by Pete Aldin
"We do need—"
"Not my point. My point is the time for guilt is over. We did our best." He told this to Sturgis and he told it to himself. "Now keep on doing it, man."
"We will get 'em back," Sturgis said through gritted teeth.
And Elliot said, "Hooah."
He lifted the full bottle onto one shoulder, pushed himself upright, and headed for the car, wondering just how in hell they were going to do that.
They had been a community drawn together by fate and by the good in all of them, if one was to believe Claire's spiritualist horse twang. They had worked hard to forge a good thing here. And now they were dispersed to the winds, fragmented into small groups in varying degrees of danger. Krystal and the children in one direction. Rit out looking for them. Three women now heading to their own safehouse with a dangerous prisoner in tow. A dozen decent people murdered at Settlers Downs. Seventeen more crammed like cattle into a freight truck, including a young man who'd put his own life ahead of a group of children.
And a woman pursuing that truck in a clapped-out Mazda.
"Godspeed, all of you," he said. But the only face really in Elliot's mind was Angie's.
⁓
Elliot and Sturgis each drove a Land Rover back toward the ambush site. Near that site there lay a side road that would take them to Claire's safehouse.
Beside Elliot, Fido occasionally whined, reassured by a brief rub of his ears and neck. With little room in the back of the cars—and with Kyle stuffed in the back of Sturgis's, Elliot had split the two dogs between them.
They were two kilometres out when a dark shape appeared on the road ahead, slowly cresting a hill. Bourbon? Or Da Silva and Erikson?
Elliot jammed on the brakes, angling his nose toward the Centre line. Reading him well, Sturgis came around him and did the same, the two vehicles forming an arrowhead. Even a BearCat's driver would have to be deranged to ram through two 4WDs at high speed.
They got out and up the bank into safer firing positions before Elliot saw the vehicle was not a BearCat. He swore.
"Is that...?" Sturgis started.
The removals truck approached, grinding down through its gears to help it slow down. The dogs began barking from the Rovers. Elliot unsafetied the rifle.
His frown deepened. Bullet marks starred the truck's windshield; they hadn't been there earlier. It pulled up ten metres out from the Rovers, the driver door opened and a woman's voice called, "Hold your fire."
Oh, thank Christ.
His rifle drooped as a blond head appeared.
Angie.
As she climbed down, a second welcome surprise came when another face appeared in the doorway above her.
Lewis.
"Thank God," said Sturgis and slid down the short embankment. He sprinted toward the truck, obviously hopeful his wife was in the back.
Angie stayed at the nose of her vehicle with a wary expression, waiting while Elliot double-timed it toward her.
Without so much as glancing Elliot's way, Lewis joined Sturgis to help open the back of the truck.
Angie said, "Listen, I know I shouldn't have taken off like—"
Elliot reached her, pulled her tight against him and pressed his lips against hers. A second later, her hands clutched at his shirt. Her lips responded hungrily.
A swell of tired cheers came from the people pooling out back of the truck. "About bloody time," someone called.
Angie broke contact first, pulling away enough to smile tentatively at him and brush her hair back behind her ears.
"You got them back," he said.
"I did."
"You gonna tell me how?"
She glanced back at the truck, expression darkening again. "Maybe."
And then a further surprise for Elliot. The truck's passenger door opened and a third person dropped to the road. A skinny guy with a bad haircut appeared around the truck with a sheepish grin. "D'ja miss me?" Spider said.
Elliot drew breath to curse him out until Angie pushed all her fingers against his lips. "Not now," she said.
"I was hitchhiking," Spider called, "and she was kind enough to give me a lift."
Angie's fingers pressed harder. Murmuring so Spider wouldn't hear, she said, "Let's give him another chance."
Elliot grunted and rolled his eyes. Satisfied he wouldn't argue, Angie removed her hand and pecked him on the cheek. "Good boy."
Many of the released Settlers came nearer now, closing around him and Angie, squeezing their shoulders, kissing their cheeks. Instead of moving on, the Settlers stayed, the pack thickening. Farmer Nancy called out, "Group hug!"
