Luke nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”
Dimwit stood. “Okay then, let’s go. The hell are we waiting for?”
Luke peered past the trees that surrounded them. “They’re patrolling the road that leads to the Pack. It’s not safe now, not for the two of us. I’d have tried on my own, but not with you.”
“It ain’t safe here either, mate.”
“I know.” Luke rested his forehead in his hands. He was so, so tired.
“So?” Dimwit insisted. “If there’s nowhere to go, we might as well just go hand ourselves in to those pricks in black uniforms. No one’s going to take us in, help us out.”
The boy was talking like he didn’t care. Acting tough. He was so young, thought Luke. Just twenty minutes or so ago he’d been lying in the mud, streaks of dirt and tears lining his face. Now, he was putting on this hard man act. Some sort of means of self-comfort, he supposed. Naïve, maybe. But hadn’t he, much older and supposedly wiser than this boy, been naïve too? Buying into Jeremy’s lies and promises?
“I know someone who might,” he said at last.
Dimwit looked up at him. “Someone who might what?”
“Take us in,” said Luke slowly, gazing beyond the trees at the dim lights of Bately’s streets. The sun would be out before long. “We don’t deserve it, but they might.”
The boy’s face lit up. Again, he looked like a child. “Really?”
“I hope so.”
Chapter 7
Claudio
The old priest stepped into the pitch black of the empty church.
He was surprised, if not happy, to see it was still standing. Someone had tried to set fire to the door, but had given up on it, for whatever reason.
Somewhere in the shadows before him, his Saviour loomed from the cross. Claudio held his head bowed down. Didn’t dare look. His Lord had either unleashed his wrath upon humanity by punishing them with the three rocks, or had abandoned them all together. Now, in the darkness, he neither wanted to witness the rage of Christ, nor his indifference.
He walked across the aisle, slowly running his fingers along the surface of a pew. Felt the dust gather under his touch. Felt alone.
Who’s the priest? they had asked. Who’s Paul?
Now, he was Paul. And whatever they had in mind for his young friend, awaited him.
“Screw them,” he said out loud, and sniggered. Truth was, he didn’t care any more. He hadn’t for quite some time, now. The arrival of the two children had brightened his days. Tricked him into thinking there might be some hope ahead. But they were gone now, and Paul with them. Bately was doomed, and nothing really mattered.
Serves us right, he told himself. Fooling ourselves that this could last. The happy little town after the end of the world.
They’d kill him. He knew that. Those grotesque men in black, they’d come for him. Fanatics, murderers. Whoever the god they served was, it wasn’t the one of mercy and charity he’d devoted his life to. And if the history of religion had taught him anything at all, it was that the Heavens were too small a place to accommodate the gods of two different faiths. The one who ended up moving in was generally the one whose followers had the bigger guns. The others, they generally ended up on the stake, or in mass graves.
He needed a drink.
With slow, ponderous steps, he walked out of the church, heading towards his rooms. And the liqueur chest.
The thought of Rome, of the Basilica, of the days of his youth broke into his mind, like a mischievous ray of sunlight. A lying one. He was so strong, back then. His faith bold and vigorous.
No one here knew, or cared to know, but he’d climbed the treacherous ladder of the Vatican’s hierarchy, until he was awarded the coveted title of Cardinal. A prince of the Roman Catholic Church, and the very favourite of His Holiness. He – a simple Spanish boy from a humble family, had become a prince. Like in the fairy tales.
Not much of an accomplishment, as it turned out. The Catholic Church had crumbled, like any ordinary building. The slice of heaven he saw it as was nothing more than a dusty pile of misplaced hopes, now.
As he headed towards the door of his room, he considered Paul. Humble, good-hearted Pablo. No aspirations other than to lend a hand, no meddling with Church politics. His faith was clean, untarnished. Yet, it was wavering too. He’d seen it in the young priest’s eyes. But whatever was to become of his belief in Christ, he was out there now, risking his life to save the children. This, he suspected, meant being a man of God, if anything did.
