Triumph sped through Freda’s body like a whirlwind, and she couldn’t hold back the pleased grin that stretched over her face. She finally dared to meet her father’s cold stare as she turned her head, and the hardness of his eyes were enough to make her smile fall. Philip looked away after shaking his head at her, as though in disgust. Her heart sank, and she looked down at her hands, clasping them in her lap as she tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter. What did it matter if her largely-absent parent didn’t like the way she and her brother had decided? The largely-at-home parent couldn’t give a damn, and that was bad enough. She hadn’t noticed the Supervisor still speaking, and she dragged herself back into reality as Gareth reached over to place a hand kindly on her shoulder. She took in a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes for a moment. It was as though her brother could always read her mind, could see that she needed comforting.
“We will need volunteers,” Tennyson announced cautiously, tapping the pencil thoughtfully against the notepad. “Anyone? We’re going to need some of you to go outside and start searching. Work begins at the age of fourteen in here, so if any of you younger members want to—”
He hadn’t even finished his sentence before Freda jumped up. Her disappointment at her parents’ reaction to her vote was steadily turning into rebellious anger, and for the time being, she wanted to do anything to prove she was apart from how they thought and acted. She looked around at the rest of the circle with wide eyes, swallowing back the lump of anxiety in her throat. “I’ll do it. I volunteer,” she replied breathlessly.
The room collapsed back into silence at her words, all eyes turning to her father as he rose steadily from his seat. She licked her dry lips as she allowed herself to look at him. His eyes burned with fury, his fists curled so tightly by his sides that they turned as red as his face. It was the first time she had ever seen a reaction from him that wasn’t apathy, and it felt like a stone passed through to her stomach, weighting her to the ground. Philip snarled, “No daughter of mine is setting foot outside this bunker. You understand me, young lady?”
Where she got the courage from to say her next words, Freda didn’t know. Perhaps it was because Gareth was behind her. She had never seen her father angry, and it was the unknown quantity of what he might do that scared her more than speaking back to him in front of other people. Attempting to be as calm as she could, in a trembling voice she replied, “I want to go. We can’t stay in here forever, Supervisor Tennyson said so.” The man in question drew his chin up proudly at her words. Clearly he was on her side. The thought gave her a rush of triumph. Splaying her hands out pleadingly, she fixed her father with a wide-eyed gaze, trying to make him see her viewpoint. “I want to help the bunker, dad. I want to go outside and see what’s left. What if there are people out there who need help?”
But he wasn’t to be moved. Jabbing a finger towards Tennyson accusingly, her father spat, “You see what you’ve done, Tennyson? These youngsters think there’s people out there, waiting to be civilized and come in here to play nice. Why don’t you tell them how it’ll really be, hey?” His voice shook as he spoke, but Freda couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. Or a mixture of both.
Tennyson raised one large eyebrow defensively, huffing, “They’re quite right, Philip. Why shouldn’t there be good people out there? Do you honestly believe there’s people out there who’ve been waiting all these years to get in here and steal everything?”
Freda’s father scowled tightly. Her mother still said nothing, but she shuffled up higher in her seat, staring dead ahead at the Supervisor as though she could make him vanish into the grey floor. Freda squeezed her palms together, wiping the sweat from them as the sensation of being at the centre of attention trickled uncomfortably along her skin, but she was pleased to see some of the adults who had voted to open the door smiling at her. Philip shook his head slowly. “Yes, I do. Have you forgotten the riots that happened before everyone came in these bunkers? The fighting? The raping? The stealing? If any of those people survived out there,” he paused to add weight to his argument, raising his brow to slam home the point, “if they survived out there, do you think they brought their children up to be good people? I don’t. I think if any of them are out there, they’re just waiting for us to open the door.” He turned his attention back to Freda, and while the same fury twisted his face, his eyes—a reflection of her own sea-blue ones—were softer. “I’m not going to willingly let my daughter walk out into that.”
