In Constant Fear (16 page)

I thought about conjuring up some kinda makeshift weevil protection—I didn't expect to see any out there, but what did I know? But what with our lack of sleep the previous night and a whole day of peddling and pushing that heavy tandem, I was so tired I more or less passed out where I was lying, and habitual insomniac or not, slid away to the next world before Lena could even settle Thomas next to her.

I guess it was for that reason—that I was so drained—that whoever it was, was able to sneak up on us so easily. I awoke to the sound of Lena's screams, just about able to make out in the darkness that she was backing away from someone and toward me, holding onto Thomas for grim death, determined to protect him.

It was the old “big guy” instinct, I guess: I leaped forward, staying low, pivoting on one hand and sweeping out with my feet, sensing more than anything that there was someone in the shadow of the tree. I made heavy contact with a body, kicking them around about the knees with enough force to knock them sideways, and took the opportunity to put myself between Lena and Thomas and our attacker.

“He's got a knife,” Lena warned, guessing I'd been about to dive in, and I realized he must've somehow threatened her before I awoke, that that was what'd set her off. It was so damn dark if I rushed him
there was every chance I'd impale myself, so I stayed where I was, not making a sound, crouched in front of Lena and Thomas, protecting her the same way she was protecting him, like those Russian dolls, each one covering the other.

I remembered the flashlight and started fumbling around until I finally found it near my backpack. It wasn't that heavy, but it'd surely hurt if you hit the right spot. I took a coupla swings, just in case the attacker was making a move our way, but there was nothing but empty air.

Finally he ran at me and I raised the flashlight, ready to hit him as hard as I could, but d'you know, he went to sidestep me—his only apparent interest was Lena and Thomas. I turned and swung in his direction, and managed to smash down on what I hoped was the hand holding the knife.

“Clancy!” Lena cried, not knowing what'd happened.

“It's okay,” I reassured her.

There are certain things in life a man will do anything to protect, and I guess his family is right at the top of that list. I swung at our attacker again, missing a coupla times, then hitting him unexpectedly hard on the shoulder, the force of the impact jarring the flashlight outta my hand. He lunged at me, his knife actually pierced my coat, but thankfully not my body. But d'you know, again he didn't bother with me, just headed for Lena and Thomas, and the moment I realized that was what he was doing, I dived at him, trusting in God his knife wasn't directed my way, grabbing him around the neck and shoulders and dragging him away. Lena was up and at him like some wild thing, Thomas still in her arms, repeatedly kicking him, while I just about tore his arm off in my efforts to get rid of that damn knife. Finally he dropped it, making the contest a whole lot fairer, and I promptly hit him as hard as I damn well could. He flew backward and fell over the tandem on the ground. I scrambled across to hit him again but tripped over that thing myself and by the time I was up, he was away, his footsteps rapidly retreating into the distance.

“Are you okay?” I called to Lena.

“Yeah. Yeah, we're fine,” she said, trying to calm Thomas, making sure he was all right, though the amount of noise he was making, there wasn't a lot wrong with his lungs. “You sure he's gone?”

“I reckon,” I said, locating the flashlight, finding it still worked, shining it in the direction our attacker had fled, realizing that was probably how he'd spotted us—when I'd used it earlier.

“
Why?
” Lena cried, every bit as shocked and confused as I was.

“Don't ask me.”

“Was he trying to kill me or Thomas?”

“I dunno.”

“What if he comes back?”

“He won't,” I said firmly, “not without his knife.” Though really, I had no idea. “Go back to sleep.”

“Are you kidding?” Lena cried.

I paused for a moment, trying to calm the situation, to treat it like a one-off. “I'll stay on watch. I'm the insomniac, remember?”

It took a lotta persuasion, but eventually, with Thomas in her arms and her in mine, my back set to the tree, she did finally fall back to sleep.

I just sat there, my ears stretching out into the darkness, listening as hard as I could, though I really didn't expect him to come back. His knife had flown over into the scrub somewhere and it went through my head that maybe I should think about trying to find it in the morning.

