by Luke Kondor
“We’ve not heard from them in some time now,” Henry added. “Could be one of a million things, but Occam’s Razor tells us it’s probably just an issue with the radio. It’s been on the blip for a while anyhow. Trouble is, it’s hard to source new technology without sending a search party out, and that’s something that I’m reluctant to do.”
“So, you need someone to head up there and check it out?” Ria asked.
“Well volunteered, Ria,” Henry said, looking back with a smile. “We’ll give it a few more hours to see if we get anything back, but get yourself ready for a late-night canicross run should we decide it’s worth investigating.”
“Sure,” Ria said, a wave of confidence washing over her, erasing some of the tiredness Colin had seen that morning. Perhaps that’s all that Ria would need, to earn the trust of Henry back? Maybe then she’d put down the bottle.
“What’s the second thing?” Byron nudged.
“Hmm, okay. Colin, do you remember the cache drop that Anton found you in?”
“Yeah… ‘found’…”
Anton sat up. “Hey, if you hadn’t have fought us and disobeyed my instructions, maybe you wouldn’t have ended up beaten and bruised on the flatbed of a Ranger.”
“Anyway, that cache drop is a simple halfway point, between us and our closest trading partners – our neighbours in King’s Hill.”
Colin thought back to what he had found in that old shed. Protein bars, water, and the faded yellow notebook filled with the contrasting cursives of Anton – the Dutchman – and the mysterious Susie K. Conversations written between the two in a book which now rested in Colin’s cabin, serving as a gentle reminder that he had been heading the right direction in the search for Hope.
“Susie K, right?” Colin said, noticing Anton’s eyes flick to his own.
“Right,” Henry said, showing no surprise at the fact Colin knew the leader of King’s Hill’s name. “We trade boiled waters from our lake, occasionally some fish, some of our biodiesel, once in a while some weapons, and, in return, they give us various fruits from their hunts and scavenges, and sometimes some clothing too.”
Byron shuffled on the spot. “So, what’s the problem?”
“One of our cache boys arrived this morning with all the same stuff we had left a few days ago. The same bottles of boiled water, the same special little wrapped up fish I had Chef scale for my old pal, Beckett – a grumpy old fart who used to be a leader of sorts over there.”
“He heard gunfire, too,” Anton chipped in, eyes glistening in the corners. “Even from a few miles away, he said the reports were unmistakable.”
“What are you saying?” Ria asked, her voice gentle now.
“That’s just it,” Henry said, turning back to address the room. “We really don’t know. But something happened over there. Our friend’s on the hill might be in danger. And I feel the urge to find out just what the hell is going on.”
~ 10 ~
Colin knew very little about the others over in King’s Hill. He hardly really knew about Hope, let alone the small perimeter of the world he had occupied at the LeShards’ for several years. As open as Henry and the Hopefuls had been to him during his stay, they weren’t the most forthcoming of people. Each Hopeful played their part – and, to their credit, played it well – under Henry’s careful operation, in order to keep the camp ticking and the lights on. Iggy the hippie patchwork maker, Chef the barbarian, the Martelles… even sweet little Veronica, they all played their roles.
The more Colin thought about it, the more he realised that’s exactly what it was. An operation. Run by a master surgeon himself, Henry LeShard.
Scavvies, most likely, Colin thought, his mind painting a picture of what may lay on the other side of the miles of landscape stretching between Hope and King’s Hill. Dead folks with slashed stomachs. Tents and houses ransacked and raided. It was just the way of things. Something that he’d come to expect. But that was then and this is now, right? They’d seen the deer, full of rot and ready to spill and spread. Had it travelled that far already? All the way over to King’s Hill?
What about London…? Look how fast that spread…
Colin blinked the thought away, Anton walked quietly beside him as they made their way back to Anton’s cabin. It was the closest one from the town centre and over the bridge. Next to the infirmary with its big open windows. Colin hadn’t noticed before, but these inner cabins were the luxury ones. Saunas annexed to the side (empty and lined with grime), with a bucket attached to the top and a pull-rope to allow for the relaxed and sweaty users to step out and dunk the cool water over themselves.
