Them or Us h-3

by David Moody

  “Someone’s coming,” Chloe wails, looking out through a bullet hole. “I can see motorbikes.”

  I look up again. There are two bikes and a jeep in pursuit now. We’re on the A12, and although littered with debris, the road is virtually clear of other traffic. Sticking to the main road is the safest option. If I try to find an alternative route I could end up driving down a road that’s blocked or doubling back and going the wrong way. I need to keep going until we reach Wrentham. Once we’re there I’ll know we’re not far from the bunker. Just got to keep moving …

  The miles flash past quickly, the road straight and uninterrupted. Our pursuers are gaining fast, but that’s inevitable given the dilapidated state of this van. Being caught is an obvious concern, but I know I have an even bigger problem to deal with. Assuming we make it to the bunker, how do we get in without leading Ankin’s soldiers straight to it?

  “Are we nearly there?” Chloe shouts at me from the back of the van, her innocent comment striking an immediately familiar chord. I instinctively react like I always used to.

  “We’ll get there when we get there.”

  “They’re coming,” Jake says. “Drive faster.”

  “I can’t.”

  One of the bikes accelerates, and within a few seconds it’s up alongside us. I try to ram it off the road, but the driver anticipates my clumsy maneuver and drops back out of the way, and it’s me that almost loses control. I clip the curb, then steer hard and overcompensate, caught out by the camber of the road and almost hitting the curb on the other side. The second bike passes us now, squeezing through the gap, and I’m starting to wish I’d stayed hidden in Rona Scott’s office and never bothered trying to get out.

  Wrentham. We enter the village at speed, sandwiched between the bikes, with the jeep gaining steadily. Now the dumb bastard on the bike ahead of me is regretting being in front. He looks back over his shoulder, trying to work out which way I’m going to go as we race toward the crossroads, then chooses the wrong option and continues toward Southwold. I steer right to take the road that leads to the bunker, and I shove my foot down hard on the accelerator pedal again to get to maximum speed and take advantage of this moment of clear road ahead. The van’s struggling to keep going, and it’s just a matter of seconds before both of the bikes are swarming around the back again. Fortunately the road here narrows slightly, and I weave from side to side. There’s no way either of them is getting past.

  I catch a glimpse of something through the bare-branched trees. It’s gone again in a heartbeat, and I think I must have been mistaken, but then there’s another gap in the hedgerow and I look across and see the remains of the battlefield I remember seeing when Sutton brought me out here.

  We’re close now. Very close.

  Wait. This must be it. I’m sure I can see the outline of the farm buildings in the near distance up ahead. I swerve hard to block one of the bikes from trying to pass again, and Chloe screams with pain as she’s thrown across the back of the van and hits the side of her head against the metal cage. Her piercing scream cuts right through me, but it helps me focus, too. It’s like when Ellis and Josh used to fight in the backseat of my car.

  “Hold on,” I tell them both, as much for my benefit as theirs, quickly checking over my shoulder that they’re both braced for impact. I let one of the bikes slip past, then slam on the brakes. The first rider races ahead, at first not even noticing I’ve stopped. The second driver pulls up hard to avoid a collision and loses balance, the bike kicking out from under him. I accelerate again, but the engine doesn’t react. It threatens to stall, and I will it to keep ticking over. Our speed finally begins to increase, and I steer hard right through the open gateway into the dilapidated farm, a few precious seconds of space behind us.

  The well-worn wheels of the van struggle to get a grip on the mud- and ice-covered track. The back end swings out violently as I turn, and I feel it smack against one of the gateposts, but I manage to keep control and keep my speed up, trying to remember the exact layout of the farm as I career toward the collection of dark, empty buildings, desperate to get out of sight before any of our pursuers catch up. Directly ahead now is the derelict cowshed where Peter Sutton left his car when he brought me here. I look back and see the jeep just turning into the farm. I drive into the shed, then slam on the brakes and kill the engine.

  “Keep your damn heads down,” I yell at the kids again, hoping I’ve done enough to keep us hidden. I can hear the jeep approaching. “Don’t move a muscle! If they see either of you, we’ve all had it.”

  I sink down into my seat and watch in the mirrors, completely still, moving only my eyes. Within a few seconds the jeep appears in the muddy yard behind us and skids to an abrupt halt. Moments later the two bikes arrive. With the bike riders, at least one other soldier in the jeep, probably more … the odds aren’t looking good. I could try to take them by surprise, start the engine again, drive away and hope to get enough of a head start on them, then hide out and come back here later, but what’s that going to achieve? I’m low on fuel, and the bunker is the only place I can take these kids.

  “Head hurts,” Chloe whimpers.

  “Shut up,” I hiss at her. “They’ll hear you.”

  Jake reaches across and covers her mouth with his hand. In the middle of the yard behind us, two more of Ankin’s soldiers get out of the back of the jeep, then split up, the driver ordering them away in different directions. Along with the two motorcyclists they fan out across the farm, and I watch in the rearview mirror as one of them starts walking directly toward the cowshed, no doubt following the fresh tracks we’ve left in the mud and ice. Moving as little as possible, I reach across to the passenger seat and grab the metal cutters I brought with me from the factory.

