Leaning his arm against the doorframe to the small child’s room, Harris gave a sigh. The room was just large enough for a bed—still covered in a brightly-coloured quilt—a chest of drawers, and several old toys scattered across the floor. The walls were painted with cheerful murals of animals, now marred and scratched, covered in old ash. “We never said you were a baby, Mikala. It’s just in case you get scared in the night, that’s all.”
“I’ll be fine. Go and be adults on your own,” she grinned, pulling back the quilt and leaping into the bed, the mattress bouncing under her light weight. She yanked the cover up, stifling a yawn as she waved a hand at Harris and Freda as though to shoo them. “G’night.”
Freda gave a snort of disbelief as she strode back towards the room where she and Harris would have to share the double bed. “Does that kid even know how resilient she is?”
“She’s a product of the wastes, just like all of us,” Harris sighed. The darkness in the room stretched around them both as he made his way across to the bed, sitting down on the edge heavily and kicking his boots off. He gave a long yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth as he stretched back against the torn duvet cover, laying his head on his arms. He glanced back over at Freda hovering uncertainly at the foot of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
Her fingers trailed over the smooth edge of the duvet cover as it hung over the end of the bed, gazing across at the large window on her side. It was a single plate of glass, and still clean enough for the beginning of dawn to break through. A whisper of pale yellow was rising in the far distance, just above the hills still appearing as dark blue silhouettes. The fields looked peaceful when their dried plants and broken fencing couldn’t be seen as clearly. Freda chewed at her lip. “It’s just, er…” She pointed to her side of the bed. “Are you okay sharing a bed with me?”
Harris’ throat bobbed as he took a swallow, staring back at her stiffly. “Yes, I am.” His voice had gone husky.
“Good, because…because I might have nightmares again.” She hated admitting it when a twelve-year-old who had just lost her mother was confidently sleeping alone in the next room. “It’s nice to have you there,” she added as she strode around the side of the bed, reaching down to unlace her shoes. She pulled them off, letting her sock-covered feet sink into the plushness of the carpet below. It was dirty but still soft. The mattress dipped as she perched on the edge, before rolling herself up and next to Harris. His scent washed over her, and she couldn’t help but feel the heat from his body beside her. It called to her.
“I’m here. I’ll wake you if you have a bad dream,” he promised, turning to his side to look at her. His hand came out to stroke a strand of hair behind her ears, his lips curling into a seductive smile as he gazed into her eyes. His own jade centres gleamed as they gazed back at her. “You’re so pretty.”
Freda automatically gave a snort and looked away for a moment, but she couldn’t help grinning, her stomach doing that slow flip again. “Yeah, right. I look exactly what I am; a woman who just went through the Badlands and hasn’t done her hair in a week.”
“Well, I still think you’re pretty.”
Mustering her courage to hold his gaze this time, Freda dipped her eyes for a moment, daring to reach out and trail her finger over his chest. His breath caught as she did it, but she continued slowly tracing circles. “I think you’re pretty handsome yourself.”
The air charged with the same electricity that had passed between them when Harris had grabbed her on the doorway in Leeds, his hand curling around the back of her head. His fingers carded through her tangled hair carefully, teasing it free as he flickered his gaze to her lips. Freda’s heartbeat sped up as he leaned forwards, and heat grew between her legs in response to his closeness. Their lips met, and she let out a soft moan as she closed her eyes, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Musk and spice washed over her, embracing her. She could feel his heartbeat thudding under his ribs and against her chest, matching the speed of her own. They were almost beating at the same time. Sliding her leg between his, she teased open Harris’ lips with her tongue, wanting to taste every inch of him.
He let out a breathy rasp as she deepened the kiss, his hold on the back of her head tightening as though to keep her exactly where she was, his free arm snaking under Freda to hug her into him. He rocked his hips gently a few times, groaning as she moved back against him, his mouth as hot as molten metal as it moved against hers. The sounds he made only increased the fervent clenching her lower half made, a warm ache beginning between her legs. The sensation was quickly followed by sharp disappointment as Harris pulled back, breathing heavily as he leaned away. “No. I can’t do this to you.”
