After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four
Page 22
Preston glances around. ‘In fact, if we’re going scavenging we ought to go now. Who knows how long it’s going to take to get there and back again.’
‘I’m not sure I feel comfortable with us splitting up again so soon,’ says Beth.
‘We’ve done it a million times,’ grunts Preston, waving the matter off. ‘Think you can cycle with a trailer, Gabe?’
‘Gabriel and Kerry could’ve died-’
‘I think I can handle it,’ replies Gabriel, finding his mother’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘It’s okay, Mum, it won’t be like last time. Scavenging is what we’re good at. We’ll be back before it gets dark, I guarantee.’
Ratbag reappears with a small mouse dangling from his jaws just as Kerry stirs. She opens her eyes to a mouthful of mouse and flinches away, squealing. Preston and Gabriel burst out laughing and Beth smiles grimly. Ratbag swishes his tail proudly, and having shown off his clever hunt, stalks off.
‘Morning,’ says Beth to Kerry.
‘Come on,’ Preston tells Gabriel.
After hastily getting dressed and brushing their teeth, Preston and Gabriel unload the trailers of most of their contents, emptying bottles of water, tins and other miscellaneous onto the barn floor and only leaving enough water to last the two of them a day. Gabriel slips his sword through a belt loop for easy access and stows his revolver in his rucksack before offering his now-dressed mother a hug. They agree to a hasty breakfast before departure.
‘Tins and water are your priority,’ Beth tells them between mouthfuls of sliced apple. ‘Get some other essentials if you can but focus on basics.’
‘We know, Mum,’ Gabriel says. ‘Stop worrying.’
‘Maybe get some paper and pens too if you can,’ Kerry adds. ‘Then we can start making lists of things we’ll need to sort this place out.’
‘If we stay here,’ says Beth.
‘Are we going, or what?’ Preston snaps.
They mount their bikes and pedal slowly out of the barn and into cool, clear weather. The grass squelches under their tyres, spitting mud at their legs, as Beth watches them cycle away from the barn. Gabriel struggles to pedal at first, with the mud sucking at his tyres and the weight of the trailer behind him, but he manages to keep up, and when they reach the road cycling becomes marginally easier for him.
Icy air bites at his nose and ears and runs its fingers through his dirty hair, clearing his head of all the grogginess of the past few hours. Preston cycles beside him, his expression blank but his eyes sharp.
Green signs slip by in Gabriel’s periphery but he doesn’t bother reading them. He tried to pay attention to road signs once before but he still had no idea where he ended up. Preston, however, seems to store an atlas in his head for every occasion. He always knows where he’s going and how to get there.
‘Beth won’t be happy with me,’ Preston says suddenly, braking slightly to dull the roaring in their ears. He adds, without prompt, ‘We’re going to an open Zone, but it’s been open for a while so it’s very likely scavenger territory.’
Gabriel takes a beat to digest this. ‘How long is a while?’
‘Eight years,’ Preston admits. ‘The walls weren’t even built.’
‘Well bugger me.’
‘It could also be slaver land,’ says Preston thoughtfully, ‘but if that’s the case we’ll turn tail. I don’t think it’ll come to that.’
‘Slavers,’ Gabriel repeats slowly.
‘Yes, apparently they’ve been operating for quite some time.’
‘We’re potentially in for a fun day, then.’
‘That’s the spirit!’
The cold bites at Gabriel’s face and ears as they pedal, and he adds ‘hat’ to his growing list of things to get when he has the chance. His camouflage jacket also has his limits, but it will have to do for now because they left their winter coats at the old Sanctuary.
Half an hour, give or take, flies by, and buildings begin to grow like ugly plants on the horizon. Cycling grows more difficult as they near the city; the abandoned Zone is guarded by scattered abandoned cars, making it hard to manoeuvre the bikes through with the trailers. But he sticks close to Preston’s tail, and they manage.
They speed through the suburbs, only slowing when they approach the larger, once well kept houses. Gabriel glances around while Preston leads the way. There’s no one in the immediate vicinity, but he catches glimpses of shapes every now and then between houses or on the horizon. He feels one-handed for his sword, which dangles reassuringly at his hip.
