All Roads End Here Page 13

  “That’s not how it works. Get back to the van.”

  “I just don’t know why you’d—”

  “Move!” Graham orders, and he grabs a pistol from a holster on his belt and aims it straight at Matt. Matt freezes, and Graham fires. The shot goes over Matt’s shoulder, whistling past his left ear. Matt spins around and sees that another Hater has been felled. “If you really want to stay, be my guest. The rest of us are getting out of here.”

  * * *

  The van and one of the jeeps have stopped outside an overlooked cash-and-carry nestled on the farthest edge of No Man’s Land. Both engines are left running, and their respective drivers remain in position. A number of armed CDF militia fighters are covering the building’s entrances and exits, allowing Matt, Franklin, Graham, and two more soldiers to scavenge inside. “Where else d’you think we get our shit?” Franklin asks, breathless, as he and Matt cross paths in an aisle, both pushing loaded trolleys. “There’s stuff everywhere out here, but no one else has the balls or the foresight to come and get it.”

  17

  Matt does his best to act casual when he arrives home, but it’s not easy. He’s spent months having to suppress his emotions, but the close encounter with the Hater this afternoon was another unexpected release of pent-up frustration. It was cathartic. Adrenaline-fueled. Fucking awesome. Better even than being out on the garbage truck run with Smithy.

  Jason’s beaten Matt back and is sitting in the kitchen, talking to Jen. Matt deposits his earnings in the middle of the table and watches their reactions. Jen’s excited, because some of the things he’s got hold of are hard to find. He slips a couple of chocolate bars to Mrs. Walker for the kids.

  “Word to the wise, Matt,” Jason tells him. “The economy’s all fucked-up. Supply and demand is all over the place. We don’t need luxuries. Focus on essentials. Try and get the basics, ’cause that’s what we’re going to need more than anything.”

  “You mean stuff like this?” Matt says, pointing out the tinned food, fruit juice, and rolls of toilet paper he also brought back with him tonight.

  “You got pineapple!” Jen says, spotting a tin among the pile. “I love pineapple!”

  “I know you do.”

  “I mean, it’s only tinned, but it’s ages since I had any.”

  “I know.”

  “I used to live on the stuff!”

  “I know! I saw it and thought of you.”

  She hugs him tight, and he holds on to her, not wanting to let go.

  * * *

  It’s late and dark. The temperature has increased steadily all afternoon and evening and even now, long after the sun’s disappeared, it’s still stifling and close. Matt’s sitting out on the small patio with Jason. Jen was here too, but she made her excuses a short while ago and went up to bed. It’s just before midnight and still the air is filled with noise. The steady hubbub of the overcrowded camp is a constant earworm, regularly punctuated by other interruptions: crowd control, helicopters and drones, attacks being launched over the border … The city never sleeps was always the old expression. Matt thinks that’s because it’s too afraid to close its eyes.

  “There’s still people coming in, you know,” Jason says. He’s staring into space, his features outlined in the moonlight. “Down at the gates, I mean. The queue I was in today got funneled close to the entrance and I had a decent view. You wouldn’t think after all this time that there were still that many people left out there.”

  “Yeah, I know. Crazy, isn’t it?”

  “You’ve seen it too, have you?”

  “Not today, but I have seen them.”

  “Right.”

  “I guess people have just been hiding and waiting to be picked up.”

  “Suppose. Don’t know where they’re all going to go, though. We’re running out of room.” He pauses, then adds, “Running out of everything, actually.”

  There’s a lull in the conversation. A black helicopter hangs in the sky a mile or so north of the house, close to the main entrance to the camp according to Matt’s estimations. It hovers for a while, perfectly still, bathing the ground with its searchlight, before a drone Matt didn’t even realize was there unleashes hell on the enemy below. “Fuck me,” he says under his breath as muffled, grumbling explosions fill the air, noise on noise on noise. The ground shakes with the cumulative vibrations.

  The helicopter drifts away and the sound slowly fades. The relative quiet is equally uncomfortable. Matt senses that all is not well with his housemate. He can feel Jason’s eyes burning into him. “So where do you see this all ending?”

  It’s a simple enough question. Trouble is, there’s no easy answer Matt can give. “It’s like you said earlier, the economics of this world don’t work. We have to assume the CDF are out there in decent numbers dealing with the Haters.”

  “And do you think they are?”

  “I don’t know. Thing is, it’s out of our hands. We have to hope they do their job, but we need to keep our options open here.”

  “Stockpile supplies, that kind of thing…”

  “Exactly. But there’s another problem.”

  “Go on.”

  “Like you said, there are still more people coming in. By all accounts the food stocks are struggling with the existing demand. Too many mouths, not enough food. More mouths coming.”

  Jason’s contemplative silence indicates that he understands the gravity of their situation, but his silence doesn’t last long. “I’ve got another concern.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Are you selling us short?”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Deadly. Who you working with? Where did you go today?”

  “I told you this morning, it’s none of your business.”

  “Where did that food came from, then?”

  “Which part of ‘none of your fucking business’ don’t you understand?”