Inside Anton’s cabin were three separate bedrooms. A 40” black TV hung on the wall, used more as a dark mirror nowadays than any kind of entertainment system. A nice souvenir of the old world, too. Like how people used to decorate their houses with grandfather clocks and antique paintings and taxidermied cats and dogs. Not that Colin would ever do such a thing. But keeping a TV up there on the wall, lifeless, looking upon the living with its black marble eye gave Colin the same feeling he used to get after visiting his Uncle Jamie down in Dartford. The man was a hoarder. He used to keep stacks upon stacks of old newspapers that filled up his living room and garage. Made the place stink of ink and dust. His old man used to say Uncle Jamie was “riddled with nostalgia”.
Colin looked away from his dark reflection. There was tension in the air. Anton huffed and fussed about plumping flat cushions and moving crockery to the sink area. Colin took a seat and waited. He knew the reason that Anton wasn’t happy with him. Colin raised his voice to Henry. Hope’s King Bear.
After running out of things to relocate around the house, Anton stopped in a doorway. “The man only means well, yous know. He shoulds be your friend, not your enemy.” He rolled a spare jumper into a little ball and placed it in a backpack he had brought out from one of the bedrooms, along with three tins of beans from his cupboard, and a dirty spoon speckled with rust.
Did he really need this much space to himself?
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Anton, but we got other things to worry about here. We just saw a rotter transform the hell out of a deer just outside the walls. We can’t pretend it isn’t happening. It’s back. It’s spreading now. Again. It’s happening how it did the last time.”
“Please, Colin. Don’t. It’s still not a reason to fly offs the handle. That’s not how things are dones here. You try to keep it reined in whiles I’m gone. I don’t want to hear you’ve destroyed Hope before I’m back.”
Anton chucked his backpack over his shoulder and moved to pass Colin, avoiding eye contact. He would’ve barged right into Colin’s side if Colin hadn’t placed his hand on Anton’s shoulders and stopped him there and then.
“No, Anton. Look…” He paused, thinking of the right words.
Let him know. Tell him he’s the first friend outside of a dog and two old fogies you’ve had in years. Go on. Tell him.
“You should stays, Colin. Rest up, do your patrols, look after them pooches. They’re a lot of work for Byron on his own, and, as I understand it, you’ve got a lot of training for your runnings to do.”
“What are you talking about?” Colin said. Anton’s eyes met his. “I’m coming with you.”
“Whats do you mean?”
“Simple. There’re only a handful of us left who know what’s actually going on out there. We need to stick together. To watch each other’s backs. You can’t do this alone, that’s worse than suicide.”
Anton sighed. “I need to find…” he trailed off, cheeks blushing ever so slightly, before composing himself. “I appreciate the camaraderie, Colin, but…”
Colin’s eyes flickered to the window, a scenic view of the lake beyond. Why does everyone have a better view than me? It was there that Colin saw it. The deer. Crookedly raising off its hinds to stare at Colin with glazed eyes. White strands waving out of its head like horns. Floating several inches above the lake’s surface.
“Colin?”
The voice pulled him back, but not before the deer’s head snapped grotesquely back, the sound of breaking bone filling Colin’s mind.
—Krk—
“I’m coming with you,” he resolved. A clear certainty on his face.
“Okays,” Anton resigned. “Go home. Grab some stuffs. Wrap up tight. Bring something to keep you warm. We’re going to be heading in the Ranger, and chances are we won’t make it there before sundown.”
“Sure thing,” Colin said.
“Ands you better say goodbyes to whoever you needs to. No telling whats we’re going to find over there.”
The grim reality brought a sudden silence to the room.
Colin left the cabin and wondered where to go next, but found he needn’t have worried, as his feet made a turn for the building next door. An old youth club, now used as an apothecary of sorts. He opened the door and stepped inside to find Joanna, auburn hair tied up in a top-knot. Homemade sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was standing next to another of the Hopefuls, someone Colin vaguely recognised as one of the enthusiastic dancers from the previous night. She was cleaning a clump of powdered bleach from his arm with a damp blue cloth.
