by Casey, Ryan
Small victories. They had to be treasured.
He kept on walking, and he thought about Gloria. His wife. He remembered the way they’d lived together in that military compound in the early days.
And then he remembered the way the place grew out of control. The way the military turned on the people as supplies waned; as the people fought back.
And he remembered the way Gloria got caught up in that awful situation, and his heart ached.
He remembered looking down at her as she lay there on the ground, staring up at him, blood trickling down her chin, bullet wound right in the centre of her chest. And he’d vowed right then never to allow himself to trust in other leaders. He’d vowed right then always to seize the initiative for himself. Never let anyone make decisions for him. Never show any mercy.
Because this world demanded assertiveness. And it demanded action.
But most of all, it demanded ruthless, emotionless pragmatism.
That was just the way it was now.
He thought of Gloria. Thought of her smile. That little space between her front teeth.
He thought of that way the light faded from her blue eyes.
And then he saw something in the distance, through his tear-glazed eyes.
He stopped in his tracks.
“Is that…” Trent asked.
Martin looked down the road, towards the bright white snow illuminating off the caravan roofs.
He looked at the fields surrounding it. The nearby farmhouse. The mass of chicken coops.
This place. It looked just as frozen as everywhere else.
But there was something about this place that caught his eyes.
That stole his attention over anything.
The people.
People walking through the roads.
People digging up the snow.
People working.
People doing whatever they could for this place.
He took a deep breath, and he smelled something in the air. A slight hint of body odour. Of life.
This place. Heathwaite’s.
It didn’t look perfect.
But it looked just what he needed.
Just what his group needed.
He looked up at the sky and thought of the ginger man he’d killed last night.
“Thank you, brother. Thank you so much.”
He looked back at his group.
Took a deep breath.
And then he smiled.
“Let’s go check out our new home.”
He tightened his grip on his pistol.
His group tightened their grip on their rifles, their knives, their hammers.
And then, together, they walked.
Heathwaite’s in sight.
Their new home in sight.
Chapter Nine
Jack woke to the sound of screaming.
He opened his eyes right away. Surrounded by pitch-black darkness. Villain was by his bed, barking at something.
His heart raced. Sweat dripped from his forehead, even though it was freezing. He wondered if this was a nightmare. He’d had dreams that felt so real. Dreams of loss. Dreams of everything falling apart. Dreams of Heathwaite’s burning; of the people inside all falling, one by one.
But as he sat there on his bed, fear surging through his body, he heard another shout from the road outside.
And something told him this wasn’t a dream.
He got up. Walked across the cold, dark carpet, out onto the hallway. Villain nudged at his ankles, following him closely.
The closer he got to the front of his caravan, the more his nerves began to grow. He knew something was happening out there in the streets. And whatever it was didn’t sound good.
Crime wasn’t something he’d had to worry about since taking over this place. There weren’t many people here, after all. Sixteen total, and most people just kept themselves to themselves.
But that’s what it sounded like right now. Something was happening out there. Something bad.
And he had to see what it was.
Even if the thought of losing his people made him want to run the other way and hide from the reality.
He climbed over to the edge of his sofa and looked outside.
Snow.
Heavy, thick snow blazed past his window, blocking his view of whatever was happening out there.
For a moment, he felt sadness. He’d really grown hopeful that the worst of winter was behind them. But there was no denying what he was looking at; no doubting this blizzard before him.
He took a deep breath. Dug his fingers into his palms.
And then he walked across the caravan and grabbed his rifle.
He’d go out there. See what was happening.
And he’d deal with whatever threat might be on his doorstep.
He walked over to the caravan door and put his walking boots on. Images spiralled around his mind. Hazel lying dead on the road. Villain taking a bullet, collapsing to the ground with a whine.
He shook his head. Tried to force those thoughts away.
But they would always haunt him.
He lowered the handle.
Stepped outside.
The first thing that hit him was the roaring of the wind. It almost knocked him off his feet, unsteadying his balance.
But he dug his feet into the thick snow. Climbed through it, freezing cold. He hadn’t even had a chance to throw his parka on. He was only dressed in a jumper he slept in, and some jogging bottoms. Madness.
He walked to the front of his caravan and lifted his rifle. But he still couldn’t see a thing. The snow blew towards him, too, thick clumps sticking in his eyes.
He walked onto the snow of his driveway. Climbed down the slope, towards the road, ready to fire at whatever might head his way. He thought again of all the ways this could go wrong. Susan or Bella could come rushing out, get caught in the crossfire. Anything like that was possible, and he had to be prepared for it.
But he took another step forward regardless. Braced himself for whatever was ahead.
And then he stopped.
A cry.
Someone begging.
“Please. Please don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me!”