Despite suspicions that they’re not alone, Preston and Gabriel slow to a stop outside an express supermarket, a small shop whose windows are thick with grime and allow no view to the interior. It looks as if no one has visited the place since its abandonment.
‘A warehouse,’ Gabriel says quietly, ‘do you think?’
‘It’s unassuming enough,’ Preston agrees, dismounting his bike.
‘This is scavenger territory, isn’t it?’
Preston nods. ‘We passed a couple of cars that look like they’re in use. And did you see the stack of tins on the front lawn of one of the houses?’
Without consent Preston reaches over Gabriel and helps himself to the sword. It slots easily between the automatic doors, and with leverage they open easily. Light streams into the shop, which now doesn’t look so much like a shop.
They’ve stumbled upon places like this before, unknowingly passing through scavenger territory or even in such desperate need for food that they’d been willing to risk their lives. Scavengers who’ve taken over abandoned Zones often store stolen goods in the shabbiest buildings they can find, overlooked by people passing through, hiding in plain sight. This particular shop has been dismantled; the shelves have been pushed against walls and tins are stacked high in a pyramid. Large bottles of water stand against the shoved-aside shelves and a pile of shoes lies in a corner.
Silently, Preston and Gabriel wheel their bikes into the warehouse and push the sliding doors shut behind them, once more expelling the light. Preston switches on a lantern and hands Gabriel back his sword.
Setting to work, Gabriel wordlessly wonders where everyone is. Perhaps, given that this place is so long abandoned, most of its inhabitants have moved on. Or maybe they’re biding their time before they attack. A sense of unease grows in him, and he tosses tins into his trailer with as much speed as he can muster. Preston loads a few gallons of water into his own trailer.
‘It doesn’t feel right,’ whispers Gabriel as Preston squeezes a few tins in with the water and zips up his trailer.
‘You’ve been stealing your whole life,’ grunts Preston. ‘You’ve left it a bit late to develop a conscience, mate. And even then you don’t waste it on people like us.’
‘I mean this,’ Gabriel elaborates, gesturing around. ‘It’s too easy. It’s too quiet.’
‘Don’t question your blessings. Also don’t overload your trailer. I don’t want you lagging behind all the way back.’
Having already stacked two levels of tins, Gabriel shrugs and tosses the rest aside, almost toppling the pyramid in his carelessness. Flinching at the echoing noise, he secures his cargo and reaches once more for his sword.
It’s taken all of five minutes, and Gabriel barely has time to revel in his surprised satisfaction when something sounds outside. Having inserted his blade into the gap in the doors, Gabriel freezes. Slowly, he withdraws his sword and takes a step away from the door, closer to Preston, whose stance and expression aren’t unlike a dog sniffing the air.
‘Just had to question it didn’t you?’ he hisses, drawing his guns from his pockets.
‘I’m a child,’ Gabriel points out. ‘You’re the one who’s meant to be being cautious.’
‘Hey, I’m a child too!’
‘You’re twenty eight.’
‘What’s your point?’
With a screech of protest, the doors slide slowly open from the outside. Preston and Gabriel stand there
, helpless, with nowhere to run. Gabriel grips his sword, thinking painfully of the gun in his rucksack, as the sun silhouettes a small group of people peering in at them. They squint in the sudden light.
The group steps inside, blocking the entrance with their bodies. There are four of them, all men, all older than Preston. Two are tall and stocky, their muscles bulging against tight sleeves. One is an old, skinny man, not unlike Steve but for a smaller frame. The other has long, greasy hair and a beard, and he is considerably shorter than his peers. They all hold weapons, though no one but Preston holds firearms. For a moment they all stare at each other.
‘Hello,’ says Gabriel finally.
Another moment is taken for the newcomers to absorb the image of a young boy holding a scimitar. They seem unsure what to do, as is everyone Gabriel comes across when he’s taking liberties any other scavenger would instantly be executed for.
‘Um,’ says the bearded man wisely.
