Snapping her out of her reverie, Matthew’s head popped into her field of vision, crowned with his short-clipped black-brown hair that resembled his mother’s. His chocolate eyes flashed between Freda and where Gareth sat, before he pointed over towards the rabbit. “Never mind what else is going on, Freda. Concentrate. Focus on your target.”
Nodding as she heaved a sigh, Freda once again brought the rifle up to her shoulder. She followed Matthew’s instructions, squeezing the trigger. The bullet did get closer this time, but it still missed the rabbit by a hair. To her irritation, it ran off this time, bounding into the long grass of the field like a mechanical toy. “Damn it! I nearly had it that time,” she sulked.
“Come on, then. Let’s get it!” Matthew grinned at her. Snatching his shotgun up from where he had left it resting against a large rock, he grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction the rabbit had fled. “We’ll run and try to catch it before it gets to its burrow.” He gave no more than a cursory glance over his shoulder towards Gareth, but Freda couldn’t be sure if he was truly looking at her brother or just checking the lateness of the day by the sun behind them. Pushing it to the back of her mind, she laughed when he gave her a tug, both of them sprinting across the waving blades of dried grass so fast they became a blur. She peered over her shoulder to see Gareth not far behind them, somehow keeping pace with his re-fastened crutch-leg.
The three of them raced as fast as they could over the field before they lost sight of the rabbit, jumping away into the depths of the woodland that lined the old farmland. Freda sank down, her chest heaving as she tumbled to the ground and sat against a tree, leaning on her rifle for support. She looked back at the way they had come. The sky was beautiful, a late evening sun just starting to dip towards the horizon, washing the painfully blue sky with streaks of orange and rosy-gold. The stiff wind tugged at the stalks of long grass, making them whisper together as two black crows circled overhead in a graceful dance. She smiled to herself as she remembered how doubtful the inhabitants of the bunker had been about opening the door and coming outside. True, there were less people, and any buildings they came across were mostly crumbling. But nature had revived itself despite the catastrophe of humanity, at least in her part of the world, and the bunker now had a thriving farm just outside as well as whatever the hunting parties brought in. The icy cold weather and occasional storms made it harder, but sometimes the weather was almost normal, like today.
Matthew settled down next to her, gasping for breath as well, closing his eyes for a moment as though they stung like her own. “Wow. That thing was fast.”
“Too fast,” Freda remarked ruefully. “You should have taken the shot.”
“Nonsense.” Matthew cracked one stormy eye open and grinned at her, his cheek dimpling. “You’ll never get better if you don’t try.”
Freda gave a non-committal grunt. She knew he was right, but she was impatient. She wanted to be good at everything as soon as she turned her hand to it. She had been that way in school, and she couldn’t understand why something as simple as pointing and shooting was turning out to be so difficult.
Gareth brought up the rear as last, his breaths rasping as he leaned against a long-limbed tree for support, gazing up for a moment at its dry branches before breathing out hard. “I need a bionic leg,” he quipped. Freda grinned. Matthew said nothing, staring off into the distance.
The three teenagers sat calmly for a few moments, resting themselves as the sun dipped ever lower. Freda didn’t fight the hazy warmth that settled on her face from its rays as she closed her eyes, the heat almost lulling her into a drifting sleep. She was only woken sharply by Matthew’s insistent pat on her arm. “Hey, Frey-Frey.” Freda snorted. It was his new nickname for her, but she didn’t mind it. It made her feel special when he said it. “We have to get moving, it’s going to be dark in a couple of hours. Let’s see if we can gather something instead of the rabbit, so we at least don’t go back empty-handed.”
“Good idea.” She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, yawning lazily as it caught her by surprise, shaking her head to wake herself fully. A single look over at the evening sky confirmed that Matthew was correct, the sun now halfway below the horizon and dimmer than before. Using her rifle to help push herself off from the ground, she took a moment to look around before jabbing her finger over towards the edge of the forest. “I remember coming down here about a year ago. Weren’t there some brambles or something? We picked a ton of them.”
“We’ll see. Let’s get ‘round there.”