Was his name, Keith? Had he been introduced?
Colin had never been good with names. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he was never that good at networking, back in the days when the city stood and the traffic lights turned green. How many times had he met a client and had to refer to them with ‘Hi, man,’ and ‘yes, I’m good, mate’ instead of using their actual names? It wasn’t like he was ignorant. He’d tried all the memory tricks and techniques you could think of. Tricks and techniques that Colin couldn’t remember the names of.
Joanna smiled sweetly at him before turning back to… Keith? He looks like a Keith anyway.
“You’re all set, Gene. Nothing to worry about. Mostly just a rash. Keep applying baking soda, and if it gets any worse, pop back.”
Gene? That’s not even close to Keith.
“Cheers, m’dear,” Gene said, standing up and pulling his dirty blue shirt sleeve back down. “Afternoon, newbie,” he said to Colin with a two-tooth grin.
“And to you, mate,” Colin said.
The moment they were alone, an awkwardness clung to the air. Colin knew why he was there, though he found that he didn’t truly want to admit it. Anton’s words stuck with him. He wanted to at least let Joanna know where he was going, should anything happen to them. Despite the frosty awkwardness that had hung between them since that first night in Hope, they had been through a lot together. Colin hated admitting it, but he truly cared for her.
Even now, watching as she placed the box of baking soda back in the cupboard, he could smell her perfume. The aroma putting him back there on the bridge. The flickering light of the torches. The palpable tension.
“We’re heading out,” Colin said, chuckling slightly as he realised that he was about to give the Casablanca speech.
“Where?”
“Out with Anton. We’re going to head over to a cache drop. Easy job. There and back in a day.”
As he spoke he could already see that Joanna knew he was hiding something.
“Sure. If that’s true, why tell me? You haven’t told me your whereabouts before.” The words were soft. More inquisitive than angry.
Colin shuffled and looked down. What was the point in hiding it? Just tell her the truth.
Don’t.
“We saw more of it. The rot,” he said. “A couple miles out of town, a deer, riddled with it. And now Henry tells us their neighbours in trade, King’s Hill, have gone radio silent. We’re going to check it out.”
Smart move. Don’t tell her about the sounds of gunshots and the likelihood of scavvies.
“If you know they’ve gone silent, then you know it’s not because they’re playing hide and seek, Col. It means that something bad has happened and we need to keep well away.”
Col? When was the last time someone called him that?
“Henry’s orders. We need to check it out. If there is any chance that there are any survivors then they’ll need help. We can’t sit back and let them suffer.”
“If there’s rot there then you know full-well that those survivors won’t last long. If there are any left. How many of you are going? When are you setting off?” Her eyes glistened.
Colin fell quiet. He turned to the window to see Sunny outside in the little garden, sat on the floor, legs crossed like some miniature Buddha. He was staring at Colin through the window.
“How is he?” Colin said.
Joanna’s arms fell to her side. She knew it was useless battling Colin’s stubbornness. “Not a word. Not when he’s awake anyway. In his sleep, he cries.”
“Does he say… names? Has he said…” his head fell. “Has he mentioned him since?”
“No. No names. He doesn’t even say full words. Or if he does they’re not in any language I know. Sounds European.”
“European?”
She nodded. “Possibly Hungarian. I was never great with languages.”
“Sure. Hey, can you do me a favour while I’m gone?”
She forced a smile. No doubt about it, she looked beautiful. More so in the natural light that decorated the sweet soft lines of her face. Even now, with fear and confusion and worry attacking her from all angles, she was beautiful.
“Sure, anything.”
“Just watch yourself around Sunny. I know he’s… well… whatever he is. But there’s something about him that doesn’t seem right to me. Especially after that night in the factory.”
“I know.”
“Just keep your wits about you, okay?”
She nodded and took a step forward.