  I can hear the soldier approaching, boots crunching louder with every advancing step. It’s a woman, her face smeared with the grime of battle, and she’s carrying a pistol. She peers into the shed, then edges into the darkness cautiously, not about to take any chances. She moves slowly, inching ever closer to the back of this still-warm bullet-riddled wreck of a van. For a fraction of a second our eyes seem to meet in the rearview mirror, but I don’t think she’s yet sure what she saw. She takes another step forward, then stops and spins around on the spot. The silence is interrupted by a single gunshot. The back of her skull explodes out over the back of the van and I hear her dead body slam against the vehicle before she drops to the ground. I can’t see anything, but I guess there’s someone standing on the other side of the farm with a rifle. There’s a second shot—I can’t see if it hits anyone—then there’s a third, and I’m pretty sure that one’s from another direction entirely. I’m trying to work out what’s going on from my pitifully small viewpoint while still keeping low in the driver’s seat; I don’t want any of Sutton’s people taking me out before they realize who I am and what—who—I’ve brought them.

  I can see two soldiers crouched down on my side of the jeep, using the car for cover. They begin to return fire, single shots, and almost instantly a hail of gunfire ricochets around the farm. It reminds me of a Western gunfight, one of those old Saturday afternoon films I used to watch when I was a kid. Then the windshield of the jeep is shattered by a bullet and I only realize the driver was still inside when his now-dead body half-falls out of the door. One of the others runs for cover, but he’s shot as he sprints towards this dilapidated shed. The last soldier scrambles up and runs back to the nearest bike. He drags it upright and jumps on, showering his fallen comrades with mud as he hauls it around in a tight circle and aims at the farmyard gate.

  I get out of the van, run round to the back, and help the children climb out. Holding Chloe’s hand tight in one hand, Jake by the other, I wait just inside the shed door where I can still see out. In the distance, at the highest point of the dirt track before it drops down toward the bunker, a lone figure is frantically waving at me.

  “Okay, now we’ve got to run,” I tell the children, and as we pound
across the churned-up farmyard, Jake pulls free and sprints ahead. Now I can see the man waving us on is Dean. Last time I saw him, that rifle was aimed at me.

  “Behind you!” he shouts. I turn around and see a man, gaining on me fast. I must have lost track in the confusion; I didn’t think there were any left.

  “Keep running and don’t stop,” I tell Chloe, shoving her away, and I turn around to try to fend off Ankin’s soldier, but I’ve misjudged his speed and he’s on top of me before I can do anything to defend myself. He’s got a riot baton, which he swings around and thumps into my gut. The incredible pain immediately makes me fold in two and I’m flat on my back in the mud before I know what’s happened. He drops down hard on my chest, forcing every scrap of oxygen from my lungs.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he screams into my face. “They’re Unchanged, you fucking traitor!”

  My arms are pinned down by his knees, and there’s nothing I can do to protect myself when he punches me in the face. He spits in my eye, blinding me for an instant, and I don’t see his fist coming until he smacks me in the mouth again. My lip is split, and the pain is intense. Killing the Unchanged is more important to him than dealing with me. He springs up again and runs after them, but, more through luck than judgment, I manage to stretch out an arm behind me and catch hold of one of his feet. He trips and slams down face-first into the dirt. He’s far faster and far stronger than I am and he’s back up in seconds, shaking me off with ease but turning back and booting me in the right kidney for my troubles. I’m enough of a distraction to give Dean a chance to get closer. He steps forward and fires into the soldier’s face from point-blank range. The corpse drops on top of me, what’s left of his dead head smacking hard against mine, and I fight to stay focused and keep breathing through the sudden, all-consuming darkness.

  44

  I SIT UP QUICKLY, but the pain’s too much and I immediately drop down again, my skull cracking back against the hard concrete floor. I open my eyes, but it’s dark and everything’s blurred. I can see someone standing over me, looking down. Unchanged. Something inside me instinctively makes me try to get up and fight before I remember what happened. I try to move again, but I can’t. Hurts too much. I can tell from the position of the light and the damp smell in here that this is the small room at the entrance to the Unchanged bunker. The person looking down at me moves closer, his features slowly becoming more distinct. Is that Joseph Mallon?

  “Joseph?”

  “Lie still, Danny,” he says, his face distressingly haggard and hollow but his voice immediately recognizable. He gently rests his hand on my shoulder. “Tracey’s done what she could for you.”

  “Tracey?”

  “Our doctor. She’s cleaned your wounds as best she can, but you’re in a bad way.”

  I try to get up again, this time managing to prop myself up on my elbows. I slowly shuffle my broken body around and lean back against a wall. I lift my hands to my swollen face and pick dry blood from my eyes. I don’t know whether it’s the beating I’ve just taken, the drugs finally wearing off, or a combination of both, but I feel bad. Really bad. Worse than ever. There’s a woman watching me. Tracey, I presume. She storms out of the room.

  “If the stupid bastard won’t listen, there’s nothing I can do to help him.”

  Joseph acknowledges her, but I ignore her.

  “What happened?” I ask him, having to concentrate hard to make each word.

