by Ryan Casey
She didn’t finish her words.
The man pushed her from the bridge.
The noose tightened around her neck.
And then she stopped in mid-air, and everything went silent.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next time Mike woke, he had a much better idea of where he was and what was happening.
But that didn’t put him at ease in any way.
It was late. The sky outside was dark. He wasn’t sure what time it was, not exactly. Nobody did anymore, after all.
But he could feel the pain on his neck where the sedation needle had pierced his skin, and he knew he’d been forced into staying here.
He thought about the fact that it was dark. He didn’t feel as woozy now. He could only assume—and hope—that it was just the night of the same day. After all, that meant Holly wouldn’t be much further away, wherever she even was.
He didn’t know where she was. He didn’t know who she was with.
But he’d be damned if he stayed here and waited while she was out there.
He went to drag himself from the bed when he saw there was somebody sitting by his side.
It was the woman. The dark-haired woman from earlier.
She looked at him and smiled. “Awake already?”
Mike’s gut tensed. He wasn’t interested in who these people were anymore. He wasn’t even slightly interested in what they had to offer him. “I need to get to my daughter.”
“You keep mentioning this daughter of yours,” the woman said. “Even when you were asleep… you were saying a name. ‘Holly.’”
The hairs on Mike’s arms stood on end when she said her name. “Don’t say her name.”
The woman got up. Walked to Mike’s side. “I can’t help feeling like we got off on the wrong foot—”
“I don’t care what foot we got off on. I’m not remotely interested in you or anything you have going on here. All I want is to—”
“Get to Holly. Right.”
The woman stopped, right by Mike’s side. She looked down at him. She didn’t look remotely intimidated by him or scared in the slightest. Probably had some extra sedatives hiding behind her back.
“I want to introduce myself,” she said. “I’m Claire.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire. I’m Mike. Now can you—”
“You were wounded when we found you out there. Badly wounded. Your leg was in an awful state. We cleaned it up. We helped you back on your feet, so to speak.”
“What do you want? A thanks?”
“I want you to hear me out. I want you to understand what we’re doing here. Who we are. And why we saved your life.”
Mike sighed. “I was hoping it was just your altruistic streak revealing itself.”
“You can believe that if it helps put you at ease.”
“But …”
“But… as with every group, we have a purpose. We’re building towards something. Building towards a future.”
Mike looked around the room. He couldn’t hear anyone downstairs anymore. He felt like him and Claire were the only people awake in this house.
“And how’re you planning on doing that?”
“It’s simple, really,” Claire said. “Humanity isn’t going to get anywhere by tearing itself apart. We have core psychological needs. A roof over the head. Materialistic urges. Things that can’t just go away because there’s no power.”
“Hate to say it, but the lack of power’s a real knife in the heart of those materialistic urges you’re talking about.”
“It doesn’t have to be. We want to build a nationwide community. We want each community to specialise, just how it used to be. Some will specialise in farming and agriculture. Others will specialise in construction, in manufacturing. Eventually, we’ll build a network. We’ll build back, back to the way things were.”
“And what are you hoping to specialise in?”
The woman smiled. “Isn’t it obvious? We want to specialise in comfort. In care.”
“Like a post-apocalyptic rehab,” Mike said.
“Call it whatever you want. We have food. Shelter. That rehabilitation has got a lot of people through these early days. And we want to keep on building.”
Mike wanted to know more about this place, now. He had to admit, this woman wasn’t all that bad. She had nice ideas. “Just two weeks into the end, and you’re talking about this way of life is how it’s always going to be.”
The woman smiled. “Don’t fool yourself, Mike. You know too well it’s how it’s going to be from here on. The military are gone. The towns are ransacked. So many people are dead. If the power was going to come back on… well, it’d already have come on by now.”
Mike didn’t tell her about the rival military group. He didn’t tell her that there was a chance that one day, the power would be back online—but that his hopes of that had been scuppered by that foreign military power. Because it seemed like they were occupying territory. And in turn, it seemed like they wanted to keep the world in the dark for as long as they could.
“The world needed reinvigorating,” Claire said. “It was failing at happiness. Failing at kindness. We can change that. We have to change that. Or this will be the end of our society.”
Mike sat up. He looked this woman directly in her eyes. “I believe in what you’re saying. I respect you for what you’re doing. But when I say my daughter’s out there, I’m serious. And when I say I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back… I’m serious about that, too.”
The woman sighed. “I understand. I feared that the first time we brought you in. I hoped you could stay here. Help out. But if it’s not to be, it’s not to be.”
She stood up. Held out a hand.
“You’re free to leave.”
Mike stood up. Still a bit weak on his feet, but much better than he was. He started to walk past Claire, started to leave.
