Dark Survival

by Ryan Casey

  But then there was still that sense that there was more to this than appeared on the surface.

  He looked around the kitchen. Saw the bloodied footprints. Saw that door leading under the stairs, ajar.

  He walked over to it. Over the bloodied mark where Peter’s body had been dragged.

  He walked over to the door. Pulled it further open.

  When he looked inside, he didn’t see anything out of place. Anything untoward.

  He went to step out, and he stopped.

  There was something in there. Something that caught his eye.

  He reached in there. Lifted it up.

  A half-eaten Mars bar.

  He frowned. Wiped the bitten edge of it. Still moist. Looked recent. Hadn’t been in here long.

  He turned around. Stepped out of that cupboard. Then he walked over to the kitchen door, over to where Clive was caught trying to escape.

  He stood at the doorway. Looked down across the yard. Looked at the spot where Clive had been caught.

  And then he looked at the wall at the bottom of the yard.

  He stared at it. Tried to figure out what’d happened as he walked towards it.

  And when he reached it, he saw something.

  He saw the prints. The bloodied prints. Right against that brickwork.

  He frowned. Moved a hand against it. Sniffed at his fingers. He traced the footsteps over the wall. Climbed over it, dropped behind it.

  And then he stood in that alleyway behind the houses and stared at the metal fence up ahead.

  He moved over towards it. Crouched by a gap in it. A narrow gap. Not one he could fit through, but someone smaller than him would have a chance. Someone...

  He froze.

  There was something on the fence.

  He reached for it. Yanked it away.

  And as he moved it between his fingers, his realisation began to grow.

  Hair.

  Thick, dark, curly hair.

  Hair that felt just like Harriet’s.

  And for a moment, it all came together. It all added up. He couldn’t believe the stupidity of his group. He couldn’t believe how long it’d taken to realise exactly what had happened here.

  Exactly what they’d missed.

  He climbed the wall. Rushed across the yard. Stepped back inside the house. Rushed through, right to the front room. Headed outside.

  And then he walked straight towards Bert, one of the guys on guard, and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

  “Harriet and Oscar,” Owen barked. “Where’d they go?”

  Bert glared back at him, fear on his dumb face. “What—I—I think they—”

  “Has anyone here seen Harriet and Oscar since this morning?”

  Everyone standing on the road looked around at him. Mouths wide. Realisation crossing their faces.

  Owen let go of Bert’s neck. He turned back towards that house. The sequence of events playing out before his eyes.

  Peter had taken Harriet in there.

  They’d fought.

  Harriet had killed him.

  Clive had gone in there, and he’d helped Harriet and Oscar escape.

  He didn’t kill Peter. Harriet did.

  Owen looked around at Bert. Then at Mark and Tracey.

  He looked at them both as he saw the realisation growing in their eyes, too.

  “What do we do about this?” Mark asked.

  Owen tensed his grip around that bloodied, broken piece of pot in the palm of his hand. Sensed an opportunity. A chance to lay down the law. A chance to make people realise exactly who was in charge now.

  “We show her and the people here exactly what happens to traitors.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Martin waited for the sun to rise before beginning his journey.

  The sun peeked through the trees. The glow looked orange, warm. Chilly day, though. Breath frosting. Shivering all over. He hadn’t slept much last night. Nobody had. It was a long night. A lot happened.

  But now, as the morning sun peeked through the trees, Martin felt a hopefulness. He felt an optimism.

  He felt like today there was hope.

  Even though that hope might well be misplaced.

  He looked at the flames before him. He’d started a fire. Ella had caught a rabbit, skinned it, gutted it. All pretty successfully, too. She was keen to tell Harriet how “easy” it was, even though Martin knew how long it’d taken her to learn.

  But it brought hope. ’Cause it proved people could learn. It proved people who didn’t previously have any experience or knowledge could get to a stage where they knew what they were doing. In a relatively short period of time, too.

  At least it might bring Harriet some hope for the future.

  She stood beside Martin. Tucked into the rabbit. Oscar picked at it. He seemed a little upset that they were eating a “fluffy rabbit”. Couldn’t be easy for kids, adapting to a world like this.

  But he was eating it. So again, that counted for something.

  “You’re doing a stellar job,” Martin said.

  Harriet glanced up at him. She had bags under her eyes, a paleness to her face. Her hair looked greasier than it had in the night. “We’re all just doing our best, right?”

  Martin nodded, eating a little of that rabbit himself. “That’s what I tell myself every day.”

  “Oh, you’re not doing so bad. Your girl. She knows her stuff when it comes to this Bear Grylls stuff.”

  Martin smiled. “Yeah. I guess she does.”

  “What’s your story, anyway?”

  Martin frowned. He glanced at Ella. She looked back at him, a little concern to her face. “It’s... it’s complicated—”

  “We didn’t live with each other. We didn’t even see each other for years. But then my... my mum died. And we found each other again. Went away on a camping trip for a weekend. Grandma always said he couldn’t be trusted. A month later and we’re still on that trip. I guess she was right.”

