by Ryan Casey
He pushed Benjamin down to the ground and stepped back, leaving him to choke and gargle before eventually going silent.
He walked back over to his people, wiping his blade on a small handkerchief. “Make sure he gets a proper burial,” Ian said.
Gregg—a long-haired greaseball with a ridiculous number of teeth missing—frowned. “Bury him? Why would we do that?”
“Because I said so,” Ian said. “And because we respect the dead.”
He looked back at Benjamin’s camp as it burned away, an orange glow filling the night sky. It was unfortunate, having to lose a place like this. Because forgetting the supplies and everything that came with them, losing a place was losing an outpost of power.
“What next, boss?”
Ian took a deep breath of the smoky air as he watched his people dig a grave for Benjamin, whose body had gone limp. Then he turned around and looked into the darkness of the trees.
“We find a new supplier,” he said.
Just thirteen miles away, Alex’s home slept.
Chapter Five
I walked through the camp with Stanley and I knew that sooner or later, yesterday’s events were going to come up.
It was early. I’d been out on my usual duties—milking the cows, feeding the hens, seeing to the animals—when Stanley had approached me.
“Alex,” he’d said, that calmness to his voice, that smile on his face. “It’s a beautiful morning. Walk with me.”
As much as I’d wanted to resist, as much as I hadn’t wanted to get dragged into some big discussion about what my place was here and how I didn’t have the authority to make the decisions, yada yada yada, I found myself walking with Stanley anyway, mostly because I knew I didn’t really have a choice.
We walked in silence for a while. It really was a nice morning, a far cry from the storm of last night. There was a faint smell of dampness in the air from the rain that had fallen. I could see birds flying around, singing their songs. Cows mooing, the chickens clucking. The gentle creaking of the caravan floors as people woke up, getting ready to rise and face the day.
“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”
I looked around at our land from the hill we were on and I couldn’t deny its beauty. The grounds where we grew crops, like potato, corn, peas and beans. Everywhere was filled with some kind of life. Everywhere had a purpose. “We’re very lucky.”
“We are,” Stanley said. “You know, I often come here late at night and just stare down at the farm and at the caravans.”
“I… didn’t know that.”
“You wouldn’t. No one would. It’s pitch black, of course. But yes. I often visit here just so I can swallow the atmosphere of this place all up. Because sometimes I get the feeling it’s too good to be true. That we’re on limited time. But when I sit out here at night, all alone… I start to believe that maybe, just maybe, things can go on like this.”
I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to intervene. Stanley was one of the bigger optimists in this camp, which, seeing as he ran the place, kind of figured, and I kind of supposed was a good thing.
“But still. I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to realise I didn’t bring you here to talk about how beautiful it is.”
I looked down at the ground and felt my stomach sink. Here we go…
“What happened yesterday. With our new guest, Simon. I appreciate your scepticism and I respect your resolve. You want this to stay the same just as much as I do. I get that and I respect it. But you have to remember that everyone is a newcomer at some stage. We are all newcomers to somewhere new in life, all the time.”
I thought about nodding, about putting on a front, but I realised there was no point. If I wanted to have my concerns heard, I had to express myself. “The recruitment mission. You sure it’s a good idea?”
Stanley’s smile didn’t change. And I envied him, in a way. I envied just how much faith he had in not only his own ideas but in other people. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure it’s a good idea.”
Again, I wanted to resist criticising, to somehow be fully on board with Stanley from the off. But I was struggling to keep my true feelings to myself.
“Still not convinced?”
“It’s not that I’m not convinced,” I said. “I just… I’ve seen what people can be like. I’ve seen what people are capable of. What they’re willing to do. The lengths they’re willing to go to. The people out there… they’re not all like us. And that’s a problem. I just don’t want to lose this place.”
“And how about you?” Stanley asked.
I frowned. “What about me?”
“When I found your family and friends in the woods that day. What if I’d judged straight away? What if I’d decided you were dangerous? Where would you be then?”
I knew Stanley had a point. But at the same time, I still felt that pushback. I still felt like it was impossible for me to get on board with fully.
“Do you trust me, Alex?”
I looked into Stanley’s eyes and I knew my expression was giving him his answer right away. “Yes,” I said.
“I’m going to ask you again. Do you trust me, Alex?”
I looked down, away from his eyes, and I sighed.
Then I looked back at him. Half-smiled. “I’m trying.”
“Then that counts for something. Come on. There’s something else I want to show you.”
We walked further around the camp along a route I didn’t commonly go down. We reached a section of the wall that had no ladders, but had handles right the way up it.
Stanley stopped there, pointed towards it.
“This is somewhere else I visit often, too. After you.”
I frowned. “You’re seriously going to try and get me to climb this thing?”
“I’d recommend it,” he said.
I shook my head and climbed my way up there. And as I was climbing, trying to keep my grip, I heard Stanley speaking from below.