‘I take it you’ve probably heard this excuse before,’ says Gabriel, ‘but we really are quite hungry. Sorry to be stealing from you, of course, but I’m sure the four of you can survive with the majority of your wares intact.’
The two bigger men raise their weapons at the same time, as if they share a brain. Even their facial expressions are the same: stupid and slightly menacing. One holds a hammer and the other a large kitchen knife. Their gazes are fixed on Preston, who polishes one of his guns on his sleeve, looking bored.
‘I’m afraid your deaths are the alternative,’ Gabriel adds, and the old man raises an eyebrow.
‘Who,’ says the bearded man, ‘how-?’
‘Stop,’ barks the old man as one of the bigger men moves forward, his hammer aloft.
‘They’re intruders,’ objects the hammer-wielder. ‘They’re stealing from us. I thought the rules were clear-’
‘You’re going to kill a child, are you?’
‘He just threatened to kill us!’
Two loud bangs interrupt the brewing argument, and the two larger men crumple, blood spouting from a bullet hole in each of their heads. Their weapons fall to the floor with loud clatters. Gabriel closes his eyes, pained, as the two remaining strangers whirl to face Preston, stunned.
‘For God’s sake, Pres,’ Gabriel mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
‘Oh,’ says Preston airily, ‘weren’t you getting bored too? That’s my mistake, sorry.’
Opening his eyes, Gabriel glares at Preston, who is now pointing his smoking guns at the two bewildered older men. They look uncertain and a little frightened, and the old man glances regretfully down at his felled peers.
Sheathing his sword, Gabriel manoeuvres his bike to face the exit and swings a leg over it. Preston continues to aim steadily.
‘Let them go,’ says Gabriel.
‘And let them raise the alarm?’
‘You probably raised the alarm when you shot their friends, idiot.’
‘Oh come off it,’ snaps Preston. ‘How many times have we heard people arguing over whether or not they’ll kill us? And how many times have we let them live?’
At the precise moment when Preston turns his gaze to Gabriel, the scavengers decide to make a break for it, screaming. Cursing, Preston manages to shoot one before he’s out the door, but the bearded man makes it out and careens wildly to the right, out of range, still screaming pleas for help.
Uttering more swear words, Preston recovers his own bike and straddles it, pocketing only one gun and keeping hold of the other. Gabriel gazes down at the three bodies, guilt stabbing at him as he realises the old man is still alive, watching helplessly as they wheel their bikes out of the warehouse. He opens his mouth to issue an apology, but the words won’t come. His trailer jolts as one of its wheels mounts an outstretched arm and clunks back down again.
Back outside, the lone survivor has disappeared, but in his place are several more people, peering out of houses and from around corners. Gabriel hesitates, squeezing the brakes on his bike to look around, and Preston slows behind him. Ahead, the way they came, a small group of people stand clustered in the road. A man in a thick black waistcoat and a hard black hat approaches them. A silver stripe on his jacket reflects the sunlight.
‘Get out your gun,’ grunts Preston through gritted teeth.
Gabriel obliges, ripping open his rucksack and fishing through it to find his revolver, as the man in the police uniform halts a few feet away. Preston raises his gun.
‘Hello, officer,’ he says pleasantly. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘I’m going to need you to surrender your weapons,’ says the policeman loudly.
‘Just a misunderstanding,’ Gabriel begins, but Preston clears his throat.
The onlookers are edging closer, and Gabriel’s heartbeat starts to accelerate. He glances back at Preston, who, as usual, appears completely relaxed as he subtly inches his head to the right. Gabriel’s gaze follows the same direction, where there’s a small gap in the crowd and a seemingly free side street.
‘You won’t escape,’ the officer tells them, as if reading their minds. ‘Let’s just talk this through. Surrender your weapons and we’ll assess the situation.’
‘Go,’ Preston urges as he squeezes the trigger on his pistol.
The policeman drops like a rag doll and Preston wrenches his bike to the right, not waiting for Gabriel to do the same. He speeds towards the closing gap in the crowd, and Gabriel works frantically to keep up with him. Gunshots sound from somewhere behind them and Gabriel winces, his heart now hammering desperately against his chest. Using his gun hand to steer his bike, Gabriel reaches for his sword, prepared to cut his way through if anyone tries to stop him.
