by David Moody
A gorse bush is the best cover they have. They crouch down behind it together, boots squelching in the claggy, rain-soaked ground. “What do you reckon?” Paul asks.
The sun is loitering on the horizon, threatening to rise. Morning is fast approaching. Looking north along the length of the island they can see both the stores building and the main base, as well as the rubble-strewn gap where, until last night, Ruth and Stuart’s bungalow stood. There’s no sign of movement anywhere. No sign of Rod, and no sign of the Hater kid either.
“He’ll still be in the stores,” Natalie says.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because that’s where Jayde is.”
Her logic is sound.
“Then let’s get this done before it gets too light,” Matt says.
Paul’s not convinced. “Wait … Matt, hold on.…”
“Don’t you get it? We don’t have any choice. No point delaying it.” Matt gets up and starts toward the stores.
“Matt’s right.” Natalie sounds almost disappointed, and she reluctantly follows. The fear of being left on his own outweighs the fear of being shot at by Rod, and Paul sets off too.
Matt slows again. “Hold back. Split up. Come at him from different angles.”
Matt figures he’ll make less noise on his own, and that the others will act as decoys and distract Rod long enough so Matt can mount his attack. Except he doesn’t know if he can attack. He realizes just how much is at stake here, but he’s still not sure he’ll be able to go for Rod before Rod goes for him. He’s always been happier on defense than attack. Perversely, the nagging doubt in his head gives him the slightest crumb of comfort to hold on to. I might not be a Hater after all.…
The layout of the building works to Matt’s advantage. He’s approaching from the rear. The entrance is at the other end, meaning he’s well out of sight for now. He takes his time, edging quietly closer. Natalie’s sweeping around the other side. Paul’s nowhere near.
With his back against the wooden wall, Matt shuffles along the narrow gap between the building and the heaped bodies of his dead work colleagues and others that they dumped here last night. When he looks down and sees their expressionless faces looking up, he realizes again how quickly the darkness is being eaten away. The ice-blue light of morning is rapidly dissolving away the black, stealing any advantage and leaving him exposed.
He pauses a meter or so back from the front of the building, listening for Rod’s movements. Little noise is coming from inside, but it’s enough to let Matt know for sure that Rod’s in there. Deep, heavy breaths. Occasional coughs. Muted sobs and sniffs.
But Matt can hear something else now.
It’s not the others—they’re too far back—and it’s not coming from behind him or from inside the building, it’s dead ahead.
He realizes what it is just before she appears.
It’s Louise.
What’s left of her, anyway.
The killer kid’s ravaged appearance is ghastly, even in this pale and sickly light. She’s virtually naked, sinewy and lithe, yet some shreds of clothing remain. Matt can’t tell where her ragged trousers and T-shirt end and where she begins. Parts of the material have fused to her flesh, melted in the fire. The back of her head is bald and glistening, hair burned away, and her left eye is fluid filled and swollen like a rotten egg. Head to toe she’s covered in blood and mud and shit and Christ knows what else. She stands her ground and sucks in deep, rattling lungfuls of cold air. She’s half his size but has a hundred times his presence. She’s completely fucking terrifying.
Matt knows that this little bitch is feeling no pain or fear. He knows that right now every fiber of her being is consumed with just one thought, one desire: to kill.
Despite her appalling physical state, she moves with astonishing athleticism and predatory speed. She suddenly bursts into life and sprints toward the open stores, and though Matt wants nothing more than to stay hidden in the shadows, he knows he can’t. This kid has to die. Forget Rod. As long as Louise is alive, Matt’s chances of getting off this damn island and back to Jen are next to nil. Before he can talk himself out of it he runs to intercept her. She catches sight of him almost instantly through her one good eye and changes course, veering toward him. She leaps to attack him as he dives to tackle her. He wraps his arms around her legs and squeezes as hard as he can.
“Help me,” he screams to anyone who can hear him. “I’ve got her.”