And me, I’ve saved fuck all. He smiled at the thought of Pablo’s horrified face. He hated when Claudio swore, especially in the church. In fact, that was one of the reasons he did it so often. A little guilty pleasure of his.
You’re a better man than I ever was, Pablo, he thought, as he opened his creaky door. And I hope I get the chance to tell you that, my dear friend.
There was a noise. Someone inside his room.
So here they are. This is the end, is it? Killed inside my church, in the dead of night.
He hesitated, and somehow found time to regret not having had the chance to properly bid farewell to Paul, telling him how much he admired him. Not getting to make sure the children were alive and well. Not enjoying one more mass, perhaps spoken with the faith and conviction of his younger years.
Claudio pushed the door open. But there were no guns, nor black uniforms awaiting him. Just two pairs of desperate eyes, begging for help.
* * *
“There was nowhere else we could go,” Luke said. He was sitting on the mattress Adrian had slept in. The other boy, whose name Claudio hadn’t quite caught, sat crossed-legged on Alice’s bed. The way his hair was shaved told Claudio this kid was a member of the Pack. Or had been, rather. Not much of the Pack left, after last night’s attack.
They had talked about what had happened, about Paul’s departure to search for the kids. Luke was concerned about the young priest’s fate, and asked many questions Claudio had no answer to. Then, the room fell silent.
Luke was avoiding Claudio’s eyes. Guilt spilled out of him in silent waves.
“I’m sorry we came here, Father Claudio. We didn’t know what to do,” he said.
Claudio peered across the room, to the younger kid. He looked frightened, but was trying very hard not to.
“They would have killed us,” the boy cried out. “Those black uniforms, ’cause they hate us. And your lot, the Bately folks, they hate us too because of…” His face suddenly turned red. “You know… the whole invasion thing.”
“The ’whole invasion thing’?”
The boy looked down.
Lord please, stay my hand, lest I slap this silly boy in the face.
“Father Claudio,” Luke said, his voice broken. “I know I should never have believed Jeremy. I know this… it’s my fault.”
“It might very well be,” Claudio said harshly. Luke’s eyes welled up in tears, and he lowered them again.
“You were idiotic and irresponsible and gullible. You made countless people suffer, people who trusted you,” Claudio continued. At every word, Luke’s forehead seemed to droop lower down. “But, I suppose,” the old priest concluded, “all this just goes to prove you’re human. Nothing else, really.”
Luke peered up. “You’ll let us stay?”
“Of course I will,” Claudio said. “Sinner or not, you’re safe, here. That’s the whole point of this dusty old building, isn’t it?”
The sick young man sprung up, and threw his arms around the priest’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Father.”
“Yes, yes,” Claudio said, pushing him away, without quite managing to suppress a smile. “Enough of that, now. You get some sleep. We’ll figure a way of getting you out of Bately when you awake.”
Try, at least, Claudio thought.
Chapter 8
Alice and Adrian
“Do you know how to get to Tonbridge, Ady?”
A
lice’s voice was distant, indifferent, like she already knew the answer.
“Sort of,” he lied. There was very little he really knew about it, other than the few bits of information he pieced together from what Mathew had told them. They’d head north-west, trying to stay away from Ashford. It was dangerous there. Then again, it was dangerous everywhere.
He waited for her to say something, accuse him of lying, but she didn’t. She just kept walking through the thick mud, eyes to the ground. They had a long way ahead of them.
Leaving Bately had been easier than he feared. He had stolen a thick blanket and a few clothes for Ally, that someone had left out to dry. All their things were in the church, but he felt it was too dangerous to try and reach it, before setting off. Adrian’s heart hurt a bit at the thought of his diary, and the few other possessions they’d carried across Europe being left behind. Most of all, he wished he had managed to get his knife.
