by Luke Kondor
“Are you sure?”
“Yer can do it yerself, if yer’d prefer?”
Colin led Wheat over to the balcony’s edge, nudging him along until Stephen was able to reach out and lock him under his free arm.
“Easy, Wheat,” Colin said, to the dog as Stephen began his descent.
“Nuttin’ ter worry about. Weirdly it’s not the first time I’ve done this.”
Carefully and surprisingly calmly, Stephen kept his single gloved hand on the rope running along the side and stepped lower and lower down the ladder, keeping Wheat securely tight to his side as he dropped to the floor.
“See? Simple,” the man called up in hushed tones.
Colin grunted as he placed his hands and feet into the rungs and clumsily lowered himself. By the time he felt the soft earth beneath his naked toes, his fingers felt ready to drop off. It was oddly refreshing, though. A comforting change from the filthy stone floors inside the factory.
Stephen turned, “Are yer okay?”
“I just need a moment.” Colin leant against the wall, picked up one of his feet to look at the sole and saw the dark line where the china shard had stuck. The blood had finally clotted, but in place of the clean lines of scab he was used to, he saw instead a thick trail of black. A mixture of blood and grime. It throbbed gently in his hand as if desperate just to say, please wash me and rest.
Wheat, tail wagging, wandered over to Colin and licked his toes and then his hand.
“We don’t have moments. We need to get as far away as we possibly can, now.”
He turned and began to jog. Colin, in a panic that he might lose the only person with enough of a conscience to help him escape, slapped his foot back on the ground and began running after him, watching as Wheat ran alongside. His companion back up and running.
They reached the line where the trees began when they heard the sound that made them stop in their tracks.
“Ah! Good jobs, Stephen, I knew you’d come through for me,” came the familiar accent of Dutchman, followed by a click as he removed the safety lock on the gun, now pointing at Colin’s chest.
~ 22 ~
Colin glared at Dutchman, his blood running cold. Stephen turned a full 180 to stand beside his scavvie companion.
His stomach twisted as vomit caught in the back of his throat. He had, once again, let his guard down, only to find the same old trips and hazards, the same rotting scum of the soul, the same old world.
“Just do it,” Colin said through gritted teeth, his arms falling at his side. “Just fucking shoot me.”
To his surprise, one of Dutchman’s eyebrows raised quizzically. He looked from Stephen to Colin, then straightened his pistol arm. “You wish to begs for death? After running so long a rat race yous want to give up before you get the cheeses?” There came a loud bang. Dutchman’s arm jumped as he let a bullet fire over Colin’s shoulder. The bullet exploded into the tree behind him, peppering the floor with flying shards of wood. Wheat barked as he hid behind Colin’s legs. Dutchman readjusted his aim, staring down the sight. “A man ready for death does not jump at the sound of the bullet.”
Colin felt himself fill with hate for the man who would play with his emotions. If he could do but one thing before bowing out to the world, he would take the little guy.
Dutchman lowered his arm and began laughing. He holstered the gun, revealing a belt armed with knives and rations. Colin tensed his every muscle, preparing to pounce, weighing his odds against the two. Maybe if he took the Dutch fool first, he could do it with enough speed to run before Stephen got to him. Even Wheat growled now, as if in on Colin’s plan.
But it was as Dutchman turned, and Colin’s muscles trembled, that a strange thing happened. As Dutchman smiled up at Stephen, the giant cocked his arm back and swung it round into his friend’s cheek. Colin saw it all in slow-motion as the thick gloved fist made contact with his cheek, forcing thick globs of spit to fly from his unsuspecting mouth. Dutchman’s body twisted violently before falling onto the needle-strewn floor.
“Dunno about you, but this fool’s laugh annoys me.”
Colin stared open-mouthed. To his amusement, Dutchman began snoring on the floor.
“But… what…?”
“No time fer that now. Come,” Stephen said, rushing further into the darkness.
