by Casey, Ryan
The man looked at Martin, then around at his people, who were all surrounding him now.
“I—”
“Tell me,” Martin said, tightening his shoulder a little more. “Go on. You don’t have to hide anything from us. And you don’t have to fear us. Not if you just tell the truth.”
The man opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at the snow-covered ground. “I—I don’t come from anywhere. Lost my home. But—but there is a place. A place not so far from here. Not so welcoming. They don’t like outsiders. They—they gave us stuff. Water. Some food. As long as we stayed far away. As long as we never went back.”
Martin’s heart fluttered. “How many?”
“What?”
“People. How many people are there?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s—it’s a while back. But… but there’s people. Plenty.”
“And this place. It looks good? It looks… liveable?”
The man glanced up at Martin, right into his eyes, and he nodded. “It looks liveable. But like I say. They—they don’t like outsiders. Only gave us a little because we had nothing. We lost everything, man. Everything. Please.”
Martin took a deep breath, and he smiled. “Thank you, friend. You don’t have to worry about them not liking outsiders. Not when we get there. This place. What’s it called?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know. But it’s—it’s near Silverdale. It’s—”
“Come on,” Martin said. “I need a name. That’s all I need, okay?”
“Heath—Heathwaite’s, or something like that. But I don’t know.”
“Heathwaite’s?” Martin said.
“Yeah,” the man said, nodding, shaking. “Heathwaite’s. Please. Just—just let me go now. Just let me live.”
Martin thought about this place. Heathwaite’s. A place that didn’t like outsiders. But a place that had the means to pay outsiders off.
He tightened his grip on this man’s shoulder. He smiled, warmly, sincerely.
Then he leaned in towards his ear.
“Thank you. Truly. I’ll never forget this, brother. I’m so sorry.”
The man struggled a little. “What—”
Then Martin prodded the pistol into the man’s stomach and pulled the trigger.
The man jumped. His wide eyes looked panicked, confused. Blood pooled from his stomach. Started to trickle down the sides of his mouth.
“W—why?” he asked as he fell to the snow. Blood stained the bright white ground.
Martin eased him down. Rested him there on the ground. Stroked his head. “Because you’re an outsider. And you can’t be trusted. None of you can. I’m sorry.”
He lifted his pistol. Pressed it against the man’s head.
Then he pulled the trigger a second time.
Blood splashed back up Martin’s hand.
The man went still.
Martin stood up and sighed. He wiped his tender, frost-bitten hands, wiped the blood from the tip of his pistol.
He looked ahead, towards the distance, towards Silverdale.
Then he looked around at his people, and he smiled.
“Heathwaite’s it is,” he said.
Chapter Six
Jack held his rifle and searched for any trace of an animal.
It was morning. There was something different about today. Something that set it apart from the last couple of months. It was the first day Jack could remember in a long time where it hadn’t been snowing.
It was cold still, sure. The ground was rock hard with ice. But the air was crisp and still. There was no wind.
The sounds of birds singing, teasing a spring to come.
The sky, bright and blue. The snow clouds, nowhere in sight.
It was impossible not to feel optimistic. But Jack didn’t want to get too carried away. It could be a false dawn. They hadn’t had a false dawn like this yet, sure, but there was nothing stopping that being the case.
But if this really was the onset of spring, then maybe there was a chance they could salvage Heathwaite’s. Maybe there was a way he could stop all the talk of abandoning it.
Because he truly believed that they had a good thing there.
No matter how much people told him he was overprotective.
No matter how much people told him he feared outsiders too much.
He wanted to stay there. He didn’t want to leave. Because he knew damn well they weren’t going to find anywhere much better.
And trusting outsiders… that wasn’t something he was comfortable with.
He walked across the frozen ground. Villain was back at the caravan site. He hated the cold, so never seemed as enthusiastic about joining Jack quite so early these days. Jack looked at the trees for a sign of life. He heard the birds singing. It was beautiful, in a way. Refreshing. If there were birds out, then there was a chance there were other animals out, too. Deer. That was the goal.
If he could catch a deer, he could raise the spirits of Heathwaite’s. Raise its optimism.
His chances were slim—but they were higher than they were yesterday.
One thing was for sure. He needed something, especially with the hens not laying eggs for four days, and the rest of the rations running dangerously low.
He waded further through the snow and thought about what happened with Emma yesterday. He kind of saw the point Susan and Hazel made, even if both conversations had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Of course she was a kid. Of course she deserved to live a life.
But he was looking out for his people. That was of paramount importance. That was his goal.
He couldn’t lose sight of that. Even if sometimes, his decisions made him less than popular.
He went to take a step when he saw something up ahead.
Movement.
He froze. First reaction was that this could be another person. It could be a group. It could be someone who was a threat to his people, a threat to Heathwaite’s.