On they went, silently marching through dirt tracks and side roads. Ducking down at every strange noise, eyes watchful, ears alert. They had got used to walking like this. It was sad to be doing it again, after the glimpse of comfort they had caught in Bately. But they couldn’t stay there any more, they both knew that.
Alice was a couple of steps ahead of him, now. They alternated a bit, as one of them slowed down, maybe lost in thought, maybe tired. He could see the side of her face now. A red cheek, long eyelashes looking down, a strand of loose hair waving at each step.
The birthmark, he thought suddenly. Somehow, he’d forgotten about it. Adrian had spotted it in the castle, when that man had torn off Ally’s jumper. He’d never seen it before. In fact, he’d hardly ever seen Ally naked, always looking away when she undressed to change clothes. The man had been scared of it. Scared, or something like that anyway. It was weird, he had to admit. Weird enough that he couldn’t tell Ally about it. Not yet. Not after having seen it on–
“Look, a road sign.”
Her voice tore him out of his thoughts. Adrian peaked past the shrubs they’d been walking along, and saw they’d neared a road. It was quite wide, and empty by the looks of it. The sign was there, on the opposite end, but they couldn’t make out the words on it, from where they were standing.
“We should go and read it,” Alice said.
“Yeah,” mumbled Adrian. The idea of leaving the bushes and going out in the open made him uneasy. But Ally was right. “Okay,” he said, crawling forward. “You stay here.”
“No.”
He turned. “It’s safer if you–”
“Ady.” Her eyes were fierce. “I’m coming with you. There’s no one about, and I want to be next to you, not alone in a stupid ditch, waiting for you to come back.”
Adrian swallowed. “Okay,” he said.
She walked past him, head held high, pushing the branches out of her way. Adrian quickly followed. They emerged on the road, throwing glances to their left and right, in case–
“HELP!”
The cry was so sudden, so frightening, that Alice instantly crouched to the ground.
See? Adrian thought as he got down next to her– but dared not say aloud – it’s dangerous out here. Not so brave now, are you Ally? But he felt bad for thinking that. Alice was brave. The bravest person he’d ever met.
It was a woman. She was kneeling in a brown, muddy field on the other side of the road. Adrian saw she had her arms wrapped around her waist, cradling herself. She rocked back and forth, desperately, her face a mask of tears snot and saliva.
“HEEEEEELP!” she cried again.
“Has she seen us?” Adrian asked.
“I don’t know.” Alice’s eyes narrowed, as she raised her head slightly. “She’s not alone. Look.”
And sure enough, Adrian saw a man, lying next to her. He was on some sort of stretcher, made of wood planks and a torn sheet. The woman had laid a cover over him. He wasn’t moving.
“Someone please help us.” The lady’s voice was lower, now. The words came out all broken, through coughs and sputters. Adrian felt like throwing up.
There was no one there. No one to harm them, no one to help. Adrian thought he’d never seen anyone as alone as that woman in the field.
A voice inside him whispered, This could be you and Ally, one day. He shook away that image – Alice in tears next to him, wounded and helpless – and tried to decide what to do.
As if reading his thoughts, Alice asked, “What do we do, Ady?” There were tears in her eyes.
They had learnt to be cautious, to keep to themselves. The very first rule of their travels was to avoid anyone they came across, if they could help it. But it was difficult to do that, now.
The woman was sobbing into her hands. She rubbed her eyes, then looked down at the man. She wailed, and punched herself on the leg. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, they saw her bend over, and lean her head on his chest.
“It’s so sad,” said Alice, in a whisper. “Why, Ady, why?” she asked, turning to him. And Adrian didn’t know if she was asking why that scene was so sad, or why she felt sad, or why sad things had to happen. He didn’t know the answer to any of those questions.
The young boy rested his hands on his friend’s shoulders. He squeezed gently, then pulled her up.
“It’s better if we go,” he said slowly.