Elliot and Angie found themselves pressed in the middle of a scrum of laughing, crying people. The melee tightened to the point that Angie gasped up at him and he had to fight for his next breath.
Then one of the Daves said, "Geez, we all need to get a room."
The scrum broke up with more laughs, forming into smaller groups, embracing, comforting, reassuring.
Elliot leaned into Angie once more.
With her warm and soft against him, with the smell of her hair, the taste of her lips, and the clamor of celebrating friends around them, Elliot saw a Hollywood happy ending that could never happen in this world.
He separated from her and saw in her eyes that she knew it, too.
He pointed to the cab of the truck. "It'd be so good to carry you in there right now and—"
"I know, but—"
"We better—"
"Yeah."
They turned to stand side by side.
"People!" Angie called and Elliot added, "We got things to do!"
23
The majority of the surviving Downs' residents gathered into a rough circle in the middle of the highway. Many stood. Some—like Claire, brought back from the safehouse minutes earlier—sat on the cold asphalt. Side conversations were few and they were muted. A few had Downs weapons that the SERPs had piled into one of the Rovers; Sturgis had distributed those earlier. The two dogs moved from person to person, soliciting belly rubs and back scratches.
The sun nuzzled the trees; despite a clear sky, night would fall quickly.
And still so much to do, Elliot thought.
Some were already working. West along the highway in a new blind spot, Spider, Lewis and the Daves were making another barbed-wire trap in case Da Silva sent another truck.
He scanned the circle: young people, old people, those in between. Many men and women had tears on their cheeks, but all seemed steady. They were tough, these people. Tougher than he'd thought.
Her hands locked with those of her bereaved sister, Chariya nodded readiness to him. Her husband Rit had radioed Elliot that he'd found the eight kids alive and well, though distraught. Elliot had told him to sit tight at the second safehouse until he called them in.
Di had just found out her sick husband had been murdered. But she was functioning; Elliot could hear her murmured conversation with Nance about making soup to feed the troops.
Heng shuffled on the spot, hands in pockets, eyes on the ground. He had a black eye, but seemed otherwise unharmed. At least, physically.
Claire slumped on the tarmac, sleepy from the painkillers they'd given her.
Sturgis stood stiff and angry to Elliot's left; Tina's arm was wound tight around her husband's. Their boy would be returned to them soon.
Angie sat cross-legged to Elliot's right; Alyssa sat next person over with her head on Angie's shoulder.
The two captured SERPs stood fifty metres down the road, cuffed to the roof rack of one of the Land Rovers. Neither looked too cocky now.
"With permission, Claire?" Elliot said.
She gave him a sad smile and gestured for him to take the floor.
"You all know what the bastards did to our sick people? To little kids."
Nods from the crowd. Grunts. Some people's expressions softened, others hardened. A few of them sniffed and wiped at eyes. There were no sobs. No comments.
"So, we all know
what we're dealing with. First question I have for you all is: where do you want to go? Not many choices. There's home, of course, Settlers Downs. There's our safehouses. We can try finding somewhere new up in the hills around St Mary's. Or we can ask for help from Nine Mile River or from Barnabas Island."
"They won't help," said Shaz. Abducted by bikers three years ago and now by cops, she looked less traumatized than murderous. Something fierce glowed in her eyes.
"Damn straight," Heng mumbled, still staring at the road. "No friend there."
Beside him, Sturgis cursed quietly under his breath.
"St. Mary's?" Elliot continued. "Plenty of mountain hideouts around there. Tough terrain for us to enter, but tougher for anyone trying to sneak up on us once we've dug in."
No one spoke for a moment, then Angie cleared her throat. "Which means that anyone who already went up there three years ago has had three years to dig in and ambush us."
Elliot nodded approvingly. Exactly what he'd been thinking. It was good to know that Angie at least was on the same page. "So anywhere we go, we risk people thinking we're coming for them and blowing our heads off."