“I didn’t always trust strangers either,” he said. “Not until one saved my life. I was an alcoholic. Fell into it when work got stressful and it kind of spiralled from there really. But I’ll never forget what helped me through. I’ll never forget what saved my life. Alcoholics Anonymous. Strangers, all of us feeling like we couldn’t trust a soul, all of us finding a way to put our faith in each other.
“If I hadn’t gone to those meetings, I wouldn’t be here right now. If I hadn’t shown a little faith, I’d be a dead man.”
I looked out over the top of the fence as I got up there. Looked out over the trees. At the buildings, way, way in the distance.
“There’s a whole world out there, Alex,” Stanley said. “Don’t let your fear hold you back from it.”
As I stared into the horizon, I thought about Stanley’s words and I knew he was right.
I couldn’t let fear hold me back.
I’d let it define me far too many times already.
“Now come back down,” Stanley said. “It does get a little windy up there.”
I made my way back down the rickety fence. When I got to the bottom, I looked Stanley in the eye and I smiled.
“It’s never too late to turn things around,” he said. “It’s never too late to—”
He didn’t finish what he was saying.
Because over at the camp, in the distance, I heard something.
We both heard something.
A scream.
Chapter Six
The moment I heard the scream, there was only one thing I could do about it. Especially when I knew that the source of the scream could be my wife.
I ran.
I ran as fast as I could, back towards the caravans. I ran across the ground, which was still soggy from last night’s storm. I could feel my heart racing. My chest felt like it was going to explode.
But I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop.
Because all I could think about was who the source of that scream might be.
And no mat
ter how much I tried to get around it, how much I tried to imagine another possible scenario that didn’t involve Sarah, I couldn’t unhear that scream.
And I couldn’t help fearing the worst.
Stanley ran along beside me, remarkably fit for a man of his age. He was saying things to me, telling me to keep my cool, but I wasn’t hearing him, not really. Because I had a serious case of deja vu right now. And that deja vu was taking me back to the worst moment of my life.
The moment I’d gone into Bobby’s room.
The moment I’d found him.
The moment everything had fallen apart.
I looked around the grounds where the caravans were when we got there. My head was spinning, my breathing forced and strained. There were people outside their caravans, all of them looking around with wide eyes, all of them looking with concern.
The first place I looked was over at my caravan. Because I had to make sure that was okay. I had to make sure Sarah was...
When I saw her standing there—Suzy and Ellie by her side, Kaileigh and Will not far behind—I felt a weight lift off my shoulders immediately.
I knew it was bad, really. Because there was still someone in trouble. And the fact that there was someone in trouble meant that something was wrong.
But just the fact that my people—my people—were okay was enough to at least soften the blow somewhat.
“Where did it come from?” I asked.
Everyone was silent.
“Where did the scream—”
“It came from in here.”
I turned around.
When I saw who was standing there and where they were standing, I frowned.
Betty was standing at the doorway to the cells.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
It was clear by this point that it was her that had screamed.
“You’re going to want to come in here,” she said. “You’re going to want to see this. But let me warn you first. What you’re about to see. It’s... it’s not pretty.”
She turned away then and hurried past us both, covering her face with one of her hands.
And as I stood by Stanley’s side, staring into the opening to the cells, I had to prepare myself for what I was about to see.
I had to prepare myself for whatever lay ahead.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I wasn’t. Of course I wasn’t.
But all I could do was sigh and nod. “I have to be.”
I looked back into the cells, heart racing, preparing myself for whatever I was about to see.
Then I walked inside, Stanley close by my side.
The further I got into the cell block—which was really an old barn that we’d converted—the more ominous everything felt. My footsteps echoed against the solid floor. The darkness in this windowless pit grew. And the smell... the smell of vomit grew more pungent in my nostrils.
Although Stanley and I hadn’t mentioned anything between us, it was pretty clear that we were both on the same page about what had happened. We didn’t know it yet. We couldn’t, not for certain. But simply the look on Betty’s face was enough to tell us that something had happened. And that something wasn’t good. In fact, it was bad enough to etch itself on her memory, make her scream.
At first I’d assumed that perhaps Simon had escaped.
But now I feared something much, much worse.
I braced myself. Held my breath. And deep down, I wondered how bad it could be. I wondered how bad it could possibly be? I mean, I’d seen things. I’d done things.
What could be so bad that it had got Betty in such a state?
When I stepped around the corner and looked into the area where we were keeping Simon, I understood exactly why she’d reacted how she had.
The first thing I noticed was Simon.
He was propped up against the rear wall.
His wrists looked like they’d been cut, but not deep enough to finish the job, clearly.
Because he’d cut his own throat.
The smell hit me right away. Then the sounds of the flies. And all of it mixed together in a dizzying cocktail of sickness and dread, hitting me for six.
It was then that I saw the writing.
