Chokehold Page 8

  “So what now?”

  “Unless you’re planning on staying out here on your own, you’re coming with us.”

  “You Civil Defense Force?”

  “Yep. You got a problem with the CDF?”

  “No problem.”

  “Good. We’ve been looking for stragglers, but you’re the biggest group we’ve come across in an age. We could all benefit from this.”

  14

  On the Road

  Matt doesn’t trust anybody, but being in the back of this van, being driven to god knows where by god knows who, is still preferable to how he’s spent the rest of his time since they were forced back aboveground. Their saviors / captors / potential killers might prove to be as deadly as a pack of full-strength Haters, but at least he has half a chance of reasoning with someone who’s Unchanged like he is. They’re in the middle of three vehicles currently moving at speed through the otherwise eerily quiet countryside, heading away from the charred remains of the city-camp. There’s another van behind and a powerful-looking CDF military truck in front. One thing’s for sure—they were right about the enemy numbers in the area around the leisure center. As they drove away, the surrounding area was rife with movement. Matt saw hundreds of sickly, half-starved killers converging on what was likely the biggest disturbance the region had seen since the days immediately after the bomb.

  He looks around the interior of this battered van at the faces of the people he was buried underground with, and he wishes they’d share some of his cynicism. They’re all standing up, packed in like cattle, but they’re smiling. Chatting. Relatively relaxed. Temporarily filled with hope. “Must be me,” he says to no one in particular.

  “What is?” Kara asks.

  “Nothing. Don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade.”

  “Miserable sod. Come on, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Nothing’s like it used to be anymore, you know? Just because someone hasn’t killed you doesn’t mean they’re not still planning to shove a skewer up your ass and spit-roast you over the campfire.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “Yeah, but right now? At this moment? Just take that skewer out of your ass for a sec, Matt, and relax. Instead of thinking about what might happen, think about what has happened. We’re safe. This time an hour ago, we thought we were dead and buried.”

  He leans against the side of the van and considers her words. “Yeah, you’re right. But we don’t know anything about these people.”

  “We know they’re not Haters. We know they’re in good shape, all things considered, and they’re well equipped. They’ve obviously got a decent base somewhere. Biggest thing for me? They’re smart. That stunt they pulled with the Hater woman, checking we weren’t like her, that wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. They clearly know what they’re doing, and even if they have us cleaning their toilets and shining their shoes, so what? Would that be such a bad thing compared to what we’ve been through?”

  This group’s story about doing a recce of the area near the airport seems to check out. As they evacuated, Matt saw that the back of the truck they’re following is loaded up with equipment and ammo, supplemented by the supplies his group had managed to hold on to at the leisure center. He presses his face against the window as the convoy follows a lazy arc in the road, and he watches with equal parts disgust and satisfaction as a sickly-looking Hater is mown down with arrogant disdain. It feels good to be on the side of the aggressor for once, but he’s conscious their unexpected saviors have been less than forthcoming with information. He has no idea where they’re going other than east; no idea what they might have signed themselves up for here.

  The first part of the answer is revealed after another half hour’s drive. While moving through a more heavily built-up area, the convoy takes a sudden diversion through a once-green and leafy suburb. “Nice place,” he hears someone say as they drive along the front of a succession of large detached executive houses. “Better than last night’s digs, anyway.”

  They swing around onto the sweeping drive of one of the houses, and Kara notices there’s a spotter in a downstairs window who disappears as the vehicles appear. A few seconds later, a large wooden gate around the side of the main building swings open, letting the convoy through and into a hangar-sized garage with room enough for all the vehicles and several more besides.

  “Not a lot of bomb damage round here,” Matt says to no one in particular, stating the obvious.

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Kara says.

  “Guess so. Trouble is, if the buildings aren’t bomb damaged, then the Haters won’t be, either.”