"What do you want to do, Elliot?" asked Neil, the former accountant.
"Yeah," Shaz agreed. "Your call."
Elliot exchanged a glance with Angie. Why would they look to him? He'd left with three people, come back with one. Why would they trust him? Angie's stare was unrelenting, reminding him of their talk on the drive back. Your role is to lead, she'd said. Your role is to get the rest of us to help you fix this.
"All right then. A few of you will be joining the children at their safehouse. The rest of us ... the rest of us will be defending our home."
A murmur of approval passed quickly around the circle. There was no dissent.
"Whatever you need us to do, mate." This was from Mike the Builder, a guy Elliot couldn't remember ever actually speaking to before.
"You say that, you better mean it," Elliot told him.
"I mean it."
"Me, too," said a few others simultaneously.
Over Mike's shoulder, Elliot could see the booby trap builders jogging back. Lewis was a little ahead of the others. The young guy had gotten fitter over the last few years. He'd also not had to harm anyone; Elliot wondered if he could work it so things could stay that way.
Probably not, he told himself. Innocence is a luxury. And this is not an age for luxuries.
"Twelve dead," said Di. It sounded more incredulous than aggrieved. "My poor Raj."
"But twenty-five adults and eight kids alive and well," Elliot said as gently as he could.
Di nodded.
"Twelve dead," Sturgis whispered.
"Sturgis." Elliot's tone turned stern. Besides Angie, Sturgis was the best asset Elliot had. He needed this man and he needed him to channel his anxiety and anger in a productive way.
"Will they come back?" Neil asked. "Those bad cops. How many more of them are there?"
"That, I don't know exactly. There's at least ten of them left. They also have ... I guess you'd call them collaborators. People on their side." Like the aging farmers who'd once tried to hand Elliot, Angie, Heng and Lewis to the Druids. There was always someone willing to sell their soul for their relative safety.
Elliot pointed to the setting sun. "Time to move. For tonight at least, Chariya, Huy, Shaz, Tania and Claire: you're going to relieve Rit and look after the kids. The rest of you, if we're defending our home, we have things to do."
"We need a ceremony for the dead," Claire murmured suddenly, rubbing at sleepy eyes with her good hand. "We need to name them."
"We will," said Di and reached down to touch her hair gently.
"We definitely will," Angie added.
Elliot said, "But later. For now, we're heading home to fortify it. Hate to say it, folks, but I need most of you back in that truck."
The group broke up. Angie stood and pecked him on the cheek.
"What's that for?" he asked.
She smiled tiredly. "Good luck." She headed for the truck, intending to drive it. He watched her jeans move and thought how undeservedly lucky he already was.
Walking beside Angie, Alyssa glanced over her shoulder and gave Elliot a thumbs-up. Elliot returned it with a wink.
"Are you okay in that truck, honey?" Sturgis told his wife. "I could move crap out of the Rover for you."
"I'm fine." She hugged him briefly, kissed him and followed the crowd.
When she was out of earshot, Sturgis looked back toward the two captive SERPs. He asked, "Did you mean what you told me?"
"About the Jericho slaves?"
"Yes."
"Yes. Once our people are secure."
"We'll need help."
"Who's gonna help us?"
"Spider's guys, maybe. Barnabas. Nine Mile. They all have reason to."
"They might not see it that way."
"We have to ask. None of us can let the SERPs get any stronger. You said you saw 'collaborators'? That means Kyle's crew are recruiting and not just enslaving. That goes on too long, they'll grow too big for us to take down. They're probably already too big. For just the few of us."
"Maybe yes, maybe no." Elliot found himself yawning. "Let's talk about it tomorrow."
"All right," Sturgis said. "And our friends there?"
Elliot followed his gaze back to the captives. Driscoll had both arms on the car, leaning his head against them. Kyle was standing straight, his face swollen around the broken nose. He returned Elliot's stare without expression. "Our friend Driscoll will answer some questions tonight."
"Not Kyle?"
