Rebellion: After It Happened Book 6 Read online

  As they approached the cluster of single-storey buildings which grew out from the stone-built farmhouse, a small crowd gathered to greet them. A woman wrapped warmly against the bitter wind stepped forward from the group. She had a weathered face and cropped black hair, but she possessed such an air of style and grace that she gave Leah a hint of fierce pride in the woman. Most people saw it as cold, but then again most people lacked a depth of vision.

  “You must be the new people,” she declared in passable English.

  Leah regarded the woman before clicking her fingers to bring Ash to her left heel. He sat obediently at her next subtle hand gesture. Having subconsciously demonstrated that she was no child, she slung her gun and held out a hand to the woman.

  “Wow,” she answered sarcastically. “What gave us away?” she asked with a smile.

  A moment of silence reigned until the woman’s stern face cracked into a broad smile and she accepted the outstretched hand.

  “I am Nadine,” she said.

  “Leah,” the young girl answered whilst gripping the hand firmly. “Ash and Mitch,” she continued, pointing to dog and man in turn.

  Despite being relegated in the hierarchy to be behind the dog’s social standing, Mitch watched on with a fatherly pride. He had just seen an armed teenage girl totally, yet subtly, dominate a meeting with suspicious foreign allies and disarm their suspicion with the same cocky but capable arrogance that he saw in Dan, which somehow made them both seem endearing.

  The apple, he thought to himself, does not fall far from the tree.

  They were treated to a tour of the simplistic facilities as the supplies were unloaded. They learned from Nadine that twenty of their usual workers had moved to Sanctuary in the winter months to bolster the strength of the small fishing fleet. The majority had remained to tend to the livestock and prepare for the springtime planting boom as well as to fell trees to stockpile logs. Ash bounced alongside them and froze, eyes fixed on something ahead. Leah looked up to see he had locked eyes with another dog, but sensed no threat or malice in eithers body language. “Go on then,” she said to him, as though giving a young child permission to run ahead to play. She watched as he bounded up to a dog two thirds his size and the two playfully circled each other before one bolted away, low to the ground, to be chased by the other.

  Leah looked at the roof of every one of the low buildings to see small windmills, like children’s toys almost, sprouting from each one. Some had two or three.

  Seeing her incomprehension, Nadine explained.

  “We use the part from the cars. We make our own electricity,” she said simply.

  Leah frowned and looked to Mitch.

  “The alternator,” he said. “The bit that charges the car battery from the engine running. I’m guessing you charge batteries from the windmill all day and have lights for the night?” he asked, looking towards their host.

  Nadine understood most of what he had said, and nodded.

  “We took the batteries from the golf cars,” she added.

  Smart, Mitch thought, assuming that she meant golf buggies and not the other kind. Car batteries were designed to provide one big blast of power to start an engine, whereas golf buggies were designed to hold charge for longer. With each house having a battery and a couple of micro wind turbines attached, especially with how windy the area was thanks to its geography, they would have a low voltage but near-permanent supply of power.

  “Can’t believe we never thought of that,” Leah said, turning to Mitch.

  “Why not? The prison is basically in woodland with very little wind and we had the solar panels, remember?” he answered.

  “True,” Leah said pensively, realising that she had forgotten a lot of their existence at the prison, which was only a few months ago, as it wasn't relevant to her life right then.

  “What about defence?” she asked Nadine, fearing the answer but having to ask anyway.

  After a short pause the woman confirmed her worst fears.

  “From wolves or people?” she asked.

  Ignoring the obvious evasion, Leah glanced at Ash and enquired about the wolves.

  “There are packs of wolves that have come down from the mountains now. They come for our animals but we try to keep them away. We have a man who hunts them for us and we have not been troubled by them for many weeks.”

  Stunned by the information that wild animals were encroaching on human territory out of hunger or outright bravery, Leah fought the spiralling feelings which threatened to take her back to the supply run that almost cost her life. The memory of the pack of wild dogs attacking their routine supply run would stay with her forever, and she had no intention of taking on a wolf pack. Shaking it away, she concentrated on an enemy she was less afraid of.

  “And people?” she enquired of Nadine.

  “We trust in humanity,” she said after a pause, without a hint of humour or sarcasm.

  Leah and Mitch exchanged a look which clearly conveyed how they felt about her reply, until an ungodly shriek pierced the air. Instantly breaking into a run towards the source of the noise, she rounded a low building with her weapon ready to see Ash and the other dog locked in a curious butt-to-butt embrace, both salivating and whining, and wearing an exhausted look of shame. Terror evaporated into embarrassment and the small crowd dissipated to leave the dogs to have their private time in peace.

  Within the hour they were plodding their ponderous return journey back to Sanctuary, hearts heavy with a sense of uneasiness at how these people had escaped the post-apocalyptic bingo of terrible events thus far.

  LAYERS UPON LAYERS

  The two men spoke quietly, despite their elevated station, for fear or being overheard. They had enjoyed a great deal of privilege, even more so after moving to the new camp, but the conversation they were having was one that didn’t pay to publicise.

  Everyone there was encouraged to report on the activities of others; guards reported on other guards as well as reporting their observations on the attitudes and behaviour of those under their dubiously named protection.

  The two brothers whispered to each other, both freezing still and holding their breath when a noise sounded outside the room they were in. When the small sounds of a person walking down the corridor faded away they breathed out in unison and continued in a hushed whisper.

  “How are we going to get the others to follow us?” the quiet one asked.

