The woman paused for a moment, looking back over towards the bandit. Freda let out an exasperated noise, beckoning faster. The bandit was groaning, slowly pulling himself up from the ground. Freda knew there would be more of them any minute – especially if she hung around. And she only had six more bullets left. Ammunition was rarer than sunlight on green leaves. “Get a move on!” she cried out, shaking her head at the woman. Another glance towards the bandit on the twigs and debris, and the woman finally moved, running towards Freda on spindly legs. The bandit twisted around as he lurched to his feet, using the nearby tree trunk as support, and Freda raised her rifle again, resetting the gun. She fired again, this time hitting him squarely in the chest. The man faltered for a second, blood spraying from him onto the dead bark, and Freda let her eyes rove across the area behind him as she heard distant shouting. The rest of his gang had heard the shots.
The blonde woman stopped before her, heaving hard for breath, clutching at Freda with bony hands as she stared out with panic-stricken eyes. Tears dripped off her face as she gasped, “Oh my god! Thank you so much, I thought I was going to d—”
“We still might if we don’t get moving,” Freda interrupted, her Yorkshire accent thick as she shrugged off her outer coat, wrapping it around the woman’s shoulders. The woman was wearing nothing but a thin dress and plastic bags on her feet. Freda gave them a glance in worry, but she only had the one pair of shoes. Snatching up the woman’s gaunt hand, she half-dragged her along as she turned and set off at a run for Ripon. She wasn’t sure what she would find there, but it had to be better than being outside with no cover. The woman gave a cry but followed as fast as she could, stumbling more than once.
The cries and shouts behind them grew louder as the bandits came closer, and Freda gritted her teeth as she hammered her feet along the crumbling remains of the grey road. She could hear the woman’s cries as her makeshift shoes offered little protection along the rough surface, but she ignored it, pushing them harder. A few cuts and tears would be nothing compared to what would happen if the bandits caught up to them. Keeping a death-grip on the blonde woman’s hand, she pulled them both around the bend of the road, where hopefully they would be out of sight from the bandits.
Dragging her companion hard against the crumbling stone wall that lined the road, Freda placed a finger against her lips as she caught her breath, cautiously gazing around the corner. The woman nodded, trembling as she stared back at her protector. Freda held her breath, her chest vibrating with the force of her rapid pulse. No sound followed them. Nothing. They must have gone in the other direction. She blew out the held breath. Releasing the woman’s hand, Freda turned back to stare her over, jerking her head in the direction of the city, now less than a mile away. “Come on, let’s keep going. We’re not far away. I think we’ve lost them for now, but if we hang about here, they will find us.”
“Fine by me,” the woman whispered back shakily, nodding her head so rapidly it looked as though it was bobbing. Wiping a hand under her running nose, she added in a rough, rasping voice, “I didn’t think anyone would help me. You’re an angel. A real angel.”
Freda froze at the words, giving a hard shrug. Reaching up to pull her hood closer around her face, keeping it in shadow, she gruffly replied, “No one is an angel. Humanity is dead. Let’s get going. I want to be there before dark.”
Chapter Two
March 24th, 2038 – the Past
Freda and Gareth gazed up at the large, partially-torn poster hanging outside their bedroom, their eyes large with curiosity. Gareth was two years senior to his sister, but at seven years old, he was still small for his age. Most blamed it on the fact one of his legs had never fully formed when he came out of the womb, but Freda never noticed. To her, Gareth was her big brother, and as such, the moon and stars in her enclosed world of the bunker. Slipping her tiny hand into her brother’s, she whispered, “What does it mean?” Her foot scuffed against the rough blue carpet that covered the floors of their home—and all other homes in the bunker. The room was built of steel, just like everything else, furnished with the same matching set of plain furniture that everyone else had. Just enough for the basics, not enough to truly be comfortable.
Putting on his best ‘older brother’ face, Gareth gave a casual shrug, as though it was an easy answer. “Well, it…er…it means that we’re all down here. For all of the future.”
