Beyond Hope (Tales from the Brink Book 3)

by Martyn J. Pass

“Yes,” he said. “We should. Hopefully the place will look a bit better by then.”

  “This room won't. I hope this room never changes.”

  “Me too.”

  Then they were outside, staring at a village teeming with life and still they were tempted to look back and try to go into that room and relive it all again. But that wouldn't happen. The moment had gone and there was no getting it back now. Maybe not ever.

  “Before we leave I want to ask around, see if there's anything to learn,” said Alan as they stepped into the square, squelching in the mud that suckled at their boots.

  “I'll get the horses,” she replied. “I'll meet you back here.”

  Sarah found the stable boy and, in exchange for more jerky, had him bring over the horses and help her saddle them, tethering them to the post outside The Piggle. The lad looked tired and scared, especially when he saw that Moll was standing there and he refused to get any closer.

  “She's huge,” he managed to say after staring at her for a while. Moll simply sat there staring back at him, her tongue lolling out to one side. If he cocked his head, so did she.

  “She's a big softie,” said Sarah, going over to her and flipping her onto her back. With her shovel-sized paws in the air, the scene was comical and the boy began to laugh. “See, she's not so tough!”

  “If you say so, ma'am.”

  “Come here and scratch her tummy.”

  “No thanks, ma'am. She might bite me.”

  “She won't. Trust me; if she wanted to hurt you she'd have done it already. Come on.”

  The boy moved cautiously forward and Moll turned her head in the dirt and looked at him, still waving her paws in the air. He reached out a hand and touched her proud chest where the fur was matted with dried mud. When she didn't try to eat him, he seemed to gain a little more confidence and he scratched her up and down her muscled front.

  “There,” said Sarah. “See?”

  Moll laid there and enjoyed the moment as both of them fussed her until she saw her doggy friend again and she spun back onto her paws. The sudden movement sent the boy backwards and he sat there in the dirt laughing.

  “She has a friend,” he said.

  “Don't tell Alan though. He doesn't like her getting distracted.”

  “Why?”

  “He's grumpy like that.” She jutted out her bottom lip and the boy laughed even harder.

  Just as she'd finished buckling on Alan's bags, she looked up and saw three men and a woman walking down the road. They were dressed in leather, stained a dark red and they had various piercings and scars on their faces. On their backs were rifles and they wore pistol belts that were loaded with extra ammunition. They were the strangest looking people she'd ever seen and she knew immediately that they were Slavers.

  “Go back to the stables, lad,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked, but when he saw them coming towards the bar he turned and ran away as quickly as he could.

  The Slavers marched straight towards The Piggle and stopped. Pretending to be busying herself with the mounts, Sarah watched over the top of Ziggy's withers and tried to listen when Mildred greeted them.

  “What is it?” asked the barmaid with a slight tremor in her voice. “What now?”

  “The numbers have gone up,” said the woman. “We'll need double the usual shipment next month.”

  “I don't know if we can make that much!” she cried. “It's been a bad year in the fields and-”

  “Stop drinking it all yourselves and you'll have more to offer, won't you?”

  “Yes, yes, I guess you're right.”

  “Here are the figures for you,” said the woman, passing over a piece of paper. “And those are the times and dates that they need to be delivered on. If you don't, then I guess you know what'll happen.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now get us some of that fine ale. We're thirsty. It's always best to try before you buy, isn't it?”

  With trembling hands she poured four glasses while the Slavers sat down on upturned barrels, looking around for someone else to exercise their power over. Sarah kept her head low, pretending to be tightening the straps on her saddle. The last thing she wanted to do was to attract their attention in such a crowded place. She wondered if Alan was aware that they'd arrived.

  In her peripheral vision she saw one of them moving around on his stool to look at her. She ran a hand across Ziggy's side, dipping low behind his bulk but it wasn't enough to make her invisible to them.

  “Good morning,” called one of them to her.

