He squeezed his eyes briefly, as though trying to shut out the idea, before groaning inaudibly and hanging his head. “No, but I’ve a feeling we’ll have to do it anyway.”
“You’re damn right we will. You need to get across first, though.”
“What?”
“Just listen. I’m going to fire a shot…over there.” She pointed with one cut-off-gloved hand towards the target practice against the house. “I’m hoping the added shot will make a loud enough noise that he looks over, just for a second. It’s enough time for you to race over to the others, and if I time it right, they’ll all think it was one of their own bullets. Got it?”
Toby nodded rapidly. “But…what about you?”
Freda swallowed slowly. “Just get across. I’ll worry about me. Get ready. I’m going to fire in a minute.” She poked her barrel through the hole in the hedge carefully, moving the twigs only enough for it to have a clean shot, before bending down as best she could to see through it as well. Toby moved beside her, and she could practically feel him hovering on his toes. I hope he moves fast.
One of the bandit’s bullets rang out against their target-practice-house, and Freda gritted her teeth as laughter echoed after it. Only a few seconds. One second too late, and they would know. “Go,” she whispered to Toby, just as her finger squeezed against the trigger, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. Her bullet shot across the square of broken road and pavements, hitting the bricks at exactly the same time as one of the bandits’ bullets. A rush of air went past her back as Toby raced across. Just as she hoped, the guy stood smoking by the main building twisted his head at the force of the extra sound, but couldn’t distinguish it from the others. Neither could the other bandits, who gave yells of delight, slapping one of them on the back. Freda supposed it had been his shot she had joined.
Peering over her shoulder, she let out a sigh of relief at seeing Toby safely with the others, crouching behind the bus. She reached up to swipe at a bead of sweat as it crawled down her forehead. Being careful not to move too much, she stared through her makeshift hole again. Excitement thrilled through her as she saw the smoking bandit making his way to the others—leaving the gap between the hedge and the bus completely uncovered. Without wasting time, she pulled the rifle out noiselessly and pushed hard on her heels, sprinting over to the others. A feeling of being safe like she had never known filled her as she felt Reilly and Harris both reaching out for her, grabbing her arms and tugging her into the shadow.
“You don’t mess about, do you?” Harris grinned over at her, but there was admiration in her tone.
“Well, I’ve got to prove myself worthy for the Vigilants, right?” Freda quipped, keeping her voice low.
Reilly twisted around with a questioning expression. “You never mentioned joining them.”
“I haven’t decided yet. I might.”
Grinning as she turned back to stare around the corner at the camp, Reilly replied, “You should. That was amazing.”
The four of them turned around and moved along the side of the bus with its peeling cream paint, the voices of the bandits carrying over to them with the wind. Freda paused as she caught a few words, craning her head to hear better.
“…yeah, some crippled lad…”
“…one with dark hair?”
“Yeah, went…with the caravan. You know, the ones who…went with them.”
Freda gave a start as someone grabbed the front of her coat, giving it an insistent pull. She snapped her head back to see Harris’ steady gaze. “We haven’t got time to waste, Freda. Not with Reilly here,” he hissed, just out of earshot of the blonde woman, who was attempting to cough quietly into her sleeve. “We’ll come back for these bastards later.”
Giving a nod, she fell in behind him as he released her coat, twisting back to where Reilly and Toby waited patiently for them. It didn’t take long for the small group to edge around the bus and its rusted wheel-arches, before making their way behind the safety of the high stone wall. On one side was a grand, stately building, now covered in graffiti and pot-holes from the bandits’ target practice. Its yellow-stone and vacant Georgian windows were at odds with the chaos around it. Keeping one hand trained on the cool rocks of the wall, rough beneath her exposed fingertips, Freda kept her eyes ahead as the noise from the camp faded into the distance. She hoped the trek would be worth it, as she let her gaze falter for a moment to fall on Reilly.