  “It is my business, though, isn’t it? Whether you like it or not, we’re all in this together. The kind of stuff you brought home tonight doesn’t come cheap.”

  “Right place, right time.”

  “Bullshit. You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything. To be honest, I don’t care.”

  “Well, you should. There hasn’t been food like that available in the camp for weeks, not from anywhere I’ve been. Like I said, we’re all in this together and—”

  “What exactly are you saying, Jason?”

  He pauses before answering. “Look, I’ll level with you, you’re making me nervous … I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “Of course you can trust me. As much as I can trust you, anyway.”

  “Then tell me where you really got that stash.”

  “I worked for it. I hit it lucky, obviously.”

  Jason gets up and starts to pace around the patio, hands deep in his pockets, trying to appear calm and in control, but failing miserably. Matt thinks he’s acting like a parent working out why the kid who should have been in by ten didn’t get home till gone midnight.

  “We’re in a really dodgy situation here, mate,” Jason says.

  “I agree, we are.”

  “I’ve done everything I can to keep the people in this house safe.”

  “I know you have. And I appreciate it.”

  “I’m not going to stop just because you’ve come home.”

  “No one’s asking you to.”

  Jason thinks again, choosing his words carefully. “Thing is, we all need to be pulling in the same direction here.”

  “I thought we were? Jen and Mrs. Walker are here looking out for the kids and each other, you and I are putting food on the table.”

  “I’m not so sure…”

  “So what exactly are you saying? Are you accusing me of stealing that food, Jason? You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were shoveling it down your neck at dinner.”

  “I didn’t say you were stealing the food, but
I don’t know where you got it from and the fact you’re being so cagey about it just makes matters worse. Like I said, some of the stuff you brought back hasn’t been seen around here for weeks.”

  Matt knows he’s got to tell him something to shut him up. “It is what it is. Look, I was out there on my own for a long time. I learned how to forage.”

  “So you did steal it?”

  “No, I worked for it with some people I met when I did that other job a couple of days back. They’re responsible for resource management, boring shit like that.”

  Jason’s not convinced. “I don’t buy it.”

  “And I don’t care. Look, what difference does it make?”

  Jason continues to pace. Matt watches his every step, looking for a way out of the conversation. But to get up and walk away now would imply some kind of guilt, and Matt’s got nothing to feel guilty about. He just wishes his unwanted houseguest would keep his fucking nose out.

  But he’s not about to do that anytime soon.

  “I don’t trust you, Matt. Haven’t done from the start if I’m honest. I don’t believe anyone could survive on their own out there for so long.”

  Matt holds his hands out to his sides. “Well, here I am.”

  “Yeah, but look at you … you’re nothing special. No offense, but you’re just a fucking accountant.”

  “True. I can’t argue with that. I know what I’m doing, though. Shove us both out onto the other side of the wall and I reckon I know who’ll last longest. We can try it if you like.”

  “Cut the crap. Whatever it is you’re doing, you’re playing with fire. The risks are greater than I think you realize. This is a different world now, you know. It’s a different city to the one you walked out on.”

  “I’d noticed … And I didn’t walk out on anything.”

  “Thing is, mate, I’ll level with you. I don’t give a shit about you, but I’m not going to let Jen get hurt.”

  “Jen’s my responsibility.”

  “Yeah, well someone had to step up when you weren’t around.”

  “And I’ve already thanked you for that. I’m back now, so you can butt out and fuck off.”

  For a second Jason looks like he’s ready to hit Matt, but he doesn’t. Both of them know that any physical aggression these days could be catastrophically misconstrued.

  “Just watch your step,” Jason says.

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a warning. There’s a difference.”

  “Well here’s one for you—stay away from Jen.”

  “She deserves better than—”

  “I said stay away from her. You’re just a kid, Jason, a jumped-up little kid.”

  “I care about Jen and I won’t let you hurt her.”

  “No, you care about yourself and making sure you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your belly. I went through hell to get back to Jen, put my life on the line again and again. I’m not going to let you or anyone else fuck it up.”

  18

  Matt spends half the night staring up at the ceiling and considering his options, unable to speak. He doesn’t want to leave Jen alone with Jason, yet he has unfinished business with Franklin. He also knows Franklin is his best source of food right now, and he has to take advantage of that while he still can, because Jason’s right about one thing—this is the dodgiest of situations.

  Franklin barely acknowledges Matt when he turns up for work next morning. “You came back, then.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Must be desperate.”

  Matt doesn’t bite.

  It’s largely the same routine as last time. They leave the compound in the same van escorted by the same CDF jeeps and personnel carrier, and drive out to the same few square miles of ghost town on the outer rim of No Man’s Land. Jayce is driving and Chris Greatrex is also present. There’s no Graham Porter, though. His place is taken today by a bearded, surly-looking man who introduces himself simply as Priest. He’s an ex-police dog handler (ex- because the police have been absorbed into the CDF, Priest explains). He may be ex-police, but he’s still a dog handler. He has with him a huge and beautiful-looking German shepherd called Bandit. The hound’s a little unkempt but is clearly in his prime, attentively watching his master’s every move, awaiting orders. The dog makes Matt feel redundant. He thinks he could probably hunt out and bring down even the most vicious Hater more efficiently than the rest of this crew put together.

