by Jon Cronshaw
Abel looks around, taking everything in. “Where is everyone?”
“A few of them are out hunting. Some are scavenging in an old settlement to the north. Alf’s leading a group to meet up with one of the caravans.”
“You’ve got a surgery?”
Jacob nods. “It's getting there.”
Abel leans towards Jacob. “Will you take a look at Sal? She thinks she had a reaction to the bug swarm.”
“Bug swarm?”
“Don't ask.”
Jacob looks Sal up and down. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” she says. “I’m itching. My legs are tired. I’m hungry. These bites really hurt.”
“Follow me.” Jacob goes over to a shack.
“I’ll just be out here,” Abel says.
Sal grabs his hand. “Please. Come with me. I want you by my side.” She pulls him along before he can protest.
Inside, a pile of books rests on the corner of a pine desk. A faded plastic chair stands next to a yellowed mattress.
Sal sits on the bed, her face crowded with hundreds of swollen black lumps. Jacob examines the bites for over a minute, checking over her arms and legs, rubbing his hands against her back and torso, listening to her heart, checking inside her throat and ears, and around her eyes. “You’ve had a lot of bites,” he says, standing. “It doesn't look like there’s an allergic reaction, though.”
“What is it then?” asks Sal. “Why the sweating and the breathing?”
“That swarm must have been terrifying.”
“Yep,” Abel says. “That, and she had her home ripped from her this morning.”
“I...” Jacob sighs. “The body can do strange things when dealing with trauma.” He shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “Leading people through that must have been a challenge.”
“What can I do?” Sal asks, her voice shaky.
“Make sure you’re well-fed and watered. You’ll get there. It’s going to take a bit of time and a bit of faith.”
ABEL AND SAL FOLLOW Jacob to a tall shed. Sheets of steel patch its sides and the oak door stands thick and solid as strips of wrought iron descend like prison bars along its surface.
Jacob pulls a stubby key from his jacket and slides it into the lock, wiggling it until it clicks. He looks around then nods at Abel, opening the door to reveal hundreds of glistening tins of food stacked from floor to ceiling. “We need to get these distributed to the people,” he says, his voice barely above a mumble. “This isn’t going to last.”
Abel shakes his head, eyebrows raised. “I've never seen so many tins. Where did you get them?”
“The caravans,” Jacob says, kicking a brick to wedge the door open.
“Where are they getting them?”
Jacob shrugs and hands Abel a tin, its surface clean and cold. He turns to Sal. “Can you get people lined-up so we can hand these out?”
Sal nods and leaves, her robes flapping behind her.
“What happened to Sal’s hair?” Jacob asks in a low voice.
“She cut it off,” Abel says, running a finger over the tins.
“I can see that. Why?”
“It was the bugs. They got everywhere. She was freaking out.”
Jacob nods. “I’ll have to keep an eye on her.” He gestures towards Sal as she leads the residents towards the shed. “You okay to keep people from rushing in?”
“Okay.” Abel stands next to the door, blocking the entrance with an arm.
Sal moves to the front of the queue and turns to face the residents. “Please be orderly,” she says, clapping her hands. “Jacob is going to hand out one tin each. I need you all to take your tin and move aside so we can all get fed.”
A few residents mutter and a couple of people shove each other near the back of the line. The Grid’s residents stand to one side, watching, their chin’s raised, expressions blank.
“I was going to suggest one tin between two,” whispers Jacob.
After a pause, Sal raises her hands. “I’ve just been informed it’s one tin between two.”
“You said one each,” a man calls out.
“That’s not fair,” another man shouts. “We’re hungry.”
The queue surges forward as Abel pushes the first few people to hold them back.
“What are you doing?” Jacob growls, turning to Sal.
“What you said.”
“No.” Jacob scrambles up the side of the shed and sweeps his gaze across the residents’ faces, raising his hands for attention. “Today, you can have one tin each,” he says. “But you need to step back, or there will be none. Do I make myself clear?”
The shouting stops and the residents exchange glances before filing back into a line. Jacob drops down from the roof and sidles up to Sal. “Tempers are high,” he mutters. “Think before you blurt out any more announcements.”
Sal steps back and nods, pulling her hood over her head before walking away.
Jacob sighs. “This isn’t going to end well.”
ABEL, DAVID AND SIS collect firewood around the Grid’s edge and make space on the ground in the shadow of a burnt-out truck. “I did this,” he says, gesturing to the truck’s blackened shell. “Used to be the Family’s.”
“You burned the trucks?” David asks.
“Yep.” Abel lights a match and holds it beneath the sticks and screwed-up balls of paper, until the fire takes. The wood spits and sparks, the wet log popping as hissing white smoke rises. “Let's see what’s in this,” he says, taking out his hunting knife, and reaching for a tin. He works the knife around the lid, flips it open, and looks inside. “Beans.” He shrugs to himself. “Food is food, I guess.”
David hands Abel his tin.
“Beans,” Abel says when the lid yawns open.
“Sis?”
She hands over her tin for Abel to open. He works the knife around its lip and looks inside. “You'll never guess?” he says in a flat voice.
