by Casey, Ryan
She’d missed.
She laughed, then, growing lightheaded. She laughed because it was the only thing she could do. In spite of how much pain she was in. In spite of how little energy she had.
All she could do was cry.
And all she could do was laugh.
She laughed until she went even dizzier.
She laughed until her vision faded.
She laughed until she didn’t have the energy to even laugh anymore.
And then she felt all sensations drifting away, and she faded towards unconsciousness.
She saw a figure emerge above her.
And she swore that figure uttered her name…
Stay with me, Susan…
Chapter Five
Jack sat back against the wall of the container and felt blood dripping down his face.
He had no idea what time of day it was. No idea how long he’d been locked inside here. His ears rang. His whole body hurt. He felt like he’d had the shit kicked out of him.
And that’s because he had, of course.
He took deep breaths through his mouth. No point trying to breathe through his nose. It was clogged up, all bloody. He could taste that metallic tang at the back of his throat and kept on coughing up thick bloody, phlegmy lumps every now and then.
He felt like shit.
But there wasn’t a lot he could really do about it.
He felt Candice press something against his forehead and jolted away. Agonising stabbing pain, right across his head.
“You need to keep still,” she said. “The best I’ve got right now is a slightly damp sock. But it’ll be better than nothing.”
Jack sighed. “Think I’d rather sit in pain than have your sweaty sock pushed into my face again and again.”
Candice tutted. “Don’t be ungrateful. I’m trying to help you here.”
Jack leaned back. Truth was, there wasn’t exactly a lot he could say to that. Candice was right. She was trying to help him, trying to soothe some of his wounds. There was nothing else she could really be doing right now. Nothing else anyone could really be doing.
Because the last time he’d tried to get out of this container, a man built like a brick shithouse had marched in here and beat the crap out of him.
With every breath, he felt a twinge in his chest. Must’ve broken a rib. Wouldn’t surprise him, not with the amount of heavy kicks he’d taken to the chest.
He was in pain. He’d had his arse handed to him, as painful as that was for any bloke to admit, especially one who used to pride himself on being a tough bastard.
Maybe he was just showing his age.
He leaned back against the cold steel of this shipping container. He closed his eyes and let Candice try her best to soothe his wounds. As he lay there, he tried to picture what he’d seen when those doors opened. Some kind of old shipyard. The smell of salt in the air. The sound of seagulls swirling around, singing their annoying songs.
He tried to figure out how far they’d travelled from Barrow, or how far from Barrow they might be right now. If there was one thing he felt comfortable about, it was that this place wasn’t that supposed safe haven. At least he hadn’t been captured by the group he was putting all his hopes into. That really would be a shitter.
He just wished he knew more about the state of his people, and of Villain.
He just hoped to God they hadn’t all gone the way of Susan.
“I want to keep going,” Jack said. “I… I want to keep fighting. But I can’t see… I just can’t see what else I can do anymore.”
Candice was silent. She kept on patting her damp sock against his head, wiping the blood away.
“I mean, we’re trapped in here. The only way we’re getting out is if someone opens up those doors. And they’ll be ready for us. They’ll be prepared. And they’ll know what to expect, now, after last time. I just wish I knew what we were dealing with. I wish I knew what weaknesses to at least try and exploit.”
Candice moved that sock away. She looked around.
“I mean, how about you?” Jack asked. “Do you have any ideas? Any thoughts at all? Or are you just gonna leave me sitting here chatting to myself—”
“Ssh.”
Jack frowned. “What?”
“I said, ‘ssh’.”
She stood up, then. Walked over to the door at the front of the shipping container. Crouched beside it. Put her ear to it.
And then she looked back around. “Can’t you hear that?”
Jack couldn’t hear much other than the ringing in his ears right now. “Hear what?”
“You seriously can’t hear that?”
He stood up. Edged over towards the front of the shipping container. Tried to listen. Strained to hear something. Anything.
But all he could hear were cries.
Muffled cries.
He looked at Candice, and in the darkness, he saw a light in her eyes.
“Hazel,” she said.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Hazel?”
“It was her. I’m sure of it.”
His heart started to race. Hazel? She was okay. Oh thank God she was okay.
Unless…
“What was she saying? It sounded—it sounded like shouting.”
And then Candice’s face turned.
Just for a split second, that happiness and relief dropped.
“Emma,” she said.
“What?”
“Emma,” Candice said. “She… she was shouting ‘Emma’.”
Jack’s body went cold. He felt an urge to bang at the doors of this shipping container. To beat the shit out of them until someone came here and dragged him out.
And then he’d fight with everything he had.
But he knew that was foolish.
He knew it was a bad idea.
He stood, even though it hurt him all over.
He tightened his fists. Took a deep breath in, battling through that pain in his ribs.
And then as much as he worried about whatever situation Hazel and Emma might be in, he felt hope, too.