*
“What the hell was that back there?!” The pair halted at a clearing in the woods where a couple of fallen logs made for benches. Even Stephen panted as he caught his breath next to a mound of burnt ash. A relic of some campsite made long ago.
“What’s yer problem? Yer free aren’t yer?”
“Who the hell are you? Where are we now? And where the hell are we going?”
“Yer a curious one,” Stephen said with a hint of amusement. He plonked himself down. He held out his hand, which Colin took. “Stephen Griggs, attorney at law.”
“Attorney? You?”
Stephen laughed, “Nah, just playing with yer. I could never make it as a city type. Too much smog and bustle. I always liked me freedom.” He looked at Colin. “What about, you? I see you as a creative type. Maybe one of those people working in TV or for the Guardian or the BBC. Beard and tattoos and living in the capital.”
Colin couldn’t help a small smile as he remembered his colleagues from Candle IT. Darren used to say how important it was to fill the company with creativity. The lifeblood of any good business. “Close, but no cigar. I lived in the capital… a long time ago. Before the…” His voice trailed.
“Before the quarantine?”
Colin nodded.
They sat silent for a moment. In the centre of the clearing, Wheat started to move, climbing shakily to his feet. He took a cautious step, then another. His back leg buckled and he nearly fell to the ground but managed to regain balance at the last moment. He looked at Colin, sniffed the air, then began to slowly work his way around the area, nose-deep in the browning leaves. They could hear the sounds of the wind through the canopy, almost hushing them as they spoke.
“Yer dog looks sick,” Stephen said as he pulled a hip flask from his pocket and took a swig before offering it to Colin.
Ignoring the irony of Stephen’s concern, he accepted, taking a sniff at the rim before letting the burning liquid warm his throat and work its way through his body.
“It’s not water, but it’ll certainly keep yer going. Me mama used to give it to me and me kin when we were growing up. Said it’d put hairs on our chests and make us strong. Suppose that was one thing she did right,” Stephen said, seeming to be talking more to himself than to Colin.
Colin savoured the taste, washing it around his mouth before handing the flask back to Stephen. He felt himself warm, the wind losing its biting edge as Colin wrapped his arms around his chest, clutching onto whatever body heat remained. Somewhere in the shade of the trees there came the sound of a twig breaking and the rushing pad of feet. Colin looked around, thinking it might be Wheat, but he was busy cocking his leg up on a nearby fir.
“And what about this farm, then?” Stephen asked. “Yer say yer were there not long ago, and now yer here. It can’t be far, eh?”
Colin eyed the man suspiciously.
Stephen put his hands in the air, “No pretence. I just need ter know where ter avoid. The last thing we need if we’re ter go together is ter get too close and ter have two sets of people chasing us. Those lot back at the factory won’t let yer go easy yer know.”
Colin thought hard, trying to remember the direction of the sun as he had lain in the back of the Land Rover. He saw the wash of oranges and yellows through the canvas they had lain under. His back complained as he recalled each leap and bump of the vehicle as it pitched and dipped over the rough terrain. “I don’t know exactly. But I gather it was someplace south-east.”
“That’s perfect. We’re headed west.”
Another branch broke nearby. Colin whirled around. There was something rustling around in the trees, just beyond where the moonlight
reached the clearing. A moment later, the dark nose and glinting eyes of a fox emerged from the dark. Its head poking out to get a closer look at the intruders.
Colin exhaled. “We should get moving.”
“Agreed.”
Despite his protesting body, Colin stood. He called to Wheat who made his way over to his inherited master, sniffing around his feet and licking his ankles. Colin picked the pooch up and smiled as Wheat’s rough tongue lapped up his face. “Someone’s feeling better,” he said, as he felt the first raindrops fall.
“Come on, we’ve got a fair stretch ter go if we’re going to make it by sunrise.”
Suddenly Colin remembered something. A question that lay unanswered. “The place we’re headed… This is the safe place you mentioned before? In the offices?”