  They disembark, and more than fifty people group together at one end of the garage. Aaron Rayner climbs up onto a workbench to address them. His voice is loud enough to be heard, not so loud as to be overheard. “Right, we’re almost home. We’re about an hour’s walk away.”

  “This isn’t it?” Darren asks.

  “Nope.”

  “So why have we stopped?”

  “First things first. Keep your voice down. You’re safe with us, but you need to do exactly what we say. Got it?”

  “We get it,” Matt answers for him, not wanting any trouble.

  Aaron continues, “I understand how you must be feeling, I really do. If I were in your shoes, I’d be thinking all kinds of stuff. You have to forget all that and understand that we all want the same thing here; we want to stay alive. Now in order to do that, we have to keep our distance from those nasty bastards out there, and the best way we’ve found of doing that is to lead them on a bit of a merry dance. That’s what this place is all about. We’ll stay here a while longer—long enough to make sure we haven’t been followed or tracked, usually a couple of hours max—then we leave. It’s several miles back to base, and we cover those miles on foot in absolute, complete, total fucking silence. Everyone understand that?”

  There are a few mumbled responses, and a couple of subdued conversations spring up in different parts of the group. Aaron looks less than impressed.

  “Well, you clearly don’t get it, because if you did, you’d keep your fucking mouths shut.”

  Now there’s silence. Pin-drop time.

  “That’s better. Look, I’m not pissing around here, people; we’re talking life or death. Your life or death. There are a couple more things you need to get your heads around. First, once we’re out in the open, we stick together, but you’re on your own. Anyone falls behind or goes ahead and ends up getting attacked, that’s just too bad. Doesn’t matter who it is. You get yourself in trouble and no one’s going to come to your rescue. You lot used your only get-out-of-jail-free card when we found you back at that leisure center. Got it?”

  Nods this time. No words.

  “Good. So there’s no heroics, no risk-taking, no jumping in and trying to save the day. We’re all of us only responsible for two things—getting ourselves to the base in one piece, and not giving the game away for everyone else. Again, same goes for everyone. I get caught, I’m dead. You get caught, you’re dead. And that’s another thing—you do anything that gives a Hater even the slightest clue where we are, and I’ll kill you myself.”

  Aaron waits for his words to sink in, then speaks again.

  “We’ll answer all your questions when we get home. We’ll feed you, make you comfortable, and keep you safe.”

  Matt’s still not sure he’s buying any of this, but right now, food and safety are all he wants.

  “From now until I tell you otherwise,” Aaron continues, “no one makes a sound.”

  * * *

  The wait feels endless, but it’s nothing compared to what this group has already endured. Down in the shelter, the hanging on was interminable. Here, they know it’s only temporary. Matt finds himself near a cobweb-covered window overlooking the forgotten lawns at the back of this grand house. Kara’s sitting on a workbench next to him, her knees drawn up to her chest.


  She spots something outside. Nudges him with the toe of her boot, then nods.

  There’s a single Hater in the garden. It’s like a ghost; a twisted apparition from the pages of an old horror comic. The strangely shapeless figure moves slowly along one edge of the yellowed lawn, limping and lurching, halfheartedly trying to keep out of sight. Its disheveled appearance makes it difficult to make out, and Matt loses sight of it as it merges with the background, only its movements bringing it back into focus. It’s getting closer to the house, and with each step forward it takes, so his concern mounts. Has anyone else seen it? Is anyone going to do anything about it? Is it all down to him as usual?

  The creature is dealt with before it gets anywhere near. Two of Aaron’s people cut off its approach and attack in a pincer movement. It’s another well-rehearsed routine: a swift and silent assassination with one of them acting as bait while the other goes in for the kill. Both the body and the CDF killers are out of view in seconds, and it’s like no one was ever there. The clinical brutality of the execution is startling; impressive and unnerving in equal measure, proof positive of this CDF faction’s survival credentials. Christ, Matt thinks, his group barely managed to stay alive, and all they had to do was remain buried underground.