There was just one thing I didn't understand. Mind you, it was one helluva concern. I hadn't said anything to Lena—she'd found it difficult enough to fall asleep as it was—but despite how dark the night had been, while I was wrestling with our attacker, I'd realized I'd known who it was.

It was one helluva shock, believe me. I couldn't get my head around it at all.
Why the hell had George followed us out here and attempted to kill my lover and child?

I did doze off for half an hour or so, slipping over the precipice, barely able to claw my way back up, waking to see Lena feeding Thomas, her eyes still closed, obviously trying to grab an extra few minutes.

Without a word I began to work out what little food we had left, both of us, I reckoned, not only exhausted, but also that bit depressed by the turn of events. I just couldn't get over who'd attacked us—George was one of the nicest, most upstanding young guys you were ever likely to meet.

“You okay?” Lena asked wearily.

“Not really.”

“What is it?”

I took a deep breath, knowing I didn't have much choice but to tell her. “I know who it was last night.”

“Who attacked us?” she asked, despite her blindness her eyes suddenly snapping open.

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“George.”

“Who we saw earlier?”

“Yeah . . . I thought he looked a bit strange.”

“Oh my God,” Lena groaned, like it was the final proof the world had gone crazy—not that we needed it.

For a while we both sat in silence, as if we were determined not to discuss it, not to let it affect us in any way.

“Gotta get up into those hills,” I eventually ventured, tearing off half of our last piece of stale flatbread, pouring a little oil over it and placing it in front of her.

Lena juggled Thomas from one arm to the other, then began to eat.

“We'll find somewhere to settle,” I continued, trying to sound optimistic, “where we can live off the land.”

For a moment she never said anything and I wondered what was going through her head. “They're just going find us again,” she eventually sighed. “You know they are.”

“I don't know anything,” I replied.

“Especially with what you've got inside you.”

I never said any more. I could've argued the point, reminded her that Jimmy didn't think they were functioning yet, but I preferred to ignore the whole subject. I mean, hopefully it'd been my imagination, but a coupla times in the night I'd had this sense that I could feel it inside me, like an ice-cold chrysalis lodged somewhere deep in my brain, its inhabitant occasionally stirring, getting ready to slide out and take me over.

Whether I was getting carried away or not, it was still deeply disturbing. Doctor Simon had told me a little about the implants, but I'd never thought about them from the point of having one—and anyway, was the weevil implant the final solution or just one more experiment that might malfunction? Whatever, it was getting harder and harder to ignore, not to give in to a wave of revulsion that was bidding me to reach down inside my throat and tear that damn thing outta me.

A little later we packed up everything, I helped Lena secure Thomas, she helped me secure the backpack, and we wearily mounted the tandem and rode away.

It took us a couple more hours but finally we reached the hills and soon we had to get off and push again. I'll tell ya, that crazy tandem might've been a blessing some of the time, but the rest it was a damn curse.

It wasn't long before we had to stop, both of us out of breath, and I took the opportunity to look back across the wide expanse of the plain.

“Not a soul,” I commented.

Lena nodded, her mood now slightly more approachable. “Where are we going exactly?” she asked, which was a good question.

“We'll know when we get there,” I replied, the light tone in my voice begging her not to pursue the subject.

She sighed but didn't say any more and the two of us continued our climb, not so much pushing the tandem as leaning on it and letting it slip out from beneath us.

When we got to the top, we were rewarded by a whole range of hills, hazy blue-green swells and folds repeating as far as I could see, most of them covered by forest. I hesitated for a few moments, beginning to wonder how much longer the tandem would be useful, but Lena had her mind on other things. She started to sniff, like she'd caught the scent of something.

“Wood smoke,” she said, and I looked around, squinting as hard as I could—if she said it was there, it was somewhere. And sure enough, I spotted this slight blue trail wafting out of a valley a couple of hills over.

“Yeah. Over there,” I told her, pointing in its direction and placing her hand on mine.

“What does it look like?”