Because they were alive.
Which meant there was still hope.
He looked into Candice’s eyes as they stood there, together.
“We’re going to get out of this,” he said. “I don’t know how… but we’re going to get out of this. All of us. We’re going to escape this mess. And we’re going to make these bastards pay for ever crossing us.”
Candice’s eyes lit up. A smile crossed her face.
She went to speak.
And then the doors to the shipping container swung open.
Chapter Six
Emma stared at Lydia’s body in the middle of the room.
Light shone in through the little frosted window. She had no idea how long had passed, only that it probably wasn’t as long as it felt. She could hear strong wind outside and still see little specks of icy snow blowing past the frosted glass above her.
Lydia’s body lay twitching on the floor in front of them all. Blood stained the blue carpets, stretching right across the floor. It reminded her when she’d spilled a bottle of juice when she was younger and watched it spread its way across the cream carpet. As much as she knew she should stop it from spilling any more, she couldn’t help watching it cross the floor, its pattern stretching, cutting through that cream carpet. Staining something so expensive.
She heard things every now and then. Shouts outside. Voices. Occasionally, seagulls, too. She knew they were at some kind of place near the sea. A docks, or something. She could tell that from some of the old documents lying beside the desk that mentioned boats and money stuff she didn’t understand.
But she didn’t know who else was here. And she didn’t know what the people here wanted.
Only that they were dangerous.
She swallowed a sickly lump in her throat, trying to pry her eyes away from that body. But whenever she looked away from the body, it was just Hazel’s wide eyes that stared back at her. Or even w
orse—Mary’s crying face.
And then there was Hannah. The one with the tattoos.
She didn’t look fazed by what’d happened.
She just looked back at Emma, biting her nails, gaze unmoving.
And all of it just made Emma feel so guilty.
Because she’d done this.
This was her lesson.
Someone else had died because of her.
“You couldn’t just listen, could you?” Mary said.
Emma’s stomach sank. “I didn’t know—”
“We told you. You saw how damned terrified Lydia was. You come in here thinking you can act the hero, and you get someone killed. All because you just don’t listen.”
“Hey,” Hazel said. “Go easy on her, okay? She was trying to help.”
“Trying to help?” Mary said. “We don’t need her help. Nobody needs her help.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Hazel said.
“Comply,” Hannah said.
It was the first time Emma heard her speak. She was still sitting there against the edge of the desk, biting her nails. It didn’t seem like she was that bothered about a dead body in the middle of the room at all.
“Comply?” Hazel asked. “To what?”
Hannah flicked her jet black hair back. “Look. We might’ve been here longer than you, but we don’t know much more than you. All we do know is we were out there, surviving in our own ways, and then we ended up captured by some smug bastard with a grin and found ourselves landing here. But believe me when we say you ain’t the first people we’ve shared this room with.”
Hazel frowned. “How many others?”
Hannah shrugged. “Seven. Eight, if you include Lydia here.”
“Eight? In how long?”
Again, she shrugged. “Don’t know for sure. Two weeks, I think. They feed us. They bring us water. And then they take us out.”
Hazel paused. “What happens when they take people out?”
Hannah smiled. “We never see them again.”
Emma shook her head. Were they really willing to just accept this?
Because she wasn’t.
Even if it killed her.
Even if it killed all of them.
She wasn’t letting someone else decide her fate for her.
She stood up and walked in front of Lydia’s body. She looked at Mary and at Hannah. “You might want to just sit back and let people get taken out to whatever’s out there. But I’m not. And I’m… I’m sorry if you can’t accept that. I’m sorry if it gets people hurt. But if we get hurt trying to get out of this mess, then so be it, right?”
Mary stared back at her, frowning.
“All I know is I’ll die fighting to get out of here if that’s what I have to do,” Emma said. “I’ve… I’ve seen too much bad stuff. I’ve been through too much already. I’ve watched too many horrible people win far too often. But there’s a place. A place near to here. A place with helicopters. A place that can help. I’m getting there. One way or another, I’m getting there. And if I don’t… then I don’t. But I’m gonna make sure the last thing I do is try. Not sitting back and waiting to die in here. Who’s with me?”
Hazel stared back at Emma. As too did Mary and Hannah.
It was Hazel who stepped forward first.
“I’ve got your back,” she said.
The pair of them turned around, then. Hannah kept on looking at Emma, studying her, biting her nails.
And then she hopped off the desk and over towards Emma. “You’re a mad little bitch. But yeah. Why the hell not?”
They looked back at Mary, then.
She stood there. Eyes darting around the room. Fear on her sweat-covered face.
“We’re not backing down,” Emma said. “We’re fighting our way out of this. We can do this. Okay? We can do this.”
And in a moment of hope, Mary said something that made Emma feel small again.
“How? How are you going to fight? You only have one hand, for God’s sakes.”
