by Casey, Ryan
They ran again, ran together, ran towards the house on the left that Martin had disappeared around.
And Jack didn’t look back, not once. As much as he wanted to. As much as he wanted to see his people were okay.
He had to trust them.
“Why did you spare me?” Trent asked as the pair of them jogged in pursuit of Martin.
Jack glanced around at him. Half-smiled. “Because you’re a good guy. You might’ve done some bad things. But we’ve all done bad things. You want the same thing as I do. As all of us do. And that’s—”
Jack stopped.
He stopped because he heard something blast through the air, shoot right past him.
He turned around.
Martin stood at the back of the garden. Rifle raised. Pointed right at Jack.
He looked defiant now. Like he was willing to go down fighting. Like he was willing to do anything to stay standing.
But Jack just lifted his rifle.
Pointed it at him.
Walked towards him, together with Trent.
“I’ll shoot,” Martin said, begging now. “It’s—it’s still not too late to do the right thing, Ja—argh!”
He tumbled to the ground.
Because Jack had shot him.
Right in the left kneecap.
He watched Martin writhe around on the ground as he stood over him.
Martin went to turn his rifle on him again, but Trent stamped on his hand. Jack heard Martin’s bones crack as he let out another desperate cry.
And then Trent kicked Martin’s rifle away, and the pair of them stood over him.
Martin lay there on the ground. Blood spurted from his knee. He clutched it, pale-faced, frothing at the mouth.
And Jack wanted nothing more than to press his rifle to Martin’s skull and put him down.
He wanted nothing more than to take him out.
Clearly Trent felt the same.
“Please,” Martin said. “Have—have mercy. I only did what was—”
Trent booted him in the face. Jack heard teeth crack, saw white and red bone tumble to the ground. “You don’t get to beg for mercy,” Trent said. “You didn’t give anyone mercy. Ever. You don’t deserve it.”
Martin lifted a shaky hand. “Please. I—”
Another crack across his face from Trent’s boot. His eye turned bloodshot right away. Blood trickled down from his disfigured nose. He cut a pitiful figure. A broken figure. A weak figure.
Jack lifted his rifle. Pointed it at Martin’s head. “I told you I’d kill you. I told you I’d make you pay for what you did. I told you I was stronger than you.”
Martin clutched his bleeding kneecap tightly. Shook his head desperately. “You—you were right. You’re stronger. You’re… you’re stronger and you won and… and please. Please. Just let me live. Just have mercy on me. On my people. Please.”
Trent spat on Martin. Pulled back his foot, once more. “You don’t get any mercy, you bastard.”
He went to swing his foot at Martin once again.
“Wait,” Jack said.
Trent stopped. Looked at Jack. Frowned. “Huh?”
Jack stood there. Kept his rifle pointed at Martin.
And as much as he hated him, as much as he wanted to punish him… he couldn’t.
He just couldn’t.
“I want to kill you right now,” Jack said. “I want to beat you to a frigging pulp. But… but we’re moving into a new world. We’re moving towards something better. Something… something hopeful. And that’s just it. If we want to survive, we can’t keep going on like this. We can’t keep fighting these tribal battles. We have to be different. We… we have to be better.”
Martin’s eyes darted around, searching Jack’s face. Even Trent looked stunned, even if Jack had just relayed his own words back to him.
“What—what’re you saying?” Martin asked, crawling towards Jack’s feet. “What… What do you mean?”
Jack swallowed a lump in his throat and said the words he never thought he could. “Your people. I’m not going to hurt them. My people are rounding them up right now. Making sure they’re okay.”
Martin scanned Jack’s face as he lay there on the ground like he was confused. Like he didn’t understand. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Jack took another deep breath. Kept his rifle pointed. “And you… Like I said. I want to punish you for what you’ve done. I want to kill you for what you’ve done. But we’re heading somewhere new. Somewhere with rules of their own. It’s time we stopped making our own, different rules. It’s time we came together. Trusted each other. Because if we don’t… we’re never going to grow from this mess. So I… I’m going to take you to this place, whatever it is. I’m going to tell them your crimes. And then I’m going to let them decide what they do with you.”
Speaking this way felt like a release. Like a weight lifted from Jack’s shoulders. Like a whole half-year of distrust and hopelessness was lifting from above him, like a smoggy cloud.
And Martin looked at him with tearful eyes. His face was bruised. His nose bled. A stray tooth rested on his chin.
But he looked up at Jack with such thankful eyes. Like a rescued puppy.
“Thank you,” he said, his throat clogged up with snot and blood. “Thank—thank you for your mercy. Thank you for…”
It all happened so fast.
First, Trent shouting out. “Jack!”
Then Jack saw Martin pulling a hand from behind his back.
Swinging his knife towards him.
And in that brief moment, Jack felt regret.
He felt sadness that this couldn’t go the way he’d wanted it to go.
He didn’t hesitate.
He pulled the trigger.
Fired.
Martin’s arm dropped.
His head burst open all over the frosty green grass.
And then he went still.
