by Ryan Casey
When he didn’t find Emma anywhere, he breathed a small sigh of relief.
When he turned around, he noticed something that sent shivers up his spine.
Mrs Fuzzles was standing right there, staring at him.
She had that look in her eyes. The one that creeped Jack out. He didn’t want to go towards her. Not since he’d seen Matthew holding her so recently, right at the edge of the woods.
Was he here?
Had he actually entered the caravan site?
But then he remembered he’d seen Matthew lowering her to the ground. Must’ve found her way back here. Creepy cat.
Jack walked slowly towards Mrs Fuzzles. He looked outside the windows, every step. He got the sense there was somebody there. Somebody close by. Somebody watching.
But he couldn’t see them.
So he could only keep moving.
He reached Mrs Fuzzles. Crouched opposite her.
She was licking her paws.
Bloodied paws.
“Jeez,” Jack said. “I’ve always found you a creepy little bastard, not gonna lie. But this really tops the lot.”
She looked back up at him, nonchalant.
He looked around again. Still got that sense someone was close. Someone was watching.
But he couldn’t let those gut feelings cloud his decision-making.
He had to go off the evidence.
And the evidence said nobody was around.
He had to get out of this caravan.
And he had to keep searching for Villain.
And for the rest of his people.
He walked over to the caravan door when he saw a silhouette through the window.
He froze. His heart raced. He went totally still.
Someone was out there.
He backed away from the doorway, just a few steps.
Lifted his knife and readied himself.
He had to be prepared to take down whoever was in front of him.
He had to be ready to fight.
He saw that silhouette move again behind the frosted glass and he put a hand on the door handle.
Waited for them to turn it.
He waited a few seconds before he felt it.
The handle lowered.
The door opened up.
He lifted that knife and braced himself.
The door opened and he swung it down.
Then he stopped.
Right at the death, he stopped.
Because he saw who was standing opposite.
Someone he recognised.
“Hello again,” the girl from the woods said, her clothes torn and dirty.
“What the hell are you—”
“There’s no time to mess around anymore. You’re going to have to listen to me very closely,” she whispered. “If you want to survive.”
Chapter Nineteen
Matthew stood in the middle of his camp and smiled.
The weather was beautiful. They really had been blessed lately. Beaming sun, burning temperatures. It reminded him of a holiday he’d taken as a teenager to the Turkish mountains. He’d stepped off the plane and felt the warmth and at first, he thought it was from heaters.
But it was the air. So warm. So intense.
But once you were used to it, so beautifully comforting.
There was a touch of the idyllic about his camp that reminded him of that holiday all those years ago.
He looked around at his camp. They were relying on tents to survive in. Tents were easier, because they could be transported quicker, which was necessary for a life on the road.
And they knew how to hunt. They knew how to make the most of the resources at their fingertips. That was always an advantage.
But one thing they had learned was that sometimes the best prey was the predator itself.
Everything was a resource.
He listened to the chatter of conversation. He could hear a few whimpers from the woods around them. The six people they’d captured from the caravan site. The survivors. He felt for them, having their world torn in two like that. One moment they thought everything was good and that they had all they wanted and needed, the next, they were here.
But the leader, Gregory. He seemed like a reasonable man. And he’d said it himself. They could reach an understanding. Find common ground.
It just wasn’t the kind of common ground he was probably expecting.
He looked at those they’d captured and smiled. It was enough. They’d brought a couple of dead bodies along with them too to make the most of, but most of them were still in the streets. They’d go back for those who were still alive, if they were foolish enough to stay at that caravan site. They’d make the most of all the resources at their fingertips, one way or another.
He took a deep breath and smelled smoke in the air. It was still strong from the caravan site. He pictured them now, at least the ones who were still there, still surviving. He pictured them picking up the pieces, trying to bounce back. He pictured them burying the dead who remained in the streets, upping their defences.
He imagined their words of resilience. The election of a new leader. And the commitment to fight whatever threat came their way.
The thing was, that’s exactly what Matthew wanted.
He had what he wanted from that group—at least for now.
They had enough dead to last them.
And they had someone strong, too.
In a sense, that was more important than anything.
He looked around at his people as they stared back at him. He saw their wide eyes looking up at him. People from all different walks of lives. Former professionals. Former students. Former inmates. A true vision of how diversity could work with one common goal.
In a sense, Matthew found it rather beautiful.
“You did well today,” he said. “All of you. The plan couldn’t have gone any better. We have enough of the dead to put to immediate nutritional use. And we have enough of the living to provide us in the near future, too.”