“What? Keep pushing me away?” Freda couldn’t keep the wounded edge out of her voice.
“No, it’s not that.” The weariness broke through his voice as he spoke, wiping a hand over his face. “I just feel like…you don’t need the added complication of me right now. You’re looking for your lost brother, and you just lost your best friend. That’s a lot to be dealing with.” Harris stared up at the ceiling as he spoke, blinking hard.
Is that seriously why he’s been so cold sometimes? A pang of emotion ran through Freda’s body as she encircled his hand, taking it tightly in her own. Harris twisted his head to glance down at it in wonder, as though he had expected anything but that. Propping herself up on one elbow, Freda gave a soft smile. She was smiling a lot more now that Harris was around. She liked it. “You honestly think that would make me want to be on my own? If nothing else, the past few months—definitely the past few weeks—have taught me something. I don’t want to let anything slip through my fingers. Look how happy and hopeful Reilly was.” Freda looked down at the finely-threaded fabric of the duvet, picking at it with the fingers of her metal hand as she breathed out heavily to stop her lip trembling. The reminder of her friend still hurt her more than the knife had going through her side. “I want to be like her. I want to honour her memory by living each day, and loving people, and all that stuff.”
Hope shone in Harris’ eyes as he trailed them over her face, as though drinking in every detail and feature to commit it to memory. “You mean that?”
“Yes.” Giving a shrug, Freda shuffled closer to him, sliding her arm beneath his and around his waist. “Look, I don’t know if I love you or anything yet, but…I know it’s going to become love. And I know I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
“I’m not. And I almost-love you too,” he grinned, his fingers sliding once more through her hair. Freda’s insides squeezed with want, and she sank down to his lips, sealing them together in a heated kiss that made her nerves tingle. She felt his hand sliding under her t-shirt over her bare skin, his hands roaming her body and exploring every curve and hollow. Sparks leapt in her belly at his touch, and all thoughts were chased from her mind as Harris pulled the thin duvet over them both. For the time being, the Badlands didn’t exist, the bad memories didn’t exist, and the wastes didn’t exist. There was only Freda and Harris, just as she had promised there would be once they left the Badlands.
Chapter Twenty-Four
September 22nd, 2063 – the Present
The moment Freda saw the bunker, she knew something was wrong. The early morning was bright with sunshine but frosty, and the thin, pale fingers of day cast their light over the open steel doors. Rust gathered on the edges, dripping with dew and collected water, green moss hanging off it in tiny bunches. The fields the three of them had walked past were overgrown and dying, much of the crop dried and bent as though it had gone untended over the last few months. She peered through the wide, shadowy crack between the doors, seeing no Patrollers—or anyone else—walking along the inside of the entrance room. A wire sparked somewhere further in, and her heart leapt into her throat. It reminded her of the bunker where the Skin-Eater had attacked her.
“Was it like this when you left?” Harris’ footsteps clumped over the hard road as he drew level with her, his voice thick with c
onfusion. He reached out to touch her hand gently, and Freda couldn’t help smiling tightly at the motion, even as her stomach flipped with worry. Ever since they had made love the night before, he had been more attentive than ever, taking every opportunity to touch her or kiss her. Despite Mikala groaning and making disgusted noises whenever she saw them kissing, it only made Freda smile. Her mind snapped back to their current situation as his hand slipped away.
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “The doors were always closed at this hour. And these haven’t been closed for a while. Look at the rust and damp.”
Scratching for a moment at her nose, wrinkling it, Mikala gestured towards the entrance. They had managed to find a coat in the room she had stayed in the night before, a bright red thing that just about fitted her. The sleeves were too small, riding up as she pointed, but it was warmer than nothing. “Maybe the doors are broken? They might not have been able to fix them.”
Another shake of the head. “No. There’s always someone here, at least. And if they couldn’t close the doors, they would definitely be here to protect the entrance.”