“Perhaps you would like to volunteer yourself, then?” Supervisor Tennyson cut in dryly. He marched over to stand threateningly in front of Freda’s father. “We’re going to open the door, Philip. We voted, and that’s how it went. Your own children voted against you.” Lowering his voice so that only her family could hear, he added with a sadistic smile, “I’d look a little closer to home for how to bring up children, before you start imagining how others did it.”
Freda’s father folded his arms tightly over his chest, his face so red it looked as though it might explode at any moment. He opened his mouth to say something, but then snapped it shut, clearly thinking better of it.
The Supervisor twisted and nodded over at Freda, his pencil tapping once more against his notepad as though he was going to write down her response to a question. “So, Freda…Johnson? You’re fourteen now, yes?”
She twisted uncomfortably under everyone’s stares as they focussed on her. “Yeah. My birthday was last month.”
“Then you’re now legally old enough, by the laws of the bunker, to make your own decisions. If you still want to volunteer, I’d be happy to allow you.”
Freda nodded profusely, her cheeks and neck burning. But before she could think of how to make herself more comfortable under the intense glares, Gareth shot up behind her, laying a comforting arm around her shoulders. The grin had left his face, but his eyes still twinkled with mischief. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll volunteer, too. Have to if my baby sister’s going.”
There was a scape of a chair over the other side of the room as it screeched against the floor, someone standing up sharply and clearing their throat. “I’ll go as well. I volunteer.” The people either side of whoever it was all gave soft murmurs of encouragement, and someone actually clapped.
Freda moved so she could peer around Tennyson, scribbling happily away in his small pad. Her mouth actually dropped when she saw who it was. Matthew Horner. Her cheeks only flamed hotter as he sent her a wink, smiling wryly. The Supervisor spun around, jabbing the rubber of his pencil in the tall fifteen-year-old’s direction. “Good. Good! So we have volunteers. Excellent. Anyone else?” He paused, pursing his lips tightly as he roved his beady eyes over the silent ring of people watching the event unfold. “Fine. If anyone wants to volunteer, but doesn’t want to speak out here, come see me in my office. Meeting over.” He jerked his head at Freda. “You’ll want to go and see Officer Simmons, by the door. She’ll get you sorted with a weapon and a map.”
Freda barely heard his words, her head swimming. She nodded to acknowledge the Supervisor, avoiding the glare of her father as she stepped around her chair, almost tripping over it in the process. She did give a sideways glance to Amelia. Her mother gave her and Gareth a short glance, her eyes filled with something that was almost worry, but she turned her head and it was gone again. Her father hadn’t even said anything to Gareth. Just to her. Bitterness swelled in Freda’s gut as she marched over the parquet floor to the main doors, her footsteps growing in confidence as she made her way over. By the time she reached the door to the corridor outside, her bitterness had become a root, digging its way into her anger and giving her the bravery she needed. She peered over her shoulder to see Matthew Horner stood just behind her, Gareth not far after.
Matthew placed a hand on her shoulder. The heat and heaviness of it made her heart flutter, and when he smiled her stomach knotted itself tightly. “Good to know I’m not going to be on my own out there. That was brave, sp
eaking out against your parents like that.”
Freda felt her tongue going thick against the roof of her mouth, and she let out a nervous laugh before she could stop herself. Unable to meet his direct stare, his warm brown eyes seeming to melt her to the spot, she managed, “Um…no. I mean, er…I didn’t mean it like that. I just…um…really want to go outside.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re coming too, Freda.”
His response brought a wide grin to her face, and she marched after him as he strode past towards the bunker door. Her stomach fizzed with butterflies, light-headed as she tried to focus on getting ready to go out into the world. Gareth caught up with her, his crutch clacking on the hard ground as he whispered teasingly, “Freda’s got a boyfriend, Freda’s got a boyfriend…”
“Shut up! I have not,” she retorted, a little too rashly and too heatedly for it to sound true. She wiped a hand over her forehead, surprised at how hot it felt. She playfully batted at Gareth’s arm as he chuckled, but she couldn’t help the smile that spread over her lips. Even the thought of her father being furious couldn’t wipe it away.
