have no experience of this, of the way the wastelanders live, always with hidden threat just around the corner. The unseen enemy. We can't see the people who are coming after us. Can't hear them, don't know which direction they will come from.
Or what happens once you get inside the trucks.
Yara's herding everyone into the van, but some resist.
"Mick can't know for certain that they're heading this way," says one guy. "They could be travelling in a completely different direction; if they've got the coast on lockdown we might be safer here."
"It's a good hideout; it's got a cellar," says the woman he's with.
"Yeah?” Yara’s about to lose her patience. “You're going to stay down there for the next few weeks, are you? Fair enough. You want to stay here? Fine, stay. Means more room for everyone else."
<
br /> Still grumbling, they board the van.
Yara turns to me. "C'mon, Rae, what you dithering for?"
"I can't go. Ace is coming back. He promised."
"Well, if he is, we'll meet him on the way, won't we?"
"Not if he uses a different route. If they find us all gone―"
"Q, too," says King. "I'm staying."
Yara shakes her head in disbelief. "And what if they don't come back? What if they get picked up, like Mick? You'll be stuck out here, with no escape."
I glance at King. "I'll risk it."
She shrugs. "Your funeral, Megacity Girl." She walks off, and claps her hands. "Okay, are we ready to go?"
Thea sticks her head out of the back of the van. "Sloane's not here. Nor's her boyfriend."
"Fuck!" Yara looks around. "Anyone seen Sloane? Sloane!" She strides towards the woods at the side of the pub. "You off taking a crap or something? Sloane?"
I join her. "Colt! Colt, you out there?"
No answer.
Yara shouts again, then turns back. "Too bad. We've got to go."
"No―you can't go without them."
She climbs into the back of the van. "Yes, we can. I can't risk the safety of everyone else for those two." She looks back into the van. "Chris! Keys." She chucks them out at us; King catches them. "There's still some fuel in the quad; they can take it. It might get them as far as Waxingham, or it might not. Their fucking fault for wandering off."
She slams the door behind her, and the van chugs off down the road.
The night falls silent.
"Keep your eyes and ears peeled," says King. We listen. It's so quiet out here that we'll be able to hear any traffic approaching, but all is silent. We lean up against the side wall of the pub, him facing inland, me in the other direction, where we watched Ace and Q's bikes ride off into the night.
We wait. And wait.
Every second seems like a minute. "How long do we give them?"
"Till we hear something down thataway." He nods in the other direction, and jangles Chris's bike keys at me. "Then we get the hell out of here. Try not to worry; I trust Ace and Q to keep themselves out of trouble."
"But what about Colt and Sloane?"
"Fuck Colt and Sloane. I'm with Yara on that one; if they're stupid enough to wander off―"
I hear footsteps behind me. A rustle in the trees. I freeze, hardly daring to turn.
"Where is everyone?"
It's Colt.
King says, "They've gone. We've heard from Mick and Dior; they didn't make it and they reckon the squad's heading this way, so Yara made the call. Rae and I are waiting here for Ace and Q."
Sloane barges forward. "That bitch couldn't wait for us? If it wasn't for me, she would've ended up in the back of one of those trucks!"
I say, "Where were you?"
Colt laughs. He actually laughs. "You know how it is. Went to take a piss and got distracted. Last shag in the UK, and all that."
Unbelievable.
"Well, you can take the quad―"
"Shut up!" King steps forward, holding up a hand. "Quiet!"
Oh, my God. I hear it.
The rumble of trucks, the roar of bikes, from inland.
I thought I was scared before; it's nothing to how I feel now.
They're coming for us.
And here stand we four, with one two-seater quad bike.
King pushes us all back into the darkness down the side wall of the pub. "Sloane, take Rae on the bike. Colt, we'll have to hide as best we can inside."
"No way, I'm going with Sloane―"
King looks like he's going to hit him. "You're kidding? You'd leave Rae here, in danger?"
As Colt opens his mouth to reply, though, I hear a noise in the distance that thrills my heart.
Bikes, from the other direction. From the coast.
It's them. Ace and Q.
"Thank Christ," whispers King.
That wonderful sound grows louder with every second.
So does the rumble of traffic from inland.
"Sod this," says Colt, and makes a run for the other bike, with Sloane hot on his heels.
"Little shit," mutters King.
"We'll be okay," I say, just as I see the familiar sight of Ace speeding towards us through the darkness.
"Now! Go!"
I'm hardly sitting square on the seat when he takes off. Fast. It's like this morning all over again, except this time I can't see a thing; I cling on, tight.
We stream down narrow, winding, unlit roads, King and Q ahead, Ace and me behind them, and Sloane and Colt at the rear; as Ace slows down to take a bend, I get a view across fields, lit up in the moonlight, and I see headlights not far behind. Bikes roaring in front of trucks, all the easier to catch us with.