“What is it? David asks, leaning forward, rubbing his hands.
“More beans.” Abel takes up the tins and rests them on the fire, watching as the flames flicker around their sides.
“What happened to Sal?” Sis asks.
Abel leans back, resting on his elbows, and looks up at the sky. “She’s with Jacob and a few of the others. She needs her people around her.”
Sis looks at her hands, the faint trace of a smile creeping across her lips. “You were good to her,” she says, looking up.
The side of Abel's mouth twitches when he meets her gaze. “What was I going to do? No one else was helping.” He shakes his head. “They don’t know how to deal with this sort of thing.”
“You think they’re going to be okay?” David asks.
Abel sits forward, crosses his legs, and rubs his beard, his gaze fixed to a point in the distance. “I don't know, kid. This place is a lot better than when I was here. But there's — what? — a hundred, hundred-and-fifty residents?”
“Two hundred and three,” says Sis. “Two hundred and six, counting us.”
Abel raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “It’s going to be hard finding food for another two-hundred people. There’s probably fifty people living here at most. Jacob’s got this place sorted, but it’s not set up for a community the size of Trinity.”
“What about all those tins?” David asks. “That room was piled with them.”
“But we’re talking two hundred people. Those tins will last no more than a week. Then what? Trinity had its farms and animals and trade network.” He shakes his head and pokes the fire with a stick. “The best thing we can do is get back on the road and leave them to it. It’s not going to make much difference, but it’s three less mouths to feed.”
“What’s going to happen?” David asks.
“With what?”
“I don't know. You’ve got all these people living here, and a load more suddenly turn up expecting to be fed and have somewhere to live. Jacob’s from Trinity, so they’re his
people. But what about the ones who were here before?”
Abel shakes his head and sighs. “When I was here, it was all about plez — nothing else. I suppose people change...” His voice trails off. He shakes his head. “Who could say? Maybe they'll be fine.”
“How we getting back?” Sis asks.
“Walk,” Abel says, shrugging.
“We got no food, either. Or water. Sis is right.”
Abel looks up to see Sal approaching. “Hey, Sal. How are you doing?”
“I'm okay. I just thought I needed to say sorry and thank you for everything.”
Abel makes a dismissive wave. “Just wish you were still there.”
Sal doesn’t respond.
“We’re getting back on the road soon. We’ve got an hour or two of light left, so I want to get a good few miles behind us before it gets dark.”
“Please don't go yet,” Sal says, frowning. “Stay for the night, at least.”
Abel exchanges looks with David and Sis. They both nod. “Okay,” he says, leaning back on his elbows.
Sal takes a seat next to Abel and watches as the beans simmer. Abel takes a cloth from his jacket, removing the tins. When they cool, he twists off the lids and bends them to match the tins’ curve. They sit and eat in silence, scooping the beans into their mouths as the sky grows dim.
Sal leans close to Abel and places an arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I'm sorry about how I was earlier. I was...I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “People have so many questions and I don’t have the answers...it got to me. And then those bugs.” A shudder passes along her back and shoulders. She runs her fingers through her hair.
“You’re just not used to it out here, is all.”
“I cut off my hair,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve let it grow for years.”
Abel leans back, meeting Sal’s gaze. “If it’s any consolation, I can see more of your face now. It suits you.”
“Now I know you’re lying. I’m covered in a million bites.”
“I’m serious.”
Sal looks down and smiles. “Thank you.” She gets to her feet and sighs. “Must go to see some of the others.”
“Take care, Sal. You know where I am if you need me.”
She stops and turns to him, goes to say something, then stops herself. “Thanks again,” she says, finally. “For everything.”
14. The Kiss
Abel looks around, confused in the dark as an insistent tapping brings him from his sleep. Sal's face appears through the window. He leans forward and opens the door against the pitch-blackness. “Sorry to wake you up,” she says, her voice quivering.
“It's okay.” Abel yawns and slides across the back seat. The springs groan and crunch beneath him as he shifts uncomfortably. Sal slips next to him, closing the door behind her. She blows out a tallow candle, the smell of pig fat filling the air.
Placing the candle next to her, she leans over and hugs him, holding him, gripping him, her head pressed up against his chest.
“Hey,” he says, stroking her. He feels the backs of her ribs through her robe, her body’s warmth against his. “What's wrong?”
Sal looks up with watery eyes. “It's Jacob. He says we won’t be able to stay here. He said we need to go soon, that the residents don’t like it, and that there's not enough food to go around.”
“He's probably right.” He wipes dried flecks of gum from his eyes. “I don’t know, Sal. You can't sustain all these people in one place. Even if you work together to build something, food’s scarce.”
“This is what Jacob was saying. I don't want to do that.”
Abel leans back and sighs. “People are tougher than you give them credit for, Sal. They'll find a way. The people at the Grid just want their homes back.”
Sal looks up and draws in a breath. “We all want our homes back.”