  * * *

  The light fades earlier than it should, the sun choked out of existence by swaths of impenetrable clouds. Matt’s beginning to wonder if there’s been a change of plan and they’re staying here for the night, but his question is answered before he can even ask.

  The CDF chaperones use flashlights to communicate, flashing lights at each other to signal their intent. In no time at all, everyone is standing together at the back of the house, ready to leave. They’ve formed a single column, which snakes through the kitchen and down the hallway. There’s a bizarre atmosphere—subdued and excited at the same time, terrified yet hopeful, keen to move yet feeling hopelessly underprepared. Matt’s keeping his options open. He deliberately positions himself toward the back of the line. If he doesn’t like how things are going, he’ll slip away and work his way back to this place.

  Aaron has a final warning for the group. He speaks in hushed tones, but the stillness of this building allows everyone to hear. “Like I said earlier, not a damn sound while we’re out there. Be under no illusions, we’re all expendable. If we think you’re going to jeopardize our collective safety, we’ll kill you before the Haters can get a sniff. The louder you try to argue your case, the quicker we’ll do it. My people will be spaced along the line to make sure we all comply. Just remember, we’re all as keen as each other to stay alive and get to base in one piece.”

  Matt believes this bloke. He’s in no doubt that if anyone fails to comply with his clear and unambiguous instructions, they won’t live to see the morning, but he doesn’t get the impression Aaron and his crew are trigger (blade) happy. If they didn’t want numbers, they wouldn’t have risked the rescue. This base of theirs—wherever it is and however many people are there—is clearly all that matters.

  Whether his instincts prove to be right or not, Matt will find out soon enough. They’re finally on the move.

  15

  The walk through the encroaching darkness is slow and hard and tense. They follow a path through a heavily forested area. You don’t realize how much noise you unconsciously make until you’re forced to very consciously stay silent, Matt thinks. He soon sees there’s good reason for the silence, though the gloom makes it difficult to discern details. That’s probably for the best. From what he can tell, two Haters traveling one way meet this line of Unchanged traveling the other, and the results are predictably bloody. The noise of the Hater attack is expected, the ominous silence of the swift CDF response is not. The enemy is quickly dealt with, but there are casualties. Though Matt can’t be completely certain, he’s sure he sees one of the CDF smothering an injured member of their own crew to prevent them from screaming, then putting them out of their misery with a stab of a blade to the temple. I know they’d do that to any of us in a heartbeat, he thinks.

  He hears more movement around the area where the attack took place. The bodies are being trussed up and carried back to base. The person at the far end of the line quietly kicks over the leaf litter, covering their tracks.

  There’s another incident a short while later, this one far more satisfying than the last. An injured Hater man, sheltering in the forest, lying shivering in the leaf litter, is swallowed up by CDF fighters and killed. There’s a brief, muted struggle, then the bedraggled figure is slashed and bound and hauled over the shoulder of a huge militiaman before he’s finished bleeding out.

  The last hour has felt like ten, but they’re approaching the end of the journey. Initially, there are no obvious signs, but Matt can tell. He detects the slightest quickening of pace as the finish line nears. The trees thin out, and after a period of time spent walking along the side of a towering hedge, blocky building shapes become visible in the near distance. Fairly low to the ground with a large footprint, miles away from anywhere and anything—ideal.

  They reach a wire perimeter fence, then follow it around until they reach a concealed access point where the heavy-duty wire mesh has been cut open and folded back temporarily to let them through. Clever. When the mesh is replaced, Matt notes, the fence appears completely intact. Again and again, he’s impressed by what he’s seeing (rather, what he’s not seeing) here. These people have survived by thinking as much as they have by fighting.