Chapter Fourteen
Evening, September 15th, 2063 – the Present
Reilly’s face was grey with emotion as she gazed up at the building before them. Built in typical 2030s style, it was a tall, thin building of polished steel armoured with glass. It was at least twenty stories high, and as the structure rose towards the sky, its six sides bent together into a point. At the tip of the point sat the well-known logo of Brit Bunkers like a beacon, its double B’s and padlock lit up with broken neon tubing. The walls of the building near ground level were covered in slurs and insults against the company, some written with what appeared to be dried blood. Freda felt a chill go through her at the sight. She didn’t like thinking of the poor Skin-Eaters being left outside in the horror, while they slowly turned from humans into monsters.
Toby rubbed his hands together in agitation, twisting on his heel and glancing back the way they had come. The afternoon sun was making the start of its downward journey now, casting long shadows across the silent pavements and roads. The red-brick houses watched soundlessly as the four of them stared up at their quarry, the only sound coming from an old swing half-hanging and squeaking from a tree branch as the wind pushed it. Toby marched back over to the others, his face pale. “I think we should hurry up. I think someone’s following us.”
“What? Nonsense. No one’s followed us, Toby.” Harris shook his head, giving an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you think one of us might have seen or heard them closer by now? We’d know if anyone was there. It’s just your imagination.” He gave a nod towards the closely-built houses and single corner shop at the end of one street, gesturing with the nose of his shotgun. “It’s a spooky place. You imagine things.”
Freda turned her head slowly with a cocked eyebrow. “Not that I’m going to stand here arguing or anything, but I don’t think it’s fair to say he’s imagining things. Maybe there is someone there.” She shrugged, her forest-green coat whispering with the movement. “We’ll soon get rid of them. Besides, he’s right about one thing. We should get inside.”
“Yeah. Inside,” Reilly echoed softly, still gazing up at the building.
Giving her friend’s arm a gentle shake, Freda’s expression softened. “Hey. Reilly? You can stay here, if you want. Or in one of the houses—they’re probably safer.” In a lower voice, she added, “You don’t have to do this. I know you want to, but if it’s hard…”
“No.” Reilly’s voice was as firm as the shake of her head, and she gave a sniff, blinking quickly to hide the shimmer of tears that could only be seen for a second. “Let’s go in.”
Their boots scraped over the floor as the four of them went inside, waiting a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness within. Although most of the glass windows were amazingly still intact on this side of the building, they were covered with a thick, thirty-two-year old glaze of nuclear dust and dirt. There was a pop, and a thin stream of light came from Harris’ hand as he clicked a torch on, his red hair lit up sharply at the front as he turned to the others. He silently reached into his rucksack after shrugging it off for a moment, handing torches out to everyone, their brilliant yellow lights coming on one after the other.
Freda stepped forwards, shining her torch across and exploring the lobby with her eyes. A silver Brit Bunkers logo—the double of the neon one outside—hung on one wall above the curved receptionists’ desk. Everything was steel and glass, nuanced with creamy white leather furniture. Most of the chairs still sat around the circumference of the room, some torn and ripped, others almost complete as though simply waiting f
or someone to sit on them again. Her footsteps echoed on the black marble floor as she marched across to the desk, going behind it and shifting the scattered papers across it. Most were blank, wiped clean by the heat and years. She tapped impatiently on the keys of a computer, but was met with nothing but the blank stare of the dusty desk top, no holographic monitor popping up.
She straightened up and took a second to spot the others, all wandering around and staring in silent awe at the room themselves. It was a monument to a bygone age. Freda couldn’t remember the last time she had seen such a nearly-complete ruin from before the Big Hit. It was as though people didn’t want anything from Brit Bunkers, even if they needed it. Nothing seemed ransacked for supplies. What the hell happened in those bunkers? Nothing happened in mine, as far as I know. A knot formed in her stomach.
“Over here. There’s a map.”
