“You prayed?”
“I had to do something with my anxiety. Hell, I would have done a jig every night if I thought it would have made a difference.”
It felt strange to laugh.
“You’ve got your mother’s grit. You won’t be beaten. Do you remember when you wanted to learn to kick a ball better when you were a kid?”
Again, Spike laughed.
“You kicked that ball against the back wall of the house for hours.”
“It was more like weeks.”
“I worried the house might fall down if you didn’t stop. There’s still a mark.”
“You never said anything.”
“Your mother and I didn’t want to get in the way. It’s nice to see someone strive to be better. Most of Edin’s residents let the system beat them and they make do.”
“What do you know of the world outside Edin?”
They stopped walking, Spike’s dad turning his way when he said, “It’s filled with diseased.”
“You don’t question where they come from? You don’t wonder if there are other places like ours?”
“I’m not sure that kind of thinking will get me anywhere.”
“I went to the ruined city.”
“The one miles outside Edin?”
“About a mile. And yep. Matilda got cut off from her team and was forced out there. She was the only survivor. I went after her.”
“And you still got let through to the trials?”
“They said I deserved it because of that. Well, enough of the protectors said that to get me through.” Just thinking about Bleach quickened his pulse. “They took a vote.”
“And what was it like?”
“Another world. It was a mess. No one’s lived there for a long time, but there’s a lot of forgotten history. Probably a lot of things that could tell us about where we’re at now.”
“And was it scary?”
“As scary as hell. Filled with diseased.”
From the look on his dad’s face, Spike expected a berating. And maybe he had the taste of it in his mouth but thought better of it. “Matilda’s lucky to have you.”
“Hopefully she has me.”
“You’ve just got to believe in the system, right?”
Spike sighed. “Right.” He then pulled the skull ring from his finger and held it towards his dad.
“Give it back to me when you’re a protector. Not that I think you need luck, you make your own luck in this city, but I want it to remind you how loved you are. How your mum and I are with you every step of this journey.”
As much as Spike’s stomach turned constant backflips, his worry for Matilda clinging onto his thoughts like a parasite, he smiled again at his dad. “Thank you. I’m lucky to have you … you and Mum.”
After ruffling his hair, Spike’s dad smiled. “Don’t go all soft on me now.” A slight sheen across his eyes caught the fading light, and his voice broke a little when he said, “Come on. Let’s get back.”
Chapter 4
The ball shot past Hugh into the goal, and all he could do was watch it. He clapped his hands, “Well done, short arse.” The low winter sun dazzled him as he witnessed his little brother’s victory dance. His skinny limbs pumped in all directions, each one moving as if it had no attachment to the others. The little chubby kid of a few years ago had long gone.
The elation left James a few moments later when he put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to one side. “You let that in.”
While retrieving the ball and throwing it back to him, Hugh shook his head. “I didn’t. It was a good shot. You’re getting stronger and faster.”
“It’s taken me ten minutes to recover from the run over here.”
“Yeah, sorry about that; I need to be fit when I go to the trials, and I want to hang out with you. It seems like a good way to combine the two. Think of it as training for when you’re older.”
This time, Hugh saved his brother’s shot, catching the ball and rolling it back to him. Every district had been ordered to provide facilities for kids to play in. Bored children got up to no good, so they needed to do something. But with rations tight and demands on productivity high, those facilities rarely extended beyond a space for kids to hang out—usually a space that had no appeal to anyone else, so they might as well donate it. Many of the children made it their own—one person’s junk and all that—and to be fair to the tailoring district, they’d even gone as far as having two goals installed to add something extra to the otherwise sparse plot.
Again, Hugh saved the shot and squinted into the sun as he rolled the ball back to his brother. They had a few tailoring workshops around them, but he kept glancing at the taller roofs in the neighbouring woodwork district. They reminded him of what had happened to Elizabeth. What she’d felt comfortable telling Spike about but not him. Like he couldn’t keep a secret.
“What was it like fighting the diseased?”
Hugh remained still, his brother’s next shot bulging the net. The image of furious diseased gatecrashed his mind. Their bleeding eyes. Their snapping jaws. Friends turning. Elizabeth turning. He pressed his eyes tightly shut for a few seconds before reopening them. “It wasn’t fun.”
“Good chat.”
“Well, what do you want me to say? You know we don’t talk about national service. It’s damn hard. But because you’ll have to do it at some point, there’s no sense in me giving you nightmares about it now.”
“Do you have nightmares?”
Fire ran through Hugh’s left shoulder when he hit the ground, diving for James’ next shot as he palmed the ball away. The sharp pain helped him return to the present.
“I hear Dad shouting in the middle of the night still,” James said. “Mum said it’s because he never talks about what happened. That if you keep the horror in, it devours you from the inside.”
“So that’s what you’re trying to do now? Talk to me about what happened?”
James shrugged before taking another shot.
After he’d saved it and rolled it back, Hugh said, “I’m fine. And don’t worry, I won’t turn into Dad.”