Louise thrashes in his grip. Writhing. Squirming. The weeping discharge from her burns makes her alternatively leathery and then smooth skin difficult to keep hold of. Her arms are free and she rips and punches at Matt’s head and face, and it’s all he can do to keep looking down and ignore the ferocious hurt. He keeps his eyes screwed shut for fear of their being scratched out by her frantic clawing. She bunny-kicks and flexes continually, managing to pull one leg free. She brings her right knee up hard and it cracks against Matt’s chin. He bites down on his tongue and his mouth fills with a flood of warm, salty blood.
The pain is intense and he almost lets her go. Almost.
She just about slips his grip, but he catches her ankle as she kicks for freedom, hauling her back down again. She tries to stand up, and the inhuman strength in her deceptively immature frame is astonishing. She howls in frustration: a dry, hacking, rasping scream full of anger.
Full of hate.
Matt glances up at her, then buries his face once more as she unleashes hell on him.
Then she stops, distracted.
He’s winded and hurt and he’s unable to prevent her kicking free and getting up. Terrified that she’s going to attack Natalie or Paul, Matt rolls over and reaches out for her but misses.
Gunshot.
Louise stops.
He looks up and now she’s just standing there, swaying. Bottom jaw hanging loose. Half her face blown away.
Reload. Click. Fire.
The second shot hits her full in the chest and knocks her off her feet. She lands in the grass a couple of meters away, twitching. Juddering.
Reload. Click. One more shot.
Point-blank range. Side of the head.
All over now.
Matt picks himself up and staggers back, numb with shock and filled with pain. He looks over at the gunman, but doesn’t see whom he expected.
Not Rod.
Ronan.
Natalie’s at Matt’s side now, helping him to stand. “You okay?” She holds him. Hugs him.
“Not Rod…”
“I can see that.”
Ronan’s standing over what’s left of Louise, prodding at her corpse. When the barrel of the shotgun’s cool enough to hold, he turns the weapon around and swings the stock at her again and again as if he were alternately swinging a golf club and then hammering a stake into the ground. He refuses to stop, only slowing his attack a minute or so later when he’s too exhausted to keep fighting. Even now he continues to watch her, checking for movements or signs of life. Even from a distance it’s clear to the others that Louise is dead. Her blood and body parts have been spread across a huge swath of grass.
Paul’s right behind Matt and Natalie. “Has he lost his fucking mind?”
“I think we all have,” Natalie says.
When he hears them talking, Ronan stops and turns around. Sweat soaked. Gasping for air. Grinning.
“Oh, fuck,” Paul says under his breath.
Ronan walks toward them, casually swinging the shotgun back over his shoulder. “It’s over. Done it. We’re going to be okay now.”
“And how d’you figure that out?” Natalie asks.
Ronan’s still struggling to catch his breath. “She’s dead…,” he says with his hands on his knees, panting, “and he’s dead.” He points into the stores.
Paul goes to investigate. Rod’s body is lying next to Jayde’s. He has a gaping, blood-soaked hole in his gut.
“What have you done, Ronan?”
“Exactly what I had to do,�
� he answers without hesitation. “It was necessary. Unpleasant, but necessary. I know I can work with you three, but Rod and the girl had to go.”
“So what happens now?”
Ronan shrugs. “We wait. Make ourselves as comfortable as we can and wait this out.”
“And that’s your great plan, is it?” Paul returns to the others. “Doesn’t solve the fact that we’ve not got any food or fuel.”
“I know, but we’re safe here. Safer, anyway. And Rod’s boat is somewhere. When the time’s right and things have calmed down, we can go back for supplies. We can use this place as a base. Thing is, if everything really is as shitty as we think it is back home, why go back there?”
“Because it’s home?” Matt says. “Because there are people there we give a damn about? People we’re worried sick about?”