At the sound of Harris’ voice ringing out across the lobby, Freda snapped out of her reverie and went to join the others staring at a glass plaque on the wall. A map had been laid out behind it, painted onto the wall itself, detailing the various areas within the building. Tiny glass dots running around the plan showed where it had once been lit up, but they were now as dark as the rest of the room. He stabbed a finger onto it, shining his torch so everyone could see. “Here. If we want information on Brit Bunker, their records room would be a good start.” Harris twisted to look over at Reilly, his green eyes unblinking. “What do you reckon, Reilly?”
“Agreed.” She reached up and tugged her purple beanie closer around her ears, as though feeling the chill of the place. Her frail hands came back down to rest on her shotgun, and she nodded towards a plain-looking wooden door marked ‘EMPLOYEES’. “I think we can get to it faster through there. I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.”
“Then we should split up. Just in case it’s not the right room.” Toby held the gazes of his three companions earnestly, giving a shrug. The over-sized coat moved comically up and down on his shoulders. “Reilly and me can go one way. Freda, you and Harris go another.”
“No,” Freda and Reilly both chimed at the same time, and the two women peered across at each other, both wearing the same worried expression. Clearing her throat, Freda cocked her head to one side as though explaining to a small child. “Toby, I know you’re eager to help Reilly, but these places can be dangerous. Splitting up is not an option, unless you want to have less people backing you up when something goes wrong.”
“She’s right,” Harris grunted, hoisting the strap of his bag higher, rasping it against the black leather shoulder of his jacket. “There might be Skin-Eaters or bandits in here, further in. We’ll need every gun.”
Toby’s face went white, and he ran a shaking hand over his curly hair. “Alright. But let’s move.” He jerked his head over his shoulder, his dirty white trainers scuffling against each other as he stepped anxiously to one side. “I still think someone’s following us. And I don’t like the feel of this place.”
Choosing not to stop and consider the truth of Toby’s words, the group moved as one into the employees’ area of the building, the wooden door swinging silently shut behind them as they passed through. There was no light except the swaying beams from their torches, and no one spoke as they crept through the many passageways leading to the records room in the centre of the building. Something scraped in the distance behind them, and everyone swept around with guns raised. Freda’s chest rose and fell as her eyes darted back and forth, straining to see anything in the pitch darkness. “What was that?”
“God knows.” Toby’s voice shook as he spoke. “I told you there was someone behind us.”
“Stop it. It’ll be nothing. This is an old building; it’s falling apart,” Harris hissed in a terse whisper. The sharpness of his tone did nothing to soothe Freda’s nerves, but it was enough to get them turned around and on their way again. Reilly said nothing, but she reached her hand out to Freda’s for a moment, squeezing it tightly before letting go again.
They turned into a wide corridor, lined on either side with steel-framed wooden doors. The torches revealed dust floating through the stale air, landing on the grey and white patterned carpet below, still as perfect as the day the Big Hit had happened. Freda paused, her gut twitching. Something isn’t right here. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but when Reilly gave a scream that rent through the air, her nerves jumped to attention as she pulled back the bolt on her rifle.
“What the fuck?” Harris’ torch was veering wildly from left to right as he searched the darkness, his shotgun lifted to his shoulder. Toby trembled beside him, his own fear evident by the shaking light coming from his hand.
Freda found Reilly in the brilliance of her torch light, sagging against one of the cream-painted walls as she gasped for air. Her shotgun was still in her hand, but she was letting it drag on the ground, wheezing as she clutched at her stomach with her spare hand. Freda grabbed her shoulder, giving it a frantic shake. “What did you see? Reilly, tell us!”
“I…I thought I saw a shadow.” Wincing, Reilly straightened herself up, fixing Freda with her piercing blue gaze as she continued to breathe hard. Her eyes were ringed with red. “Over there.” She pointed weakly to the faintly-lit end of the passageway. “Something moved…I’m sure of it.”