I hadn’t noticed it. Not at first. It was dark but for a slither of light creeping in through a mostly boarded up window—a board that had been ripped away, some of which Simon had used in an attempt to take his own life.
But when I stepped closer to the writing on the floor—written in blood—a shiver ran right down my spine.
“What do you think it means?” Stanley asked.
I didn’t have to answer.
The answer was self-explanatory.
Rather die prisoner than in coming storm
He looked like he’d tried to etch something else, but it had faded away completely.
I stood there staring down at this writing, tried to figure out what this meant. But there was only one conclusion I could come to. A horrifying, dizzying conclusion that built a sense of dread deep within.
“He was telling the truth,” I said.
Stanley looked at me, his face pale and the least calm I’d ever seen it.
“Simon. He—he was telling the truth. About—”
I didn’t finish.
I couldn’t.
Because I heard it.
I heard it loud and then for a few seconds, I didn’t hear anything.
Because outside, I’d heard an explosion.
Right outside.
Right at the fences.
Right here.
Chapter Seven
As I stepped outside, even after hearing the explosion, nothing could’ve prepared me for what I was about to be faced with.
There was a massive hole where the gate once was right ahead of us. All around it, burning metal, fallen debris, the wall we’d worked so hard to construct totally shattered. I could see a few of our people on the ground, some of them crying out, bleeding, some of them screaming.
Some of them not moving at all.
At the other side of this gaping hole, which I still couldn’t quite accept, couldn’t quite believe, there was a man standing right there.
He wasn’t the tallest of people. And he wasn’t the bulkiest of people either. He was wearing a pretty average combination of clothes—a black bomber jacket, a white T-shirt, jet black skinny jeans and dark brown desert boots.
But he was holding a rifle on his shoulder.
He was smiling widely.
And behind him, I saw something else I struggled to believe I was seeing.
People.
Lots of people.
All of them armed.
And a truck, which had some kind of explosive weapon mounted on the back.
That must’ve been the weapon that took out our fences.
“Sorry for the noisy entry,” the man said, stepping forward into our camp. All we could do was watch as he stepped inside, unprepared, all in a collective disbelief about what had happened and in dread of what was about to happen.
“We have to make an impression, that’s the main thing,” this man said. “I mean, we could’ve come along here, pitched our offer to you, but I don’t think you’d have taken it quite as seriously. So you have to see where I stand here. You have to see my point, right? Hell. It’s a shame we had to use our explosive to make a mark. We were saving it for something really big. But I guess it’ll have to do, huh?”
I still couldn’t say a thing. No one could. All I could do was walk over to Sarah, put my arm around her, make sure she was okay.
The man leaned back, hands on his hips. “Sorry. My manners. How rude of me to blow a shitting hole in your wall and not even have the decency to introduce myself. I’m Ian. And it’d be lovely if the leader of this place could step right over here so we can get talking. Because, as much as you might’ve thought you could go on living the same sheltered, idyllic life, I hate to be the bringer of bad news and tell you that things are going to cha
nge. In fact, they already have changed. Okay? You dealt with that? Good.”
More mumbles of confusion. More whispers of fear.
Ian stepped further into the camp. “You see, I like what you’ve got here. I like that you’ve got a farm going on. I like that you’ve got crops. And I like that you’re surviving in a place like this. There must be a lot of very adept people here. That makes me happy. You should be happy about that too. Seriously. Things could’ve been very different for you all if you weren’t such an attractive bunch of people.”
He cleared his throat.
“But there is a new way you’re going to be going about things. A new way of doing business. And here’s how it’s going to be. Here’s my offer. It’s a fair one, so consider it. Seriously, consider it. Fifty per cent of your stuff? A nice big line in the sand, half it all? That stuff’s ours. It’s ours starting now and it’ll keep on being ours until the day this place isn’t even standing anymore. And even then, you’ll be there to find new stuff for us, and still fifty per cent of it is ours. Okay?”
A few people shouted out. A few defiant voices. But all of them sounded lost. Already, they sounded defeated.
“The alternative to this offer, which I think is pretty kind? I butcher the lot of you. Starting with the children.”
More discontent kicked up. People shouting. People getting angry.
Ian raised his hand. “Okay. Okay. It’s an emotional time. I get that. Really, I get that. But the best way to cut through the emotions is if your leader comes forward right now and gets discussing things in more depth. Right now. Otherwise that fifty per cent? It might rise to 60-40 to us. Or 70-30. Or, hell. Maybe we’ll just take the lot. That’s not what I want to happen, okay? Because if you’re well fed, we’re well fed. And then we’re all happy. Right?”
A pause. Silence. I wanted to fight. I wanted to find a way to resist this madman.
But his artillery...
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Then I saw something.
Stanley walked forward.
He walked right over to Ian, who watched him, smiling.
He stopped right opposite him. Looked him in the eye.