“Why do you let him talk to you how he does?”
Hugh saved the next shot. “Just engaging with the man makes me tired; I don’t care enough to challenge him.”
“But he’s an arsehole.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that. You have another ten years in his house.”
“I’m not sure I can cope with him for that long.”
Although he tried, Hugh had no chance of stopping the next ball. “I get that, I really do, and I think sticking up for yourself is important, but what threat is Dad? He’s a dick. Hot air and nothing more. When you stop caring about his opinion, his attacks become impotent streams of nonsense.”
Hugh’s hands stung when he caught the next shot. James panted from the effort and glared at his brother for a few seconds before he said, “It makes me sad.”
“Think about how it makes him feel.”
“Huh?”
“He has to live with whatever voices he has in his head. Whatever nightmares he has at night.” Elizabeth’s bloody face punched through his mind, and he flinched, nearly losing his thoughts before he found them again. “The inside of his skull must be a dark and lonely space. All three of us have no respect for him, and he must know that. A lot of his aggression is about trying to regain some relevance in our family. Just keep your head down, move out after national service, and never see him again.”
“Is that what you plan to do? With Elizabeth, I mean?”
Hugh didn’t go for his brother’s next shot.
“Hugh?”
Her bloody nose. Lance’s sneering face. Ranger’s fat head. “Um … yeah.”
“In the labs?”
Hugh caught the ball and rolled it back. “Right.” He glanced across at the woodwork district.
A perceptive kid for an eight-year-old, James had clearly picked up on the change in atmosphere betwe
en them and said, “Learn from Dad’s mistakes and don’t make them yourself.”
“So what, tell people how I feel about national service? Talk it out like Mum says. Tell you how hard it was and how I watched people I’d grown to care about die? Will that bring them back?” Lance, Ranger, Elizabeth. The diseased. Her turning.
“Hugh!”
He’d lost the conversation again. “Huh?”
“I said I think it will help.”
Hugh felt the world shifting around him as if the very fibres of his reality could slip. “I’m fine, okay?”
“I’m here for you.”
“They’re Mum’s words.”
“What?”
“Did Mum put you up to this?” Before James could reply, Hugh walked away from the goal, his brother jogging past him to retrieve the ball. When the boy caught up to him again and drew a breath to speak, Hugh broke into a jog.
“More exercise?”
“What’s wrong? You can’t keep up? I thought you’d have loads of energy. You’re only eight.”
They left the recreation area at a slow pace, Hugh keeping it manageable for his brother.
Between gasps, James said, “So what’s she like?”
“Who?”
“Elizabeth!”
“Oh, she’s smart.”
“You’ve already said that. What does she look like?”
They turned down the main street, the wide cobblestoned road flanked with workshops. Their windows were filled with the latest fabrics from the textiles district. Not that anyone cared outside of tailoring. They’d take whatever fabric lasted the longest, regardless of appearance. Hugh looked right at the tops of the large buildings in the woodwork district beyond. From what Spike had said about Elizabeth’s stomach, it sounded like the least of what they did to her. Were they doing it to some poor kid now? “Don’t you go anywhere near the woodwork district, you hear me?”
“What?” James fought for breath. “Where did that come from?”
Another sharp turn took them down an alley in the direction of their house. “Just promise me you won’t.”
The slam of their feet—amplified by the close walls—beat in sync. “Okay.”
Hugh’s chest tightened, his breathing coming more heavily. If they got his little brother …
“So?” James said. “What does she look like?”
Every time Hugh imagined Elizabeth, he saw her bleeding nose. Her scared eyes. Ranger and Lance emerging from behind the wall with her. “Beautiful. Shorter than me, mousy brown hair”—her hair stuck to her face with blood—“She’s got the cutest ears. They point out slightly. Kind eyes”—glistening crimson eyes—“She’s funny, charming—”
“Smart?”
Hugh laughed in spite of himself. “Sorry. But she is.”
The next alley ran alongside the woodwork district. A hole had been bashed through the wall, linking the two. Most of the holes were watched by guards. It had never struck Hugh as odd when he realised this one wasn’t. He’d never seen it guarded. Although, when he’d lived in the tailoring district, he’d mostly kept to himself, ignoring much of his surroundings. It made the other kids more likely to leave him alone. A group of boys hung around the gap. It looked like half of them were from the woodwork district and half of them from tailoring.
“So when will we meet her?” James said.
The naivety of youth. He didn’t seem to notice the boys staring straight at them, their chests raised, their scowls fixed. Then Hugh saw him and slowed his pace, his brother slowing down beside him.
Tall and slim, the same sneer he wore for the past six months. He had a group of boys around him, all younger than him by a few years. Of course they were; the idiot clearly couldn’t hold his own around people his age. “Well, well, I didn’t realise you were from tailoring.”
Hugh slowed to a walk and stared at Lance, but he didn’t say anything as he fought to manage his breathing.