“I dunno. Could be anything.”

“Let's go and see,” she commented, sounding just that bit hopeful.

“Okay,” I replied. I mean, I knew she was right, we had to check it out, but I was a long way from comfortable about it.

We eased slowly down the first hill, hanging onto the brakes to stop the tandem running away from us, swerving left and right to avoid trees, Thomas making these little cooing noises, though whether out
of joy or fear, I really couldn't say. At the bottom it was a climb and a push back up the other side, and from that summit, a slower descent down toward the source of the smoke.

About halfway down we decided to stop and hide the tandem. If we did have to make a run for it, we didn't want to be pushing its weight back up the hill. I did suggest to Lena that I went on alone, that her and Thomas should wait, but she brushed it aside, as if, just at that moment, she really didn't care what happened.

As we got closer, I could see through the trees occasional glimpses of a clearing and a camp: lots of simple shelters made out of branches, even the occasional tent.

“I'm not sure about this,” I muttered, stopping for a moment, but Lena wouldn't hear of it.

“Come on.”

Somewhat against my better judgment we worked our way further down; I was beginning to appreciate that the clearing was bigger than I'd first thought, with a lot more people. I hesitated, lurking behind this large tree, aware that it had to be my decision—I was the one who could see. Was this a village for refugees, or a camp for crazies?

We were just standing there, awaiting my verdict, whether we should go and introduce ourselves or not, when this guy came out of nowhere—older, a bit of a limp, like Jimmy—and walked past carrying some firewood.

“Who was that?” Lena asked.

“Some guy. Barely gave us a glance.”

She shrugged, like surely that confirmed it was okay, and we cautiously followed in his footsteps, still ready to turn and run at a moment's notice.

There must've been thirty or forty dwellings varying in size from those able to house a small family right down to those not much bigger than a grave. Most of them were set in a tight communal circle, but there were a few outcrops elsewhere, plus the occasional solitary dwelling right on the edge of the forest. The thing that impressed me most, that was noticeable right away, was the atmosphere. That
smoke drifting leisurely up into the sky said it all. There was a real sense of peace and relaxation about the place. Why, I didn't know; maybe being so far out gave them a greater sense of security? One or two looked over, a couple waved, but no one actually bothered us . . . at least, not at first.

I guess I should've seen it coming. We were just idly wandering around, wondering who to approach, or if anyone would approach
us
, when as were passing this small shelter a woman came out, emerging on her hands and knees, stretching herself once she was able to stand upright.

I guess she was in her forties; small and dark, with the kinda face that made you think she might've had problems with alcohol in the past. Her jowls were so heavy you wouldn't have thought her able to express emotion, yet she let out this cry of excitement and rushed over and I realized she'd caught a glimpse of Thomas's leg, hanging outta the papoose.

“Whaddya got?” she asked, her voice that of a curious child.

Lena instantly untied the blanket and wrapped it around Thomas, trying to not reveal him, but it was too late.

“Is thatta
baby
?” the woman asked incredulously.

Lena turned to me for guidance on how she should react, but I wasn't sure myself. “Yes,” she eventually replied.

“He's sleeping,” I said, as if that might mean something.

“
She's gotta baby!
” the woman shouted, at first completely ignored by the other villagers, as if she was well known for saying odd things, but she just kept on, “
It's a baby!
”

Finally, in ones and twos, people began to wander across, more out of wanting to know what was going on, I reckoned, than believing what was being said. But when the cry started to be taken up by others, a real surge swept around the village. I just stood there wondering what the hell was about to happen, if I was gonna have to fight for my partner and child again, cursing myself for not having anticipated such a reaction. After all, if Doctor Simon had been telling the truth, none of them had seen a baby in
years
, so it was hardly surprising how they were behaving. More and more of them started
to make their way over, streaming outta shelters and even outta the forest: it was like the Baby Jesus was back in town.

“It's okay,” I whispered to Lena, praying it would be.