Freda reached up for one of her chestnut pigtails, chewing on the end for a moment as she considered Gareth’s answer. The glaring words stared back down at her – Brit-Bunkers—the future of humanity. Swaying back and forth for a moment in silence as both children gazed back at the image of a happy family waving from an artist’s rendition of their bunker, Freda finally replied, “What did Mummy and Daddy say?”
“They said it means we were saved by the bunker. Lots of people didn’t get in, you know.”
The small girl’s eyes opened wider, if that was possible, and her grip tightened. In a fearful voice, she hissed, “What happened to them?”
Her older brother’s lips curled for a moment in a mischievous smile, as if he were about to tell a lie about them mutating outside, or worse. He turned his head to look at Freda, and the smile faded. Biting his lip, he gave a sigh, answering, “They…they found other places to hide. You know, at the Big Hit. They’re okay, Freda.”
“Oh, good.” Freda beamed back at the boy by her side, revealing her childish need to have all around her safe and intact. Gareth chuckled and wrapped his arm around his sister, hugging her in close. The two siblings were thicker than thieves, and went everywhere together in the bunker. Freda leaned into his side for a moment, both of them silently looking at the propaganda that decorated their apartment. Both were startled when the front door was rattled by someone attempting to put the key in the lock, before the keys were subsequently dropped outside. Someone muttered under their breath, and a second later the keys jangled again, finally finding the slot and clicking the door open.
The two children spun around as their mother stumbled in, clutching a plastic shopping bag full of clanking items, the bag itself ripped and stained from years of use. Fixing two bloodshot eyes on her children, Amelia muttered under her breath again, clumsily leaning against the door until it closed. She twisted around to the kitchen area, slamming her bag of glass items on the counter top, yanking open a cupboard and pulling out a chipped mug. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a half-bottle of whiskey, spinning the cap off and throwing it to the counter, before filling the mug and slamming the bottle back down. As she took a long draught, she finally gazed back over at her children, her eyes narrowing. Teetering as she nodded towards them, she slurred, “What the fuck are you looking at? Children. Little brats, the lot of them.”
The air grew thick with tension as she took another swallow of whiskey, and Gareth gave his sister a nudge. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “Go on, Freda. Go to our room and play.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“Here. What…what are you whispering about?” Amelia slurred in a rasping voice, stumbling forwards over her own boots, jabbing a finger in their direction. The boots were too big for her, but everyone in the bunker got whatever they were given. Clothing hadn’t been a priority when food and water supplies were low before the Big Hit, so everyone had hand-me-downs, or made do with patching garments up. If someone needed new clothing, they picked something, anything, out of the general store’s large box.
Freda shook her head determinedly, her tiny hands clutching tightly at Gareth’s side. Gazing up at him with a frown, she cried out, “No! I don’t want to go play without you. I don’t want to go to my room!”
Finally finding the armchair in the sitting area, no more than a few feet away from the children, Amelia sank down with her mug in hand, artfully stopping it from spilling over as she tripped over the scuffed army boots, one of the frayed laces hanging loose. “Go to your room…what are you babbling about? Just be quiet.” Latching her
crazed eyes onto the mug, she pulled her lips taut. “Why you were my child, I’ll never know. What did I do to give birth to some mutated little freak? Why couldn’t you be normal?”
Gareth’s eyes shimmered with tears, but he said nothing, staring back coldly at his mother as she knocked the mug back again. It was something Freda had heard many times before, when their father was away at work in the generator area, and their mother had her usual drink in her hand. Gareth and Freda had both constantly been told how disappointed their mother was that her son was deformed. How she never wanted a mutated child, because it wasn’t natural. It was part of ‘out there’, in the radioactivity and destroyed world. How she found him disgusting. She never said it around their father, and they never mentioned it to him. It was a twisted little secret. The only real connection the children had to their mother.
Seeing the tears glimmering in her brother’s eyes, Freda plucked up her courage, her tiny body shaking as she yelled back, “You mustn’t say that to him, Mummy! He’s not a freak, he’s my brother. I love Gareth, and so do you, Mummy.”
