Them or Us (30 page)

46

THEY WERE BETTER PREPARED
for this day than I’d expected, but Peter Sutton’s death and my unannounced arrival at the bunker have forced the Unchanged to drastically alter their plans. We left as dawn broke. Using the van I brought the children here in and the delivery truck that Sutton already had hidden in the cowshed (it’s obvious now that he had it ready for a day like today), Joseph and Parker are driving the bulk of the group down to Southwold, where they’ll wait at the lighthouse, if it’s still standing. I’m on the way back into Lowestoft with Todd and Dean in the dead soldiers’ jeep. We’re going to clear out the stash of supplies from the house I was using, then load the whole lot into the biggest boat we can find that’s still seaworthy. Then, if by some miracle we manage to sail through Lowestoft and out the other side, we’ll rendezvous with the others at Southwold. I hold out very little hope of ever getting there, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide my pessimism.

It’s another icy-cold day, and the fact that the windshield of this jeep was shot out in the fighting yesterday isn’t helping. Everywhere is covered with a half inch of snow this morning, the white on the ground making the sky look dirtier than usual, and there’s been a severe frost. The bodies of Ankin’s soldiers were frozen solid when a couple of the men tried to shift them earlier. The layer of snow makes it easy for anyone to follow our tracks, but we don’t have any option. Although the three sets of tire marks led away from the farm in the same direction initially, they split at Wrentham. With a little luck anyone trying to track our movements will follow the jeep back toward Lowestoft and leave the others alone.

I’m still in constant pain, but I have to drive. Dean and Todd are in the back of the jeep, both of them armed and ready to fight if they have to, but remaining hidden under blankets because if anyone sees them, we’re all dead. I keep telling myself that I must be out of my fucking mind to be a part of this madness. At least the fact we’re in one of Ankin’s vehicles with its unsubtle red and white circle markings should make us appear less conspicuous if we’re spotted. Unless Hinchcliffe somehow won yesterday’s battle royal, that is. If he’s still in charge, the paint job will literally become a target.

It’s not long before I can see Lowestoft up ahead. I can’t make out any of the buildings yet, rather just a dark haze where the gray smoke of battle is still drifting up into the sky, and the faint orange glow of several fires lighting up the underside of the heavy cloud cover. Is there anything left of the damn place? Even today, months after everything began to fall apart, after all the endless killing and bombing and wanton destruction I’ve witnessed, the sight of the dying town in the near distance makes my cold heart sink like a stone. It might make our mission simpler, but it was all so fucking pointless. I don’t even know who fired the first metaphorical shot yesterday, and I doubt Ankin or Hinchcliffe does either.

I drive back down the A12 toward Lowestoft. I’ll turn off shortly, about a mile and a half before we get anywhere near the center of town, then I’ll use back roads to get into the development. Wait. There’s movement on the road up ahead. I slow down, and Dean immediately reacts behind me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, starting to shuffle nervously under the blanket.

“Now’s not the time to be looking up,” I tell him. “There are people coming.”

“What kind of people?”

“What do you think?”

Stupid question—but who the hell are they? They’re as drab and gray as everything else, and they blend colorlessly into their surroundings, making it hard to accurately gauge their numbers. I can see perhaps as many as twenty of them now, dragging themselves wearily away from Lowestoft, carrying their few remaining belongings in bags and boxes, moving alone or in pairs, large gaps opening up between them. They don’t even look up when I pass, instead keeping their heads bowed with either exhaustion or fear, maybe both. They look like refugees. That would make sense, I suppose, as much as anything makes sense today. If the fighting continued after I got away yesterday, there’s probably hardly anything of the town left, and therefore no point staying anywhere near Lowestoft anymore. This may well be the beginning of an exodus. Or maybe it’s the tail end of one? Are these few people all that’s left?

“Who is it?” Dean asks, only daring to speak when I change direction and pull off the main road, then accelerate again toward the development.

“Refugees. As lost as the rest of us.”