"Kyle won't talk. He'll pride himself on it."
"So ..."
"I'll take care of it. Tomorrow."
Sturgis spat to the side. "Tomorrow then. And I get to be there."
"Fine." He scratched his chin a moment, then said. "I got another reason we should pay the Vikes a visit when we get the chance."
"What's that?"
"I want my fucking BearCat back."
They could get it, he thought, while they were there picking up Spider's family.
Elliot turned back to watch his people climbing aboard the removals truck. Lewis was there, waiting patiently at the back. After a moment, he noticed Elliot's scrutiny. Like Kyle, he regarded Elliot without expression. And then, just before he climbed into the back of the truck, he gave Elliot a nod.
It wasn't much.
And it was everything.
24
The Ute's dash clock read 09:16 as Elliot parked along the country road's centerline. He cranked on the handbrake and put his head against the rest for a moment. He'd caught two long naps overnight, taking turns with Angie, while the other directed sentry arrangements and the finetuning of spike traps along the property's boundary. Settlers Downs's defenses had been developed when there was a threat of biker attack. They'd become a little neglected over the years since that threat faded away. Out in the cold night air, his people had made amends for that lapse in caution and care, laboring to repair old traps and create new ones. Bundled up in layers of sweaters, people had taken turns watching the coastal road. None complained. They were hardening up. Again. And this was very good.
He reached for his MCX. Angie's eyes were on him. "What is it?" he asked.
"Just thinking."
"About what I'm about to do?"
"About how stupid human beings are. All of us."
"That's been a given for a while now."
"Look at us. The Settlers, the Nine Mile River group, the Barnabas Islanders, the scav-rats, the Vikes." She hooked a thumb at the cargo pod on the back of the Ute. "The SERPs. We all survived the end. I mean the end. Civilization got trampled underfoot by the undead. Power grids broke down. Water stopped pumping. The outlaw gangs who were ready to take over everything, they eventually disappeared, too. And there's us left. Normal people." She checked the side mirror outside her window, maybe looking at Spider climbing out of Rit's Rover behind them. "Mostly
normal. We made it. But we're fighting. Instead of helping each other, we're screwing each other over. I mean, literally fighting for no reason. The only things left in this world are actually an abundance, more than enough to sustain us all, but we're fighting as if ... I don't know. These dirtbags want slaves, but if we worked together we'd get it all done anyway. Probably better. Maybe it's humans who are the monsters."
She blew hot breath on the glass, drew a face in the condensation with angry eyes and a wide O for a mouth.
"I don't understand, Elliot. I don't understand why ... the day we met ... those old people, those farmers were selling us out and we had to kill them."
She fell silent, leaving Elliot to pick up the thread of her thoughts. "And now it's ex-cops who are no better than the Druids. Yeah. It messes with your head. So, take my advice and don't think about it."
"How do you do that? Not think about it? Coz I know you do. I know that's got something to do with when you blank out."
"But I don't blank out twenty-four-seven. I get breaks from it. I make myself busy. I think about what there is to do."
"Yeah, you're not real good at chilling, are you?" She smiled tiredly. "I try that busyness thing too. Maybe I'm just really tired, but the last two days, I can't keep the thoughts out. Especially ..." She shrugged then punched her own thigh.
Elliot usually had to squeeze his will around the panic that always burned at his core, the tempest that raged alongside and above the still, deep well of his anger. But today, he felt the opposite of what Angie had just said. He didn't have to squeeze at anything. The memories were there. And they were dangerous. But the sudden flare of cordite smoke in his nostrils and the feeling of a hot Syrian wind against his skin seemed not so threatening. And the sight of Radler's remains and Eames's and McGovern's and the death of Birdy and the ghosts of Tommy Harrison and Uncle John—it was there and it was bad and the next day it might swallow him whole, but now, right now, it was just there, an unwanted companion, but for the moment a tame one.
He didn't know how to tell her all of that, but one day soon he would try. The face she had turned toward him was more vulnerable than he had ever seen it before.