Jack stood there. Icy rain fell from above. His heart pounded in his skull. The cold wind brushed into this garden, sending a shiver across his whole body.
Trent put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, made him jump for a moment. He looked at him. Half-smiled, sighed. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go hold up the rest of that deal.”
Jack looked at the bloodied remains of Martin’s skull.
He looked at the knife resting between his twitching fingers.
Then he took a deep breath and shook his head.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t save yourself,” he said.
He turned around from Martin.
Walked away from the garden.
Walked back into the street.
Towards the next big decision.
Towards the final step.
Chapter Forty-Five
Jack stared at Martin’s people kneeling opposite, and he felt his grip around his rifle tighten.
The warm sun had cracked between the clouds. It felt poetic, in a way. Through this entire journey, they’d been through all kinds of weather conditions. They’d had blizzards. They’d had hailstones. They’d had chilling wind, so cold it froze you to the bone.
But now, with freedom on the horizon, the sun broke through the clouds.
And it felt warm against his skin, too.
Martin’s six people sat on their knees. All of them had their hands behind their heads. They’d been rounded up by Hazel and Candice, who held rifles, pointed them at them. Tears streamed down their faces. They looked sad. Begged for mercy. Begged for forgiveness.
And hell. Jack didn’t want to give it them. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t deserve it.
But then he remembered what he’d said to Martin. The chance he’d given him. A chance to put everything in the past and start again in whatever new world lay ahead.
And he lowered his rifle.
He looked at Hazel and Candice. Nodded at them to do the same.
They looked back at him. Uncertain at first. Unsure. Like they weren’t sure about this. Especially after a
ll the conflict they’d been engaged in with Martin’s group. Especially after what they’d done to Bella. What they’d done to Iain and the kids.
“Lower them,” Jack said. “It’s over. This entire conflict. It’s over now.”
Hazel sighed and lowered her rifle. Candice followed.
Trent looked more hesitant, shaking his head, uncertain.
“Trent,” Jack said. “Lower it. You said it yourself. Some of them are good people. They’re not all like Martin. Just like you aren’t like Martin.”
Trent looked at Jack, shook his head, and sighed.
And then a smile crept up the corners of his mouth.
“You’re a good bloke, Jack. A better bloke than most.”
He lowered his rifle.
And then it was just six people on their knees, and six equals opposite.
Jack took a deep breath, looked at each and every one of these people. The woman with the scar across her face. The man with the gaunt cheekbones. The young lad with half his teeth missing.
And as he looked at them, crouched there, so desperate, he felt sympathy.
They’d just got caught up in a bad crowd.
They’d taken a wrong turn.
But that didn’t condemn them forever.
“I can’t pretend I don’t want to gun the lot of you down,” Jack said, looking between each of them. “That urge. It doesn’t go away. Especially not after what you did. What you took from us.”
Some uncertain glances back from these people. Confusion on their faces.
Jack breathed in deeply, kept himself under control. “But I want you to know something. I want you to know the truth. I gave Martin a chance, just like I’m giving you a chance right now. I gave him a chance to join us. A chance to head to whatever lies ahead with us. And to answer for his crimes there. He tried to stab me for it.”
The man with the gaunt cheekbones and bloodshot eyes shook his head. “We ain’t like him.” He glanced at Trent. “Trent, you know, mate. We’re—we’re not all like him. We didn’t want what he wanted. He just… he seemed strong. Seemed like the safest bet. But we don’t deserve to die. Please.”
Jack felt that uncertainty once again. He felt that desire for vengeance. That hold his distrust in others had over him, all of it rooted in his protectiveness of his own people, which he saw clearly now.
But then he pushed it to one side.
Because he knew he couldn’t survive while that was there.
Nobody could.
“I wanted things to work out with Martin. Really, I did. But… but it didn’t. For whatever reason, it didn’t.”
Butterflies filled his stomach. His throat tightened. Are you actually going to say this?
“But… but we have another chance now. A chance to do things differently. A chance to head towards whatever’s in the distance together. Because as little as we do know about this place… we know there are helicopters there. We know there are people there. And we know this place is far more advanced than anywhere else we’ve come across. So we have a chance for a fresh start there. A chance to start again.”
The six people stayed on their knees, staring back up at Jack, back up at his people.
He looked at his people. Hazel. Candice. Emma. Susan. Trent.
Then at Villain, sat by his side. Thankfully not by Trent’s side anymore. Little bugger.
He looked back at these six people who used to serve Martin, and then he took a deep breath.
“So come on,” Jack said. “Get to your feet. We’ve gotta get moving to this place some time or another.”
Martin’s people stayed on their knees, looking at one another. They looked uncertain. Like they had no trust at all.
So Jack did something he didn’t want to do.
Something to prove how far he was willing to go.
To prove how far he’d come.
He lowered his rifle. Put it on the road.
Hazel stood her ground. Everyone looked at him, uncertain for a few seconds.
And then Candice followed.
Hazel followed soon after.
And then Susan, much more reluctantly.
