Compulsion

by Perrin Briar

  She’d filled up at a gas station that had been like a ghost town. She’d spent an hour checking to make sure it was empty before going ahead and filling up. Every minute she spent checking was another minute she regretted. She could have filled up and been on her way already. She filled the bike, climbed back on and took off.

  She thought she might have been going the wrong way until she came across a sign that hung from an extended arm. It said Whitegate was just five miles ahead.

  Siren had butterflies in her stomach. After all this time she was finally getting close. She wished Wyvern could have been with her. He was, Siren thought. If not in body, then at least in spirit.

  She slowed down so she wouldn’t miss the turning. Fat chance of that, Siren thought. There were so few roads here it was virtually impossible to miss any road you had to take.

  She came to a rusty signpost. The square with the details of location and distance was missing. A small tarmac road led off to the left from it, up a long hill. Had it been five miles since she had seen the last sign? She wasn’t sure. But looking ahead, it didn’t seem likely the turning would come much later than this.

  Siren turned left and followed the road up the hill. She was driving through a wood that quickly became a forest. The trees were spaced apart. Spring was just beginning to replace the brown dry leaves hanging from the bough. It would have been a pleasant drive if it wasn’t for the twisting sensation Siren had in the pit of her stomach.

  It was a warning, Siren knew. It always came when she was in danger. She’d always had it. She supposed everyone did. It was evolution, from our ancestors who would have relied upon this sensation to keep themselves and their loved ones safe, to get out of the way of danger.

  She sensed it now. If she had to guess, she would have said there would be two of them, two men, heading in her direction, on her left. They would be coming slowly and would not want to appear threatening.

  Siren headed slowly up the hill, and sensed that at her current speed she would meet them within the next two minutes. She turned out to be correct.

  The two men were dishevelled but clean. Clearly they had access to clean water and food. They waved their hands, keeping them by their sides. They would be armed, Siren knew. They would have trained to respond quickly to any aggression.

  Siren came to a stop before them, but stayed on the bike. She might need it in case she had to make a quick getaway. There didn’t appear to be anything particularly dangerous about these two, but appearances could be misleading, as she well knew.

  One was older, barrel chested with a full beard. The other was younger, around Siren’s age, handsome, with mousy brown hair. The older one was the first to speak.

  “Howdy,” he said. “My name’s Rafael. This here is Quinn. We’re from Whitegate.”

  Siren took her time and looked the two men over, head to toe. The two men exchanged a look before turning back to her.

  “Would you like some food? Water?” Quinn said. “We have plenty of both in the community.”

  “Community?” Siren said. “So there is a community here?”

  “Yes,” Rafael said. “Why else would you be here?”

  “Why else would any of us be here?” Quinn said.

  He had a nice smile. It twinkled when it caught the light.

  “How far is it?” Siren said.

  “A mile, give or take,” Rafael said.

  “I’ll ride to it,” Siren said.

  “No motorcycles or weapons I’m afraid,” Rafael said.

  “If you think I’m going to Whitegate without being armed, you’re sorely mistaken,” Siren said.

  “We don’t have any weapons either,” Quinn said. “It’s just the way it is.”

  Siren eyed them suspiciously. He appeared to be telling her the truth—they appeared to be unarmed. She got off her bike. She had already lost the most important thing to her. What could they do to her now that was worse than that?

  “We’ll take you to Greer, our leader,” Rafael said. “He likes to meet new arrivals for himself.”

  “Leave your bike here,” Quinn said. “Someone will come pick it up later.”

  Siren nodded. She wasn’t much in the mood for talking. Thankfully, neither were they.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE WOODLAND reluctantly relented to the hill that sat behind it, and perched upon it, like a crown, was the town of Whitegate. There was no mystery as to how it had gotten its name. A long picket fence ran around the town, giving it a cozy feel. The houses ran in uniform lines, a large space in the center with a large open plaza. An intricate fountain was the town’s centerpiece.

  A series of paths ran toward it from a multitude of directions that stretched into the distance, to who knew where. The little town was very active in its own survival, everyone playing their part.

  Several buildings popped above the residential ones. The chapel, the council building and the schoolhouse. These were the largest buildings. Siren turned around to look back in the direction she had come.

  She could see now how this was a good defensive position. Perched on top of the hill, it was possible to see far in every direction. They would have seen her coming on her bike from miles off.

  Rafael and Quinn led Siren to the top of the hill, on the flat top. The locals didn’t pay Siren much attention as she headed into the collection of buildings. Just a glance, and they bent back down to continue their usual chores.

  The smithy banged at a lump of metal with a hammer, another turned a grinding wheel in a bakery, another carried fresh bread rolls that made Siren’s mouth water. Kids jumped to grab one, but they were all too short.

  A scream.

  Siren reached for the blade she kept at her waist, only to find it was no longer there. She clenched her fists tight. It was for nothing. It was just another gang of children playing games, chasing one another. It was a strange sight, Siren decided, the fact the rest of the world was on a knife’s edge, and here, they were playing like they were in the old one.