Jack tightened his grip on his rifle. He didn’t recognise that voice, not through the roar of the wind. But it could be anyone.
It could be Hazel.
He stepped further onto the road when he saw the scene ahead of him.
And he stopped, again.
There was a group standing there. Some of them were holding rifles and pistols. Others were holding hammers and knives. There was a lot of them. Fifteen. Twenty. Hard to count in the moment.
But there was something else in front of them.
Myra sat on her knees, tears streaming down her face. She was one of Jack’s people. One of the Heathwaite’s crew.
There was someone lying before her.
Paul’s body.
Her boyfriend’s body.
A man holding a pistol stepped forward. He was tall. Quite bulky. Had a large moustache, and very little other facial hair. The corners of his mouth turned up in a sinister smile.
“They tell me you’re the leader of this place. Am I right about that?”
Jack looked around, and he realised something. He wasn’t alone. Hazel was outside her caravan, Mrs Fuzzles in her arms. Emma was here. Susan was here. Bella was here.
He swallowed a lump in his throat as they all stared at him, the dead body before them, Myra crying, and he nodded. Rifle pointed at this man. “I am.”
The man nodded. “Good. We’ll cut to the chase, then. I’m Martin. I believe you’re Jack. Pleasure to meet you and all that—”
“What the hell do you want?”
Martin tutted. “If you’d allow me to speak without interrupting… I’m sorry for what happened to your friend here. Truly. He came flying at us, and I guess we had no choice but to act.”
“You’d better answer my question right this second,�
� Jack said. “Or I’ll pull this trigger, and you won’t know a damned thing about it.”
Martin’s smile widened even more. “See, I don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”
He lifted his pistol. Pointed it to Myra’s head.
Behind, as the snow eased momentarily, he saw more of Martin’s group point their weapons at more of Jack’s people kneeling before them. More of the caravan site residents. Elsie and John. Kirsty and Simon.
All of them on their knees.
Jack tickled that trigger. Thought about taking his chances. Putting Martin down before he had a chance to wreak any more havoc.
But then he loosened his grip on it. Lowered it, just slightly.
Martin chuckled a little. “See? That’s what happens when we co-operate. Productive things happen.”
“Tell me what you want.”
Martin kept his pistol pointed at Myra’s head. “What I want is simple. I want a home. A home for my people. And this place is perfect.”
Jack shook his head. “Not a damned chance of you living with us. Not after what you’ve done.”
Martin laughed. “Oh, I’m not talking about living with you. I’m talking about us living here. And you walking away.”
Jack frowned. “Are you serious?”
“I know. It’s hard to digest the truth, sometimes. But it’s just the way of the world, Jack. The strong prevail, and the weak make their way for them. Truth is, you’re strong. I’ve no doubt about that. You’ve just run into somebody stronger, unfortunately for you. It’s just how it is. Nothing personal. Just like… well. Like you’ve run into a bear in the woods.”
Jack felt the blood rushing through his skull. He gritted his teeth, looked at his captive people, then at his friends beside him. “And what’s—what’s in it for us?”
Martin raised his bushy eyebrows. “What’s in it for you? You get to live. Every last one of you. How’s that for a deal?”
Jack looked around at his people. He looked around at this caravan site. He thought about what they’d all said to him about moving on; about the people being the key to this place, not the other way around.
And he knew so many people here would happily hand over this place because it wasn’t in as good a condition as Martin thought it was.
But it was their home.
And nobody took it from them.
Not without a fight.
Jack lifted his rifle.
“Whoa,” Martin said, eyes widening. “That’s how you want to play this? Really?”
“You can say whatever you want,” Jack said. “You can make all the threats you like. I’ll make a bet of my own. I can take you and the rest of your bastards out before they can take us out.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed. For the first time, the smile disappeared from his face. “Are you sure about that?”
Jack’s heart raced. His shaky hands gripped the rifle. “I’ll take my chances.”
He stood there, and he thought of the risk he was taking. He caught a glance of Hazel, saw the horror in her eyes. Because they had a chance to walk away. They had a chance to avoid any more violence.
But this place.
This was their home.
They couldn’t just give it up.
Martin sighed. Shook his head. “Okay, then. If that’s really how you want to play it.”
He lifted the pistol from Myra’s head.
He pointed it at Villain.
Jack didn’t even think.
He tightened his grip on the trigger.
Saw the horrified faces.
Saw Martin’s people preparing to act.
He saw everything in standstill as the snow powered down, and he waited for the fireworks to erupt…
And then, they heard it.
All of them heard it.
And at that moment, everything changed.
Chapter Ten
Jack heard it before he saw it.
The sound. At first, he thought it was the wind. Or the snow. Anything but what it actually was. Because what it sounded like… that couldn’t be possible. Not in this world. Not anymore.
