All Roads End Here Read online

  “Accounts,” he says without thinking, and she laughs out loud.

  “Well then, you’ve done extremely well to stay alive, my dear little accountant.”

  “Don’t patronize me. I was off the mainland when all of this started. It took me months to get home.”

  “A born survivor, eh?”

  “If you say so.”

  “And how did you get back?”

  “Very slowly. I’ve only been here a week.”

  “Fair play to you, that must have taken some guts.”

  “You believe this shit?” Franklin interrupts. Estelle silences him with a look.

  “I think, Mr. Accountant, that you’re probably quite a smart cookie. The fact you’ve made it this far puts you ahead of roughly ninety-nine percent of the residual human population of this city.”

  “You really expect us to believe he survived on his own out there?” Franklin asks Estelle, still not convinced. He has a look of utter disbelief writ large on his face. “Him?”

  “Well?” Estelle asks. “How d’you do it?”

  “I kept my head down. I moved slowly and only when there were none of them around. I used other people fighting as cover. When everyone else was heading in one direction, I went the other way.”

  “Go on.”

  “What more do you want me to say? That’s how I tracked him,” he continues, nodding at Franklin. “He stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone else was panicking and running away from the Hater, he was gravitating toward the trouble. He hung back just enough to still see what was going on, but far enough away not to get caught in the cross fire. As soon as it was all over and he was sure he’d done what he’d obviously been sent to do, he got out.”

  “Very clever,” Estelle says. “There’s one thing I don’t understand, though. If you’re so cautious and careful, why risk everything to get back to this cesspit, and why risk following Mr. Franklin just now?”

  “I told you, I’m an accountant. Risk is manageable.”

  “Explain.”

  “Things will always go wrong, it’s about reducing the chances of getting caught up in the shit-storm. I had to come home because my girlfriend’s here. I managed to call her when I got back onto the mainland, so I knew she was here. What else was I going to do?”

  “And they say true love’s dead,” Franklin grumbles cynically. “It’s enough to make you vomit.”

  “And I followed you for the same reason,” Matt continues, glancing over at him again. “I knew you were trouble, and all I’m bothered about these days is keeping Jen safe. I needed to know what you were up to and why the Hater was here, dead or otherwise. And you still haven’t explained.”

  “Is she all right?” Estelle asks.

  “Who?”

  “Your girlfriend, who d’you think?”

  “She’s fine, all things considered.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Is every conversation with you this awkward?”

  “Awkward? How?”

  “The redirections. You’re doing everything you can to avoid telling me about the Hater.”

  “It was a mistake,” she says, answering his question without telling him anything useful. She looks over at Franklin, giving the distinct impression that the soldier’s in for a dressing-down later. Someone’s really fucked up.

  “So you admit there’s a link between you and the Hater?”

  “I’m not admitting anything.”

  “Let’s just get shot of him, Estelle,” Franklin suggests. “This little shit won’t think twice about—”

  Estelle raises her hand, and Franklin immediately shuts up. The authority she wields here is impressive. “We should show Matthew here a little more respect. We are where we are. You did let him follow you back here, after all.” She’s talking about Matt like he’s not there now, and he knows these theatrics are entirely for his benefit. “All we can do is try and convince him that everything we’re doing is being done with the absolute best of intentions so we can bring this war to a swift end.”

  “The only way you can convince me of that is by telling me what it is you’re up to.”

  “One step at a time.”

  “He knows too much already,” Franklin says.

  “And what do you suggest we do with him, dear? Bump him off? Make him disappear? How very cloak-and-dagger of you.”

  “Don’t take the piss.”

  “Then stop living in the past. Don’t be so blinkered. We could do with more people like Matthew onside.”

  Now Matt’s feeling really uncomfortable and he immediately lets her know. “For what it’s worth, I think your man here might be right. Just let me go and you won’t hear anything from me again. Like I said, all I’m interested in is looking after Jen and making sure we both get through this in one piece.”

  He starts to move, and several of the guards edge closer. Estelle gestures for them to stand down. “Let’s cut the crap and level with each other, shall we? You strike me as a realist.”

  “I am.”

  “Then you must know that the odds are stacked against us, that we’re all going to struggle to get through this in one piece. Okay, so we’re in a relatively secure position at the moment, but nothing lasts forever, does it? You’ve had to think outside the box to get this far, Matthew, and that’s what we’re doing, too. We’re a military unit, part of the Civil Defense Force, but while most of our colleagues are either dealing with crowd control or going on the offensive, we’re fulfilling a different function.”

  “How so?”

  “We’re hunting.”

  “Sounds suicidal if you’re hunting Haters.”

  “We’re not looking for trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. The precise opposite, actually.” She thinks for a second. “Maybe you could help us?”

  “You must not have been listening. I’m no fighter. My game plan involves keeping away from the Haters, not running toward them.”

  “Yes, but we’re back to risk management again.”

  “Are we?”

  “I think so. You see, most people make the assumption that the split between the Haters and people like us is as clear as black and white, yes and no.”