Addressing his gang, Lance snorted a laugh. “This is one of the luckiest bastards I’ve ever met.” He looked at the medal around Hugh’s neck. “How he got picked for the trials is beyond me.”
Tension locked Hugh’s jaw as he stared straight at Lance. His heart rate quickened. Images of Lance, Ranger, the diseased, Elizabeth, her bloody nose, Lance, Ranger, Magma, the diseased … flashed through his mind, each one lasting for a second before moving on to the next. He breathed through his nose and balled his fists.
Lance laughed again. “What? You’re going to swing for me, are ya?”
To see the fear in James’ eyes pulled Hugh back, if only for a moment. James, blood, the diseased, Elizabeth … While shaking his head, Hugh looked from Lance to his gang of mates, to the boys through the other side in the woodwork district. Scar tissue in the shape of a star. Angry and red. Carved into her perfect stomach. What else had they done to her? What else? He knew, of course he knew; thoughts of it plagued his waking mind.
Unable to manage what came out of his mouth beyond, “Come on, let’s go home,” Hugh tugged on his brother’s arm and dragged him away. James didn’t need to see a fight. He didn’t need to be put in danger because Hugh had history with Lance.
When they were out of earshot of the gang, James said, “What was that about?”
Hugh didn’t reply. His focus ahead, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth.
“I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
Blood, scar tissue, Lance, the diseased, Ranger, blood, Elizabeth, the diseased … Hugh locked into his rhythm and focused on his steps. Talking wouldn’t bring Elizabeth back.
Chapter 5
Spike took the main street to get to ceramics, the wide cobblestoned road busy with traders, politicians, and children. The medal still weighed heavy around his neck as he wore it in plain sight. He’d earned his spot in the trials, he should be proud, but it felt pretentious to have it on display. The air had a nip to it from where winter drew closer, so he kept his pace brisk to stay warm against the chill.
As he got closer to Matilda’s district, Spike watched the guards at the entrance. Too much going on around them to notice him, he moved towards one of the large pots on the side of the street. Because it sat just outside ceramics, they’d stamped their mark on it, covering it with hundreds of tiles of different colours. He reached down as he passed it, and snapped off a handful of flowers, putting them up his shirt before he tucked it in at the front to conceal them.
Surely just paranoia, but Spike had seen the guards beat the snot out of many a person in Edin, so as he drew closer to them, his pulse quickened and his chest tightened.
Four guards: three women and one man; two of the women were taller than Spike, and the man the shortest of the lot. His hard scowl suggested that what he lacked in height, he made up for in attitude. As Spike drew closer to them, the man pointed one of his thick sausage fingers at him. “You, boy!”
Spike froze, fighting the urge to cover his stomach with his arm.
“What are you doing, and where are you going?”
Before he replied, Spike looked at the three women. When none of them gave him an out, he held his cold medal in a pinch and lifted it to show the man. “I’m allowed to be out.”
Most of the man’s small and thick mass looked to be coiled rage. His hand flew to the baton at his hip, and he stepped closer. “Don’t get smart with me, boy.”
“I’m not trying to be smart, sir. It’s just this medal means I can pass freely through the city. I’m one of the cadets due to go back for the trials next month.”
“Do you want me to roll out the red carpet for you or something?”
If the man stepped any closer, he’d feel the flowers beneath Spike’s shirt, but if Spike stepped back, it would be as good as admitting his guilt.
Finally, the tallest woman of the three stood aside. “Go on, son, on your way. And good luck next month; I’ve heard it’s brutal.”
Although Spike had to step around the short man to enter the s
treet leading into the ceramics district, the man offered no extra resistance other than holding his ground.
Now free of the guards, Spike held his front to protect the flowers he’d stolen and jogged towards Matilda’s house.
It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he’d seen her last, yet Spike’s pulse hammered when he knocked on Matilda’s door. How would he feel when he returned from five months away at the trials?
When she opened it, Spike gasped to see the bruising on her face. From the way she leaned against the door frame, she looked to have taken more damage to her ankle too. “What’s happened?”
“What do you think?”
“Are you okay?”
“Better than him. Artan backed me up. Let me get my coat.”
With Matilda back inside her house, Spike pulled the stolen flowers from underneath his shirt. It didn’t seem like the right occasion. And a good job too; all seven of them had broken stalks from where he’d concealed them, and over half of them had barely a petal left. He dumped them in a large pot close by. He then shook the loose petals from beneath his shirt.
When Spike looked up to see Matilda watching him, he straightened his back and let his hands fall to his sides. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
Several more petals fell from him, Matilda watching them float to the ground. “You done?”
Another shake of his shirt released two more. “I think so.”
Matilda set off with a limp, and Spike caught up to her, walking by her side as they moved through the mosaic-lined streets. “So what happened?” he said.
“Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t know what was going on at home when we were on national service.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. Dad lost his shit. He beat Mum every time they were alone.”
“And Artan?”
Retribution - Book three of Beyond These Walls: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 3