Sailing through the gap and narrowly avoiding snatching hands, Preston risks a look back at Gabriel, who still has a few feet to go... For a precious second Gabriel lets go of the handlebars and shoots, deliberately missing someone by a hair, and a couple of people dive out of the way... Reattaching his gun hand to the bike, he swings his sword threateningly... Someone pinches his arm in an attempt to grab him, but then he finally clears the gap, following Preston around a corner as more gunshots ring out.
‘Don’t slow down!’ Preston bellows over his shoulder, barely audible through the roaring in Gabriel’s ears.
With difficulty Gabriel slips the sword back through his belt, wincing as it nicks him on the hip on its way. The shots do not cease as Preston leads him right again. A loud roar behind them provokes a glance back from Gabriel, whose eyes widen at the sight of a large black car tearing around the corner behind them. He bends low over his bike and pedals harder, weaving to avoid being hit. A bullet sails past his left ear, whistling, and plants itself in Preston’s shoulder.
‘No!’ Gabriel screams, but Preston maintains his grip and keeps pedalling.
Tightness in his legs attempts to slow him down; the trailer is too heavy. He grunts in frustration, trying to ignore the screaming pain in his thighs as they sail down the road, back towards the suburbs. The car still rumbles behind them, and something glances off the back of his head. He prays for their pursuers to run out of bullets, any moment now...
He fires some desperate shots over his shoulder, and something behind him smashes but he doesn’t stop to look. Dark fluid shines on the back of Preston’s jacket, seeping into the strap of his bag. Gabriel keeps shooting blindly, but the barrel of his gun empties all too soon.
The trailer rattles and clanks behind him. Preston does not hesitate to shoot at any onlookers poking their noses out of doors. The car roars and guns bang and Gabriel’s legs scream in protest.
They turn sharply onto a main road, where large green signs indicate their proximity to the motorway. Behind them, the car gurgles and scrapes on a curb, and Gabriel chances a look back. The car’s front window has a gaping hole in it, surrounded by a spider web of cracks, and one of the tyres looks rather flat. It screeches to a stop, and its occupants leap out of it, pursuing them on foot and firing haphazard shots.
They pedal at a leisurely speed, not daring to stop in case another car pursues them, and Gabriel shoots Preston worried looks as they go. Beads of sweat have formed on Preston’s face, but his expression is set in grim determination. Blood trickles out of his sleeve and onto his knuckles, but he betrays no signs that he’s noticed. Gabriel’s heart continues to race, gripped by the fear that Preston will pass out and strand them here.
‘Preston,’ he says in a strangled voice, but Preston just shakes his head.
Swiping away tears, Gabriel sighs. They’re safe and they’re going back to the barn. Preston is not going to die. No one is following them anymore. Well... No one is following them yet.
Having come across scavenger territory before, Gabriel knows what it’s like. The inhabitants of these ruined towns form their own communities, their own families, and their bonds are tight. You don’t walk into scavenger territory, kill a few of their members and expect to get away. They tolerate stealing as much as they tolerate hostility. He still can’t believe Preston was so quick to kill those people when he knew the potential consequences.
Slowly Gabriel begins to recognise landmarks. The leaning pylon on the eastbound side of the road, the small crater in the road they had to avoid on the way, the dented partition... And then finally the barn appears before them, large and reassuring. Gabriel lets Preston cycle ahead as they approach, determined to make sure they make it together, and that Preston doesn’t collapse.
When they arrive Gabriel leaps off his bike and dives for the door, and Preston does not object to having it opened for him. He pedals inside as Gabriel wheels his bike in behind them and closes the door behind them.
Inside, Beth is scribbling on an old month in the calendar as Kerry shouts from the back corner of the barn. They look up and grin as Gabriel and Preston return, but as Beth takes in her son’s stricken expression her smile drops and she jumps to her feet, dropping the calendar on the floor. She hurries over to him, taking his face in her hands. Only then does he realise he’s sweating almost as much as Preston is.