*   *   *

The house looks just as I left it as I pull up outside, the remains of the door that Hinchcliffe kicked in still swinging to and fro in the wind. I reverse down the drive and park next to the side door, then get out and peer in through the living room window, shielding my eyes from the snow’s glare. Doesn’t look like anything’s been disturbed. Place looks like a fucking bomb site, but it’s the same bomb site I left earlier in the week. There are no footprints in the snow but mine. I check up and down the road, and then, once I’m sure it’s safe, I open the back of the jeep and pull the blankets off Dean and Todd.

“In there,” I tell them, pushing them toward the front of the house, terrified that someone’s going to see them. “Move!”

I follow them in, then walk straight into Todd’s back. Both he and Dean have stopped dead and are staring into the living room. I push past them to see what’s wrong. It’s Rufus’s body. I forgot about him, poor bastard. I grab my dead friend’s ankles and try to drag him out of the way.

“This is the kind of thing you’re up against,” I tell them, struggling to move Rufus because he’s frozen to the ground. “This guy was a friend of mine who fucked up.”

Still struggling with the corpse, I glance up and see them both staring back at me in horror.

“Your friend, but why…?” Todd starts to ask.

“Not me,” I quickly interrupt, setting him straight. “I didn’t do it.”

I don’t know if they believe me or not; it doesn’t make any difference. I pick up my sleeping bag that’s still draped over the back of my chair and use it to cover Rufus up. There’s nothing worth salvaging in this room. My pile of books and some of my other belongings lie scattered all around the place, and that’s where they’ll stay now. I don’t need them anymore. Even if I started reading another book today, the way I’m feeling I doubt I’d last long enough to finish it. I go through into the kitchen, beckoning the men to follow, then peel up the linoleum and lift up the floorboards.

“Start with all of this,” I tell them, crouching down and showing them where my food store is. “Then open the cupboards and take what you can from them, too. I’ll have a look and see if there’s anything useful upstairs.”

I remove the padlock and chain from the side door so they can easily load up the back of the jeep, then throw Dean the keys and leave them both to it. I climb the steps to the mausoleum-like rooms on the second floor, heading straight for the dried-up water tank where I keep my pathetic weapons cache: a pistol, some ammunition, and a grenade.

Last time I was here—last time I was trying to leave Lowestoft—I was working alone and intending to travel alone, too. Things are different now. The Unchanged need to get enough stuff together for at least thirty people. Bedding, clothes, furniture for firewood, everything counts today. Between us we need to completely empty this place and leave nothing behind. Maybe we should check a few of the nearest houses, too, if we have time. We should fill the car to capacity and take as much stuff as possible with us to the boatyard.

*   *   *

The noises downstairs have stopped. By the sound of things they’re done loading the jeep. I’ve been watching the road outside from an upstairs window, making sure no one comes snooping around. The people we saw as we were driving back here were a concern. If any of them drift off the main road and end up around this place we could be in trouble. My body hurts, and it’s hard to concentrate. Every movement is an effort, and I lean against the windowsill and stare out, my eyes drawn to the drifting black smoke rising up over what’s left of Lowestoft in the distance.

I throw a couple of sheets and blankets down the stairs, then empty out a chest of drawers and chuck a load of clothing and underwear down, too. In the bathroom there’s a little soap and shampoo and a few other things in a mirrored cabinet on the wall. We had one like that in the apartment back home. I used to shave in front of it, but the man I see when I look in the mirror today is nothing like the man I used to be. Today I look like the life has been sucked out of me, and I’m thankful for the mess of hair and the straggly beard that hide the full extent of my physical deterioration. The longer I look, the more frightened I get. If someone cut me open, they’d find more cancer than man now, I think.

I pause to catch my breath again in the back bedroom, the child’s room with the abandoned board game on the floor. I used to avoid coming in here before, but things feel different today. It’s not much of a gesture, but I pick up a couple of small teddy bears and shove them in my pocket along with the grenade and gun. I bet that kid Chloe will like them. She deserves to have something like—

“What’s going on, Danny?”