“Not me. Look, if there’s one thing you know about me, it’s that I’ve got a nose for business. I know a good deal when I see one, and right now this is the best option for all of us.”
“For you, maybe,” Paul sneers.
“No, Paul, for all of us.” Ronan is uncharacteristically calm. “What have I told you about looking at the bigger picture and considering all possible outcomes?”
“Now is really not the time for your corporate bullshit.”
Ronan’s not impressed. He shakes his head and takes hold of the shotgun again. “Look, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Did you not hear me? I said consider all the possible outcomes. If you don’t do what I say, I’ll kill you.”
Paul’s had years of Ronan’s hyperbole. His default response setting kicks in. “Yeah, right.”
But something about their boss’s expression Matt doesn’t like. He puts his hand on Paul’s arm to get his attention. “Leave it, Paul.”
“Thank you, Matthew,” says Ronan. “The voice of reason, as always. See? That’s how you do it. Take the emotion out of the situation and make your decision based on the black-and-white facts like our friend the accountant here. And the facts, if you take a few moments to look around you this morning, are that I’ve just killed two people, and I’ll do it again if I have to. I’ve got a pocket full of shotgun shells and all the time in the world.”
25
Ronan’s switched back into boss mode with alarming ease. He’s in the corner of the mess hall, sitting with his back to the wall where he can see all three of them. He’s giving out his orders and gesticulating with the barrel of the shotgun. He’s decided—not that it was much of a decision to make, really—that staying in this building is the best course now that the bungalow’s gone. He’s got them cleaning the place and collecting up the bodies. Paul walks over to where Matt’s working.
“We need to get that shotgun off that prick. We should rush him. Maybe wait until he falls asleep. What d’you reckon?”
“I was thinking something similar. We just need to bide our time.”
“We should do it now.”
“And risk being shot? Come on, Paul, get a grip. You know Ronan, he’s bound to trip himself up sooner or later.”
“Then let’s just hope it’s sooner.”
Ronan taps the barrel of the shotgun against a metal chair leg, and the ugly clanging fills the room as if he were ringing a bell, calling them to order. “Stop whispering. You’re making me feel uneasy.”
“We’re making you feel uneasy?” Matt says, unable to help himself.
Ronan’s flustered. Right on the edge. Barely holding himself together. When conversations don’t go down the route he’s expecting, he changes topic. “We need to do something to get rid of the stench in here. It’s not healthy.”
“There’s a couple of bottles of bleach in the kitchen,” Natalie says. “We could water it down and clean the floors. That’d be a start.”
“Good idea. Matthew, take a couple of buckets and fill them with seawater.”
Matt doesn’t argue. He knows there’s no point just yet. Natalie fetches a mop bucket and a plastic water carrier from the kitchen and hands them to him. “Thanks,” he mumbles, making fleeting eye contact. “Keep Paul under control.”
She nods.
“And don’t try anything stupid,” Ronan says. “Remember, play ball and we’ll all get out of this okay and in one piece.”
Matt takes the bucket and water carrier and leaves the building. It’s a relief to be outside and on his own. He’d take his time, but he doesn’t like the idea of leaving Natalie on her own with those two. He’s half expecting Rod or Paul to crack and attack the other, leaving Natalie caught in the cross fire.
It’s a beautiful day out here. The sun’s out fully again. The sky is clear blue and cloudless, the breeze gentle and cool. It feels a world away from the madness they just about managed to survive through last night. A lifetime away.
Dark thoughts still occupy Matt’s mind as he walks down toward the ocean. He’s so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice Rajesh until he steps right out in front of Paul.
26
Two others are here from the mainland with Rajesh. They’re a couple: Niall and Marion. Both are archetypal bikers—all leather, tattoos, and hair. All the bad feelings and mistrust among the existing islanders is temporarily forgotten—old divisions erased by a new dividing line—as the new arrivals breeze into the mess hall with remarkable confidence. There’s a moment of silent apprehension as they all size one another up, but it’s over quickly. Natalie finds an unopened bottle of water from somewhere for them to share. Marion swings a heavy rucksack off her back. “We brought our own,” she says in a hard and abrasive Scottish accent.