Amelia’s hand paused as the mug travelled upwards to her mouth again, and her gaze shifted to her young daughter. Something about the redness of her eyes took on a dangerous hue, and Gareth instinctively pushed his sister behind him, leaning hard on his crutch with his spare hand. Licking her lips as though they were dry, Amelia hissed, “You ever speak to me like that again, you little bitch, and I’ll slap you hard enough to make you scream. You understand? Don’t you dare backchat me.” Seemingly placated by her own words, Amelia swayed for a moment before falling back into her chair, giving a shrug. “Of course I love you, Freda. You’re my children. I love Gareth, too.” A tear slipped out the corner of her eye with her last words, and she swallowed another hasty mouthful of drink. “I must have done something to deserve you both, mustn’t I?” A cruel laugh. “Nothing good. But I love you, like flies love their ugly little maggots.”
There was silence, then Gareth’s voice rang out, sweet and true. “Mummy, I’m not a freak. I’m sorry my leg is gone.”
Freda nodded solemnly, her own eyes sore with the tears brimming in the corners. “Yes, Mummy. You mustn’t be horrible to Gareth.”
The two children gazed back in half-terror as their mother looked back at them, blinking without speaking, a blank expression on her face. She nodded slowly, her lip trembling as her face creased up. Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands, sobbing hard, her mournful cries hidden in her palms, breaths coming out as high-pitched, squeaking gasps. Giving a loud sniff, she stared back at her children, her features contorted by ugly misery. “No, I’m sorry, darling. It’s not your fault. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Holding out her arms and beckoning them over, she spluttered, “Come here. Come here, to me. Mummy’s sorry.” Her voice lowered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
The two children dutifully stepped across to be enveloped by her whiskey breath and sweating arms, but their faces remained etched by fear. Amelia’s mood-swings were as sudden and dangerous as a knife spinning on its edge, and they never knew how long a good one would last. She continued to sob into their hair, pressing mutters and kisses against their heads. Pulling back, her face lost in a running dissolve of tears and snot, she added in a croaking voice, “Mummy is…very ill. In my head, you know.” As if to add emphasis to her point, she tapped a long-nailed finger against her skull. Another unhinged laugh. “That’s what Daddy and the doctors say.”
Freda found Gareth’s hand again somewhere through the sweaty, alcohol-fuelled huddle, and she whispered fearfully, “Are you going to be okay, Mummy? You’re not going to die, are you?”
Amelia’s lips twisted into a half-smile as she grasped her daughter’s cheeks in her hands, breathing hard. The small girl wrinkled her nose against the smell of her mother’s soaked breath. Shaking her head, her mother responded, “No, sweetheart. But I wish I was. I wish we all were.”
Her laughter chilled the two siblings.
Chapter Three
September 2nd, 2063 – the Present
Freda and her charge drew up in front of an impossibly large gate made from scrap metal and whatever debris had been lying around at the time. Rusted car doors and tyres were woven in alongside sheet metal and barbed wire. The wall surrounding Ripon was built from the same materials, but it was cemented with bricks and stone, rising high into the air against outsiders. It was flanked by two tall, thin structures built from rough, thrown-together bricks and stone to create rudimentary sentry towers. Peering up, keeping her hood in place, Freda found her suspicions confirmed. Two men stood atop the towers, pointing their weapons down towards the pair. The blonde woman by her side let out a nervous whimper, shaking from the cold as much as fear as the wind picked up with its icy fingers.
“Whoa there. Who are you?” one of the sentries called down, a slight lilt to his accent that reminded Freda of a Scotsman who had been in her bunker. He flicked the barrels of his shotgun down towards her, jerking his head. “You with the scum out there in the forest? Because I’d hate to tell you what we do to them if we get hold of them.”
“Do we look like we’re bandits?” Freda shouted back, hoping her tone was amiable enough to convince him. She couldn’t blame them for being wary. It was all people were capable of now. Twisting and pointing to the shivering woman by her side, she added, “I just rescued her from them. She’s freezing to death out here! Let us in.”