Trent kept his rifle in his hands.
“Trent?” Jack said.
Trent took a deep breath and sighed. He turned back to his old people, looked at them all. “This is a chance nobody gets. You’d better take it.”
And then he dropped his rifle, too.
Martin’s people stayed put. Unmoving. Silent.
For a moment, Jack wondered whether they were going to move at all.
And then the woman with the scarred face, stood.
Slowly, surely, more people started to stand. The gaunt guy. The young lad.
And with every step, Jack’s regret grew. His uncertainty grew. The butterflies flew rapidly around his stomach, taunting him.
And then the woman with the scarred face stepped towards him and held out a long, bony hand.
She looked right into his eyes. Eyes twitching from side to side, not breaking from his. Jack saw underneath that scar she was beautiful. But she was tainted by this new world. Tainted, just like everyone.
“My people,” she said. “We… we’ve done things. Bad things. We don’t deserve another chance. But if you’re willing to give it… we’ll take it. And we’ll be in your debt, man. We’ll be in your debt forever.”
Jack looked at that shaking hand and felt that final urge to resist.
And then after a deep breath, he took it.
Felt it, cold in his palm.
“I’m Jack. It’s good to meet you properly.”
She smiled back. “Gloria. Heard a lot about you.”
Jack nodded and looked around, then, and he saw something that made warmth grow in his chest.
The other people.
All on their feet.
All holding hands out to Jack’s group.
Getting to know them.
Bonding with them.
And that initial reluctance kicked in when he saw the gaunt guy holding out a hand to Hazel.
That urge to intervene kicked in when he saw the young lad smiling at Emma, and Emma smiling back at him.
Protectiveness.
Defensiveness.
All of it peaking.
And then with a deep breath, he let go of it, and he sank into the moment.
When they were done, when they were all introduced to one another, Jack turned around as he stood with his extended group, and he looked into the distance, towards the walls, towards the helicopters, towards the people.
He looked at it all illuminated in the sun, and he heard footsteps by his side.
When he turned, he saw Hazel standing there.
He saw her dark hair glowing in the sun. Saw her eyes glistening. He saw her, and he was taken right back to the times they’d spent together. The good times they’d spent together. The memories.
“You ready?” Jack asked.
Hazel looked at him.
And for the first time in a long while, the demons of their past felt exorcised.
And she smiled at him.
She put a warm hand in his.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Jack looked back at his people. At his whole group. At Villain. The one who’d been there with him since the start.
Then at Candice. His son’s girlfriend. Smiling. Prepared.
And then he thought of Bella. Thought of Wayne. Thought of everyone they’d lost.
He took a deep breath as his throat welled up, and he smiled. “We did it,” he said. “We made it. Time to see what the next world’s got on offer.”
He tightened his grip on Hazel’s hand, lifted his rifle in his other, and he started walking towards the wall in the distance, as the helicopters got closer, as the promise of a new world shone in the beaming sun—
A shout.
A cry from behind.
Jack looked around. He didn’t know where it’d come from. Didn’t know who it was. Only that it’d cut thr
ough the perfect moment. The moment that felt like a conclusion. The moment that felt like a natural ending.
He spun around, heart racing, hairs standing on his arms, chest tight.
And then he saw her.
The woman with the scar on her face. Gloria.
Her eyes were wide.
She was falling to her knees.
Her neck spurting blood.
He stood there, heart racing, not understanding how this could’ve happened.
He lifted his rifle. Pointed it back.
And then he saw something else.
Susan.
A knife sticking through her belly.
Blood pooling down her body.
Her eyes widening, just a moment.
And then the knife coming away and her limp body tumbling to the ground.
The hairs on Jack’s arms stood on end. Sickness filled his body. “Susan!”
He went to run towards her, when he saw him.
The green coat.
The dark black hair, glued to the sides of his face.
And that smile.
The man from the fog.
Jack could barely process anything.
He saw more of those people surrounding them.
People appearing out of nowhere.
Surrounding his people.
Closing in.
He heard another shout.
Spun around.
One of them was holding on to Hazel. Dragging her to the road.
Jack lifted his rifle and went to fire. “Hazel!”
But then he felt something.
A sharp pain in his right side.
A crack across his head.
The taste of ice and tarmac as he fell to the road.
And as he lay there on his side, the last thing he saw in his blurred vision?
That symbol.
That pretzel-shaped symbol, smeared in blood on the chest of one of the people.
And then something wrapped around his head, and his vision blackened.
And still he heard the screams.
Chapter Forty-Six
Jack opened his eyes.
Darkness. Darkness everywhere. He couldn’t see a thing. Couldn’t tell what time of day it was. Couldn’t tell what the weather was like. Couldn’t even tell whether he was alone or not.
Only that he was trapped.
He heard things. Rustling all around him. But he couldn’t tell whether that was in his mind or outside. He was cold, shivering. Felt like bugs were crawling all over him. He could smell something. Urine. Shit. So pungent it made him want to vomit. So fresh he could taste it, right at the back of his throat.