  She looked up, smiled and nodded, glad that she hadn't yet put the rifle away and that it was within her grasp. The man got up and came walking towards her with a hand resting on his pistol.

  “You're a pretty one,” he said. His face was badly scarred but the pale, lumpy lines didn't look like an accident or injury - they looked self-inflicted. He had teeth missing and the ones that still clung to his bleeding gums were crooked and yellow.

  “Thanks,” she managed to mumble without looking directly at him.

  “Nice horses,” he said. “Too nice.”

  “Leave her be,” shouted the Slaver-woman from behind him. “We have a deal with these people. I don't think the Chief would appreciate you screwing that up.”

  “But she isn't one of them,” he replied without taking his leering eyes off her body, making her shudder with disgust.

  “That's a good point,” said the woman, thinking it over. “Do what you want then.”

  The man snatched at Ziggy's reins but soon found himself staring down the barrel of her rifle, hearing the loud crack of the cocking mechanism in his ears.

  “Get your hands off him,” snarled Sarah. Behind her, Moll appeared and her back was up, her white teeth sharp and glistening in the morning light and a rumbling growl issued from deep within her chest.

  “Woah!” cried the man, throwing his hands up. “There's no need for that!”

  The other three had leapt to their feet and were about to draw their pistols when another rifle was readied to their right. Alan stood there with his NSU weapon resting in his shoulder, aiming at the woman.

  “I think that maybe we should all calm down,” he said. “Tell your man to walk away from our horses.”

  “You're making a-”

  “No, I think that you're the ones making mistakes today. Don't make another.”

  “Todd - back away. Now,” she barked. The man, still with this hands in the air, stepped backwards, staring at Sarah all the way. “And what now?”

  “Time for you to leave,” said Alan.

  “No one tells us-”

  “Yes they do. I'm doing it right now. Go.”

  “There's four of us and-”

  Sarah's rifle cracked like lightning and Todd dropped to the floor with a round in his leg just as the man to the Slaver's left went down under the sharp report of Alan's weapon. The remaining man and the Slaver woman jerked in shock but didn't even fire.

  “That evens us up I think,” called Sarah. “Now get out of here.”

  Trembling, the woman raised her hands into the air and shook her head.

  “I don't want to die!” she mumbled out.

  “Then drop your weapons and belts and go,” said Alan. “You've had a lucky escape today. The next time we see you, your luck will have run out. Gather your wounded and beat it.”

  Both of them began frantically helping the others to their feet, wrapping dishcloths around their legs which were thrown to them by Mildred. The owner of The Piggle was pale and terrified and she gaped open mouthed at the scene.

  As the Slavers hobbled away, Alan and Sarah kept their rifles trained on them until they'd vanished out of sight. The hag suddenly turned and stared at them like she'd been woken from a bad dream.

  “What have you done?” she cried. “They'll come back with an army now! They'll kill us all!”

  Sarah lowered her rifle and walked over to the bar to look at the paper the woman had left
behind. It was almost identical to the note they'd found on the man back near Pine Lodge, even down to the colour and quality of the paper itself.

  “Look at this,” she said to Alan. He stared at it and nodded.

  “That explains a few things.”

  “It's not just here then,” she said, realising what it meant. “It's happening all over. Settlements are handing over their produce to give to the Slavers. In return, they're left alone.”

  “No,” said Mildred. “They don't leave us alone. They take our best, our strongest, any they think will be good workers or soldiers. Like my grandson.”

  “They took him?” said Sarah.

  “They came here a few months ago - in force. There were so many it was hard to count. They carried guns and knives and they had something else...”

  “What?” asked Alan.

  “A thing on wheels. Like a cart but it didn't need horses. It had a shell of metal and people were inside it, making it move. It had a gun too. It almost deafened us when it came down the road.”

  “Which road?” he asked. The hag pointed to the right but not the path they'd ridden in on. It was a different one, hidden behind the cow shed out of sight. “I'm going to check it out,” he said to Sarah and together he and Moll strode away.

