IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  He frowned, both irritated and impressed by her determination.

  Neeson leaned forward, politely. “Sir, if I may, Cathy is a good shot. She’s also brave. I think it would be wise to send her to the walls, if she wants to go.

  “All right, then,” said Bill, “give her a weapon.”

  So here she was, now. Running up the winding steps of one of the castle’s towers, footsteps rattling ahead and behind her, mind somehow both clear and utterly lost.

  As she emerged on the walls’ walkway, breaking through the cold air as if it were chilling water, she found Moore standing in front of her.

  She paused, incapable of hearing the orders Neeson was shouting to those gathered up here.

  “Cathy–” began Edward.

  After a second’s hesitation, she marched on, ignoring him.

  Either this, or I shoot him.

  She reached the battlements, and looked down. The view beyond them wiped away all her thoughts.

  Beneath her, Bately was ablaze.

  Chapter 27

  Paul

  “Take this, Father.”

  The soldier’s face was friendly. He was offering a rifle, for Paul to take. It was a simple gesture, almost a generous one. Here, take it. It’s easy – pull the trigger, and kill.

  Around him, the pressure from the crowd was mounting. Some were headed towards the towers, to gain access to the walls’ walkways. The others, by far the larger of the two groups, was slowly, but eagerly, pouring out of the hall they now occupied, seeking refuge in the castle’s deeper dwellings.

  The Guard twitched his chin imperceptibly. Are you going to take it?

  Paul bowed his head, declining the offer. Perhaps he was also hanging his head in shame, he thought, as the weapon was offered to someone else.

  You refuse a firearm now, yet you tried to kill someone just a couple of days ago.

  With an uncomfortable glance at those climbing the stairs towards the walls, he turned, and joined the others.

  “It is not your place to fight, Paul.”

  It was Claudio. He was walking behind him, the children at his side. Mathew and his newly-found mother followed.

  “I know, Claudio.”

  Where is my place?

  * * *

  Bately Castle wasn’t a castle, to begin with.

  Originally, it had functioned as an ancillary stronghold for the grander Dover Castle. But, over the centuries, it had developed a life of its own, and as history unfolded its intricate knots, this modest structure grew both in size and in importance. Still relatively small, if compared to its older sister in Dover, its single defensive wall was imposing nonetheless, and provided an effective means of defence.

  As Paul followed the flow of frightened townsfolk, his mind wandered to all the others who, in the past, had sought refuge within these same rooms. Pale faces, eyelids peeled back in terror, hushed words of comfort or doom. The same manifestations of fear, throughout the ages.

  They gathered in what once had been a large reception hall. As everyone found a place, clusters of neighbours, friends and loved ones formed, then the room fell silent. Suddenly, there was nothing else to do, but wait.

  “Father?”

  It was Lucy, Moore’s wife. She was gently tugging at his sleeve.

  “Oh, hello Mrs. Moore, I’m sorry we haven’t yet had time to talk.”

  “I understand,” she said. There was an impatient quality to her tone, her accent suggesting she belonged to a richer, and perhaps more spoilt, class than he was used to dealing with. A career woman, he thought, strong and capable, and difficult to think of as married to Edward. He also noticed the small silver cross, hanging from her long neck. A practical woman, but also a Catholic, it appeared.

  “I think you should say a prayer or something, Father,” she said. More like a command, than a suggestion. “These people feel lost, tired and afraid. I believe it would help them.” Lucy nodded, clearly agreeing with herself.

  Paul sensed the eyes of Claudio upon him. The children, too, were watching him. But so much had happened, his faith was somewhat spent. A burden, like a task one has postponed for too long, and can’t bear thinking about.

  “Maybe you should, Claudio,” Paul said.

  But the old priest shook his head. His clear blue eyes had a sad shine to them. “I don’t think I can, any more, Pablo.” Claudio’s eyebrows drew close, and a melancholic, but somewhat relieved smile bent the corners of his lips. Like he’d finally admitted a long-concealed truth. “But you, you can. Go ahead.”