Alice looked up at him. Her gaze drifted back to the woman, who was still there, cheek resting on the man. The woman’s eyes were open, and for a second Adrian thought she might be staring at them. But it was hard to tell, from here. A second later, the woman closed her eyes and lay still.
“Shall we, Ally…? Go?”
Without speaking, Alice nodded.
They returned to the mud track, and kept walking, until they couldn’t tell apart the lady’s sobs from the rustling wind.
* * *
The sun was high, beyond the clouds.
The children had marched on through the night and into the morning, with no sleep. Their eyelids were heavy and their legs tired.
They found a large tree, and lay their backs into a hole in its thick trunk. Adrian spread the blanket over them (making sure Alice got most of it), and they huddled together. The wind made the branches dance lazily against the sky. Adrian stared at them, trying to forget the hunger and the thirst.
Alice cuddled up to him, and he felt her tears on his neck. He rested his cheek on her head. It was all too easy for him to start crying as well. But he wouldn’t let that happen.
“Is it worth it, Ady?” her voice came, soft and broken. “All this? Is it really worth it?”
Once again, Adrian couldn’t answer that question.
Chapter 9
Death by Fire
Cathy awoke to the sound of knocking.
She’d passed out on the sofa, too tired even to reach her bedroom. There had been wounds to treat and thoughts to think. When the noise came, it felt like she’d only just shut her eyes.
With a dizzy head, she dragged herself to the front door.
“Coming,” she murmured, too low for anyone to really hear her. She opened up, and no one was there. But someone had left a canvas bag on her doorstep.
“Did you see this?” a voice asked. Across the road, Carolyn, a forty-something neighbour she’d known for ages but never really got friendly with, was peering into an identical sack.
“No, I only just got–”
There was more knocking. She turned, and saw two teams of the Warden’s men. They were pushing wheelbarrows, and distributing the sacks door-to-door.
Cathy opened hers. She could hardly believe her eyes.
Inside, there was bread, tea, soap, cigarettes, and other items. To her amazement, she also spotted a bar of chocolate. She dug her hand in the bag and drew it out. It was intact, the wrapping paper smooth and shiny like it had just come off the shelf.
“My gosh,” she said. Carolyn’s eyes met hers, and they shared the same look of disbelief.
A bar of chocolate.
There were similar
gasps along the road, as doors opened and people discovered those contents. The soldiers in black pushed on, dropping off their deliveries and moving to the next inhabited home.
“What do we do?” Cathy asked. It was wrong to accept gifts from these people. Of course it was. But having said that… chocolate.
Carolyn stared inside the bag for a long beat. Then, clutching it to her chest, she rushed back into the house, hurriedly closing the door behind her. Well, that’s what she’s doing, thought Cathy.
She hesitated. A bit of extra soap would have come in handy, too. With a sigh and a last look at the chocolate bar (it was what? Seven months since she’d last tasted any?), she folded the sack closed and dropped it back on the doorstep.
This is brave little me making a statement. I refuse your chocolate, you conquering cunts.
She turned, and was about to get back indoors as fast as she could, before she began having second thoughts.
Then she smelled the smoke.
* * *
Dimwit was choking.
His body knew before he did. There he was, sitting up in that strange bed, awake without remembering he’d been asleep. Just suddenly there, hands wrapped around his throat, his lungs starving for air.
Smoke everywhere. He could still see, but more and more of it was pouring in through the gap under the door.
A new coughing fit. Dimwit closed his eyes. It was so strong he felt his head might explode. It went on forever.
Then there was a hand on his shoulder. Grabbing him, lifting him off the bed.
When he looked, he saw the old priest was holding him with one hand, and Luke with the other. He was strong, despite his age. And there was rage in his eyes.
“Get out of here!” Claudio roared.
Coughing and sputtering, they ran through the door. Here, the smoke was a lot thicker. Dimwit could see the central nave of the church, from where they were standing. Flames enveloped the pews, spreading across the room. Hadn’t quite devoured it all, but it was close.
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