by Casey, Ryan
The gunshot echoed around Heathwaite’s.
Myra’s head exploded.
And then the cries erupted.
The pandemonium kicked in.
Even the man called Trent looked on, wide-eyed, shocked.
Martin lifted his pistol and pointed it at Jack and his people. He smiled.
“Let’s take this group out,” he shouted. “Let’s deal with this threat. And then let’s go find our way out of this mess. Once and for all.”
He lifted the pistol and pointed it at Jack and his people.
Before Jack could even react, Martin fired.
Chapter Eleven
Jack watched Martin lift his pistol and fire towards him.
The pitch black of night illuminated with the gunshots. The blasts echoed around his ears. Between blasts, he heard people crying out. Smelled the slight burning of fired bullets. He could taste something in the air, too. Something he never used to be able to identify, but something he’d tasted far too many times since the collapse.
Blood.
He saw more of his people fall beside Myra. Elsie and John. Kirsty and Simon. People he’d grown to know. People he’d grown to trust.
And as he stood there with his rifle in hand, he could only do one thing as Martin aimed his pistol at him and the rest of his people.
“Run!” Jack shouted.
He backed away as Villain, Hazel, Mrs Fuzzles, Bella, and Susan ran. He fired shots with his rifle at Martin’s group, peppering them indiscriminately amidst the crowd.
He saw people fall. Saw their blood paint the snowy, frozen ground red.
He saw his bullets connecting. Heard the shouts. The cries.
But Martin stayed stood.
He held that pistol.
And he kept on firing it towards Jack.
He wanted to go back. To fight for the rest of the Heathwaite’s residents. But he knew damn well that was suicide.
He could only fight for those he was with.
As hard as that was to accept.
Jack went to pull the trigger at Martin again when he stopped.
The rifle.
He was out of ammo.
Shit.
He looked at his caravan. It was only a few feet away. But it was too dangerous going in there. Go in there and he might never get out. Especially not while Martin’s group knew where he was.
He had no time to reload. No time to waste at all.
He glanced around and saw Emma by his side.
She stared off into the distance.
“Emma, you need to run.”
She kept on standing there. Kept on staring. Silent.
“Emma!” Jack said. “Listen to me for God-damned-once in your life. You need to…”
Just then, in the corner of his eye, he saw someone emerge.
One of Martin’s people raced towards him.
He spun around and instinctively lifted his empty rifle.
But then the man lifted his hammer.
Went to swing it at Jack.
Jack held his breath, Villain barking by his side. Readied himself to fight back.
And then there was a blast, and the man dropped to the snow.
Jack was still. He didn’t know what to say or think. Not at first.
Not until he looked around and saw Emma still standing there.
She was holding a pistol.
“Emma?” Jack said. “I told you to—”
She lowered her pistol and looked at him. “I just saved your life. I am strong enough. Now let’s get away from here.”
And just like that, she turned and ran. And as Jack stood there, shielded by the thick snow pouring down, he thought about what Emma said. She’d saved him. She’d helped him.
They were in this together.
They had to be.
And then he heard gunshots and footsteps approaching, and he knew he had no time to waste.
He spun around and ran.
He kept on going. Kept on wading through the snow. The gunshots continued to ring out. And all he could think of was what’d happened to the rest of his people. What’d happened to Myra. Another massacre. A massacre Heathwaite’s wouldn’t handle. Not again.
He could still hear their screams.
He kept on running. The snow fell so heavily that he was disoriented now. He’d lost track of the road. No idea which direction he was going in, whether he was on the right path. He couldn’t see ahead for the snow distorting his vision. He couldn’t hear any of his people.
He just kept on running and—
He slammed into something. Fell to the ground.
When he looked up, he saw Hazel standing there.
She reached out a hand. Helped him to his feet. He wiped away the snow, freezing with a lack of coat and thick trousers.
And then they stood there, together, lost amid this snowstorm.
“So I’m guessing you’re warming to the idea of leaving this place, now?” Hazel asked.
Jack gritted his teeth. He knew he was going to face a backlash for his loyalty to this place, especially now people had died. God forbid they found out he’d known about the possibility of a safe haven out there for longer than they thought.
But that was another debate for another time.
“We’ve no choice but to get away,” he said. “Is… is everyone here?”
“You mean everyone from your little inner circle?” Hazel asked. “Everyone else is just collateral to you, right?”
“That’s not what I mean, Hazel. We have no time to argue right now. Is everyone—”
“Candice.”
It was Emma who spoke.
Jack turned to her. Saw her hidden in the snow.
“Shit,” Bella said. “She’s… she’s not here.”
Jack heard more footsteps behind. Shouting. Gunfire.
“It’s too late,” Bella said. “I… I don’t want to leave her behind. I don’t want to leave anyone behind. But if we don’t get away, we’re going to fall, too. All of us.”