He saw the way they all nodded. The way they lapped up his words. He wondered how he’d got to this point. He was just an ordinary man, at the end of the day. Before the blackout, his life wasn’t at its best. Things weren’t going all that smoothly to say the least, and they hadn’t been for years.
But now he could be respected.
Now, he could be strong again.
“But it’s important to ground ourselves after an event like this. It’s important to remind ourselves that sometimes, we can stray from the path. We can start questioning what’s right. Whether what we’re doing is ethically right. And you know what? It isn’t. Not by the old standards.”
He saw the concern in the eyes of his people. Saw them hanging on every word.
“But by the new standards… we know this is what we have to do. Survival is of paramount importance. And it is the strong who make it. The strong who survive. And it should be the strong who carry our species forward, too. Because if we let the weak survive, if we allow them to propagate this world, humanity will never learn the lessons of this disaster. It will forever be victim to base urges and impulses. It will never outgrow the errors of its past. We have to make sure we don’t let things get to that point.”
He saw the nods, then. Heard the mutters of approval.
And every time he saw things like that, he felt relieved.
Because they believed in him.
They saw what he believed in, saw how important it was that the strong survived, and they bought into what he was doing.
He was a leader. He was always born to be a leader.
And he was going to keep on leading these people into the new world.
He thought of the stuff he was interested in before the end of power. The idea of survival of the fittest. Genetic manipulation. A way of avoiding weakness. A way of avoiding tragedy. A way of avoiding loss.
And he felt blessed that he finally lived in a world where he could put his passions to the test.
&
nbsp; Where he could create something beautiful.
His own gorgeous, strong community.
He felt a tightness in his chest.
Stay away. Please stay away.
He shook his head, rode out the feelings. He looked over his shoulder, right into the eyes of the people lined up there, chains around their wrists.
“And as always, we give people an opportunity,” he said. “We give them a chance. To prove their worth to us. To prove their commitment to us. To prove their strength to us.”
He heard claps. Cheers.
Saw the fear widen in the eyes of the captured.
“And if they don’t…” he said.
He looked down at the two bodies lying before these six people.
Looked at them lying there, staring back at the snivelling people before them.
And then he looked at the little girl at the end of the line.
The one who looked like…
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think like that.
He smiled at her.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point, shall we?”
He looked away and walked from the line of people, from the bodies.
“Now get to work,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”
Emma watched Matthew walk away from the crowd.
She looked at the bodies lying before her as she crouched in the dirt and she knew she was in big trouble.
Chapter Twenty
Jack waited for the girl from the woods to give a thumbs up before stepping out of the caravan.
The beaming sun had disappeared behind a bunch of thick clouds, but the air was still humid. Sweat poured down Jack’s face, the taste of it spreading across his lips. The caravan site was quieter, now. There hadn’t been any gunshots for a while. And as far as Jack could tell, there hadn’t been any sign of any of Matthew’s group, either.
Other than the girl.
The girl from the woods in white who was here with him right now.
And Mrs Fuzzles, who he carried somewhat reluctantly in his arms.
He looked around at his surroundings. Saw the caravans sitting there. Heard the waves crashing against the shore in the distance. If he really focused, he could convince himself that today was just a normal day. A sleepy afternoon.
But then a wail punctuated through his focus, and the sight of blood muddied his vision, and he was transported right back to the horrors of the attack once more.
“Come on,” the girl said. “We don’t have much time.”
She walked off, her bare feet not making a sound.
“Wait,” Jack said.
She stopped. Sighed. “Jack. It is Jack, right? You need to listen to me. This place isn’t safe. It might seem like the attack is over, but He is unpredictable. You can’t stay here.”
“I have friends here. Family. My dog.”
A look of sympathy crossed the girl’s tired, pale face. “I wish there was more time. But we have to leave. Before everyone here falls the way the rest did.”
She went to make a move again, but Jack couldn’t budge.
“Where did you come from?”
She looked back. “I was watching. From afar. I saw what Matthew launched on this place. I saw what he did. And I knew I couldn’t just sit back. I had to get here. I had to help.”
“And why should I trust you?”
She looked down at her white dress. Looked at the dirt on her dress. Then she looked up at Jack again, her eyes not holding contact for longer than a second at a time. “I know it’s hard. I know what I look like. But I’m not a part of what happened. I’m not one of them. You have to believe me when I say that.”
“And why do you even care?”
She looked away, then, off into the distance. “Because I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past. I’ve had a lot of chances to step in. To try and prevent this kind of event. But I haven’t. I’ve stood by. I’ve put my faith in others. I’ve doubted myself. I don’t want to make that mistake again. Now come on. Others are waiting.”
She turned away and before Jack could even ask what she meant by that, she jogged ahead.