“I've been wandering for years now. I’ve lived here and there, I’ve got the place with the kid.” Abel shakes his head. “I've come to realise that home isn't about buildings. Home is about people.” He swallows. “I care about the kid. It's home when I’m with him. It was the same with Pip and I feel that as well with Trinity, but that was because of you and all the things you've done for me over the years.”
“I'm supposed to be a leader. I’m supposed to be a priest...” Her voice cracks. “Look at me.”
“You inspire people, Sal. You inspired me to be a better person. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, I owe you so much.”
He feels a finger rest across his lips. Sal moves her head towards his and kisses him. A hand moves around the back of his head as she pulls her mouth against his, lingering for several moments, pulling away when Abel grows tense. “What is it?”
“Damn it, Sal.” He shakes his head and shuffles away from her. “You’re not thinking right.”
“I thought this is what you wanted?” Sal leans back and looks up at the car’s ceiling. She smacks her fist against the passenger seat’s headrest. “I thought you liked me.”
Abel squeezes the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh. “I do. I really do. But not like this. Not here.”
Sal sucks in a breath and gulps. “I'm sorry to have troubled you.” She opens the door and scrambles from the car, slamming it behind her. She's already disappeared into the dark when Abel calls after her.
ABEL AND DAVID STAND in line with the others, waiting for their breakfast. When they reach the food hut, Jacob offers Abel a smile and hands each of them a tin. “Sal told me everything you've done for Trinity. I’m glad you were there for us when she couldn’t cope. Thank you.”
Abel nods. “Make sure you go easy on her. She is finding this whole thing really difficult.”
Jacob raises an eyebrow and nods. “I understand.”
“We’re going to get on the road after breakfast. Leave you guys to it.”
Jacob reaches inside the shed and pulls out a dented metal petrol can. Liquid sloshes around inside. He hands it to Abel.
“What's this?”
“It's water. And I know you haven’t got your packs. This should keep you going.”
“That’s appreciated.” Abel pats Jacob’s shoulder and smiles. “Thanks.”
Jacob turns back inside and hands Abel, David and Sis an extra food can. “I wish I could give you more,” he says. “We’re going to have to ration food.”
“Thank you.”
They walk over to Sal sitting in front of a burning fire. “Mind if I join you?” Abel asks. She looks up at him with an unsure smile.
“Sure,” she says, glancing down.
“How are you doing?” Abel smiles, piercing a tin with his knife and working around the lid.
“I'm fine,” she says, not meeting his gaze.
“You sure?” He flips off the lid to reveal more beans.
“I said I’m fine.” Sal folds her arms. They sit in silence as the beans cook.
“We’re heading home this morning. I hope everything works out here.”
“Me too,” Sal whispers.
Abel watches as David and Sis devour their beans. He takes his slowly, savouring the warmth. He gets up when he finishes and looks at Sal. “You’ll get through this. And you’ll still have a friend when you do.” He reaches out a hand and Sal stands and embraces him.
“I'm so sorry,” she whispers.
Abel shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
15. The Ditch
Wisps of cloud flutter across the sky as Abel, David and Sis head east along the highway. “They've got packs,” says David, gesturing to the three bodies.
Abel looks along the side of the road. “Can you see anyone, Sis?”
Sis hops onto the roof of a nearby car, her knees bending as its suspension creaks. She takes up a rifle and looks down its sight, sweeping the landscape. “Some dogs over there,” she says, pointing to the south-east. “Too far away to shoot.”
Abel crouches over the first man and drags a nyl
on backpack away from the body. A gaping hole dominates the centre of his forehead, eyes staring ahead. He opens the top flap and tips its contents onto the floor. He stuffs a few pairs of woollen socks back inside and unscrews the cap of a water bottle, sniffing its contents. He throws aside a couple of T-shirts filthy and stinking of sweat, and takes the metal bowl and fork, grabbing them along with a box of matches. In the pack’s side pocket, he finds a needle and thread, and a compass. Taking the compass, he holds it flat in his hand and examines it, squinting.
“What is it?” David asks.
Abel, scratches the back of his head. “Well, I'll be damned. It's a compass.”
“What's it do?”
“I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
David grips Abel’s arm and leans over the compass, tilting his head this way and that. “How does it work?”
“Damned if I know, kid. Shows you where north is.”
“Is it electric?”
“No.” Abel shrugs. “It just works on its own, I guess.” He slides the compass into his jacket. Crouching next to the taller man, he picks up a shotgun. Its single barrel extends two-feet-long with a tanned leather shoulder strap. “This could come in useful. Bit more intimidating than the pistol.” He rummages through the man's battered jacket and retrieves five shotgun cartridges and a blunted switchblade. He drops the cartridges into his pocket and slips the knife into his pack.
He looks up as Sis drags the jacket from the smallest man, fleece-lined in leather with an assortment of pockets. She slides her shoulders from her own jacket, lets it drop to the ground, and transfers its the contents to the new one.
David picks up a pistol and slides it into his coat.
Abel puts a hand out, reaching towards the pistol. “I think I should have that.”
David scowls and shakes his head. “You've got one. All I've got is a piddly little knife.”