Following Matthew as he set off at a brisk pace to the area of thorn-lined bushes she had spoken of, Freda slowed her steps and waited for Gareth to catch up to her, falling into line alongside him as he limped after them. Her brother gave her a grateful smile, clapping his hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Freda smiled back, but she could feel the second of extra pressure his hand gave as he released her, as though he had attempted to lean on her for support as they walked along.
The bushes came into view, and Freda’s chest squeezed with excitement as she saw how laden the tiny branches were with fat, purple fruit. The brambles looked twice as ripe and delicious as they had the previous year, no doubt benefitting from every extra year that erased more of the radiation and Illness from the soil. Last year, the berries had barely needed a sweep with the food decontaminators. She rushed over the dried twigs and leaves underfoot, already pulling at the large pockets of her worn red coat to make room. “There’s hundreds!”
“They’re going to be so happy with these that they’ll forget all about not having extra meat,” Matthew agreed, plucking at the fruit and throwing it into his own pockets. His fingers were already stained a rich blue-purple. “They’ve had hardly any fruit off the farming this year, and when we—”
He stopped abruptly, staring ahead into a gap between two of the bushes, a tiny berry rolling from his hand as he froze to the spot. Both Freda and Gareth were on alert at his sudden change, the brambles forgotten as they both circled near him, their weapons raised. Freda swallowed hard as her heart leapt into her throat, her legs shaking from what she told herself was only nervousness. As they drew closer, Matthew shot his arm out, warning them from coming any nearer as he brought his shotgun around to point it between the thorns. “What is it?” Freda hissed. “You’re scaring me, Matthew.”
“It’s…it’s…I don’t know what it is,” he replied, his normally confident tone thinner than usual as he shook his head. “It’s just sitting there.”
“Careful, Freda,” Gareth warned as she inched closer to Matthew, daring to see what his gaze was trained on. She let out a gasp as she came into view of ‘it’, her hands trembling against her hold on the rifle.
A creature was crouched inbetween the blackberry bushes, hulking in the shadow created by the tall trees that framed the edge of the forbidding forest beyond. It could have been a human woman judging by her frame and stature, but her appearance was so changed from a human’s that Freda couldn’t be sure. Her skin was mottled with patches of blue and black, her thin grey hair cascading over her shoulders in knots and tangles. But her face was the most horrifying feature. There was no discernible mouth or nose, just simply a wide, dark hole that covered the lower half of the face, topped off by two small beady black eyes. The creature’s breathing was laboured, and the eyes flicked aggressively between the two teenagers staring back at her.
“What the hell is that?” Gareth breathed into Freda’s ear, startling her as she shrugged dumbly in response. She had no answer for him. An icy finger ran its way along her back, and even the sun’s warmth seemed to have left them as they pointed their weapons towards the unknown.
Then everything went to hell.
The creature shifted forward in the bushes. For just a moment, Freda thought that she saw something akin to loneliness in its black, fathomless eyes as it put one hand out in a pleading gesture.
But Matthew read it differently.
Before either G
areth or herself could stop him, Matthew lurched backwards as though afraid of an attack, crying out as he fired a single shot from his gun. She knew immediately that he had mistaken the pleading gesture for something more threatening. It landed in the thin, over-stretched arm of the creature as it gave an unearthly howl that made the hairs rise on the back of Freda’s neck.
Then it retaliated.
It leapt towards Matthew, its body longer than anticipated, reaching out for him with sharp claws that tipped its fingers. He wasn’t quick enough to dive out of the way as it landed on him with a screech of triumph, slashing the claws deep into his face and neck. He screamed, the shotgun knocked from his grasp by the impact as he landed on his back, clutching at his neck as scarlet liquid sprayed out from it. He scrabbled from underneath the creature to try and grab his weapon, but found himself stuck. Almost on instinct, Freda ran forwards and fired blindly with her rifle. It winged the creature’s ear, but it had the desired effect of making it release Matthew. She only had time to comprehend Gareth’s panicked shout of “Freda, no!” before it ran towards her with claws outstretched.