  “Peter knew something was going on out there. He heard all the engines and the planes and helicopters and saw the fighting in the distance. He’d been staying aboveground in the old farmhouse since yesterday, keeping a lookout. Then you showed up here, and all hell broke loose.”

  “The children. I had two kids with me…”

  “They’re safe in the back rooms with the others. Where did you find them, Danny? Are there more?”

  “It’s a long story that you really don’t want to hear,” I answer, catching my breath as a wave of pain washes over me. “And no, they’re the last.”

  “Well, maybe I would like to hear that story one day, but not today. Today we have problems to solve first. Really big problems.”

  “Where’s Peter?”

  Joseph moves to one side. Lying on the floor on the opposite side of the room is a body under a bloodstained sheet.

  “Shit.”

  “Poor bastard got caught in all that shooting. They got him before Dean could get them.”

  Mallon passes me a bottle of water. I swill some around in my mouth, then spit it out to clear the blood. I drink a little, and its icy temperature seems to wake my body and makes me feel slightly more alive. I try to focus on my surroundings. The boy Jake is standing in the doorway watching me, hiding behind Parker.

  “What’s happening out there, Danny?” Mallon asks.

  I look straight at him. “I didn’t tell anyone about you, if that’s what you think.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s nothing you haven’t heard before,” I tell him. “Just the same old same old.”

  “What?”

  “You were right, you know, back then at the convent. All those things you used to say about not fighting and making a stand and trying to break the cycle. I thought you were a fucking crank at the time, but you were right.”

  “I don’t follow. What’s that got to do with today?”

  “We’re imploding. What’s left of the human race is tearing itself apart up there, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. The last army in the country is marching on the last town in the country, and there’s probably very little of either of them left by now. It’s like you said, every man for himself. The thing is, the less there is left to fight for, the higher the stakes seem to get.”

  “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing out here, or how you came to have these children with you.”

  “I made a decision a while back, before I knew you were here in this place, in fact. I decided I’d had enough of fighting, had enough of everything. I was trying to get away. The kids were just a complication.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Believe what you like. I couldn’t leave them out there on their own, so I was just delivering them to you before I fucked off for good. That’s what I’m still planning to do.”

  “Well, that might not be so easy now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of our position. They know where we are now, Danny. They’ve seen us here. We’re up shit creek without a paddle, and we need your help.”

  Why can’t everybody just leave me be?

  “I’m past helping. I’m tired of being used. It just gets me deeper and deeper into the mire and doesn’t do anyone any good. I’m sick and I’m dying, Joseph, and I just want to be left alone. There are enough of you here to be able to look after yourselves.”

  “You know that’s not true. We can’t do it without help, and it’s up to you now that Peter’s gone. Jesus, Danny, if millions of us were wiped out by your kind, what chance do less than thirty of us have?”

  “No chance at all,” I tell him, keeping my voice low so that Jake doesn’t hear.

  “We’ve been down here for months. We’re weak and we’re tired and we know that everything’s stacked against us, but we’re not just going to give up.”

  “You’ve got weapons, and it’s chaos up there. You might still have a slight chance.”

  “We’ve got a handful of guns,” he corrects me, “but we’ve just used most of our ammunition saving your backside.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have bothered.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he says angrily. “Okay, I’ll rephrase that. We just used up half our ammunition helping Peter Sutton and saving the life of those two kids. Anyway, whatever we did and whatever we did it for, we need your help now. We’ve hardly got any supplies left. We’ll starve if we don’t—”

  “You want supplies? I can tell you where to find supplies, but I�
��m not—”

  “Listen, those fuckers up there are going to come back, Danny. Dean says at least one of them got away, and there are still bodies out there, remember? They’ve seen us. They saw Dean and they know we’re here. Even if they can’t get into the bunker, they’ll be waiting for us when we eventually come out. You think they’re just going to forget about us? Forget about you?”

  “I’m nothing to them.”

  “That’s not what I’d heard. That’s not what Peter told me.”

  “With all due respect, maybe you shouldn’t have listened to everything Peter said.”

  “He was a good man. He kept us alive, and I trusted him.”

  “You call this living? Look around, Joseph. This place is no different from the mass graves I saw outside the gas chambers. You’re all just waiting to die.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me, too. You’ll probably all outlast me. I don’t have long left.”

  “So why let it end this way? Do something with the little time you have, Danny. After all you came through to get here, how hard you fought to find your daughter, the things you managed to survive … I can’t believe you’re talking like this now.”

  “Sorry if I’ve let you down,” I sneer, concentrating on another sudden cramping pain in my gut rather than anything Mallon has to say.

  “It’s not just me, though, is it?” he continues, not giving up on the guilt trip. “It’s the rest of them. It’s everyone down here. You’re our last chance.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Is it? Way I see it, even if everything else has fallen apart up there, you can still help us. You, me, and everyone else down here, we might be all there is left now.”

  45

  AN HOUR PASSES, MAYBE longer. The pain gradually subsides as long as I stay still, but I know the bastard who attacked me aboveground has done some serious damage to my already seriously damaged insides. The temporary relief the drugs gave me from the pain is definitely over. I can feel my body giving up and breaking down.