  Paul glanced at the people scattered across the room. Somehow, they had noticed their conversation. His name was being whispered. Eyes turned to him.

  This will be the largest flock you’ve had in months and months, he thought.

  Then, he raised his hands to the sky beyond the stone that trapped and protected them, and said, “Brothers and sisters, let us pray.”

  Chapter 28

  R3dPill

  “Are you ready, RedPill?”

  Sean hardly noticed Jeremy, when he entered the shed. He was too busy staring at the Pack, as they advanced towards the castle. People were gathering on top of the walls. Both groups had firearms.

  “Ready for what?” he asked, tentatively.

  “To leave, of course.” Jeremy chuckled, as if he were stating the obvious. “Your job here is done. You’re needed elsewhere, and for a much more important task, young man.”

  Clutching his rucksack, Sean hesitantly followed him, as he walked out. “Where are we going?” he asked. He wasn’t sure whether he even wanted to leave (especially with someone like Jeremy), but he could hardly stay in Bately any more, either. Not after what he had done.

  “We’re going away,” Jeremy replied, without turning. They were walking out of town, the noises from the battle slowly fading behind them. “No point hanging around here, at this stage.” Jeremy spoke as if, whatever was going on in Bately, now, the outcome was already settled. Clear for anyone to see.

  “What do you mean? What about Bately, the Pack–”

  “Never mind that, Sean,” Jeremy said, indifferently.

  They walked quietly, their silence occasionally interrupted by Jeremy, whistling some odd, jolly tune. Their shoes sunk in the thick mud, at every step. So did Sean’s heart.

  After about twenty minutes of speechless trudging along, Jeremy said, “Ah, here we are.” Sean looked up from his muddy shoes. They stood in a foggy field, one he did not recognise. There, among the puddles, was an old, battered Jeep.

  Jeremy dug a set of keys from his pocket, then pressed a button on the remote. The indicators flashed twice, and the vehicle unlocked.

  Jeremy nodded towards it. “Hop on, Sean..

  Slowly, and full of doubt, Sean opened the passenger door, and climbed in. As Jeremy took his seat at the wheel, he looked out into the night. .

  Sean wondered whether he’d ever see Bately again.

  * * *

  He dozed off.

  Jeremy continued his on-and-off whistling, absently tapping on the steering wheel. They drove for about an hour, sometimes on roads, others on the dirt. The night was thick.

  When Sean awoke, they were no longer moving. He heard voices, outside. Jeremy’s, and others’. The light inside the Jeep was on, and he couldn’t see anything but darkness, beyond the windows.

  Suddenly, Jeremy’s face appeared, wide and wrinkled and grinning. He opened the passenger door, and peered inside.

  “You ready?”

  “Have we arrived?”

  “Arrived?” The old man laughed. “No, no,” he said, “we haven’t even left, yet.”

  When Sean said nothing, Jeremy rubbed his chin, considering the young man’s uneasiness.

  “Listen, boy,” he said, warmly. “I promise you, this is going to be the greatest experience of your life.” The way he said it, one could almost believe it. Almost.

  “Come on, now,” he said, as he moved back, so Sean could step out. “I have a
surprise for you.” Behind him, Sean saw indistinct figures shuffling around in the shadows.

  He got out, and for a second almost missed it. It was so surreal, so unexpected, that his mind had trouble acknowledging it.

  Jeremy, Bately, and the mysterious figures lurking around him suddenly withdrew into the background. All he could see, was the massive object before him.

  “Oh my god,” he whispered.

  Chapter 29

  Bately Castle

  Cathy had spent her entire career as the only medical professional in Bately to have survived the impact and its aftermath, convincing people like Ms. Brand that the Afflicted were individuals just like them. Humans, albeit sick ones.

  But now, glaring beyond the merlons, she thought the Pack barely looked human at all.

  All she saw was a sea of broken teeth, rotting skin, cloudy eyes. They returned her glance with gnarling smiles. Many of them held torches, others bore firearms.

  “No one shoot!” Neeson called out, to the people gathered against the battlements. No shots had been fired yet, from either side. Cathy felt that might change very quickly.