But then it could be something else, too.
He crept through the woods, slowly. His heart raced. His mouth felt dry, even dryer than usual.
He edged through the trees, past the branches.
And then he saw it.
Right there in front of him, there was a beautiful stag. Sniffing away at the snow-covered ground. Illuminated by the bright sun.
Jack admired its beauty for a few seconds. It was sad what he had to do to it. What he’d have to resort to. It was beautiful.
But then at the same time, it was just a part of life.
But he never lost sight of how lucky he was, or how grateful he was.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He went to fire.
Then something happened.
Out of nowhere, he heard a bang.
And not from his rifle.
The stag fell to the ground, blood spurting from its neck.
Jack crouched. He backed away.
Someone else was here.
He had to get away.
He had to hide.
He crouched further, waded his way across the snowy ground.
And then he perched between two trees.
He looked ahead. Heart racing.
And then he saw the people emerge between the trees.
There were four of them. One of them—a young woman—had a rifle. She rushed over to the stag, smiling. “I got it!”
The rest of her group appeared, and Jack saw right away that they didn’t look threatening.
Three women and a bloke who looked barely out of his teens. All of them smiling. All of them looking delighted at their kill.
But that was the problem.
It wasn’t their stag.
Jack went to stand; to steady his rifle once again. He pointed it towards them. Because as much as they didn’t look a threat… that didn’t mean they weren’t one.
And that stag. He’d had his eyes on it. It was his.
He had to claim it for himself.
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He had to make it his own.
He turned the gun on the guy crouched beside the stag. “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”
One of the girls—short, blonde—shook her head. “It’s not easy. But it’s survival. And anyway. We won’t have to do this at all again soon. Not when we get to this safe zone. Not when we get to Barrow.”
“Assuming Barrow’s what we’re told it is.”
Jack hesitated for a second. This talk of Barrow. This mention of a “safe zone”. What was there? Other people? A larger group?
“Face it, Gregg,” the girl said. “You saw exactly what I saw. You saw those people heading towards Barrow. You saw the way they were dressed. And you heard what they said, too. About how that place has power.”
Gregg lifted the stag. “I know what I saw. I just… I just don’t like getting too caught up in hope, you know?”
The girl smiled back at him. “Soon, we won’t have to get too caught up in anything. Not when we’re safe. Not when we get there. Now come on. Let’s get ourselves away from here.”
Jack watched the group lift the stag out of the woods.
He watched them turn away from him, edge out of view.
He wanted to pull that trigger. He wanted to reclaim his food.
But all he could do was think about what he’d heard.
All he could think about was Barrow.
And all he could think about was that talk of power.
That talk of hope.
And he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
Chapter Seven
Jack buried his shovel into the snow and couldn’t stop thinking about the group he’d seen in the woods.
It was late morning now. The snow still wasn’t falling today, but clouds were emerging up ahead. The bright white snow that had fallen in previous days covered Heathwaite’s, making him squint. Everything was more silent than usual, mostly down to the lack of that howling wind. He could hear his people chatting. He could hear laughter somewhere. He could hear the sounds of optimism.
And that filled him with hope. Hope that people were beginning to adapt to this winter. Hope that the worst of the weather was behind them.
Hope that Heathwaite’s was going to remain standing, once and for all.
He looked around at the site as he stood in the crop fields. He’d decided to come out here and clear it as well as he could. He knew it was only going to get covered in snow again. But if he could at least start making some kind of effort now, it might be easier to keep in order in the long run.
But every time the shovel hit the snow, he thought about what was out there. He thought about the people he’d run into. What they’d said about Barrow. What they’d said about power.
“Jack? Are you even listening to me?”
Jack looked around. Candice was out here with him, helping him dig. The pair of them got on okay. They’d both lost Wayne, after all, and that was something that united them.
And Candice seemed to give him the benefit of the doubt. She was one of the few people here who actually heard him out. Understood his trepidation and his concerns.
But she didn’t know about the group Jack had run into out in the woods.
Nobody did.
Nobody could.
At least, not yet.
“Sorry,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I was miles away.”
Candice shook her head. “You’ve been like that since you got back this morning. Everything okay?”
Jack wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell everyone the truth.
But at the same time, he knew the truth could be dangerous.
Because they wouldn’t react in the proper way. They’d grow emotional. They’d be desperate to pursue this place, even if the hope it offered were just an illusion.
He had to keep it quiet, for now. It was just a rumour, nothing more.
“I’m fine,” Jack said. “Just didn’t sleep great last night.”
“Losing sleep over your little fallout with Emma, I imagine?”
Jack sighed. “Don’t you start.”
“They have a point, though. You are a little… well.”
Jack gritted his teeth. Dug his shovel deeper into the snow. “Go on. You might as well say it, seeing as everyone else is saying it.”