She was going to go outside the bunker. She was finally going to get to see everything that she had read about as a child, all the trees and buildings and cities. It would be incredible.
Chapter Five
September 3rd, 2063 – the Present
It’s fucking freezing in here.
That was the first thought that hit Freda as she drifted back into consciousness. She kept her eyelids closed for a moment, wanting to hold onto the warm safety of sleep, her thoughts drifting and fuzzy at the edges like clouds. As her body woke up in stages, she realised she could feel something hard and gritty beneath the palm of her outstretched hand, and someone was sobbing quietly not far from her. Finally admitting defeat at having to wake up, Freda wiped at her eyes and blinked them a few times, waiting for the world to come into focus. As she looked around, the memory of the bandits attacking came back to her in an icy rush.
Her instincts snapped her awake, and she sat up sharply, wincing as a stab of pain sliced across her skull. She sucked in air through gritted teeth, gingerly putting one hand up to feel along her brow. A lump sat on the side of her temple, throbbing and sore as she prodded it experimentally with one finger. Ignoring it for the time being, she blinked again and gazed at her surroundings. She appeared to be inside a cage, large enough for a few dogs. The floor was covered with hard pebbles and chips of bones—the grittiness she had felt a few seconds before. Freda’s mind raced as she shuffled backwards into the shadow of the cage, resting for a moment against the unforgiving steel bars at her back. The cage itself was in the corner of a well-lit room, weak daylight streaming in through an open door and smashed window. It looked like the kitchen of an abandoned house, but smears of blood and scratches over the tiled floor hinted at its new, darker use.
“Freda? Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were dead!”
Turning her head a little too fast for the dull throb on her skull, Freda let out a relieved breath as she saw Reilly’s tear-streaked face looking back at her from the opposite side of the cage. I’m not happy she’s here, but at least she’s not dead. Managing a weak smile, she croaked, “Hey, it takes more than a bash to the head to put me down.” Her smile fell as her eyes scanned Reilly’s shivering form. “Are you okay?”
Reilly nodded rapidly, shuffling closer as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Y-Yes. I’m okay. They didn’t hurt me. They knocked you over the head, and grabbed me. They dragged us both back here, and locked us in. I think this is one of their camps or s-something.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke, her fingers clutching at the polyester of her coat so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Seems like it,” Freda agreed ruefully, putting one hand up to press against the ceiling of the cage. It was high enough for them to sit upright, but no further. She trailed her fingers over the metal frame, trying to feel for any crack or loose screw that might offer escape. There was none.
Groaning with exasperation, she sank back against the bars once more, letting her hands slump into her lap. They had taken her rifle away, of course, but she wondered if they had found the small knife she kept in her boot. Moving quickly, Freda reached down and felt against her ankle, hissing with anger as she discovered it was gone. “Damn it!”
Watching her curiously, her eyes still wet from her earlier tears, Reilly leaned over. “What is it?”
“I always keep a knife in there, just in case. They found it. So we have no weapons.”
Reilly shuddered again in response, bringing herself tightly against the back of the cage.
There has to be something in here. Something I can use. Not ready to give up, Freda scooted over to the far side of their makeshift prison and gazed out between the bars. She couldn’t see what objects lay on the large wooden table at the centre of the kitchen, her line of sight just too low to make anything out. She turned her attention to a pile of rubbish sitting just out of reach near the cage. She wrinkled her nose as she poked her head against the bars in its direction, spotting rotting food and worse tumbling over the sides of the small heap.