But then what else could it be?
He looked up into the darkness of the night sky towards where the noise was coming from. Everything else about the scene he was in the middle of drifted away into the background. Martin. The hostages. The stand-off in the middle of the caravan site. Everything.
And it was the same for everyone.
Because they’d all heard it.
And because of that, all their lives had been put on hold.
All because of that noise.
Jack peered up into the darkness. Snow continued to fly past his vision, blocking his gaze. It was pitch black, and the sky was barely visible.
But he could hear something.
Something… mechanical.
Something moving.
He peered up into the darkness, and he saw it.
Lights.
Lights moving towards them.
Jack stood totally still and stared. Everything else drifted into the background. Nothing else seemed to matter. The ramifications of what this meant… The implications.
Because there was no denying it, now.
There was no denying what was heading towards them.
“Is that…” Hazel started.
It distracted Jack. Made him turn back around, look at the people in Heathwaite’s.
Everyone stared up into the sky.
Even Martin and his people gazed up. Everything frozen in time. Everything else slipping into the background of significance, of importance.
He looked towards those lights, and then he saw it clearly.
The snow had eased, just a little, but enough to help him see just for a moment.
For long enough to figure out what he was looking at.
For everyone to figure out what they were looking at.
There was no doubting it. There was no denying it.
Not anymore.
A helicopter moved across the sky. Its lights were lit. And even at this distance, Jack could tell it was military.
And the more he watched, the more he realised something else.
This helicopter wasn’t alone.
A whole fleet of helicopters followed it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. All of them moving over Heathwaite’s. All of them heading off inland.
But they were low.
Nowhere near as high as they could fly.
Which made Jack wonder…
Were they landing?
Were they approaching a landing place?
And could that mean…
He remembered the conversation. The one he’d overheard in the woods. The one about the place with power. Barrow. He’d been doubtful of it. Sceptical. It seemed too ambitious. It seemed too… hopeful.
But this couldn’t be a coincidence.
He couldn’t hide from it. Not anymore.
The ramifications of these helicopters. They would change things. Forever.
And he knew no matter what, there was no staying put in Heathwaite’s anymore.
Not now the genie was out of the bottle.
Not now his people had seen the truth for themselves.
He kept on staring at these helicopters as they passed by. Watched them drift into the distance. Heard their engine noises fade, their rotors drift away.
And then there was silence again.
Silence, but for the howling wind.
Silence and darkness.
Jack looked back at his group. He saw his people speaking to one another. Saw the baffled looks on people’s faces. The hopeful looks on people’s faces.
And then he looked over at Martin, and he saw something similar.
Martin’s people were speaking with one another. Smiling. Laughing. Clapping. Even the hostages looked on in awe.
Both sets of people were united by what they’d seen.
Their conflict was meaningless now.
Because of what they’d seen.<
br />
And what they’d seen changed everything.
Jack looked over at Martin, into his eyes. And he saw something. He was staring directly at Jack. Confusion on his face as Myra kneeled before him.
“Don’t—don’t you see now?” Hazel shouted. She stepped forward, Mrs Fuzzles struggling in her arms. “This… this is irrelevant. In the grand scheme of things, it’s irrelevant. Lay down your weapons. All of you. And… and all of us. Because—because what we just saw then. That changes everything. Right, Jack?”
Jack wanted to agree with her. He wanted to say he agreed with her verdict, with her judgement. And he did, in essence.
But he could see the way Martin looked at him.
The way Myra stayed crouched before him.
And the way Martin hadn’t spoken a word, either.
“The woman’s right,” a bloke from Martin’s group said. He was a big guy. Black. Muscular. Sounded quite posh.
Martin looked around at him. Frowned. “What was that, Trent?”
“This conflict. Whatever’s happening here. It doesn’t need to happen. Because there’s something else out there. Something better out there. And we can all go there. We can all figure this out, one way or another.”
Jack saw the tension in the silence between Martin and Trent. He held his rifle. Stayed ready. Stayed prepared, at all times.
He knew the look in Martin’s eyes.
The distrust.
Because he felt it himself.
Martin sighed. He lowered his pistol. Turned it away from Villain, and put his hands by his side. “You’re right.”
Jack kept his rifle raised. Everyone else stared on, still dazed by what they’d seen, still in disbelief. Like it was some kind of dream. Or like the last few months had all been a nightmare.
Martin walked from side to side. His footsteps crunched through the thick, icy snow. “You’re right that this place is irrelevant to us now. You’re right that we have… greater interests. You’re absolutely right.”
And then he turned back around. Looked right into Jack’s eyes.
“But they’re our interests. Not yours.”
He lifted his pistol.
Pointed it at Myra’s head.
And then he pulled the trigger.
Everything happened so slowly, just for a moment.