Then he stopped.
“If I find my daughter. If I find my Holly. I’ll bring her back here. We’ll—we’ll help you.”
Claire smiled. Nodded. “I’ll take that as a promise.”
Mike went to leave, then. But as he walked, he saw something.
There was a little girl on the landing, standing just outside a bedroom. Short. Dark hair. Looked a little pasty and snotty.
“Kelsie? What’re you doing up at this time?”
She looked at Mike and then at Claire. “I can’t sleep.”
Claire picked her up. Carried her back towards her room.
But as she carried her, Mike saw something.
He saw the photograph this little girl was holding.
The photograph of someone he recognised.
Someone familiar.
Kelsie.
Kelsie’s father.
Mike saw it now. He saw it clearly, right back in the early days. Mike killed him. He’d killed him back on the road when he was begging for his life. He’d tried to kill Holly, so Mike had done the only thing that seemed clear to him—even if he knew deep down how wrong he was.
He watched as Claire carried that little girl back into her room. And even though he felt deep sadness and guilt at what he’d done… at least this girl was okay. At least she’d found someone caring.
At least she’d fallen into the right hands.
He took a deep breath. Walked down the steps.
And then he gathered his things, opened the door, and stepped out into the night.
He didn’t know where Holly was.
He didn’t know where he was going.
But he was going to find her.
If it was the last thing he did, he was going to find her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The second Alison heard Arya’s yelp, she felt her body go numb.
The rain fell heavily through the trees. She could hear voices up ahead still—muffled, out of focus. She couldn’t figure out whether those voices were getting closer or moving further away. Only that she had to get to Arya. She had to know she was okay.
/> She couldn’t face the possibility that something had happened to her.
Even though she knew the evidence was stacking up—and it didn’t look good.
She ran through the trees, ran in the direction Arya had gone. She wanted to stop. She didn’t want to go further. But she knew she had to make this run. She knew she had to see. If there was any chance Arya was still okay, time was running out.
She had to get there.
She had to help her.
She felt a tear roll down her cheek the more she progressed into the woods. Arya was such a good dog. Such a loyal dog. That one moment, it’d changed everything. The moment where she thought she was looking out for Alison—thought she was protecting her—had changed it all.
She went to keep on running when something stopped her.
Arya was lying in the grass.
There was nobody else around.
But Alison could see Arya was bleeding.
Her stomach sank. She stumbled towards Arya, to her side.
And when she reached her side, she realised it wasn’t good.
Arya was bleeding from her top right. It looked like a blade had pierced through the top of her leg where it linked to her torso. She was bleeding. Heavily.
She looked around at Alison. Panting heavily. When she looked into her eyes, she whimpered.
“It’s okay, girl,” Alison said, stroking Arya’s fur, scuffing it up around the neck.
But the way Arya looked at her. The way she panted. The way those big blue eyes stared at her, begging for her to help; for her to take the pain away.
Alison knew it wasn’t okay.
She cried. Went to hold Arya, to cuddle her. Because this wasn’t good. They were out in the woods, and Arya was in trouble. She was bleeding out. She had to get help. Immediately.
But the people who’d hurt her…
Where had they gone?
She couldn’t risk bumping into them. Not now. Not after coming this far.
She held Arya closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she said. “I—I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
Arya let out another pained, struggled whimper.
But then something sparked inside Alison.
She’d fought so hard to get this far. And Arya was a part of that fight, too.
She wouldn’t give up on anyone else. She wouldn’t give up on herself.
So why would she give up on Arya?
Why was Arya so different to any person?
She kissed Arya on her head. Then she stood up. Took a deep breath.
“I’ll be back for you,” she said. “Just—just wait here. Promise you’ll wait here.”
Arya looked at her like she didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t.
She just hoped she did what she said.
Alison turned around, then. Looked back out the woods, back towards the bunker where Jenny and she were staying.
They had medical supplies there. They had things that could help.
She had to get there. Fast.
She ran. Ran as quickly as she could. She didn’t hear the footsteps of another group. She didn’t hear a sound. And she didn’t see anyone, either.
She just kept on running, kept on going.
She looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see Arya anymore. And at least she wasn’t howling. That was something. Something she couldn’t take for granted.
She turned ahead, and then she heard it.
Gunshots.
One. Two.
Then nothing.
She slowed down, heart pounding. Because she could make no mistake about where she’d heard those gunshots.
They were at the bunker.
She slowed further. She was shaking all over. She crept over towards the hill that led down towards the bunker. She was on edge. She didn’t know what she was going to come across, or what she was going to find.
Just that she needed to get inside.
She needed to get the supplies.
She needed to help Arya.
And then she needed to get the hell away from here and get back to Arya, before finding out how Jenny was.