But her heart gave a thrilled leap as something glinted against the sunlight, catching her attention. Wary that one of the bandits might walk in at any moment, she squeezed her arm out through the bars, stretching her fingers as far as they would go. She grasped the tip of the glass bottle by its neck, sticking her pointer finger inside and dragging it closer. Pulling it quickly between the bars, she looked around and listened carefully, before smashing it hard against the steel framework. It splintered into two, showering her and Reilly with tiny flecks of diamond-like glass.
“Argh!” Reilly threw her arm up to cover her eyes. “What is that?”
“Protection,” Freda replied tersely, picking out one of the large pieces of glass and handing it across. “Here. It’s not the best weapon, but it’s all we have. Tear off a bit of your skirt or something, and wrap it around the bottom so you don’t cut yourself. Here, like this.” Before Reilly could protest, Freda reached down for her companion’s long skirt, tearing off a large strip. Gritting her teeth, she tore it again, wrapping one of the severed pieces of fabric around each of the pieces of glass to make them easier to hold. “I don’t know what they’re going to try to do, but this might give you a chance to get away.”
“What about you?”
Freda snorted. “What, you think I’m going to sacrifice myself? We’re both getting out of here, Reilly.” She placed her hand on her friend’s arm, looking earnestly into her eyes. She knew her own were cold and hard at the moment. Reilly’s reflected the horror and disappointment she had felt since leaving her bunker. Freda remembered it, but feeling afraid was a long distant memory. Survival was different to fear after you killed someone yourself. “I mean it. We’re not going to die here, okay?”
There was a bang from behind them, and despite telling herself it wasn’t fear, Freda jumped at the sound and wheeled around to face it. The door leading into the kitchen was wobbling against the wall, revealing the noise had come from someone throwing it backwards hard. The two women didn’t have to wait long to see who had caused it. Two black boots appeared, something like the old army had worn, topped by a pair of strong-looking legs in ripped camouflage trousers. The legs paused, as though taking in the sight of the room or checking for something, then they steadily came towards the cage. Instinctively, Freda pushed Reilly behind her and shuffled both of them towards the back of the cage. She could smell the danger in the air. It prickled on her skin.
The legs bent themselves, and a leering face grinned in at them. A long, thin scar ran across the man’s face, split along his nose and forehead. His dulled grey eyes were encircled with black soot, a symbol Freda recognised as belonging to one of the many groups of bandits hiding out in the world. He pressed his lips together, resting one hand on top of the cage as he made a smacking noise with them. Reilly flinched, and he let out a b
oom of laughter at her discomfort. “Don’t worry, bitch. I don’t eat people.”
Reilly’s breath came in short, tight pauses as she whispered, “S-so…you’re not going to kill us?”
“Not until I’ve had a little fun with you,” the man rasped, grinning and revealing two missing teeth from the corner of his mouth. Freda felt Reilly pull further back into the shadows with the response as she let out a whimper. “I’m the leader of this little group of ruffians. And I like you two very much. Oh, yes, very much!” His eyes settled on Freda, lit with a disturbing eagerness that made her feel as though something was crawling over her. “I like my prizes, and I’m going to have them. Until you beg me to stop.” He gave a filthy laugh, clutching at his crotch with his free hand as though to hammer his point home.
Summoning what saliva there was in her dry mouth, Freda puckered her lips and spat at the bandit’s face. It landed squarely on his cheek, and she watched with some satisfaction as his smile faded, one gloved hand coming up to wipe at it. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” she snarled, a brief reminder of having learnt the phrase from her mother coming to her. “You won’t touch us.”
“Confident, aren’t you? Cocky little bitch,” the bandit growled, all hint of civility gone. “I’m going to enjoy crushing that out of you.” He stood up sharply before she could retort, and for a brief moment, Freda hoped he was going to leave them alone again. Her eyes flickered over to the broken window at the back of the room, her mind already whirring about how they could get out of the cage and across the room before he came back and noticed. But to her horror, she heard the clinking of keys, and he reached down and slotted one into the lock of the cage door.
We Are The Few Page 6