  Below them, the crowd was parting, making way for someone. It was a man in his thirties, features disfigured by the Affliction. Cheers greeted him, as he walked through the mob, towards the castle.

  So this is the famous Alpha ’Wraith of the Pack, thought Cathy. With such an epic name, she’d expected something more than this skinny thug.

  The howls and bellowing died down, as he addressed them.

  “People of Bately,” he began. Then, after a pause, he added, “Cunts.”

  Raucous laughter erupted all around him.

  “We’re going to break through these gates, and kill every single one of you.” He let the message sink in. Near Cathy, the few Guard members stared impassibly, but fear was showing on the faces of the others, civilians like her.

  “Actually,” continued the leader of the Pack, “that’s not right. Let me rephrase. We’ll kill the men and the ugly women. The others, we will rape. Then we’ll kill them. So, unless you’re keen on that particular scenario, I suggest you bugger off, out of Bately, and leave the town to us.”

  “Get out of here!” Bill’s deep, domineering voice replied. He was standing a few yards from her, the veins on his neck swollen and pulsating. “The Guard will be back before you even scratch the castle gates.”

  The ’wraith laughed. “Your Guard is getting its arse kicked by our men. And anyway, even if they do turn up, we’ll be inside the castle by then, shooting them down one by one as they arrive.”

  Is his timing correct? How long would it take the Guard to fight off the red herring attack and get here? Cathy wondered.

  “So what’s it going to be? You leaving, or you gonna get killed?”

  “This is our town,” shouted Bill. “We’re never going to leave!”

  The ’wraith sighed, and shook his head. “Thought so.” He raised a hand in the air.

  Cathy expected them to start shooting, and she tightened her grip on the trigger of her weapon. But no shooting came. Not yet.

  Instead, some of the torch carriers began waving them in the air, flames dancing in the icy wind. Heads turned, scanning the street for something behind them.

  Then, out of nowhere, came the truck.

  Its single working headlight projected a crazy, shaky beam that bounced around, as the vehicle hit bumps and potholes. A net of thick iron bars had been mounted in front of the windscreen, presumably for protection against bullets. The engine roared, and the truck rushed through the gathered ’wraiths.

  It was aiming straight for the castle gates.

  “Open fire!” shouted Bill, “aim for the driver! Stop that truck!”

  This order was not given lightly. Bill’s strategy had always been to deter, whenever possible, rather than to attack.

  Cathy wasn’t sure whether the command was intended for the Guards, or for everyone. She held back, but all around her shots were fired, popping menacingly, tearing through the silence on the walls.

  She looked down. Bullets perforated the vehicle, but without halting its race. Some of them struck nearby ’wraiths, who screamed in pain.

  At the same time, she noticed that some of what she thought were torches, were actually Molotov cocktails. Arms bent back, then sprung upwards, hurling the flaming bottles in the air. Most of them crashed against the walls and battlements, starting strange vertical fires that spread fluidly on the stone surface. But others landed on target. Flames erupted to her left and right. There were cries and screams. The ’wraiths opened fire.

  Cathy aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  RAT-ATAT-TAT-RAT-ATAT-TAT

  Suddenly, everything was surreal. Her senses were instantly flooded with too much information. She saw the face of the truck’s driver, eyes filled with suicidal folly, as he raced towards the gates. His long, pointy tongue was hanging out, mouth widened to let out a scream she couldn’t hear. There were people firing at her – firing at her!? – and others firing alongside her. Bullets whizzed past, in all directions.

  Shooting and being shot at. Death whirling above and among them, like a black-cloaked orchestra director. This couldn’t be real. The insanity of the whole situation seemed to feed on itself, growing and growing with each terrified heartbeat.

  All of a sudden, she pictured Ms. Brand standing there beside her – she wasn’t, she was inside, with the others – firing bursts of hateful bullets and howling like an Amazon, screaming, “I told you to go back to your wretched countries, you effing immigrants!” And, despite the horror, she almost burst into hysterical laughter.