Did they beat information out of Mick, after they heard him on the radio?
My chest is tight with fear, the cold and the speed at which we travel; I touch Ace's shoulder and scream, "Behind!" in his ear, and suddenly we're screeching round bends onto narrow roads bordered by high hedges, until we catch up with Q; as we pass them Ace gestures behind and a moment later they pass us again. I strain my neck to look back; Sloane and Colt disappear into the black behind us, just as Q turns up a narrow lane.
We follow. I hope Q's sense of direction is better than mine; I haven't got a clue if we're even on the right road for the coast, so I'm hoping this is the route they took before.
Bump, bump, bump we go, flying over stones, puddles and dips in the terrain, the landscape at each side so thickly wooded that I lose my bearings completely.
We turn onto a muddy track down the middle of two fields, and Q flies way ahead, towards a clump of trees in the distance, and I'm damn sure I can smell the sea, oh, thank goodness, we're close, we must be close―
―and we stop.
Ace jumps off. "We're out." He grabs my arm, pulling me off the bike. "Run!"
I'm breathless with fear, but I keep up―all those sessions in Mojo must have done me some good, even with my small pack on my back. Ace bounds ahead of me, unencumbered by luggage―all we had was in the saddlebags of the bike. We have nothing in the world but the few items I carry.
We don't even know if Waxingham will be safe by the time we get there.
On we run, towards the trees where we last saw Q and King. They beckon me like a sanctuary, telling me I will be safe once I reach them, though of course I know I won't be. But at least we can hide.
We're there, we reach cover, and Ace leans over, hands on his thighs as he gulps for breath.
"Hide."
I crouch behind a tree, near to him, and look out. Far away, at the other end of the field, I see the lights of Sloane and Colt's quad―and they grind to a halt as it runs out of juice.
Headlights shine out, behind them. Directly behind them. We hear the vehicles stop, engines still running.
"We gotta go," says Ace.
"I can't―there's got to be something we can do―"
"There isn't."
But I can't just run off―I have to see. I have to know.
I burrow into Ace's jacket for his binoculars; he doesn't try to stop me.
"It's Colt. I have to know. One minute."
"One minute. No more."
In that green, unreal light, I see six soldiers surround them; Colt raises his hands in defeat.
I hear shouting, floating away on the night breeze.
Colt stands as still as a statue in the background, but Sloane is kicking, shoving, pushing, and then she makes a break for it, darting down the muddy track, past our abandoned metal steed, her long, slim legs forging on, her hands up, slicing through the air, that pale hair shining luminous green in my eerie vision.
The unmistakeable sound of a gunfire rings out, and she falls.
I hear myself gasp, feel Ace's hand cover my mouth.
She's down. Still. Completely still.
Her body is hidden in the long grass, but I see no movement, hear no shouts for help.
Sloane's a fighter; if she could heave herself up and crawl on, she would.
I can't believe it. I want to touch rewind to confirm what I just saw.
I hear an anguished cry and look back at Colt, zooming in so close I can see the fear on his face.
Two of them take him by the arms and walk him back the way they came, just as a truck backs up. The doors open; inside I see frightened faces, and Colt is pushed up to join them.
As the guards' attention is distracted, one man leaps out of the van and makes a run for it. He doesn't last more than two seconds before he's on the ground, too.
In the distance, I hear the van doors shut with a bang, and it trundles off. With my friend inside it. Colt, who I've known since we were kids.
Whose girlfriend lies dead on the ground.
Ace grabs my arm. "Now, Rae."
And I hare after him, into the darkness.
Only a moment later, we hear them behind us.
Ace stops.
"Up."
I've never climbed a tree in my life. Not even when I was a child; I wasn't the tomboy type. I heave myself up after Ace, carefully placing my feet where his were a moment before, branch by branch, until just looking down makes my legs dissolve into jelly. He hauls me up, and I stand, precariously, my feet on a branch that doesn't feel strong enough to hold my weight, arms clinging around the trunk, trying to melt into it and become invisible.
"Don't look down."
His face through the darkness reassures me, just slightly. "We only have to hang on until they pass," he whispers.
They're here. Lights blaze, down below; I make out two bikes and a jeep. Torches flash. I cling on to Ace's arm, shut my eyes tightly as if it will make them go away, but I'm hyperventilating with terror.
His soft whisper calms me. "Steady. Just don't move; they'll be gone in a minute."
But what if they're not? I hear shouts, see the lights flashing around. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, bite my lip, my whole body so tense I think I may pass out, because there is nothing I can do now. If they see us, we're done for.
I look down.
They're shining the torches upwards, but we're too high up, and the beams of light don't reach us.
I hear one shout, "Nothing here. We'll head back to the road; pick 'em up when they get to the coast."