Everyone squinted into the corridor ahead, searching vainly. Nothing moved, except their torches as they waved them back and forth. Freda gave a shrug. “Maybe it was just the shadows moving from you swinging the torchlight around?” She shivered despite her words, knowing it wasn’t just Reilly she was trying to convince. Cold trickled down her neck.
They moved on, passing through more hallways and discarded rooms, the strange noises and shadows still following or preceding them. Freda reached up to wipe away more sweat collecting on her brow, squirming uncomfortably as she felt more of it between her shoulder blades. She had never believed in ghosts or hauntings before, but the oddities that surrounded them was making her question her theory. They finally made it to the records room, a large, double-doored space that was bare except for the large sheets of metal up on the walls. Several digital keyboards rested beneath, sitting on tall-legged tables made of more steel and dark wood. Reilly coughed against the floating dust in the air.
Harris rushed over to one of the keyboards, hammering his fingers against the keys. Just like with the computer back at the receptionist’s desk, nothing happened. No holographic monitors sprang into life. “Fuck!” he swore loudly, but it was laced with resignation. “We should have known they wouldn’t keep anything on paper. And there’s no power to the computers.” His eyes flashed in the half-darkness, sharp as stilettos. “Now what? Even if they do still work, they need power.”
“Maybe there’s a generator.” Freda gave her usual shrug. “We had one in the bunker, maybe somewhere like this would have one too. After all, they built the things.”
“Good thinking,” Toby unexpectantly chirped. The other three looked over, and Freda surveyed him warily. He seemed a lot happier than he had a few moments before. But maybe it was just the thought of getting done quicker, so they could be out sooner. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a basement in this place; I saw a sign for it earlier. I reckon that might be a good place to look.”
Harris glanced over at Reilly and Freda, but when they both gave him non-committal gestures, he sighed loudly and nodded. “Alright. It’s as good a place to start as any. Lead the way.”
The four of them, aided by the thin torchlight, traipsed back out into the maze-like hallways. Toby led the way, striding along with a brisk pace as he muttered to himself, pointing a finger in the air as though trying to work out the right way to go. They bypassed the lifts, seeing no point in checking if they worked without power—they wouldn’t. He finally stopped in front of a small, non-descript red door. He took a moment to glance up and down it, as though assuring himself it was the right way, before pushing it easily on its hinges and revealing the l
ong staircase that wound downwards to the basement below. The stairs looked stable enough, made of hard metal like everything else, but that inky blackness from below was terrifying as noises echoed up from it.
Freezing on the spot, her thin legs knocking together as she gazed down into it, Reilly shook her head. “This is freaky as all hell. I know it’s probably just the basement settling, but…”
“You can stay here. We’ll go.” Freda’s tone was more clipped than it had been before. She didn’t want to upset Riley, but she was getting impatient with the constant pauses and need for reassurance. They were either going in, or they were leaving. But they had to hurry. She didn’t fancy travelling past the bandit camp in the dark, and she didn’t have time to soothe Reilly every five minutes.
Something in her voice must have resonated, because both Toby and Harris gave her a sharp look, and Reilly drew herself up to her full height with a deep frown. “No. I’m going, I already told you. Let’s move.”
Their footsteps rang on the steel staircase like hammers banging in a forge. The torches followed their steady progress, but as they made their way down, the room above them began to fade into shadows. It left them exposed in the centre, without knowing how far they had to go or to retreat to. Freda swallowed against her dry mouth, chastising herself as she imagined she could hear breathing, not too far below them. No one else had been in the building for decades, that seemed certain. And if Skin-Eaters or bandits had been around, neither were smart enough to create a sneaky plan of attack to leap out on them once they were down.
Relief washed over her as she followed Toby and Harris down onto the concrete floor of the basement, Reilly bringing up the rear. Her thick-soled boots scrunched against tiny particles of dirt that had rested there for years as she turned and looked around. “Look, in the corner. Is that the generator?”
We Are The Few Page 19