She braced herself with a shriek for the slashes through her flesh, squeezing her eyes shut at the last minute, but it didn’t come. Snapping her eyes open again, she saw Gareth—having launched himself in front of the creature—sat on the ground and groaning as he wrapped his hand tightly around his lower leg. His crutch lay broken in half beside him. The creature had gone back to Matthew, hissing through its wheezing hole of a mouth as it rounded on him. He had snatched up his shotgun once more, but he was dragging himself backwards from danger, one leg of his trousers torn open to reveal a horrendous gash through the muscle and sinew beneath. As he saw Freda running after the beast, her rifle raised once more, his eyes widened further. “No! Run, Freda! Get back to the bunker!”
Gareth, still sat behind her, cried out, “Yes, do as he says, damn it! Get back to the bunker!”
Whether it was blind panic, stubbornness, or a need to finally become as hard as the wastes, Freda would never know, but she ignored them both. The creature realised she was hovering behind it, but she planted her brown combat boots firmly in the patchy grass, her eyelids lowering as she trained in on its face. It twisted around threateningly, dragging its hands on the ground as its fathomless eyes narrowed, a warning hiss coming from its throat. Freda took a deep breath, blowing it out again coolly. Although her heart was still thudding painfully against her ribs like it wanted to escape, and every muscle in her legs was primed and burning to run, her brain was still. Something in it whispered to her, no, we can do this. We have to do this. You can do this, Freda.
As her breath came out again slowly, the creature took its chance and jumped for her throat. Freda squeezed the trigger, holding herself steady as it came towards her. A cold feeling came over her that was more frightening than simply being afraid. A stab of something hard pushed its way into her heart as she realised she didn’t care if death was coming for her. Some things were more important. Like Gareth lying behind her with a broken crutch-leg, or Matthew bleeding near the bushes. The trigger sank in, the hammer struck back, and a perfectly-aimed shot came flying for the very centre of the creature’s chest.
It struck more closely than she had ever hit the rabbit. The creature gave a scream of agony, writhing as the bullet sank into its heart, leaving a smoking trail in its wake. The two of them looked deeply at one another for a second. Freda took in the loneliness, the anger, and the pain of the creature before it sank down to the ground in a groaning heap. There was something horribly human about the way it had looked at her.
As though she had been released from a trance, Freda staggered backwards and stared down at the crumpled heap of black and blue skin, her chest heaving so hard her lungs burned. The wind caught her hair as it blew harder, cold now rather than cooling against her skin. She looked over sharply to Matthew. “Matthew? Are you okay?” She ran over, sliding the strap of the rifle up onto her shoulder and dropping to her knees. “Matthew?”
“He’s unconscious,” Gareth called from behind her. She wheeled around, her hand coming to cover her heart with relief as she saw him stood upright, though leaning on a large branch he had fashioned into a temporary crutch.
“Gareth!” Freda sprinted over, nearly knocking him backwards as she wrapped her arms around her older brother, squeezing him so hard that he coughed against her hold. “Sorry,” she whispered shakily as she released him, stepping back. “I—I’m just glad you’re okay. But what about Matthew?” She turned her head back to stare over at the silent teenager, his eyes closed as his head leaned back against a tree trunk where he had fallen. The wounds in his neck, face and leg were all still bleeding, and his skin was paler than she had ever seen it.
“You’ll need to pull him somehow,” Gareth responded gravely, clearly not happy about his own advice. “I want to help you, but…I’m going to have to use this to get back.” He gestured to the branch tucked under his arm, his expression apologetic. A howl came from somewhere deep in the forest, and both siblings sharply glanced up towards it, freezing for a second. “Hurry, Freda!”
“Are you sure you can walk okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Hurry up and grab him, sis. We haven’t got much time!”