“Shit,” Jack said. “Looks like we’ve got no choice, Mrs Fuzzles.”
She glanced up at him and let out a little grumble.
She still had blood on her face.
Jack looked around at Heathwaite’s caravan site before he moved. He thought about all the people here. All the people he was leaving behind. And he felt bad about it. He felt guilty. He felt like he was walking away from responsibility. From duty.
But he’d heard what this girl said.
It wasn’t safe here.
The threat from Matthew and his people wasn’t over.
If they didn’t get away now, they might not get another chance.
He had to take this while he could.
He thought of Villain and swallowed a lump in his throat.
“I hope you’re okay, lad. Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay.”
Then he took a deep breath and followed the girl.
He caught up with her crouched between a crossroads of sorts. She was behind a large stone that bordered one of the caravan grounds.
“What’s—”
“Ssh,” she said, finger in front of her lips.
Jack didn’t know what she was on about at first.
Not until he saw them.
At a glance, you could miss them easily.
But now he looked closer, he saw them clearly.
There were two of those people in white.
Both of them were by an old phone box at the side of the road, carrying a dead body.
Jack crouched down too, trying to squeeze alongside this girl.
“What are they doing?” Jack whispered.
The girl stared on. “Collecting.”
“Collecting?”
She looked right at him then, just for a second. “Bodies are resources. Alive or dead.”
Jack didn’t understand what the girl was talking about, but he didn’t have to for the back of his neck to tingle with fear.
There was so much about Matthew’s group he clearly didn’t understand, as they disappeared from view.
And he was crouched right next to a girl who was dressed in the same gear as the people who had just attacked the caravan site.
Just how mad was he?
“How long are we going to be waiting here?” Jack asked.
The girl stared on. “Hopefully not long.”
“That doesn’t exactly put me at ease.”
“I didn’t say it to put you at ease. I said it because it’s the truth. Hopefully not long.”
“This is crazy,” Jack said. “I… I don’t even know your name and you’re—”
“Look,” she said.
She pointed ahead.
Jack turned around.
The two figures started walking away.
Jack felt relieved for a moment. This was a chance. A chance to get away. A chance to make a break.
But the girl beside him stayed put.
She didn’t move a muscle.
“Shouldn’t we be making a move?”
“Wait,” she said.
“But—”
“Just wait.”
Jack wanted to argue some more.
But in the end, he found himself trusting this stranger.
Mrs Fuzzles wriggled around in his arms.
It was what felt like forever later that the girl finally stood. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s…”
She stopped.
Jack didn’t know why at first.
Not until he heard the footsteps right behind them.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bella heard the footsteps enter the caravan and every muscle in her body turned to stone.
Her chest was tight. Her body was getting hotter and hotter by the second. It took her back to the moment she’d found out about her parents; the moment she’d felt that loss with the knowledge that she
was never, ever going to see them again.
And she’d felt that feeling again so many times since. She’d felt it when she’d crashed after her manic episodes. She’d felt it when she was sectioned. She’d felt it when she’d stood on that motorway bridge, and she’d felt it when Alana’s camp was attacked and she thought she was alone again.
She’d felt it far too many times in her life.
And it never got any easier.
She just knew she was going to have to do something.
She stepped back inside her bedroom. Clutched that piece of broken mirror tightly. Closed the door, gently.
The footsteps creaked inside the caravan.
She edged her way across the small room, over to the bed. She had to climb on there, work her way across it, then she had to escape through the window.
She had to get outside, even if she knew outside was a dangerous place right now.
She crept towards the bed. Kneeled onto it, worked her way toward the window as quickly and quietly as possible. She reached the window. Grabbed the handle. Went to turn it.
It was locked.
The footsteps moved quicker through the caravan.
Got closer.
She pushed her thumb down on that button, unlocking it.
Then she lifted it, quietly, slowly—
The handle reached the top and then it let out a deafening click.
It wasn’t that loud, objectively.
But when you were in a place like this, when you were trying to stay as quiet as possible, it was like a clang of a cymbal in an empty gig hall.
She froze. Stayed deadly still at first.
Then she heard the footsteps start to move towards the bedroom.
She heard the footsteps search the kitchen.
Then the bathroom.
She realised there was no time to escape through the window. She had to try something else.
She backed off the bed and dragged herself underneath it.
Just as she pushed herself under it, the door clicked open.
The footsteps stopped.
All Bella could do was curl up there and wait.
She didn’t want to look.
She didn’t want to see who was coming her way.
So she closed her eyes and held her breath and waited.
She listened to the footsteps move across the room. Heard them walk a little inside, then stop, right at the foot of the bed.