Jack heard Bella’s words, and he heard the reality to them. The truth to them.
But at the same time… Candice was one of his people.
Inner circle or not, however Hazel referred to it. They didn’t leave people behind.
“We need to find her,” Jack said.
“What?” Bella said.
“I said we need to find her. Feel free to make your own way out of here. I’ll go it alone. But I’m not leaving Candice here to die. It’s absolutely out of the question.”
He looked around at his people, at Villain, at all of them.
“Leave, if you want to. All of you. Leave this to me. I can find her. And I can get her out of here.”
Hazel walked towards Jack, and she sighed. “Jack? You still don’t get it, do you? We’re in this together. Whether we agree or not. Right, Bella?”
She looked over at him. Shook her head, then shrugged. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”
They stood there together, in the snow.
Footsteps approaching.
“Okay then,” Jack said. “Let’s got find her.”
They turned away. Ran up the slope. Jack could still hear the shouts and the cries from behind. He had his bearings now at least. And he was at least partly confident that there weren’t more people beyond Martin’s group that he’d seen already.
But he had to stay on guard.
And there was something else, as he rushed by the snow-covered caravans, too.
The thought of leaving this place.
The thought it was all falling apart. It was all ending.
Another chapter of his life, slamming shut.
He staggered up the snowy slope, and he smelled something. Something that filled him with fear.
Burning.
He got to the upper road where Candice lived alongside the other caravans, and he froze.
His stomach sank.
Candice’s caravan.
It was on fire.
Chapter Twelve
Jack stared at Candice’s burning caravan and didn’t know what to do next.
The flames lit up the darkness of night. The snow had eased, making visibility clearer. The warmth of the flames that climbed slowly up the sides of the caravan cut through the icy coldness inside his body. In a strange, instinctive way, that warmth actually felt comforting.
But he couldn’t get too comfortable.
Not with the scene before him.
He looked around at Hazel. At Bella. At Susan and Emma. He looked at Villain, and at Mrs Fuzzles.
And he could see from the horrified looks on their faces that they’d accepted this.
They were horrified by it. They were alarmed by it. Devastated by it.
But they accepted it.
There was no going in there after Candice.
There was no saving her. Not now.
But Jack couldn’t accept it.
Because Candice was one of his people.
She was his son’s girlfriend.
He would never forgive himself if he didn’t fight to the very end for his people.
He took a deep breath and rushed over to Candice’s caravan.
“Jack?” Hazel said.
He turned around. Looked at her. He wanted to tell her he loved her. That he was doing this for her. For all of them. “I have to try.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “It’s… it’s on fire, Jack. It’s too late. I’m sorry but it’s—it’s too late.”
He stood there and saw the tears rolling down Hazel’s cheeks. He wanted to stay with her. He wanted to stay with all his people.
But he looked around at Candice’s caravan, and he knew what he had to do.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And then he rushed towards the caravan, and in through the door.
He heard the protestations right away. Heard the shouts. And he swore he heard things in the distance, too. Movement. Voices. Martin’s people getting closer.
But what hit him above anything was the intense heat inside this caravan.
He felt his ice-cold body warming up like he was defrosting in a microwave. Beads of warm sweat fell down his face. The smell of smoke filled his lungs.
He coughed. Spluttered. Worked his shaky legs through the caravan, towards the back of it.
He had to find Candice.
He had to know she was okay.
He at least needed some kind of answer.
He moved further through the caravan. “Candice!”
But nobody shouted back.
This place was silent.
He stumbled to the floor. His eyes were filled with smoke. The heat was intense. Outside, he could hear Villain barking. He just wanted his people to get away. He wanted them to run. Before it was too late.
He dragged himself back to his feet from the hot floor. Worked his way past the kitchen, towards the bathroom. “Candice!”
There was nobody in the bathroom.
He tried the door to the smaller bedroom.
But there was nobody in there either.
He went to move towards the back of the caravan when he heard something.
Something cracked above.
The roof started caving in.
Jack dived back, out of the way.
Flames crawled down the walls. Filled the caravan.
And as he looked at the back of the caravan, as much as he wanted to keep going, as much as he wanted to keep fighting, he knew he couldn’t go back there.
He knew he was out of luck.
He had to get away from here.
He looked at that bedroom door, and he felt tears building. He thought of Wayne. How much he loved Candice. How much he’d fought for Candice.
He wiped the tears away and took a sharp breath, his lungs filling with smoke and turning him dizzy. “I’m sorry, Candice.”
He watched the flames creep up the door to the bedroom.
Then, he turned around and ran.
He coughed and spluttered as he ran out of the caravan. His legs were growing heavy. His head spun even more. He felt like he was running through tar. The flames getting hotter. More intense. Threatening to burn him on the spot.