  Quinn saw her expression and smiled.

  “What?” Siren said.

  “It took me awhile to get used to seeing it too,” Quinn said. “It’s what gives us all hope. That’s why we like seeing them playing here. It reminds everyone there is a future to be had, that there is something more than just struggling to survive each and every day.”

  Siren cast a look around at the locals. They watched the kids playing some kind of chasing game. Tag, perhaps, without a care in the world. Smiles all round.

  “You guys aren’t struggling, so far as I can see,” Siren said. “You’re much better set up here than many other places I’ve seen.”

  “Fortune is a subjective beast I suppose,” Quinn said.

  He led her to the largest building in Whitegate; the council building. It had been painted white—like all the buildings in town. Siren thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

  Men and women were entering and exiting the building, the hub of the whole town. They paid no more attention to Siren than if she had been a permanent resident. Were they complacent? Or were they genuinely that safe here?

  “I’ll take her to Greer,” Quinn said to Rafael. “You go get something to eat.”

  Rafael nodded and left. Perhaps Siren had been wrong about who was in charge. The way Quinn spoke to Rafael did not suggest he was subordinate to him, but his superior.

  Quinn pushed the door open but did not enter.

  “After you,” he said.

  Siren pushed her door open and entered by herself. She didn’t see the smile on Quinn’s face.

  The main entrance was huge, cavernous, with a pair of staircases winding up either side of the room to the second, third and fourth floors. People were busy, walking around in well structured lines. There was an energy there that Siren liked.

  It was like the old world, with people going about their business, exploiting opportunities and trying to get ahead in life. It was something Siren hadn’t seen in quite s
ome time.

  Quinn took Siren up to the fourth floor and along the corridor. The number of people began to drop off. There were fewer people here, but more offices. They moved in quiet shuffling movements and came to a large set of doors at the far end. There was no name or placard on the front of that door.

  A long line of men and women waited to enter the room. They ran along the wall to the right of the double doors, and then down the corridor that ran parallel to the one Siren and Quinn had taken to get here. Siren was in for a long wait.

  Quinn and Siren stood to the left of the doors. Siren didn’t know why they were on this side and hadn’t had to queue up. She caught movement out the corner of her eye. She turned to look at it.

  In an adjacent room was a man, in his mid to late thirties. He had a slight hunch, bent over a black leather bound book. He had on a pair of glasses on that pinched the end of his nose. He had to keep moving his neck up and down to peer through the strongest part of the lenses. He was concentrating, scribbling something in the book. He must have felt Siren’s eyes on him, because next, he looked up. They made eye contact.

  They just stared at one another for a moment, neither one blinking or backing down. Then the man leaned over, his old wooden chair with no cushions squeaking, and gently, but firmly, shoved the door closed.

  So much for a warm welcome, Siren thought.

  The big doors to the main office opened. The voices were midway through a conversation when an elderly woman backed out of the room bobbing her head.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  She had a teary eyed smile on her face and held a pair of man’s hands on the inside of the room. Siren could make out a tall figure, his head bowed over with a distant smile on his lips, a thick beard on his face. Nothing else.

  And then the man pulled his hands away—managing to wrestle them from the old woman, Siren thought—and backed into the safety of his office. He left the door open. There was a middle-aged man in a smart suit ready to enter the room next. He looked nervous, wringing his hands.

  Quinn stepped forward and spoke to him in hushed whispers, gesturing in Siren’s direction. The nervous man nodded. His nerves gave way to partial relief, and then a little annoyance.

  Quinn crossed back to Siren.

  “Greer will see you now,” he said.

  Yippee, Siren thought. It was easy to be flippant in her current mood. And yet, she was nervous. What if Greer didn’t want her here? What if he turned her away? It was entirely possible. Siren remained calm and walked into the room.

  The carpet was red, thick and soft under her boots. There was a bookshelf to the left and right that straddled doors that led to rooms on either side. They were full to bursting with tomes, piled high.

  Siren was surprised when the doors closed behind her. She caught a glance of Quinn’s face, blank of emotion, as it was pinched between the two doors. Siren had expected Quinn to enter the room with her, and though she didn’t know him, she trusted him more than the unknown man before her now. Siren prided herself on her ability to read people, and that was just what she did now, taking in every part of him, and his surroundings.

  There was one of those old globes that usually housed alcohol. The desk Greer sat behind was too big, as if the man sitting behind it was overcompensating for something. Siren supposed Greer probably didn’t have much say in the interior decoration of his office. He didn’t look much like the kind of man who cared. In fact, he looked like the kind of man who shouldn’t have need of a desk, much less an office. His place was in the open, on a farm perhaps, or a building site, but certainly not behind a large oak desk.

  He was sat behind it now, in the leather chair, perched on the edge like he couldn’t wait to get to his feet. He was reading something, his large bearded face close to the paper. He needed glasses but did not wear them. His brow was slightly furrowed.

  He had gray bags under his eyes, prominent crows feet in the corners. He was evidently a hard worker, and knew the importance of the community they had here and were developing.