  Silence followed. Martin wasn’t comfortable with the truth being all out in the open. But in a way, wasn’t that better?

  And at least Ella could joke about it. At least she’d cheered up.

  Missing the tip of her finger, sure. But in better spirits.

  “Well,” Harriet said. “Whatever happened in your past. None of that matters now, right? Just that you’re there for each other. You’re a good team. And you stay that way. That’s the main thing.”

  Martin looked at Ella, who looked back at him. Smiling.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I guess we are.”

  They cleaned up the fire. Then they gathered the few supplies they had. Martin didn’t know exactly where they were heading. He felt a little nervous about heading anywhere in search of sanctuary at all. Part of him wanted to seek out another log cabin—but then they had no supplies, so that was pointless.

  Another part of him thought about heading towards the towns. Trying to salvage what he could.

  But at the same time, he knew that was risky. Dangerous. Many of the towns would be abandoned at this stage. But there were bound to be dangerous places where people were still lurking.

  Places like Lancaster.

  He thought about his decision. The only choice he could make. He didn’t want to head towards anywhere potentially populated. But what choice did he have anymore? They couldn’t stay out here. They couldn’t die out here.

  There was something else bothering him. The rifle in Ella’s hands. The one she’d taken from the man with the bull tattoo. He wanted to take it from her. Wanted to convince her she couldn’t use it.

  But at the same time, he knew he had to stop suffocating her. He had to start trusting her.

  He’d given Harriet his knife. Told her to use it if she absolutely had to—if anything went wrong.

  She’d looked at it, at first. Wide-eyed. Uncertain.

  And then she’d nodded. Put it in her pocket.

  “Hopefully I won’t need to.”

  But there
wasn’t much convincing about her words.

  “The plan is to head south,” Martin said. “There’s going to be some tenuous places. There’s going to be some places down there we wish we’d never visited. We’re probably gonna see a whole host of things that we were sheltered from out here in the woods. But... but as dangerous as it is, it’s our only choice. If we stay out here, especially on the brink of winter, we aren’t gonna make it. We aren’t gonna survive. So we have no choice. We have to move forward. We have to seek out somewhere for all of us.”

  Harriet looked back at Martin. A nervous half-smile to her face, as she held Oscar’s hand. Ella stood by Bruce’s side. Nodded. Clearly appreciative of his change in stance.

  “It’s not gonna be an easy journey. It’s gonna be a long journey. There’s going to be some victories, and there’s going to be some defeats. But if we have faith, we’ll find somewhere. Somewhere we can call home. And when we get there... we can work at starting again. Whatever that means.”

  “And what if we don’t find anywhere?” Harriet asked.

  Martin frowned. “What?”

  “If you’re wrong. If we don’t find anywhere that can help us. Anyone who can look after us. What about then?”

  Martin didn’t want to think about that outcome. All he could do was smile. Try to reassure Harriet that there was something else out there. There had to be. “You found somewhere, didn’t you? Like I said. There’s bad places out there. But there’s good out there, too. We have to believe that. Because if we don’t... we might as well just give up.”

  “He’s right,” Ella said.

  She walked to Martin’s side. Bruce beside them. Looked up, into his eyes.

  “We’ve tried surviving on our own. It worked. For a bit. But it can’t work forever. It’s not... sustainable forever. We need to find somewhere new. Or we might as well give up.”

  Martin smiled. Appreciated his daughter’s support.

  Then he looked at Harriet and Oscar.

  “So are you with us?” Martin asked.

  Harriet looked at Oscar. She took a deep breath, then she nodded and half-smiled. “I guess we’ve got no choice, really. But I hope you’re right. I really do.”

  She walked up to Martin’s side. Oscar’s hand in hers.

  The group of them stood together, ready to walk, ready to find what waited for them in the world out there.

  Martin looked through the trees. Into the orange glow of the sun.

  “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s go find ourselves a new home.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ally McWilson didn’t know how long he’d been walking when he saw a sign of life in the distance.

  It was a decent morning. Bright. Not as cold as it had been lately. The trees around him were thinning. Looked like he was heading right towards a community; towards somewhere more well-populated.

  He felt torn about that. On the one hand, he wanted to keep a low profile. On the other, he knew he couldn’t just drift like this forever.

  Besides. They were running into too much trouble. They were drawing too damned much attention to themselves.

  And after what happened to Franco and Paul last night, the pressure was on.

  Sajid and Mark hadn’t said much this journey. He saw them talking to each other, behind his back. He saw them looking at him when they thought he didn’t know.

  And he got it. They’d lost two people over the last two days. Both of them had died in attempted raids.

  And it was the same bastards who were responsible for the death of Franco and Paul who’d taken Trev out last night.

  He was sure of it. He saw that big bloke knocking Paul down. Saw him turning the rifle on him, firing into his head.

  Then he saw him racing off into the trees.

  He’d tried to chase him. Tried to hunt him down, as well as his bitch of a daughter.

  But he’d had no luck. The pair of them got away.

  Just Franco’s body lying there, bleeding out.