  “It pretty much is from what I’ve seen.”

  “And I’ll bet you haven’t seen as much as you think, no matter how long you spent out in the wilds. There are strong Haters and there are weak Haters, smart Haters and stupid ones, just like us. We’re focusing on certain segments of the changed population. When you think about it, there’s a world of difference between the vilest Hater and the meekest person like us, but when you get closer to the middle ground, the differences aren’t so stark.”

  “The middle ground?”

  “There’s not a lot to choose between some of our strongest CDF fighters and those Haters who are less aggressive. If anything, my troops probably have the edge.”

  Matt’s not convinced. “You think?”

  “I know. Tell me, Matthew, do you enjoy the food queues? Or are you working? I take it you’re not volunteering to fight with the CDF, so do you enjoy your time clearing rubbish and bodies?”

  “I quit. Too dangerous.”

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  “We’ve got enough supplies for a few days yet.”

  “And after that? We could be here for quite some time…” She waits for an answer she knows isn’t going to come. “Come with me.”

  Matt follows Estelle across the courtyard to a large, garage-like lockup. Two soldiers open separate locks, then Franklin opens a third. “It’s not just you we don’t trust,” he says. “It’s each other, too.”

  “Serious point,” Estelle says as she steps forward and swings the metal door open. “It needs three of us to open this up. It makes sure we all play by the rules.”

  And Matt can immediately see why. As daylight floods into the long, rectangular building, he sees that there are shelves and shelves of supplies. Tinned food. Bottled water. Guns. Enoug
h weapons to defend the whole bloody camp. “Jesus Christ,” he says.

  “Quite.”

  “You steal all this?”

  “Depends on your point of view. I prefer acquired, but then again, pretty much all the food in this camp is stolen, if you’re going to be pedantic about it. The economy’s screwed, but as an accountant you already know that. You can try trading and bartering, but supply is never going to keep up with demand these days. It’s all about scavenging now.”

  “So how did you get such a stash?”

  “Because, like I told you, we operate in the places no one else goes. It’s a wonderfully helpful by-product of the work we do.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not today. Come back tomorrow and I might.”

  “I don’t know about this…”

  “Completely your choice,” she says, and she steps into the building and grabs a few items of food and drink. She shoves them into a bag and hands them to him.

  “What’s this for?”

  “A down payment. A peace offering, if you like. I need people to help support my troops, but the choice is entirely yours. You can walk away from here with your food and forget about us and never come back, or you can help. I don’t mind either way. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll be able to resist. I think you’ll be back, if for no other reason than to make sure we’re not going to do anything that’ll put the lovely Jen in danger. Am I right?”

  “I’ll think about it,” he says, noncommittal.

  “I know you will, Matthew.”

  15

  The food’s going down well tonight. It’s a welcome distraction from the outside world. Everyone’s present for an extended family meal around the kitchen table: Matt, Jen, Jason, and Mrs. Walker and her children. For once Matt’s the one trying to keep the conversation flowing, because the gaps between words let the noises from outside in. They can hear Haters being pounded on the other side of the border, mortars and munitions detonating in the distance like fast repeat thunderclaps. Never before have bomb blasts sounded so reassuring.

  Mrs. Walker’s two children, Sophie and Billy, rarely emerge from the lounge. Both have sunken eyes and hollow expressions and hardly speak when anyone else is about. Sophie barely picks at her meal. Her younger brother is marginally more communicative, occasionally tugging on his mum’s sleeve and pulling her closer so he can whisper in her ear.

  “Pasta’s lovely, Jen,” Matt says, and Jason and Mrs. Walker both mumble in agreement, mouths full.

  “Thanks. It’s just a packet mix sauce. Nothing special.”

  “A decent meal makes all the difference when you’ve been out all day,” Jason says. Matt resists the temptation to say anything. A hard day’s queuing? Right now, though, Matt’s head is full of other thoughts. Too many of them, if he’s honest. He’s distracted thinking about the Hater strike near the arena, and by thoughts of Estelle Bisseker, Franklin, and the military compound. He has a million and one questions. No matter how much bullshit and spin they put on it, the fact remains those people are connected to the appearance of a Hater in the center of the camp today. He needs to know why. He needs to know what they’re planning next. He knows he has to go back there tomorrow.

  “So where did you disappear off to?” Jason asks.

  “What?”

  “You disappeared and left me to it, remember? Where did you go?”

  Matt toys with his food. “You know where I went. I wanted to see what that trouble was.”

  “What trouble?” Jen asks.

  Matt curses himself, wishing he hadn’t said anything. “It was nothing. Just someone losing their cool in the crowds. The military had it under control soon enough.” He returns his attention to his food, filling his mouth so he doesn’t have to keep talking.

  Jen glares at him in the candlelight. “I know you too well, Matt. You’re not telling me everything.”

  “There’s not a lot else to tell.”

  “There is. You can stop trying to protect us all the time. We know things are rough out there.”

  “Honestly, it was just some guy who lost his rag. It’s harder than you think, queuing up. It’s like a pressure cooker, isn’t it?”