  Finally, the man looked up. Siren knew she had been right. This was not a dangerous man, not unless you got on the wrong side of him and he lost his temper.

  “Drink?” Greer said.

  Siren shook her head. Greer moved for the globe anyway. He lifted the top up. There was no alcohol inside, only fizzy drinks and snacks. Siren eyed the ginger beer hungrily. She’d always been a big fan. She hadn’t tasted a drop of it since the world became the way it was.

  “Fan of ginger ale?” Greer said. “Me too.”

  Before Siren could say a word, Greer had opened the can and began pouring it into a fancy glass. He handed it to Siren. He tapped his half can against her glass.

  “Cheers,” Greer said.

  Siren looked from the man to the glass he hand handed her with apprehension. Siren was certain nothing could have been put in the can without her knowledge—she doubted they had access to the technology that would be required to do that—but something could have been put in the glass before Greer poured the ginger ale into it.

  “You don’t trust people much, do you?” Greer said.

  “People I don’t know?” Siren said. “No.”

  “I suppose we’re all like that now,” Greer said. “Not much chance of us still being alive otherwise, is there? So, how did you come to know about us here at Whitegate?”

  “I’ve been traveling around the country following rumors of safe havens,” Siren said. “Each one I come to never amounted to much. Whitegate was the next in a long line of potential havens.”

  “About time you got lucky, huh?” Greer said. “How many did you visit before finding us here?”

  “Ten,” Siren said.

  “And none of them amounted to anything?” Greer said.

  “Each one I came to, I found nothing there,” Siren said. “They were already either destroyed or dying. One I came to was still smoking, from having been destroyed right before I arrived. I was just a few days too late.”

  “Or a day on the right side,” Greer said. “Depending on how you look at it. Best to be kept out of the fighting if you would have ended up on the losing side.”

  Siren pursed her lips. She didn’t like to be bested in an argument.

  “I was chasing an impossible dream,” Siren said.

  “Except it’s not impossible,” Greer said. “We are a community that fight together to maintain what freedom we have.”

  Siren shrugged. She hadn’t made up her mind whether this was the right place for her yet. She would reserve judgement until she had seen what the community had to offer.

  “You travel alone?” Greer said.

  Siren nodded. What good would it do to tell Greer the truth? The only thing that could come from it was to give him ammunition to use against her. Siren wasn’t about to do anything that dumb.

  And Greer still hadn’t taken a swig of the ginger ale, Siren noted. Instead, Greer sat his can on his desk, the little bubbles fizzing and popping. Greer sat on the edge of his desk, folded his arms and looked at her.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  “Siren.”

  “I’m Greer. But then, you probably already knew that. Siren’s an unusual name.”

  “It’s a nickname,” Siren said.

  “I guessed that much,” Greer said. “You know, sirens used to draw sailors in from the sea, dash their ships on the rocks, to their deaths.”

  He was testing her, how she would react. She shrugged.

  “So what?” she said. “They don’t exist.”

  “Are you sure?” Greer said with a pointed look. “What’s your real name?”

  “What difference is it to you?” Siren said.

  “None,” Greer said. “God knows we’re all allowed to start again. You’ve come a long way by yourself.”

  “Is that a question?” Siren said.

  “Do you have any special skills?” Greer said.

 
“Besides knitting?” Siren said. “No. It’s hard to feel special these days.”

  “You’re alive,” Greer said. “Compared to a lot of people, that’s pretty special.”

  “Less special the longer you’re alive, I guess,” Siren said.

  “Were you ever going to give up?” Greer said.

  “Give up what?” Siren said.

  “Searching,” Greer said. “For a working haven.”

  No. Wyvern wouldn’t let her.

  “One day,” Siren said.

  “Then I think you deserve to be rewarded for all your hard work, don’t you?” Greer said. “You’re welcome here for as long as you like. We have a few rules, but they’re in place to protect you, and the others, not to control you. Stealing is not tolerated, and will result in immediate dismissal. There is a curfew, nightfall, for everyone. Everyone has a job and fulfils a purpose here. Anyone who breaks the rules will be banished permanently. That’s about all there is. Any questions?”

  “Not yet,” Siren said.

  “I’m here anytime you need to ask,” Greer said. “Or you can speak with one of the others. Some of them have been here for a long time and know how things work.”

  Greer bent back down over his paperwork. The meeting was over.

  “Oh, and Siren,” Greer said.

  He picked up the ginger ale can and downed it in one gulp.

  “You don’t need to be overly suspicious here,” he said.

  Siren waited a moment, never letting her eyes fall to the glass of Ginger ale for fear Greer would know what she was thinking.

  There’s always need to be suspicious.

  Siren turned and left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “WE HAVE three meals a day,” Quinn said. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all in the main courtyard you saw earlier. You just have to turn up, grab a tray, and collect your food. Everyone gets the same. You’ll be allocated a random job, performing general duties, until you find something you’re good at or skills you can bring to the fore. We want whatever you know how to do.”