I freeze and stand perfectly still, unable to move, staring at the wall dead ahead, gripping another toy tight in my hand. I know that voice. It’s neither Todd nor Dean. Too calm. Too composed. Too confident. It can’t be, can it? I slowly turn around, and there, standing in the doorway in front of me, his clothes glistening with streaks of freshly spilled blood, is Hinchcliffe. My mouth’s dry and I can’t speak. How can this be happening?

“Found two Unchanged downstairs, helping themselves to your stuff. What’s that all about? Don’t worry, by the way, Danny, I straightened them out for you. Stopped them stealing anything. Killed both of the fuckers before they even knew I was watching.”

“I can explain, Hinchcliffe…”

“I doubt you can.”

He takes a step toward me, and I move back until I hit the wall and I can’t go any farther.

“It’s not what you think.”

“How would you know? You don’t know what I think. I don’t know how you think, either. I thought I was starting to understand, but you keep surprising me, Danny McCoyne.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I knew you’d come back. You’re so fucking naive. You’ve got no idea, have you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He walks forward again, and I’ve got nowhere left to go. He leans over me, an arm on either side of my shoulders, pinning me down without even having to touch me. He checks my pockets, taking my grenade, my pistol, and one of my knives. He digs the tip of the knife into the wall, level with my eyeline. He twists the blade around and makes a hole, plaster dust drifting down and landing on my boot.

“Why do you think I’ve kept hold of you for so long, Danny?” he asks. “Is it because of your dynamic personality? Your sparkling wit? Your remarkable strength?”

Sarcastic bastard.

“Because I’m useful to you? Because I can hold the Hate? Because I can hunt out the Unchanged?”

“Right on all three counts,” he says, “but you still don’t completely get it.”

I can’t think straight, and I doubt I’d be able to understand what he’s talking about even if I could. He pushes himself away from the wall and walks away. I have two more knives on me; should I just try to attack and get this over with? The temptation’s strong, but I don’t think I can. Even if I did, Hinchcliffe’s always been far more powerful than me. He’s just killed two Unchanged men without breaking a sweat. I wouldn’t stand a chance.

“You, Danny,” he explains, pointing at me with my blade, “are unique. Didn’t you ever wonder why I gave you so many chances?”

“To be honest, I was just relieved you weren’t kicking the shit out of me. Anything else was a bonus.”

He laughs and sits down on the end of the narrow single bed on one side of this room. He picks up a small metal toy—looks like a music box—from a bedside table, then puts down his knife and turns a key to wind it up. When he lets it go it starts to play a tune. A lullaby. Can’t remember the name of it. Makes me want to cry.

“The reality, Danny,” he says, talking over the beautiful noise, “is that you’re different. I told you before that I liked the way you could take a step back from everything, remember? You’ve always been able to look beyond the fighting and see the bigger picture. Most people think you’re a useless coward, and to an extent you are, but there’s more to you than that.”

“So how is a useless coward supposed to help the all-powerful Hinchcliffe?”

“Simple, you’re always looking for the way out. You come at problems from a different perspective that no one else sees. We’re all focused on the kill, but not you. I came back here for you, Danny, because I knew you’d be trying to get away from the fighting, not running toward it like the rest of them, and I knew you’d end up here again eventually. I’m not stupid, I know how much stuff you’ve got hidden away here. Christ, I’ve been giving you extra rations for weeks, and I know you haven’t been eating any of it. It was pretty damn obvious you’d been stashing it away somewhere. Close enough to Lowestoft for you to get to, far enough away to avoid any fallout, so to speak.”

“Take everything.”

“I don’t want your food, you moron.”

“What, then?”

“I want to know where you were going. I knew you’d have a plan to get away, Dan, I just didn’t think it would involve Unchanged.”

“It doesn’t now you’ve killed them.”

“For fuck’s sake, what else was I going to do? They were Unchanged, Danny.”

“They hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“They were still breathing, that’s wrong in my book.”

“Then maybe you need a new book.”

He gets up fast and charges across the room, slamming into me before I have a chance to react, shoving me hard against the wall, his hand wrapped around my throat.

“Don’t push me,” he hisses in my face, tightening his grip. “I’m really not in the mood. I’ve had a bad couple of days.”

“It didn’t have to be like this.”