She took a step forward, but Harris threw his arm out, halting her progress as he sent her a warning look. “We should tread carefully in here. I don’t know what happened, but I don’t think we should just run in.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Freda retorted, raising an eyebrow as she fiddled nervously with her rifle strap. Her stomach wouldn’t stop doing somersaults. “We still need to go in. We’ll just…take our time. If there’s anything in here that shouldn’t be,” she whirled a hand in the air, “we’ll run back out.” And then I don’t know where the hell to look for Gareth.
Moving cautiously and keeping Mikala tucked safely behind them both, Freda and Harris strode into the entrance room, darting their heads about as they searched every corner with their eyes. Freda sniffed delicately, frowning at the stale scent of damp and stillness. The bunker air had always been poorer quality than outside, but now it smelt like one of the disused ruins of the cities. She slid her rifle into her hands, even as she reminded herself it only had three bullets. It didn’t matter. She felt better with it there.
Their feet crunched over loose wires and pieces of broken glass as they made their way further in, the sound echoing back at them mockingly from the metal walls and floors, turning every step into a loud clank. Moss dripped from the ceilings, and dirt had been tracked in from outside. Every corridor was the same as they made their way to the centre of the bunker, noting each empty room as they passed. As the small group turned into the hall used for food and meetings, Freda couldn’t stop herself from letting out a low gasp, her legs turning to jelly beneath her.
It was a mess. Broken aluminium chairs and wooden tables were thrown haphazardly over the floor, some with missing legs. More shards of glass were strewn across it all, glinting wickedly beneath the flickering overhead lights casting yellow over the debris. Streaks of dirt were stained into the floor, and someone had sprayed ‘FUCK THE WASTES’ on one wall. “Bloody hell,” Freda muttered, putting her hand out to lean against the wall behind for a moment. Her breath was knocked from her lungs with the sight. “What…what happened here?”
“Looks like a riot,” Harris replied grimly, reaching over and picking up a battered shoe, grimacing at it for a second before throwing it across the hall. “A fight of some kind.”
“Do you think they were attacked?” A hard lump settled in Freda’s throat and refused to budge, no matter how hard she swallowed.
“It’s a possibility.”
Freda looked down as she saw Mikala’s small hand slipping into hers, the girl’s doe-soft eyes gazing back up as she gave Freda’s good arm a shake. “Come on. Me and Harris are here. Maybe your brother is where you used to live?”
“Yes. You’re right, sweetie, he probably is.” Managing a tight smile that faded quickly, Freda set off down the corridor leading to her old apartment with Mikala’s hand in hers, Harris following them closely. Ghostly noises and echoes bounced back at them as they walked, but Freda was focussed only on getting to where Gareth might be waiting for her. Oh, shit. What if he was in the fight? What if he’s hurt? Her head buzzed as she tried not to imagine Gareth waiting for her in her room while dying slowly, and that she might find nothing more than a cold body waiting for her.
As she drew up in front of her door, a familiar sound came to her ears. A sound so familiar that at first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her. She listened closely to the sound of bottles being moved around, and a glass clinking against another. Harris raised his shotgun to the door, stepping between them, but Freda placed her hand on his, shaking her head with a sigh. “Don’t panic. It’s my mother.”
“Your…your mother?” Harris blinked back at her as though she might have gone mad. “Freda, it could be anything.”
“Glasses clinking, bottles being moved. No, it’s my mother. She likes a drink,” Freda replied dryly, as though that explained everything. Before he could stop her again, she released Mikala’s hand and pushed down on the handle, swinging the door in effortlessly with a squeak of the rusted hinges. Her chest squeezed as she was met with confirmation of what she had heard. In amongst the mess of clothes torn and thrown around the tiny kitchen, shining bottles of every colour lined up on the counter, was Freda’s mother. She looked frailer and smaller than Freda remembered, age catching up to her as her eyes narrowed at her daughter, the wrinkles around them deepening. True to form, she swayed for a moment before sinking into a nearby armchair, a bottle of whiskey clutched in a death-grip in one hand.