“She’s just trying to help,” Rajesh says, but he shuts up quick. It’s a struggle for him to speak. His speech is slurred. Matt notices that one side of his face is bruised.
“We’re just being neighborly,” Marion says, sounding distinctly unneighborly.
“What happened out there?” Matt asks.
Rajesh glances up before answering, struggling to stay composed. “It’s like we thought. You can’t—”
“The whole world is fucked.” Niall cuts right across Rajesh. “That’s why we’re here. Every fucker’s killing every other fucker back home.”
His accent is equally intense as Marion’s, and that, along with his sheer physical size, combine to give him an intimidating presence. The other half’s no better. Marion looks like she could match him word for word and pound for pound.
“You’ve seen the pile of bodies out front?” Matt says. “It’s just as bad here.”
“Oh, no, friend, it’s a lot better here, believe me. There’s none of those bastards here, for a start.”
“How do you know for sure?” Ronan demands, still cradling the shotgun. “You don’t know how many of those people we’ve killed. How many I’ve killed.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Niall immediately replies. “It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t know if you killed one of them or the whole frigging lot. One thing I do know, though, is that you’re no Hater, friend. They’re all out of the woodwork now, battle lines well and truly drawn. You’d know if I was one of them, same way I know you’re not.”
“How?”
“Because we wouldn’t be standing here chewing the cud like this for a start. We’d have fucking lynched each other.”
“But I—”
“You’re not Haters. None of you. That’s why we’re staying here. We’re all on the same side. We’re all in this shitstorm together.”
Rajesh stares into space. Matt tries to read his expression, but he looks vague and unfocused, preoccupied. “Tell us what happened, Raj,” Matt asks again, intentionally directing his question.
Rajesh reaches for the water Natalie provided and takes a large swig. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Everything Niall’s saying is right. It’s as bad as we imagined. Worse, even. I made it to shore and … and it was just a bloodbath. They’re everywhere. It’s a full-scale war.”
Niall takes over again. “I mean, the army’s rounding them up
and getting rid of them as best they can, but it’s a fucking hard fight, I can tell you that much.”
“It was when they started trying to round us up too, that’s when we knew we had to get out,” Marion adds. “Niall says we should head for the coast, reckoned they’d all be heading inland. He was right too.”
“You don’t wanna get yourself stuck as part of a big group,” Niall continues. “That’s when they hit you the hardest. You’re like frigging sitting ducks when you’re there in numbers.”
“We can breathe easy here,” adds Marion.
Rajesh waits for them to finish. “I’d just got back to land when these two found me.…”
“And it’s a fucking good job we did too. Wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes there on your own, lad,” Niall says. “We were down visiting relatives when it all kicked off.” He nods at Marion. “Her uncle had this boat. We’d got it all loaded up and ready, couple of weeks’ worth of food at least, and we were waiting for her folks to show, but they never made it, did they love? We’d given up waiting and were just about to head out to sea when Marion spots this joker, paddling up the river Humber like he’s back from a fucking day trip. Didn’t take a genius to figure he’d come from somewhere worth checking out. Only too happy to show us the way here, weren’t you, son?”
Rajesh nods and drinks more water. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
“If we hadn’t stopped you, you’d have been dead by now,” Marion adds.
“So here we all are. All friends together.” Niall slaps Rajesh’s shoulder with far more force than is necessary. “We’ve food and drink. Enough to keep us all fed and watered for a couple of weeks at least.”
Ronan gets up. The shotgun is very visible, but neither Niall nor Marion seems particularly bothered. “I’m Ronan Heggarty. I’m in charge here.”
“No, you’re not,” Niall says.
“Look, I don’t know who you people are or where you’ve come from, but you need to understand that—”