Stephen turned, his mountainous figure lined at the edges in white by the moon’s light. He smiled, creasing the dark drawings on his face. “That’s right, Bolton. It’s the safest place I know. People even started calling it Hope.”
~ III ~
Running. For a good hour and still the screams and the sound of the man’s skull splintering echoed through Colin’s mind. Their wet feet splashed against the rainy London floor. They’d left the restaurant and its chaos to the night-time behind them. And now all they could do was run.
“What the hell was that?” Rachel screamed. “What the… Colin, please, what’s—”
“Rachel! Come on!”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. He held Fletcher close in his other arm and tucked his head between his chin and his neck. He was quiet. Not even a cry or a whimper.
The rain poured upon them as they ran, the city around them growing ever more frantic.
There was a man, Colin knew that much. A drunk man. A man who ran into the restaurant and…
Colin shook the thought from his mind. He knew that the only thing that mattered at that moment was getting his family as far away as possible.
The screams were everywhere, chasing them as they ran up the stone stairs to Tower Bridge. Rainwater poured down like tiny waterfalls, soaking their feet. When they reached the top, Colin saw another one. A man silhouetted under a streetlamp. He was doubled over, clutching his head, his chest, thrashing like a maniac. Just like the drunk man…
Colin’s pulse quickened. He clutched Fletch tightly to his shoulder, shielding his eyes. The man looked straight at Colin, before muttering something that sounded like ‘ever’ and sprinting nose-first at a nearby wall. Colin turned away as the sound of the body hitting brick rang loud. A wet thmp. He didn’t seem to die, though, as a second later they heard a grunt and that same thmp again.
Rachel screamed.
“Don’t look. Don’t fucking look!” Colin shouted as they continued to the main platform of Tower Bridge. A few confused tourists looked on, motionless, unsure what to do. Cameras forgotten around their necks.
Terrorists? Colin thought. It had to be. ISIS or some other country the West had armed and pissed off. Some sort of military chemical weapon. What else could it be?
“Run,” Colin shouted to an Asian woman with a jet-black crop of hair and a thick yellow scarf, staring open-mouthed to where they’d come from, her umbrella in a puddle on the floor next to her. “We’re being attacked! Run!”
She remained blank-faced and still. They left her behind, gawking. They sure as hell weren’t hanging around for sight-seeing.
Their footsteps were loud, splashing water as they went. Cars were pulled up, washing the road with red lights. The three began to weave, taking care not to crash into car doors as they opened, or any other dumbfounded onlookers.
“Dad,” Fletcher said. “Dad, look.”
“What, son? What is it?” Colin replied, slowing to see where his son was pointing.
The cityscape.
From this vantage point they could see the city in its full glory, a magnificent fusion of buildings skirting the river’s edges. On an ordinary night, the view was stunning, all twinkling lights and gentle waves. He could see The Shard to their left and the Tower of London to their right. Boats of varying sizes bobbed along the water.
But the thing that made Colin’s heart pump and the adrenaline shoot around his body, was the panic. As far as they could see, bodies were running and screaming. They were small from this distance – practically ants in their eyes. But they were still people… dying, panicking people.
“Colin,” Rachel said. “Where are we going?”
He turned and looked at Rachel, her damp hair clinging to her face. She was sopping wet, her dress dripping. Though she was trying her hardest to show no pain, her hands clutched her stomach. The running wouldn’t be doing the baby any good at all, but what could he do apart from getting them somewhere where they could be safe?
“Is Mummy okay?” Fletch asked.
Colin kissed Fletcher’s head and whispered “Mummy’s fine. We’re all going to be okay, Fletch. We’re going to be okay.”
“Colin?”
“We just gotta get out of the city. Or at least as far away from here as we can get. I don’t care how we do it, but we gotta get out.” He scanned the cityscape once more and spotted a dark path where only a couple bodies could be seen running along its length. It was shadowed by trees, perhaps little known by many despite its presence a little way from the water’s edge. “There. We’ll head past St. Katherine’s dock. Make our way towards home. It’s a couple of hours to Limehouse from there. If we can at least make it there we might be okay.”