Drawing in a deep breath and steeling herself, Freda took a look around the apartment, searching for any sign of Gareth. The place stank of sweat and mould. Harris stepped in slowly behind her, with his hand on Mikala’s shoulder as they entered, the girl’s eyes trained on the old woman ahead with curiosity. Freda’s mother barely blinked at them, glaring at her daughter. Freda clasped her hands together, her mouth in a firm line. “Hello, mother.”
Amelia scowled back at her. “You. Haven’t you done enough damage?” She waved a hand at her as though it would make her disappear, bringing the bottle to her lips for a quick swig. “Leave me in peace.”
“Damage? And what is it I’m supposed to have done now?” Biting her lip, Freda warned herself to keep a rein on her temper. She needed to find out where her brother was. “What the hell went on in this place? Where is everyone?” She gestured towards the open door with her robotic arm. “Why is everything a mess?”
Her mother’s eyes trailed over her false arm for a moment with interest, then she gave a cackle. “Pretty arm, darling. I take it the wastes were kind to you, then?”
“Never mind that. I asked what happened.” She curled her hands into fists. Keep your damn temper.
Freda’s mother took another loud swallow of alcohol, leaning back into the chair as she ran a hand through her tangled hair. It was then that Freda noticed the small spots and scars on her mother’s face, that looked too familiar for her liking. It was something that wasn’t possible. Her mother pointed to them and hissed. “Aye, you did this. I’ll get to that. It all started with you opening that damn door. If only you hadn’t.” She sighed, her hand sagging as she let it fall over the arm of the chair. “They found out the failsafe code had been used. So we couldn’t close it again. Once the failsafe is used, only the person who opened the doors can close them again. It wouldn’t accept any other I.D., not even the Supervisor’s.”
Freda’s cheeks paled, and she felt her blood run to ice. “I didn’t know that would happen,” she breathed in a half-whisper. It was because of me that the door was open. Bloody hell, what happened in here? Her heart froze as she remembered why she had done it, though. I was locked up. Because of her words. Slamming a fist down on the nearby kitchen top, sending the bottles clanging against each other, she managed through gritted teeth, “Mother, tell me what happened!”
“What happened is that half the people in thi
s bunker left. They marched straight out through that door when it was left open, and never came back. They went south, to set up a community. Said that we had all shut ourselves away for years when there was no need, and they should follow your example. Fools.”
Clearing his throat, Harris took a careful step forwards, jutting his chin high. “Surely that’s a good thing? We’ll never rebuild what’s out there if we don’t go outside.”
Stabbing a finger towards him with a frown, Amelia croaked, “Who are you, then?”
“Harris. I…I’m travelling with your daughter.” At Freda’s hurt expression, he hastily wrapped his arm around her shoulders and added, “Well, more than that.” He sent her a warm smile, his eyes letting her know that she wasn’t alone.
“Oh, I see.” Freda’s mother raised her thin grey eyebrows, settling back into her seat as her hand slowly came down to rest on the patchy arm of the chair again. “Well, good luck with her.”
“Are you going to get to the point?” Freda snapped, flopping herself down on the sofa. Something beneath the seat of her trousers crunched, and she grimaced, edging forwards again to the very end of the seat. Harris and Mikala followed suit, silently sitting down beside her. Freda felt like they were lined up for a telling-off. Nodding over to her mother, she held back the biting comment on her tongue about throwing stones in glass houses, and added, “You said some people left.”
Amelia staggered to her feet, taking another deep swallow. The amber liquid sank down the bottle into her throat, and she threw it aside when she was done, leaving it to smash against a nearby wall. The same wall was stained with previous bottles, great brown marks that were evidence of how long she had been in the small living space. “That was only the start,” she murmured, swaying as she reached out for the edge of the kitchen top, holding herself against it. Her clothes sagged against her body, showing how thin she had become since Freda had last seen her. “Then people came in. People with the Illness. We thought it was alright, because we were all vaccinated. But it was evolved. Stronger. At first none of us knew we had it. Then slowly, we all started to cough and sneeze, and god-knows-what. Then the rashes broke out, see?” She stabbed a wrinkled finger to her cheek. “Scarred us all. Nothing we could do.”
We Are The Few Page 33