  And now they were out there, going about their lives, while Ally slaved and struggled away.

  As he tried to maintain order.

  Tried to maintain hope.

  “What are we actually doing here, Ally?”

  Ally stopped. Turned around. Chris was the one who’d questioned him. Chris used to be so loyal. He used to always step in line.

  But he was growing too confident.

  He was growing too damned arrogant.

  That was a problem.

  “We’re trying our best,” Ally said, trying to keep his cool. “And we’ll find somewhere eventually. Somewhere more permanent. I promise.”

  Chris shook his head. He couldn’t look Ally in the eye. Just stood there, shaking his head. Face twitching. Anger bubbling underneath. “I’m not sure your best is good enough, Ally. Not anymore.”

  Ally’s stomach sank. The last thing he wanted was to lose the confidence of his group. There were only three of them left, himself included. He couldn’t have them walking away. Couldn’t have them leaving him on his own.

  Because on his own, he was weak.

  Far, far weaker than he cared to admit.

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  Chris glanced into Ally’s eyes, then looked back at the road. “Your best friend, Ally. Paul. Your best damned friend. And still you just push on as normal. Still you rush into that caravan site last night—like I told you was a bad idea—and you get Franco killed.”

  “Franco died because he lost his focus,” Ally said. “He let someone get the better of him. That’s not a good trait to have in this world.”

  Chris shook his head. Disgust clear from the snarl on his face. “And Paul? Your best mate?”

  Ally swallowed a lump in his throat. “Paul... Paul made a sacrifice. He did a brave thing. And he should spur us on to do better. To move forward.”

  He turned around. Kept on walking down this country lane towards the buildings in the distance.

  “That’s it?” Chris asked.

  Ally closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Turned back to Chris. “What?”

  “Your mate dies and that’s all you have to say? No grief? No mourning? Nothing?”

  Grief. Funny word to Ally. He’d lost plenty of people in his life. His grandma. His mum. A few pets.

  But grief?

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt it.

  A sadness for a while. A kind of inconvenience.

  But grief?

  “Grief is for the weak. We have to be stronger than that. Now come on. We’ve got to keep—”

  “I can’t do this anymore,” Chris said.

  Ally frowned. “What?”

  Chris stood totally still. Sajid by his side. Watching this all silently. “I said I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go on like this. I... I trusted you, Ally. I thought you were strong. I thought you knew how to handle this world. But you don’t. You’re a psychopath. And you’ll keep on dragging us down with you. Deeper and deeper.”

  For the first time in this whole exchange, Ally felt a twinge of hatred. It was that word that did it. Psychopath. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called it. He’d been called it at school. Called it by an ex-girlfriend.

  He’d been called it by so many people, and it always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  It always riled him up.

  “So, what?” Ally said. “You’re just gonna walk away, are you?”

  “If I have to,” Chris said. Standing tall. Looking Ally right in the eye now. A confidence about him that irritated Ally. “I can’t follow you anymore. I can’t just go along with this. There’s only four of us left, and we’re shedding numbers by the day. There has to be a better way. I’m sorry. But there has to be a better way.”

  Ally’s cheeks went hot. He looked around at Sajid and Mark. Saw them looking over at him, too. Uncertainty in their eyes. Like those seeds of uncertainty had been planted, and now they were sprouting, taking over.

&nb
sp; And then he looked up at Chris. He took a deep breath. Smiled. Nodded. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  Chris narrowed his eyes. “That’s—that’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”

  “What else is there to say? Good luck? All the best?”

  Chris shook his head. “I suppose it’s best not to say a thing if you don’t really mean it.”

  He watched Chris shake hands with Sajid and Mark. He saw him turn back towards Ally as he stood there, right in the middle of the road.

  And then he saw him nod and start to walk.

  And there was something about that which made the hairs on Ally’s neck prick up.

  Something about that defiance which irked him. Which riled him.

  Which got under his skin.

  “Hey,” Ally shouted.

  Chris stopped. Looked around. “What?”

  Ally smiled. “Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your old pal?”

  Chris’s eyes narrowed. A flat smile crossed his face. “I don’t have a thing to say to you.”

  And then he turned around and started walking away.

  Ally’s cheeks got hotter.

  The tension in his face grew.

  Those gazes.

  The gazes of his people.

  The voices in his head.

  You have to do something you have to act he’s belittled you he’s made a fool of you he’s—

  “Hey, Chris?”

  Chris stopped again. He looked around. “What?”

  Ally lifted his rifle, and he smiled. “Fuck you.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  He watched Chris fall to the road. Watched the blood spurt from his body.

  And he kept on firing as he walked over to him.

  Kept on pulling that trigger even though he knew damned sure Chris was dead already.

  Kept on going until his rifle emptied, and there was nothing left of Chris’s face.

  But he felt something.

  As his heart raced.

  As his body shook.

  He felt relief.

  He looked up at Sajid. At Mark.

  “Anyone else got any questions about my way of doing things?”

  They looked at one another. Wide-eyed. Uncertain.

  And they shook their heads.