  Cathy was aiming for the driver, trying to suppress the human revulsion of causing someone else’s death. Harm him, don’t kill him. Harm him, don’t kill him. Harm him…

  The truck was being pelted with shots. Sparks flashed on the iron rods, but the driver behind them just kept going.

  Until, with a final shriek of the engine, the truck ploughed into the gates.

  The impact seemed impossibly loud. Cathy saw the driver’s head fly forward, crashing into the windscreen. Then, his body fell back on the seat, limp and lifeless.

  A strange, brief moment of silence. Then, with a deafening roar, the ’wraiths stormed the gates.

  * * *

  “You, you and you. Get down there!”

  Bill pointed to three groups of men. Neeson was among them, and so was Moore. He followed the others, sweaty hands gripping his assault rifle. As he left the walls, he turned towards Cathy, burning to exchange a glance, since words were impossible. But she was looking away. The nurse disappeared, as he descended the ancient stairwell.

  What if this is it? What if I die, and never get a chance to explain, to apologise, tell her–

  But what would he say, anyway? Explaining would be difficult, with or without the raging siege and the risk of dying.

  Then, his thoughts went to Mathew. But he couldn’t let his mind linger there, not now. It hurt too much. Hopefully, his son was safe, deep inside the castle, with the others.

  At least until the ’wraiths break in.

  He stumbled out into the courtyard, with the other twenty or so men. The gates had been damaged, seriously damaged, but not breached. They could see the smoking wreck of the truck, hordes already gathering along its sides, pushing, beating, hammering. Trying to get through. There were faces, wild and furious, framed by a small opening in the twisted metal of the gates.

  Neeson signalled to find cover on either side of them. “Yessir!” replied the handful of Guards who were there, in unison. The others, like Moore, clumsily imitated them. Neeson positioned himself right by the gates, weapon at the ready. He got down on one knee, and with a quick, precise movement, fired a blind burst on the other side. ’Wraiths howled, and withdrew from the opening.

  The brave soldier turned towards them, and shouted, “If anything gets through there, shoot. Shoot to kill. That’s an order!”

  Two Molot
ov cocktails flew in, shattering in the courtyard and instantly going up in flames. Moore instinctively recoiled.

  Minutes went by, as their men and the ’wraiths exchanged fire. He could hear other gunshots, from the walls where Cathy was, and from the Pack below.

  Then, the ’wraiths vanished from the gates. One second they were yelling and banging, the next – nothing.

  They all looked at each other. “Hold still,” whispered Neeson. He didn’t look relieved. The ’wraiths were planning something.

  “It’s a battering ram!” a voice yelled, from above.

  Neeson swallowed. “Shit.”

  Moore leaned forward, and caught a glimpse of what was going on, outside. Two rows of ’wraiths were carrying a large tree trunk, as they ducked down behind the truck, for cover.

  A shower of flaming bottles was hurled through, just past the gate. They’re clearing the way, thought Moore. Clearing the way, to get in.

  It worked. Everyone tried to flee the roaring fires. Moore watched in horror as two men seemed to go up in flames, just feet away from him. Arms flailing, they screamed and ran around the courtyard, begging for help that could not come.

  “GO!” yelled a voice, from outside. An instant later, the tree trunk struck the gates.

  A loud bang. Moore thought they would give in, under that powerful blow. They buckled and screeched, but held. A large dent protruded, in the spot where the wood had met the iron.

  That’s not going to hold for long, he told himself.

  “Moore!” It was Neeson, crawling towards him, head held low. “You have family, in there,” Neeson said, tilting his forehead towards the castle.

  Moore nodded.

  “Go to them. You should be with them, now.”

  He tried to say something – protest maybe, or more likely thank him, but Neeson pushed him away. Get going, his eyes said, there’s no knowing how long we’ll hold out.

  Moore stood. And ran. The image of Mathew, the need to hug him, drew him towards the castle.

  Three hurried steps. Five. Eight. And he collapsed.

  The pain erupted in his leg. There was no warning, just the sudden, excruciating agony. It was paralysing, unlike anything he’d felt before. He fell to the ground, incapable even of screaming. In that moment, nothing else existed, other than the bullet wound.