  Today they’re concentrating on an area a few streets down from where they were yesterday. Franklin explains they’re combing the streets systematically, but Matt’s not so sure. He thinks he’s trying to make things seem more organized than they actually are. There’s no point working sequentially when you’re dealing with an enemy as random as the Haters.

  Bandit and his master check one side of a nondescript cul-de-sac while Matt covers the other. There’s a Hater here somewhere, Matt’s sure of it. A number of houses in this street have been ransacked—fairly recently, by the looks of things—and all tracks lead to the same front door. Whoever’s inside this house has either been particularly lax in covering their tracks or they’re just arrogant, ready to take on anything or anyone. It could be a trap. Matt gestures for Priest to come over, and Priest in turn signals back to make Franklin aware they may be on to something.

  “In there?” Priest whispers.

  “Think so…”

  “But?”

  “But it’s a risk. Doesn’t look like they’ve been hiding. They were outside recently.”

  He points out muddy footprints on the path leading up to the house. They’re still wet.

  “We’ll use the dog.”

  Priest opens a side gate. He gestures for Matt to go through first, then follows him into the back garden. Matt gags as he squeezes between the fence and an overfull wheelie bin filled with household waste that’s been left rotting for months. The stench is vile.

  He peers around the corner. The back of the house is a junkyard, filled with all kinds of scavenged crap. The remains of a recent fire are still smoldering in a crude pit dug in the middle of the lawn.

  “You’re the bait, Matt,” Priest whispers. He’s struggling to hold on to Bandit’s collar. The dog’s straining to be let go.

  “Fuck that,” Matt says.

  “I’m serious. Go get yourself seen. If there are any of them inside, they’ll be so fixated on you that they won’t notice the dog.”

  Matt edges into the garden. A Hater skulking in the shadows downstairs sees him immediately and throws himself at the patio doors, all spittle and snarls, scrambling at the lock to get the bloody thing open. Priest boots the back door open and lets the dog loose, but the maniac behind the glass is so fixated on the Unchanged lamb to the slaughter who’s just wandered onto his patch that he doesn’t even notice.

  Bandit hurtles into the house but the Hater gets the sliding door open and is on top of Matt before the dog gets anywhere near. Matt’s on his backside in the mud, squirming as the Hater swings punches at his head. Priest smacks the back of the Hater’s skull with a length of metal pipe before he can do any real harm and the ragged man hits the deck out cold, blood oozing from a vicious-looking dent in the side of his skill.

  “Thanks,” Matt says, panting hard.

  “Don’t mention it. Excitable little fucker, was this one.”

  Bandit’s still in the house, barking like crazy.

  Priest helps Matt to his feet. There’s a brief moment of calm outside, then utter chaos as more Haters flood out of the building.

  Fuck.

  They’ve disturbed a nest.

  Matt realizes what’s happening fast. Another Hater comes flying through the open patio doors, the dog hanging off his leg. Priest knows there could be any number of them in there and he snatches his pistol from its holster and puts a bullet between the Hater’s eyes. Both he and Matt know the sound of the shot—always a last resort out here—will alert Franklin and the others to the imminent
threat. “Go!” Priest shouts to Matt.

  Matt sprints back down the side of the house with Priest close behind. Behind them, four more Haters. Bandit weaves between them and leaps up and sinks his teeth into the arm of another Hater who appears from nowhere, trying to cut off their escape at the front of the house. Matt shimmies around him and races away.

  Up ahead, Franklin gesticulates for them to get out of the way. He’s armed and is about to shoot, regardless of who’s in the line of fire. Chris Greatrex picks his moment then sprints off in the opposite direction, dividing the attacking pack. Matt dives over to his left and ducks behind a low garden wall as Franklin opens fire, filling the whole world with noise for the next twenty seconds.

  “Clear,” Franklin then shouts. Matt picks himself up, checking all around for more of the enemy. He knows there are other Haters nearby. Though he can’t yet see them, he can sense them coming. He can already hear another brutal encounter kicking off in the next street down from here. “Get back to the van,” Franklin orders.

  Matt hears engine noise and runs toward it. He takes a sharp right then immediately flattens himself up against the nearest building when he sees it’s the pug-nosed military vehicle, not the van. He starts toward it, then stops. More soldiers are dealing with another pack of Haters. He can’t see if they’re the same Haters they flushed out of the house—they all look the same when you’re running for your life—but they’re clearly outgunned and outnumbered and won’t last long. Several of the enemy are on the deck already, black-clad militia fighters beating them with batons, while others are picked off by a rifle-wielding soldier shooting from the roof of the transport.

  The van appears in the mouth of another road opposite. Jayce revs the engine impatiently. Chris Greatrex grabs Matt’s arm and pulls him toward it. “Come on.”

  “Wait…” Matt says.

  “No time. Now!”

  Matt delays a second longer. Something’s not right. “Why haven’t they killed them?”

  “What?”

  “There are three of them on the ground over there. They’re still alive. Why aren’t they killing them?”