“Well, you’re a little controlling when it comes to this place.”
“If I seem like I’m controlling, it’s only because I—”
“Because you care. Yeah, yeah. Same excuse as ever. But you act as if nobody else cares about this place. As if you’re the only one who does. Like you’re the only one who knows what’s best for this place. What’s best for the people here. But the truth is… you need to start listening.”
Jack stopped digging. “Well, I’m listening right now.”
“As much as you might have a little fantasy about this place getting back to how it was, it’s still the middle of winter. The crops aren’t going to come growing back magically. The snow’s not just gonna stop falling because we’ve got one sunny day all of a sudden. You’re living in dreamland if you think that’s the case.”
Jack started digging again, deeper now, frustration growing. “So let me guess. You want to turn your back on this place, too?”
“It’s not about turning our back on anything. It’s about doing what’s right. For this group. For the people here. Because Heathwaite’s is nothing but the people in it. And if you aren’t careful…”
She stopped. Trailed off. And he was glad, in a way. He didn’t want to hear what she might say next.
He thought about Barrow. Thought about what he knew. And he thought about telling Candice, straight up. Giving her the option to leave. Showing her that he wasn’t this control freak she made him out to be. He was a leader, and he was the one giving the advice he thought was best for the people here. But he wasn’t going to stand in anyone’s way.
“You know, there’s already talks of people leaving.”
Jack frowned. “What?”
“Look,” Candice said. “You didn’t hear it from me. But I heard Elsie and John talking. They’re thinking of taking a trip down the road, up the coast or something. Seeing whether they run into someplace… well, better than here. They don’t want to leave. They don’t want to walk away. They just want what’s best. And they don’t think the way you’re dealing with this place at the moment is in the best interests of the people inside it.”
Jack felt his protectiveness and his defensiveness picking up. He knew he was wrong for feeling that way. They might be living in a place where he was leader, but he wasn’t a dictator or anything.
But the thought of them walking away… putting themselves in danger…
“They aren’t going anywhere,” Jack said.
Candice frowned. “What did you just say?”
“I said they aren’t going anywhere. Not if they want to live. We stay here. We keep on making the most of this place. Utilising its benefits while they’re still available to us.”
“Its benefits? Which benefits are those, Jack?”
“We have individual caravans. We have homes. We have—”
“Jack shit, that’s what we have.” He heard the anger in her voice. Saw the redness to her eyes. “You can cling to this place as much as you like. You can keep on telling yourself you’re some benevolent leader doing the right thing. But you need to see the truth before it’s too late.”
Jack’s jaw tensed. “And what’s the truth, Candice?”
Her eyes studied his. She looked deeply into them.
“You’re losing your grip on this place. You’re losing your grip on your people. And you’re losing your grip on your frigging self.”
She slammed the shovel down into the snow.
And then she walked away.
Jack stood there and watched her disappear.
He looked at more of his people in the distance. Living their lives. Doing their duties.
“You’re losing your grip on this plac
e. You’re losing your grip on your people. And you’re losing your grip on your frigging self.”
And then he looked around into the woods, over in the direction of Barrow.
“Soon, we won’t have to get too caught up in anything. Not when we’re safe. Not when we get there…”
Chapter Eight
Martin waded through the snow, his hope beginning to wane.
It was late afternoon. He’d been walking since morning. After learning about this caravan site—Heathwaite’s—last night, his group had got some rest, then headed off first thing.
But there were problems. Stan, one of the older blokes, hadn’t woken from his sleep. Another victim to the cold. Tensions were at their highest. Any good faith or optimism had eroded the second he’d been found.
And now they’d reached Silverdale, with no trace of any thriving caravan sites here. Martin’s nerves were waning. He was beginning to second guess himself. Walking on a tightrope, his control and influence all on the brink of falling apart.
But he had to keep on going. He had to keep on hoping.
He looked around at his people. They looked exhausted. Frozen. Trent in particular looked uncertain. Like he was at the end of his tether. Like he was on the brink of giving up.
Martin hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Because if anyone tried to turn on him, to turn on his leadership, he wouldn’t be afraid to put them right back in their place.
Especially Trent. That bastard had visions of his own for this group. Martin couldn’t give him any more ammunition.
Martin turned around, kept walking.
It was ten minutes later that he saw it.
The sign.
The sign for Heathwaite’s.
Half a mile away.
He stopped. Stared at it. Hope rising. He couldn’t stop the smile stretching across his face.
He just hoped that man last night hadn’t been lying about this place.
He wasn’t sure he could take that.
Not after everything they’d lost.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re close.”
They struggled further down this road. The sun was bright, bouncing against the snow. But it wasn’t snowing, and the wind wasn’t howling like it usually did, so that was something.