  Jason looks up from his food. “Oh, yeah, absolutely.” He eats another mouthful, then looks across at Matt again. “You still got your rations for the day, though. Pretty good haul, too. How d’you manage that?”

  Matt struggles for a believable answer which isn’t incriminating. “Right place right time, I guess. Once things calmed down I just found myself near the front of the queue. Didn’t plan it, it just happened.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  Another pause, then another question, this time from Mrs. Walker. “Are we going to be all right here?”

  “Of course we are,” Jason immediately answers. But Mrs. Walker’s looking at Matt.

  “What, do you want an honest answer, or just some bullshit to make you feel better?”

  “Mind your language, love,” Jen says quietly, almost apologetically. “The children don’t need to hear that kind of talk.”

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Walker says. “I want you to be honest, Matthew.”

  Matt wishes that hearing the word bullshit was the worst thing these kids are going to have to deal with. He puts down his fork and drinks a little water while he tries to work out what he’s going to tell them. “I don’t know is the honest answer. A lot of it depends on what happens outside the city, and we’ve got no control over that.”

  “I’ve heard there’s been a lot of action out there recently,” Jason interrupts, “and I’ve seen our boys blasting Haters to kingdom come.”

  “That’s true,” Matt agrees.

  “But…?” Mrs. Walker presses.

  “Jason’s right, we’ve seen a lot of Haters killed, but those gains have come at a price. We’ve seen lots of civilians killed too, and territory has been lost. There are still people coming in through the front gates, so our numbers are increasing while our space reduces, and there’s not as much food as there was.”

  “Sounds like it’s a question of time.”

  “You’re right. The Haters have to be wiped out before conditions here become unsustainable.”

  As if to underline his point, there’s an explosion in the distance, violent enough to make the crockery on the table rattle.

  “So I’ll ask you again,” Mrs. Walker says, pulling Sophie closer, “are we going to be all right?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know. It depends on things that are out of our hands.”

  * * *

  Later, Matt takes the Walkers some water. The lounge in which the family have been living is cramped, the musty smell almost overpowering. There’s barely room to move in here; the entire floor space is given over to inflatable mattresses and a tangle of sweaty duvets and pillows. It reminds Matt of Stuart and Ruth’s overcrowded cottage back on Skek. He feels the same unease today too.

  “You didn’t have to,” Mrs. Walker says, taking the drinks from him. “We’re fine.”

  “You’re not fine at all. None of us are.”

  The children hide behind their mother. “She adores you, you know,” she says.

  “What?”

  “Jen. She thinks the world of you.”

  “What’s she been saying?”

  “Nothing. She doesn’t have to. It’s obvious.”

  Matt’s embarrassed. Awkward. “The feeling’s mutual.”

  “I can see that, too. The fact you’re here is proof positive. You must love her very much to have made your way back here the way you did.”

  “I do.”

  “I can’t imagine what you went through out there on your own.”

  “I try not to think about it now it’s over.”

  She gently pulls the children out of the shadows but keeps them close. “It hurts when you can’t look after the ones who matter most, doesn’t it?”

  “From what I’ve seen you�
��re doing absolutely the best job you could do in the circumstances. No question.”

  “You’re a good man, Matthew.”

  “That’s debatable,” he replies, his head full of memories.

  An awkward pause. “Go back to Jen,” she says, and she touches his arm lightly. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  “Jason said he’s worried about you.”

  “Jason’s worried about me?”

  “He says you’ve been under a massive amount of pressure, and that it’s bound to have taken its toll.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “You have been through a lot…”

  “I’m still me, though. Still the same Matt.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, and the hesitation unnerves him.

  “You’re not the same, though, are you? How could you be? You haven’t told me half of what you went through to get home—”

  “And I don’t want to.”

  “—but that speaks volumes in itself. We used to share everything.”

  “I’ll tell you if you want, but I don’t want to upset you. I could tell you about the people I saw being killed, the times I nearly died, the places I had to go, and the things I had to do … but what difference would any of it make?”

  Matt puts his arm around her and pulls her closer. Faces almost touching, safe and warm under the duvet. At first she’s starchy and unwilling, almost reluctant. He doesn’t let go, and after a while she softens.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Jen, same as I always have. Remember when you got food poisoning when we were in Tenerife? I kept you safe.”

  She laughs. “You mean you held the sick bowl then got me to the doctor. Great job.”

  “And when the car broke down when we drove up to Edinburgh?”

  “It didn’t break down, we ran out of fuel. That was your fault.”

  “Okay, when we ran out of fuel on the way up to Edinburgh, who kept you safe?”

  “It was the middle of the afternoon, I didn’t really need keeping safe.”

  “I know. I’m kidding. I’m just trying to make a point.”

  “What point?”

  “The point that if I have changed, I’ve changed for the better. All that shit I went through out there, it’s made me better equipped to deal with things in here. I’m stronger now. I’ll look after you, Jen. No fucker’s going to hurt you.”