Emma’s cheeks flushed. She looked down. Instinctively put her hand behind her back. Why did she say that? Stupid cow. Stupid weak cow.
Throat tightening.
Body shaking.
She went to open her mouth. Went to stand her ground. Went to put Mary in her place.
And then she heard it.
The door opened up.
She turned around.
A man stood there.
A huge, bulky man, bigger than anyone she’d ever seen.
Smile on his face.
Knife in hand.
“Hello, ladies,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Chapter Seven
Susan opened her eyes again.
It was light. Sun shone down brightly from above. For a moment, she felt warmth spread through her body. Like she was on holiday, basking in the heat of the sun. She smiled at that. She was on holiday with her friends, Anne-Marie, Ella, and Sophie. She’d landed in Portugal. Had a good night out last night. Partied until the sun came up, slept the morning away, then spent the afternoon lying on the beach soaking it all up.
The happy life she’d always wanted. The happy life she’d always craved, where everyone got along with one another, where everyone accepted each other, where everything was just… good.
And then she thought about all the horrible things she’d seen since. All of them snuck up on her from the deepest, darkest recesses of her consciousness. The plane crash. Sophie lying there, choking on her blood.
Then Tommy. Looking after him. Helping him.
Watching him die.
And then Matthew…
She shivered when she thought of Matthew.
All the things she’d seen.
All the things she’d done.
It didn’t matter what kind of happy life she wanted anymore.
She’d never outrun those demons of her past.
She felt the pain on the right side of her belly. Reached a hand down to it. She remembered getting closer to the place with the helicopters, with Jack’s people. Feeling hope, for the first time in a long time.
And then she remembered the three intense stabbing pains out of nowhere. The knife slamming into her body, three agonising times.
She remembered struggling.
Collapsing to the road.
Dragging herself away.
And…
“Susan? Are you okay?”
Susan opened her eyes again with a jolt. That voice. Had she imagined it? Was it in her head?
And why did she recognise it?
Her vision was blurred. But she could see someone standing there.
She blinked a few times. Cleared her vision.
And when she saw him, she recoiled.
“Pete?”
Pete, Hazel’s husband, perched over her. They were in some kind of building. Looked like a dusty old newsagents. The shelves were emptied of anything valuable. She could taste dampness in the air. The newspapers all sat there, stacked on top of one another, some of them torn to pieces. Lollipop sticks lying on the dirty floor. The empty wrappers of tenpenny sweets and Freddo bars, memories of happier times.
But it was Pete who took the most of her attention.
He looked beaten and bruised. A big cut under his right eye, which was bloodshot. His breathing sounded heavy and laboured, and his clothes were torn.
But he was standing over her.
Holding a rifle.
Another rifle over his shoulder.
Instinctively, she arched away from him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She saw the way his face turned. “You’re awake. I’m so glad you’re okay. Found you lying on the road, unconscious. If I hadn’t found you when I did… well. You might’ve bled out.”
Susan frowned. She couldn’t look past her disgust of this man. He’d lied to her and the rest of Jack’s people. Told them he was from that place with the helicopters, and that it was a “safe zone.” He’d led th
em all this way, all for nothing.
And now here he was. Standing over her. Acting as if he’d saved her life.
She shuffled further back, still a little groggy, her head still cloudy. “I don’t need help from you.”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
She looked down, then. Looked at the wounds where she’d been stabbed.
A bandage clung to the middle of her body.
She wasn’t bleeding anymore.
“Managed to get you stitched up and cleaned up before you woke,” Pete said. “Model patient, to be honest. You need to keep an eye on it, obviously. It’s going to be sore for a while. Can’t account for any infection you might get. But if you don’t go sprinting anywhere and you take it as easy as anyone surviving in this world can... well, hopefully, you should be okay. Especially when we get to where we’re going.”
Susan looked up at Pete, and she couldn’t help feeling some gratitude. Just a little.
“What happened to you, anyway?”
Pete brushed a hand through his wiry, greying hair. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Well we got attacked right on the brink of reaching the place with the helicopters by a group of smiling bastards,” Susan said. “So try me.”
Pete sighed. “Same smiling bastards caught up with me. Got in a scuffle with them. Managed to use the blizzard to my advantage. Took one of them out. Got my hands on this in the process.”
He handed Susan the extra rifle from over his shoulder.
She looked at it for a few seconds.
Then reluctantly, she took it. “Spare rifles. Pretty limited supplies these days.”
“And not just that,” Pete said. “I found out where these bastards are heading.”
Susan raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not bullshitting this time?”
“Just south of Roanhead,” Pete said. “So just north of where we are. A shipyard. A place they take people. No idea why.”
“And you found out this, how?”
Pete smiled. “These smiley bastards. They aren’t ones for conversation. But when you’ve got a gun to the head of one of ’em, you’d be surprised just how desperate they are to hold on to their lives. Just like everyone, I guess.”