  “Please, go on,” she said. “What happened after that?”

  “They told us that they were in charge, that they had an army and that they demanded we give them a regular shipment of our ale. We-”

  “We didn't really brew a lot back then,” interrupted an old man from the other end of the bar. “But word spreads you know.”

  “Leave it out, Pip,” said Mildred.

  “I won't. I've been telling you for years that they needed dealing with and we've just witnessed it happen.”

  “These strangers have ruined us, that's what they've done!” she cried. “Those Slavers are coming back and this time they'll take us all, you mark my-”

  “They'll take us all sooner or later,” said Pip. “I'd prefer to be dead with a weapon in my hand than live as a slave. You of all people should know that, Mildred.”

  “Don't you dare!” she cried. “Don't you-”

  “Her own son wasn't taken - he volunteered.”

  A clay pint-pot flew through the air but Pip moved faster and he ducked, letting it sail past him. A torrent of abuse followed it and together they tore into each other, hurling more and more insults, leaving Sarah to walk away while more cups were thrown and went on to hit the far wall with a loud crash.

  Alan was on his way back by the time she'd returned her rifle to its case and gathered up the Slaver's weapons. A close examination of the woman's pistol showed that it'd been well looked after and she claimed it for herself.

  “Well?” she asked as he stood beside her.

  “There's definitely old tracks from a vehicle there. They lead in and they lead out, you can't miss them but because we approached from the other side, we did.”

  “A working car?” she said. “Wow.”

  “Not a car. Something much worse.”

  “Like what?”

  “A tank. A Russian T-Z36 if I remember correctly but I might be wrong. It's been a while since I last saw one but I recognised the strange tread pattern, it's quite distinctive to that model.”

  Sarah looked around and saw that the village was beginning to wake up to what had happened and were now gathering around the bar of The Piggle, questioning Mildred. They were shouting and arguing amongst themselves about the consequences of angering the Slavers. Pip was cleaning up the shards of pottery with a brush and it suddenly occurred to her that with the exception of the young lads there was no one under the age of forty to be seen.

  “She wasn't lying,” she said. “Look.”

  Alan stared at the crowds and nodded in agreement. “No youth.”

  Sarah looked at him and grinned.

  “You knew full-well that this wasn't going to be just a simple delivery, didn't you? You knew we'd come across something awry. That's why you came along with me.” Alan shook his head.

  “I came for you,” he said with a gravity that startled her. “I've never made a decision as important as that one and every time I see you it reminds me why I'm still alive, why I'm still doing this.” Here he gestured to the people whispering in fearful mutterings. “Why I'm still helping.”

  “And why is that?” she asked.

  “Because that's who I am,” he replied. “That's who you reminded me I was. And...”

  “And what?”

  “It took you and your shouting to make me see that living as long as I have hasn't made me any more mature. I was ready to pack it all in, to ride south and go through the tunnel and screw it all off because I felt used by people, unwanted. But then there you were, tougher than old leather, and you felt the same.”

  “I did.”

  “But you went on regardless of how much hurt you have inside you; it didn't stop you from carrying people's letters or packages even though you and your father were struggling. I saw something in you that I wanted for myself, that spark of humanity, that... Shit, I don't know...”

  “Selfless-devotion-and-compassion?” she laughed.

  “Something like that. Maybe a dash of humility too, somewhere. When I found out you were taking Nibb's package to Hope I couldn't let you go alone.”

  “Admit it,” she grinned. “You want to see the master at work.”

  “That's it,” he said, laughing. “And Moll wants you to throw sticks for her.”

  “I guess I'll let you tag along then,” she said. “Keep a close watch though - you might miss the magic.”

  “My eyes will be glued to you then.”