He stumbled his way through the kitchen area, the hard floor sticking to his shoes as it melted away.
He threw himself into the lounge.
And then he saw something that filled him with fear.
The door to the caravan.
His way out.
It was covered in flames.
He stood there a few seconds. Looked to his left, saw the flames approaching from the back.
And then he looked at that door ahead of him, and he knew he was trapped.
He looked around the caravan. Over to the window. And he knew that was his only hope, now.
He rushed across the caravan. Lifted his rifle.
And then he slammed its butt against the glass.
His rifle bounced back.
Jack looked over his shoulder. The flames were in the lounge now. Time was running out.
He pulled back that rifle and smacked it against the glass again.
A crack, this time.
Not a huge crack, but a crack all the same.
Come on. You’ve got this. Come on.
He went to slam that rifle against the window again when he felt something sharp in his chest. A crippling tightness, squeezing his lungs, zapping all the energy from his body.
He steadied himself, dizziness taking over. He lifted that rifle with his shaking hands as the fire surrounded him, and he knew he only had one shot left.
You can do this. You can get out of here. You can get back to your people.
He pulled back the rifle and slammed it against the window.
And he heard a smash.
He looked ahead, still in disbelief.
The glass before him had smashed.
He clambered over the sofa, the flames so close they nicked at his heels.
He dragged himself out of the window, tumbled down towards the cold, snowy ground, instantly cooling.
He looked up at the caravan. Looked at the flames.
Looked at Candice’s home, and felt his heart sink.
It was over.
Candice was gone.
He pushed himself to his feet. Turned around.
When he turned, he saw somebody standing there.
But it wasn’t someone he recognised.
The woman had long, curly hair. A twitching eye. Yellow teeth.
She pointed a rifle at him.
Smiling.
“Going somewhere?” she asked.
Chapter Thirteen
Jack watched the woman walk towards him, rifle raised, and he knew he was in deep shit.
The snow fell heavily again. He could barely see a thing, standing here in the darkness. He could smell burning from Candice’s caravan and feel the intense heat of the flames. He didn’t want to look around. He didn’t want to see how close he’d come to dying in there.
And he didn’t want to think about how Candice must’ve suffered in there…
The woman with the rifle took a few more steps towards him. Her twitchy eye studied him closely. Her yellow teeth were so stained and rotten. He could almost smell her sour breath just looking at her.
She walked closer. Kept that rifle raised.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be goin’ anywhere, Mr Leader. Do you?”
Jack lifted his rifle and pointed it back at her. He knew it was a reckless move. But he didn’t exactly have much else to go on anymore. Especially when he had no ammo himself. “Stay back. Or I’ll shoot.”
The woman’s smile widened. She laughed a little, shook her head. “Don’t take the piss, mate. I saw you run out of ammo a good five minutes ago.”
Jack felt his heart sink. Damn it. He kept his rifle raised anyway, mostly because it at least provided him some protection.
Even if it was only psychological protection.
She walked
closer towards him. Kept her gaze on him at all times.
“You know,” she said. “I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t have to argue like this. You’re a good looking lad. Sure you’d’ve been a real asset to our side.”
Jack swallowed a lump, his throat all phlegmy from the smoke he’d inhaled. “We gave you a chance to walk away. You were the ones who started this.”
She smiled again. Took another few steps towards Jack. “And we’re the ones who’ll finish it, too.”
She was so close now. The rifle was almost pressed against Jack’s chest. He could hear movement in the distance. Voices. More of Martin’s people heading this way.
He looked over to his left, over to the side of the road where he’d last seen his people before he raced inside Candice’s caravan.
There was nobody there.
“No point pining for your people, Jacky boy. They’re long gone. You’re on your own here. All on your own. And you’re about to see just how reliant on those people you are after all. Just how much you can’t do everything on your own, even if you tell yourself otherwise. Mr Lone Ranger.”
He looked down at that rifle moving towards him, and he knew he only had one chance.
One chance to try and knock it away.
One chance to make a break for it.
But then it hit his chest.
Dug right into his sternum.
The woman was right up in his face now. He could see the sores on her cheeks. The pus seeping out of the corner of her bloodshot left eye. And that breath… that awful breath. It was like something dead had died again. That’s the only way he could explain it.
She shook her head, shifting her curly hair out of her eyes. “So how about you and me have some fun at least, hmm? You’re a dead man soon. Might as well go out with a bang.”
Her smile widened.
He wanted to recoil.
He wanted to step back.
But the more he edged back, the hotter he felt the flames of Candice’s caravan growing.
The woman lifted a finger from her rifle, then. Put it on his lips. He could taste the dirt on it, and it made him want to vomit.
“Ssh,” she said. “Don’t you say a word. We’ll be over with in no time.”
And then she moved her hand down his body, towards his joggers.
He sensed a chance.
He let her get to the top of his joggers.