  The group pauses again a little way inside the barrier so the bodies they’ve been carrying can be disposed of. Matt and Darren are conscripted by a couple of the CDF fighters to help, and between them, they lug the corpses in another direction for a couple of hundred meters to a lake of some description. Judging from the stench, the water’s stagnant, but that’s no surprise given the state of what’s left of the world. There’s a layer of glistening, oily muck on the surface, coating flotsam and jetsam and bodies. The corpses they’ve brought down here with them are weighed down with rocks, then carried out into the murk and dumped. It’s a well-hidden, partially submerged graveyard.

  They return to the others and begin the long walk from the perimeter to the first of the low buildings Matt glimpsed through the trees. Whatever this place used to be, it’s vast and well protected. At the end of a stretch of track up ahead, there’s a full-sized fighter plane mounted on a stand at an angle designed to make it look like it’s taking off. Was this an RAF base? Matt has a vague recollection of there being a number of them scattered across this part of the Midlands and into East Anglia. Up ahead, there are hangars and other buildings arranged in formation. A long-silent runway cuts diagonally across the middle of the site, the remains of a burned-out plane crashed at one end with its nose scraping the ground and what’s left of its blackened tail sticking up into the air.

  There are no signs of life whatsoever. No light. No noise. The longer this goes on, the more concerned Matt becomes, again convincing himself there might be a more sinister ulterior motive behind this CDF faction’s hospitality and helpfulness. He’s followed this train of thought too many times before … what if these people intend using Matt’s group for target practice or as decoys or to feed to Haters to keep the enemy placated and at a distance? What if they’re cannibals? Nothing seems beyond the realms of possibility anymore. Just when you think this world can’t get any worse, it usually does.

  They use a door Matt didn’t even see to enter a featureless building he thought they were walking past, and once they’re inside, everything changes. There’s movement in here where there was empty stillness before, dull light where everything else was dark. But even now, they’re still not done walking. The group is led deep to the center of the complex, which is squirreled away along many interconnected corridors, hidden from outsiders by turn after turn, wall after wall, room after room. Despite the openness of this location, the people based here clearly confine themselves to this central section of the base, far from the fence and any obv
ious entrances. There are battery- and gas-powered lamps on the walls as well as candles and several burning torches, which give the place an almost medieval appearance.

  Their long journey is finally over when they reach a large assembly room. All the windows have been boarded up. No light gets in, no light gets out. Aaron Rayner breathes an audible sigh of relief. “And relax. Made it. Got most of you here in one piece.”

  “And where exactly are we?” Darren asks, finding the confidence to speak again after hours of enforced silence. Aaron shines a flashlight across the room and illuminates a painted wooden sign over the door through which they’ve just entered.

  “RAF Thornhill.”

  “Why are we here?” Kara asks.

  “I’ll answer that,” a woman’s voice replies from nearby, and she pushes through the crowd. She’s average height, remarkably prim and proper, dressed in impeccably kept fatigues.

  “Bloody hell,” Matt says.

  Jason turns around and glares at him. “What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I think I have.”

  The woman climbs up onto a chair, Aaron instinctively offering a hand to steady her. She clears her throat. “It’s lovely to see you all. Welcome to RAF Thornhill, to our little sanctuary. My name’s Estelle Bisseker. I’m the commanding officer here.”

  Matt’s numb with surprise. He’s sure she’ll have long forgotten him, but he’s thought about Estelle a lot since his encounters with the CDF in the city-camp. His interactions with her were brief, yet their ramifications have in one way or another defined virtually everything he’s done since. His head fills with memories of their first encounter after he’d tracked Franklin through the camp, then he remembers the Hater hunts with Franklin and Jayce and how they led him to the group he helped escape. Then he recalls Franklin’s death and the frantic escape from the city to the printing house. Jayce had told him Estelle had disappeared, and he’d put two and two together and come up with a murder or suicide or some other kind of grisly demise. Seems he was way off the mark. She’d been one step ahead of the game all along and had beat a hasty retreat before the shit had hit the fan. Matt had harbored concerns about Estelle from the outset, but seeing her today leaves him in no doubt she knows exactly what she’s doing. It looks like it might make sense to stick with the CDF after all.