  He picked up some of the gear the Slavers had left behind and examined it closely as the crowd babbled on around them. They were alive now with a kind of energy that small communities had when something out of the ordinary happened, even if it was as grim as two bloodstained bullet holes in the wall of their pub. Sarah knew that they'd be telling the legend to all the generations that would follow. They'd make it a feature of the place; maybe even rename it to the Two Shots or something equally pun-ridden. Social apathy was prone to carrying out those kinds of rituals and she felt the ironic truth that they'd just made their biggest contribution to it.

  “These are in excellent condition,” said Alan.

  “I noticed that too,” she replied, patting the one on her hip. “I'll have those rounds when you've finished.”

  “I've got two theories about them.” He passed her the brass shells, polished and gleaming in the sun. “The first is that they found them like this in some kind of sealed bunker or building or something.”

  “Possible but a little too convenient,” she said. “How did they find something that two generations haven't already found?” Then she remembered the loot she'd taken from the truck stop. Sometimes people missed the obvious. “What's your other theory?”

  “They've been passed down.”

  “From who?”

  “As far as I know, the Slavers were just the next step in the evolution of the Scavengers - gang culture taken to a more organised level. I knew it would happen somewhere, somehow. Someone fights to take control of a bunch of outlaws, kills his or her way to the top and then tries to create more of a structure. The gang needs food and water, the basics, but won't dirty its own hands with that kind of work. So they steal people and force them into labour for them. It becomes lucrative so they expand their empire.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “But you've got to have a lot of strength to back that claim up. You've got to have an edge on all the other gangs doing exactly the same thing.”

  “A tank might do that. Plus some excellent weapons that no one else has.”

  “Exactly. I think these are second generation Scavs who've passed this kit down. You can't just jump in a tank and drive it; you need training, expertise, mechanical knowledge. You need spare parts and fuel and munitions. That has to have c
ome from somewhere and I think it was taught by the patriarchs of the gang and passed on. There must also be some kind of stores for the thing, a depot or something.”

  “And you've never come across them in full strength before?” she asked. He shrugged.

  “Not directly. I've been occupied elsewhere these last few years and so I've not been south for a while. Maybe they came out of the Rad Zones or something. It was only when I was asked to find Tyler that I really took notice of them and they of me.”

  “You can't be everywhere all at once,” she said.

  “True. But there's a tank on the loose and somehow I missed that. I can't let it happen again or...”

  “Or what?”

  “It doesn't matter,” he said. “One thing at a time. Let's just concentrate on-”

  There was a polite cough from behind Ziggy and Pip was stood there, staring at them.

  “It's looking like you two are just going to ride out of here,” he said with a frown making deep furrows in his brow.

  “We are,” said Sarah. “But not to abandon you to the Slavers. It's no accident that we ended up in your village. We're heading to Hope and we plan to find a way to put a stop to this.”

  “Hope? Why on earth are you heading there?” he cried.

  “To figure out what we should do next; this can't go on.”

  “I agree,” he said. “But we haven't heard a thing from Hope in weeks. They usually send letters but we haven't even had those since the Slavers came.”

  “Do you think they could be the ones stopping the mail reaching you?” she asked. “The Slavers?”

  Pip shrugged.

  “Maybe. If you're going that way, be warned - the road between here and there isn't safe anymore and that's without worrying about Slavers.”

  “We'll bear that in mind,” said Alan, looking beyond him to the crowd. He stepped around Pip and addressed himself to them. “We're here to deal with the Slavers once and for all. My partner and I are heading to Hope to see if we can gather help to make a stand against these people who feed on your village, your produce and even your families. Therefore we need you to make sure that no more Slavers leave this place alive. Understand?”

  They began arguing and Sarah watched as Alan won them round, gently and without deceit. He spoke with such eloquence that even she believed that he would single-handedly defeat the Slavers if only the rest of them would help in their own way. His call was to unity and strength where ever it could be found, from the watchful eyes of young boys, to the hibernating power in the men and women who'd long since given up. By the end of his speech they were drawing up plans to build a simple palisade around the village and start the overdue work of defending themselves and their families.