We just stood there, surrounded by the gathering crowd, all jostling in on us. I was ready to start swinging at the first sign of trouble, but I soon appreciated there wasn't gonna be any; that all they wanted was to take a look at the little guy. As one they all began cooing and awing, expressions on their faces of the simplest joy, a couple of older women and a man wiping away their tears.

“He looks like my Ronnie!” one woman cried. “Ronnie!” she repeated, as if Thomas had somehow reconnected her with her lost family.

It wasn't long before the little guy woke up, his bottom lip immediately tucking down at the corners, soon bursting out into what he does best—and you know what? They absolutely loved it! A choir of angels singing God's latest composition wouldn't have got a more enthusiastic response. When Lena finally persuaded him to stop, I thought they were gonna give him a round of applause. For sure, it seemed to confirm everything the Doc had said—that there hadn't been any babies born, or at least, none that anyone there had seen.

I don't know how long we stood there, Lena clutching the little guy to her like a mother bird enfolding her chick within her wing; just about everybody'd had a peep, but there was no sign of their enthusiasm waning. I was starting to wonder how we'd bring this to an end when this woman emerged from what was probably the most substantial dwelling in the village and started making her way across, looking a little like we'd disturbed her sleep.

She stopped when she saw us, a look of real surprise on her face. “You know, it amazes me how everyone seems to end up here.”

“Is that right,” I replied, not entirely sure of her attitude.

“My theory is we've chosen a bad place: that if people want to run away into the Interior, once they get over the mountains, the natural contours of the land lead them this way.” She hesitated for a moment, giving me a slightly weary but still welcoming smile. “Ya don't remember me, d'you?”

I stared at her more closely. I guessed she was around the same age as me, stocky, roughly cropped thick silver hair, a no-nonsense expression—like the teacher who used to terrorize you at school—and the way she moved, the way she handled herself, she looked to be in pretty good shape, too. But no, I didn't remember her. “Sorry.”

“I was a buddy of Bailey's,” she told me, holding out her hand and giving mine a surprisingly firm squeeze.

Again I studied her . . . And this time—
yeah!
I did remember her! She was one of the ex-soldiers who'd fought against the Wastelords that night—when we'd descended that steep hill in the fog she'd taken a bit of a fall, along with a couple of others; later she'd done everything she could to save Bailey.

“Sheila!” I said, the name popping outta nowhere.

Poor Bailey, he was maybe the bravest and most ornery Villager on the Island. He died at the hands of a group of machete-wielding Wastelords, but the old soldiers he'd recruited were probably the difference that night—well, them and the kids.

Sheila was about to add something more when the first woman who'd spoken to us tugged at her sleeve, like a little girl trying to get her attention. “She's gotta baby,” she said, pointing at Lena.

Sheila might've been an old soldier, and a pretty tough one at that, I reckoned, but her reaction was no different from anyone else's. She peered over the top of the blanket and immediately broke into that now familiar expression of universal joy. “Will you look at that,” she purred, and for once Thomas was awake but undemanding, gaping back at all those gaping at him. “I haven't seen a baby since I was sent out to the Island.”

“He's
beautiful
!” the dark little woman cried, then, “Handsome,” she corrected herself.

Sheila took in the situation, that we were obviously feeling a little hemmed in by all this simple-natured, slightly overwhelming enthusiasm, and invited us into her lean-to. There were several groans and protests but she just waved them away, and Lena and me stepped into a dwelling that had obviously been labored over for some time. Some of the timbers had been smoothed off, with proper joints and
cross-beams for extra strength. Smoked meat and a couple of pheasants were hanging from one of the beams, and there was even a small portable generator and a coupla cans of what I presumed to be gas, in the corner.

Sheila couldn't keep her eyes off the little guy, acting as if he was a newborn unicorn or something, shaking her head and smiling in disbelief. “That's the most wonderful sight I've seen in a very long time.”

“You won't say that when he starts crying,” Lena told her.

For some time the little guy remained the center of attention, with an awful lot of cooing and ahhhing going on, but I had a lotta questions and a growing curiosity.