She went to descend the hill when she saw them.
And when she did, her stomach sank.
That black body armour. Those rifles.
There was no doubt about it.
They were the foreign military group.
Alison saw them looking around, rifles in hand. One of them was smirking. A couple of them were talking about something; something Alison couldn’t hear from here.
She sat still. Waited. As much as she wanted to go down there and get the supplies, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
Then she saw it.
Jenny was dragged out by her hair.
She was bleeding from her knees.
Looking up at one of these men with defiance on her face.
The men shouted something at her, rifles in hand.
Alison went to call out. Because if she distracted them, maybe that would help. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe a distraction was all she needed.
But then she saw what causing a distraction more likely meant.
Jenny would die.
Then they’d hunt her down, and she would die.
And then Arya would die.
She had to bear Jenny’s words in mind.
“There can be no room for sentimentality. It’ll only get you killed. It’ll get your dog killed. It’ll get all of us killed. Okay?”
And then there was her bow and arrow, too. She lifted it shakily. Aimed it at the men.
But then those words echoed around her head once more.
“There can be no room for sentimentality. It’ll only get you killed. It’ll get your dog killed. It’ll get all of us killed. Okay?”
She watched as the man put the rifle to Jenny’s forehead. She watched Jenny look up at him. Total hate in her eyes.
She watched as Jenny spat at him, and she wanted to go down there, she wanted to stop her.
But then something else happened.
One of the men unbuckling his belt, walking up behind her.
Jenny closed her eyes then. Alison almost did. Almost.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she heard Jenny’s words again, as the man pushed her down onto the ground, as he tore away her trousers.
She heard her words as all of them gathered around her.
Then she closed her tearful eyes, and she let the arrow fly.
It slammed into the side of Jenny’s neck.
She turned away, then. Ran off into the bushes, into the trees. She couldn’t stand and watch anymore. She couldn’t wait.
But at least she knew she’d done one final good act.
At least she knew she’d spared Jenny unavoidable misery with the one arrow in her bow.
She heard shouting. Gunshots. Movement and chaos around the bunker.
And all she could do was curl up behind a tree.
All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut.
All she could do was cry.
Jenny was gone.
She’d killed her.
She was alone again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kumal wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking when he realised what a cock-up he’d made.
He was still in the countryside. He’d been on his own for a few days, travelling on foot, living on limited scraps with no real purpose and no real direction in sight. He’d even taken a detour home at one stage. It was strange, going back there, seeing it as it used to be. Even though his relationship with his parents and his family was strained to say the least, he’d still felt hope deep inside. Hope that he’d find them there. Hope that someone would be there, waiting.
But he hadn’t. His home had been broken into. The place was trashed. Most of the supplies that had been stocked up in the cupboards—canned foods, things like that—had gone. The fridge reeked of sourness, flies buzzing around the off milk and the rotted meat.
There was one thing for sure. One thing abundantly clear.
Home wasn’t home anymore.
He’d stayed there a night, but he’d got straight back on the road the following day. Camped out at night. Anything was better than being stuck back home. Anything was better than being haunted by the ghosts of his past.
Anything was better than being reminded that what he used to have was so much better than what he had now.
Night was drawing in. He’d passed a few farms and a few houses that looked like they were set up for the time being. The farms looked like they were getting on with things—aided by the extra provisions they had.
But the further Kumal walked, the more he began to doubt his decision.
And it was all because of Gina.
It was strange. After all, he was sure that he’d made the right call walking away from David and his gang of hippie weirdos.
But walking away from Gina… that wasn’t right. He might be unsure about David. He might be convinced of some sort of secrets that were buried in that place.
But that was even more of a reason not to make sure Gina got caught up in it.
He had to be by her side.
Whatever they faced.
He turned around. Looked back. As much as he wanted to keep going on the road ahead… he knew he couldn’t. Not anymore.
So he turned around.
He had to go back.
He had to find Gina.
And he had to make sure he was by her side.
He walked down the road for a long time. He slept. He ate some of his provisions. He dodged a few suspicious looking characters, took a few detours as one day blended into the next. He started to question whether he’d made the right call, heading back towards the church. After all, he felt like he’d stepped out of the jaws of danger, and now he was walking right back into whatever chaos he’d left behind.
But still he had to keep on going.
Still, he just had to get back.
It was after another few dehydrated hours of walking that Kumal finally fell to his knees.
It wasn’t anything physical that did it. Not initially.
It was a little bridge he was crossing. A place he used to visit with his family. One of his mum’s favourite places.
And as he kneeled there, he found himself crying inexplicably. Because he’d done so well to cordon off his emotions. He’d done so well to keep them under wraps, in check, for so long.