There was silence for a second as the sentry adjusted his position, before a whispered conversation was carried out by the two men above the gate. Freda gave a worried glance over her shoulder. She knew bandits were capable of following so quietly a person never knew they were there until they jumped on their victim, and shouting at the top of her lungs probably wouldn’t help. Turning back, she gazed hopefully up at the two sentries. They were still whispering, but it seemed heated, with the other sentry who hadn’t spoken yet winning the argument. The first sentry gave an exasperated sigh before shaking his head, but the second sentry lowered his weapon and took a step forward. Waving a hand towards someone hidden from view, he shouted, “Open the gate! We’ve got two people out here who need shelter.”
Freda hadn’t realised she was holding a breath until she blew it out in a harsh gasp, relief washing over her as the enormous gate rose up. It whined loudly, steel grinding against steel, lifting slowly as the two women stepped forwards. Grasping the blonde woman’s arm again, Freda walked her into the city first as she followed, giving a final look over her shoulder. The bandits rarely came close to the remaining cities and towns for the risk of being outnumbered, but it wasn’t unheard of.
As the gate slammed back into place behind them, Freda let her gaze wander over the sight before them. The city was relatively intact from what she could see, with buildings still standing amongst the dried husks of trees. A crumbling Victorian clock tower stood before them, its hands frozen at 2:13 pm, the time all clocks had stopped at when the Big Hit came. Broken roads surrounded it, pitted as though someone had hit them with a giant pickaxe, and tumbling red houses lined either side leading into the high street. Locals dotted the street, some huddled in broken chairs and dirty mattresses around small campfires; others leaning out of the smashed windows of the large red-brick houses.
The sentry who had let them in waved to the centre of the city as he turned back to his post, leaning on the wall above with his weapon ready for any intruders. Giving him a grateful nod, Freda patted the blonde woman on the back and motioned towards the city centre. “Come on. We better find somewhere with a bit of food, if there is any.” Her stomach rumbled at her words, and she tried hard not to think about the supplies hidden in her knapsack. No one ever got to know what was in someone else’s supplies if it could be helped – it just opened up the possibility of something being stolen. Food was scarce, mostly coming from whatever remained of stores held in bunkers or shelters, and a few paltry crops that could be grown in isolated area
s. In short, not enough food for everyone.
As the pair trudged along in silence, the blonde woman rubbed her hands along her arms and stepped in closer to Freda, obviously intimidated by the stares of the locals as they watched the two women going past. She cleared her throat as she tried to keep up with Freda’s long strides. “I-I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Reilly. Thanks again. Really. Not everyone would have stopped to help me. Especially…” she paused, her words laden with mourning. “Especially a sick person like me.”
Without turning her head, Freda replied in a low voice, “Well, Reilly, I couldn’t leave you to the bandits. I’d want someone to help me. But if I’m being honest, I nearly did go.” She bit her lip as she stared down at the road, glad of her wide hood. “I understand what it’s like when you’re not too healthy. My older brother only has use of one leg. It’s harder for people like you and him.”
Reilly’s face broke into a smile, creasing the scars that cross-hatched over her boil-ridden skin. “You have a brother? What’s he like?”
“Not spoken about.” Freda twisted her head this time to take in Reilly’s broken expression, and cursed herself for being so brisk. The world had made her harder than she wanted to be. Clenching her fists in her pockets, she added, “Sorry. I meant I don’t like talking about him much. He’s gone missing. I’m looking for him. Talking about him is…difficult.”
“Understood. I know how that goes.” Reilly’s tone was full of her own dark secrets, and the two women fell silent. Their strides fell into step as they marched along, a few flickering streetlamps still lighting the way. The electric grid was damaged beyond repair, but most solar panels or generators in places remained intact. They reached the centre of the small city, where most of the buildings still stood proudly. A few were collapsed in, and all had smashed-through windows and doors, but roofs, walls remained; even some of the original shop signs hung for all to see. Freda cast her eyes over them as they passed, wondering how such a thing had been accomplished. Most of the towns and cities she had ever come across were charred husks of what they had once been, barely a doorway or roof timber to be seen, just rubble. Perhaps Ripon was one of the lucky cities, outside of the main attacks. I can’t remember a lot of what happened before the Big Hit. Her father had told her and Gareth only a few snippets here and there of life from before, learned from his parents. Their mother never spoke about it.
We Are The Few Page 2