Again, his heart beat double-speed. Again, his hand quivered. He nodded, turned and went to leave, but not before Joanna leant up on her tiptoes and planted a small kiss on his rough cheek. He blushed, lowered his head and headed back into the open air.
If he had turned around then, he might’ve seen the smile creep on Joanna’s face. Her complexion turning the same colour as her hair.
When he arrived back at his cabin, he packed his rucksack of tinned veg and savouries, a small collection of old knitted jumpers, and a canteen of water. Straight after, he headed to the kennels, finding Byron, not in his usual shorts and t-shirt, but wrapped in a thick beige jacket with a furry collar and a pair of old workman’s trousers with about a hundred heavy-duty pockets peppered sporadically over its surface. His boots were thick and heavy, steel toe-capped for sure. They looked ready to tread faces.
“We nearly ready?”
“We?”
“You didn’t think you’d be going out there without a dog? Colin, Colin, Colin… have you not learned anything in the last few days?” He grinned and offered a black and red heavy-duty lead, along with a pen knife and lighter. “I would not allow it.”
Byron whipped a large duffle bag over his shoulder, the words, BUG OUT, painted on the sides in white tip-ex. He opened Whisper’s cage, fussing for a moment over the old gal before attaching her lead, then paused a moment before opening Dylan’s. The cage creaked open and Dylan slowly stepped out, heading straight for Colin, eyes never leaving Byron. The others, in their cages, barked and screamed at their cage doors, pleading to come along with them.
Trust me, you don’t want to be going where we’re going.
Colin sunk to his knees, offering his wounded hand to Dylan. “Come on, Dylan. Here boy.” At the sound of his name, Dylan’s attention dissolved from Byron. He placed his wet nose into Colin’s palm and sat on his hinds as Colin attached his lead.
“So, if you’re coming, and Anton is leading the charge, are we expecting anyone else on our little expedition?”
“I think it’s just us three. Ria is on her way, though I’ve left her in charge of feeding the dogs and keeping an eye on them. She’s doing her run up to Picnic Hill tonight to check on the radio comms, but if I trust anyone to look afte
r these dogs, it’s her. She may be down on herself right now, but she’s a soldier through and through. She can at least keep them out of Chef’s reach.”
Colin shuddered. An image of Chef stood with a cleaver high above Dylan’s head on a chopping board flashed through his mind.
They met Anton in the armoury section of the supermarket. A peculiar term indeed and one that Colin couldn’t help but smirk at. The supermarket armoury. Anton had set aside a homemade flamethrower similar to the one Colin had used back at Ditton, three big containers of pre-boiled water, and his own BUG OUT bag. He watched as Colin and Byron approached with the dogs, leaving squeaky mud prints on the floor tiles.
The supermarket was pretty giant for a small campsite. Colin marvelled at the changes the Hopefuls had made to repurpose it in the wake of the rot. Hopefuls had stocked shelves with various degrees of salvaged weaponry, bottles of water, biodiesel, plastic bags packed with dried nuts and legumes, rice, porridge oats, a small patch of homegrown potatoes (of which some would surely be picked for Henry’s own moonshine outfit), and stacks upon stacks of dried Super Noodles, plus the standard ready-meals stacked.
Colin had seen his fair share of survival camps but Hope had well and truly taken it to the next level. They weren’t just eating from old stores of pillaged food from street corner shops and dead folk’s kitchen cupboards. They were producing, they were farming, they were building. It was no wonder they’d opened a trade deal with the people of King’s Hill. With this amount of bounty, what was the next possible step? To reach out and share. Reconnect the lost communities of the world, one at a time. Colin wondered how long it would be before they found a third township of survivors and opened another trade route. He smiled at the idea that this place that Henry had built could be a seed, a foundation from which civilisation could rebuild.
Anton was skittish. Double-counting supplies, opening and closing his bag every other moment as though he might’ve forgotten something. Colin hadn’t come across this behaviour from his Dutchman before. The man looked like he was growing fresh worry lines every minute. He could see the stress running throughout the poor man’s body as he stood there and nervously said, “Come on thens, we have to get in the Ranger and out of heres before sundown.”