The shadows of the evening had already started to lengthen even as Freda sprinted back over to Matthew, giving Gareth’s makeshift crutch a final worried stare. He was right. They had to get moving. Thinking fast, she reached down for the wide sleeves of Matthew’s coat, pulling them upwards until his arms inside them sank down to his chest. She knotted the sleeves together, wrapping her fists tightly around the sleeves and gritting her teeth as she started to pull. Matthew was surprisingly lighter than she had thought for his height, something Freda was grateful for as she grunted and tugged him harder. She nearly stopped at a pained moan as his head fell flat on the ground, but Gareth caught her arm, pushing her onwards towards the direction of the bunker. “Move! Don’t worry about a few bruises—it’s better than leaving him here for…whatever the hell those things are.”
Knowing he was right, feeling charged by her brother’s statement, Freda turned and forced herself to run. The field seemed bumpier than she remembered, and it was as if she felt every knock and painful lump hitting Matthew while he moaned and writhed against the coat-stretcher. Panic gave her speed, though her legs trembled from fear-induced adrenaline, and she managed to make haste over the long grass with Matthew in tow. Her pulse thundered in her ears, roaring at her, urging her on. Her lungs burned with fire with every breath she took, and it was all she could do not to pause and try to gasp in more oxygen. She felt stronger as she caught sight of Gareth out the corner of her eye, keeping stride with her even with the sheen of sweat on his brow.
As she crossed the field into the wide stretch of road that led to the bunker, Freda caught sight of a few people working late, just turning to make their way back towards the safety of their home. Taking in a deep breath, her throat already scratchy from her exertions, she cried out, “Help! Please, help!”
To her relief, the four adults all halted in their tracks, her voice carrying out easily over the wind that carried it to them, and they stared for a moment. She continued running towards them, Gareth’s branch clapping against the ground as he furiously hopped alongside her. A few seconds later, she knew they had finally seen Matthew being pulled behind her, as they dropped their farming tools in haste and sprinted towards her, their feet kicking dust up from the road. She sagged down to the floor, grit pressing into her knees as their footsteps became real and loud, surrounding her.
Someone eased her hands away from the coat sleeves around Matthew, and she heard two sets of voices talking to one another rapidly as they raised him into their arms, the pair of them hurriedly carrying him back towards the bunker. She breathed hard, glancing up at the two worried-looking men who were already halfway back to the care Matthew desperately needed. Someone else put an arm around her, helping he
r back to her feet. “What happened?” The voice belonged to Harriet Coperdale, one of the women who worked the farm.
Freda shook her head in answer. “We were…attacked.” She swallowed, trying to coax saliva back into her mouth to stop it sticking as she tried to speak. “This thing…like a monster. Black and blue…it had claws…it got Matthew, then went for me…but I shot it. More in the forest…” she let her sentence go unfinished, hoping it was enough for them to understand. Her sudden sprint over the fields with Matthew in tow had wiped her energy completely. She turned her head to see Gareth, who gave her a reassuring nod, before turning and making his way back to the bunker on his own.
She allowed herself to be half-carried, half-aided by the arm around her shoulders, staring down at the dusty road all the way as she listened to the clipping of Gareth’s branch-crutch and the murmur of voices. They spoke of the horror that awaited them in the forest, of how they needed protection. Of how they would muster together, in the morning, every man and woman capable of wielding a gun—and they would kill the creatures that dwelt in the depths.
For a moment, Freda thought of telling them about the pain and isolation she had witnessed in the first creature’s eyes. Of how it might have held a hand out in friendship. But then she thought of the creature as it launched itself at Matthew, claws raised to strike, and her heart hardened with ice.
Chapter Eight
September 12th, 2063 – the Present
The evening was cool and damp, and Freda was grateful for the large coat that she kept tied around her waist by rope as she shivered against it. The cold she could handle, but the damp always seemed to put her on edge, as though it was the omen to some great tragedy that was coming. She fingered the thick strap of her weapon, slung over her shoulder as always, to comfort herself. It wasn’t her rifle, of course—the bandits had taken that—but it was still a weapon. Her right hand still felt clunky and too heavy, rammed into her coat pocket as deeply as she could make it go. She had practiced the few days they were with the Vigilants, but it didn’t make it a replacement for her own arm. She wondered if she would ever stop mourning the loss of it.
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