They started running again, Colin squeezing Rachel’s hand. They had nearly made it to the other side of the bridge when they heard a scream. Though he had no way of knowing he couldn’t help but feel that it had come from the umbrella girl with the bright scarf. A second later and they heard gunshots. Distant pops ringing through the chaos.
Colin doubled down and sped Rachel and Fletch away. Fletcher squeezed his neck even tighter with hands that were sodden and cold.
“Come on, Spider-Man,” Colin whispered into his ear. “We’re all going to be okay.”
~ 23 ~
A heavy leather boot dug into Colin’s ribs. He snorted.
“That’s enough. Wake up.”
He forced his eyes to open and found Stephen looming over him. He couldn’t remember at what point he’d fallen asleep, but his body wasn’t ready to wake. He pushed himself to a sitting position, feeling his body damp from the light rain filtering through the treetops. Wheat’s body was draped to his side, the fur matted with dirt.
Colin’s confusion must’ve been clear on his face.
“Yer’ve only had an hour. I carried you some of the way ter keep us going, but it was obvious yer were done walking.”
“You carried us both?”
Stephen shrugged. “Yep.”
Colin picked himself to his feet. Bones popped and cracked as he stretched himself out. Wheat let out a yawn, shook, and began to wag his tail.
Colin smiled. That’s it, boy. We’re on a good road now.
They were on the edge of a field. A spot where farmers from an age long past had mounded the dirt up high to create a place where roads were accessible and never flooded. There was a dyke on one side of the mound, and on the other was a large square of what looked like rapeseed. A mass of yellow long overdue for harvest. In the distance, there sat a couple of cottages side-by-side and behind them the trees that began the wood that surrounded the factory.
“A bite ter eat then we continue. The last thing we want is fer them ter pop out of nowhere and take us back.”
“We should’ve taken a car,” Colin said, remembering the vehicles just standing out front.
“Perhaps. But it’s easy ter say that kind of thing in hindsight.”
Colin nodded as Stephen pulled out a silver-wrapped package from his pocket. A protein bar, similar to the ones that Colin had helped himself to from the cache outpost. He split it in half, offering a mouthful to Wheat who lapped every last crumb, tongue darting b
etween Colin’s fingers. The sight of the bar made Colin think of the notebook that he had found, that, even now, sat in his pocket.
“Tell me of Hope,” Colin said as he chewed his own half.
Stephen looked out towards the dark horizon at the ominous clouds ready and waiting. “Hope is exactly what it sounds like. Imagine a place that’s safe, where dozens of people have found succour and created a kind of mini-town. There are people from all backgrounds, all walks of life, all living together and helping each other survive. A place where everyone knows their role and everyone contributes ter making sure that, in this crumbled world, there’s at least one place that shines a light in the darkness.” He paused, a smile creeping on his face. “Hope is… well… hope.”
“Sounds unbelievable,” Colin said. “How is something like that even possible? The closest I’ve seen to communities are roaming scavvies.” He suddenly looked up at Stephen, remembering the drawings that marked his face. On the thick mass of neck muscle sat a fleur de lis, spoiled with pale scars of former fights. He looked back at the ground. “I mean…”
“It’s fine. Ter tell you the truth I once was a… what was it?… A scavvie?” Stephen laughed. “A long time ago. Until one day I got involved with some stuff that I’m not exactly proud of, and decided then and there that I needed ter split and make a life fer myself. I’m a big lad, I can survive. But those others… they were terrible, terrible people.” Stephen pulled out his own protein bar and started chewing. Not too far away Colin heard the sounds of ducks somewhere in the water. “As for how Hope is possible, I suppose, really, that’s down to one man. I haven’t spent a lot of time in Hope myself, but every visitor gets greeted at the door by—”
“Henry?” Colin finished, pulling the notepad from his pocket.