  “We just take control and they will have to follow us!” his younger brother responded too loudly, receiving an angry shush to quieten him. “Some of them might try to protect him, but if we kill a couple the others will fold like origami.”

  Benjamin thought about it. He thought about it so long that he could almost feel Will’s frustration at his own inaction quivering beside him; like it gave off an imperceptible hum.

  “Maybe,” he finally said, deep in thought, “but we have to pick who we trust very carefully.”

  Standing and squeezing his brother’s shoulder with a fierce look of mixed excitement and pride, Will left the room to carry on as normal.

  Leaning back on his bed, Benjamin’s mind ran riot with the possibilities of what could go wrong. He disagreed with Richards on many things, but he couldn't argue that the man wasn't efficient at running the place. He enjoyed rank and its associated privilege, but deep down he knew he was just a guard dog wearing a fancy collar.

  Could he even expect to do any better? Would his younger brother’s tendency towards being impetuous jeopardise both of their lives?

  With all these thoughts bouncing like a screensaver in his mind, he lay back to a restless sleep racked with tortured dreams.

  And so began the race to seize control of the camp, although neither faction knew of the other’s existence yet.

  ROBIN HOOD

  Before Leah and Mitch returned, a face that Dan hadn't seen before arrived at the gates of Sanctuary. From his chilly perch atop the battlements where, unknown to him, Leah had stood that mornin
g, Dan watched as the sentry on the gate waved a familiar greeting to the man he obviously knew.

  For the first time in weeks Dan missed having his equipment at his fingertips as he reached for his rifle and the zoom optic attached to it. Cursing silently, he was forced to rely on the mark one human eyeball to gather more information. All he could see from that distance was that the newcomer was a big man, barrel-chested and carrying something he couldn't fully make out. His inquisitive nature was piqued, and he jogged down the ancient stone steps for a closer look.

  The distance really did not do the man justice. Dan was reminded of Bronson, the slaver he had faced so long ago. Just as that man, this newcomer to his rabbit hole, was a giant amongst normal humans. He stood at well over six feet but with such overt power in his upper body and arms which were wider than most men’s thighs. The look was completed with the wildest and most fearsome beard Dan had ever seen; he marvelled at it with is mouth open, worrying that the man could conceal a weapon in the wiry mess hanging from his chin.

  Seeing his stare, the man regarded him with a look of almost cold malevolence before the huge beard cracked open to reveal surprisingly white teeth.

  “You must be this man I have heard of,” he boomed in obviously Russian accented English.

  Dan was frozen to the spot at being addressed directly, especially in an accent he was not expecting, after most people around him did not speak his language. Like a fool, he just stood still with his mouth still slightly open.

  The big, white smile disappeared, and the wild man turned back to the gate guard and spoke in rapid French. Dan caught nothing of the exchange, but he guessed that his inability to speak English was being discussed. Gathering himself, Dan tried to play it cool despite the fear that the man may eat him.

  “Dan,” he said loudly, offering a hand to the beast towering above him. In truth, the man was only four inches taller but his sheer strength and girth made him look far bigger.

  The bright eyes above the beard shot back to him before the teeth appeared again.

  “So you can make words after all?” he asked loudly, mocking him. He went on before Dan could answer.

  “I heard of your comings here,” he said, taking the offered hand with a surprisingly gentle touch, the Russian accent permeating every syllable of his speech as he released his grip and waved his expansive arms to demonstrate his point. “And I would have come sooner only I had great works to do.” With that he gestured at a brutal weapon rested against the wall. Dan gaped at it: a compound bow of such simple origin in stark contrast with its complex series of strings and pulleys. Glancing back to the man he saw no less than three different sized knives sheathed at his waist, and a quiver sprouting synthetically feathered arrows jutting out over his right shoulder.

  “What are you?” Dan said with unintentional rudeness, instantly regretting his words. Luckily the feral giant before him took no offence.

  Smiling broadly, he announced himself grandly, “I am Pietrovich, but you may call me Pietro. I came here to hunt in the mountains as I have done for every year. It is my… otpusk?” he struggled for the right word, snapping the fingers of his right hand. “My vacations?”

  “You’re here on holiday hunting?” Dan asked, mouth agape once more.

  “Yes!” Pietro answered, glad that this simple man understood his meaning. “I hunt the boar in the mountains and woods, but now I spend much time hunting volk who have been made bold now.”

  Dan thought for a moment.

  “Wolves?” he asked, hoping his guess was wrong.

  “Yes. The wolves,” he agreed seriously, deflating Dan’s sense of safety. “They breed like the rabbit now, and come from the hills to take animals. This we cannot allow.”

  For the first time Dan noticed that the huge man was made to look bigger by the big, dark fur cloak he wore over his shoulders. Seeing his gaze fixed on it, Pietro smiled broadly again and explained.

  “This was my first,” he said as he smoothed the pelt almost lovingly like it was a living pet. “He was the big Noche Volk. I killed him with a single arrow, then his pack attacked me. They are much like us; their bravest warriors take the front rank in attack behind their leader, and the young, old and timid stay in the back. I killed three more before they ran from me.”

  He said it with passion, but no sense of inflated bravado came from behind the big beard. Dan absorbed what he had said. He had killed a huge alpha wolf, the night wolf as Dan guessed he had called him, then killed another three without mention of anything other than a bow and arrow. The train of thought was obviously not wasted on the big Russian, and he lifted the tail of the shabby black pelt to better show the brutal blades hung at his waist. The small smile of pride from under the wild facial hair told Dan the rest.

  This beast of a man had killed four wolves with, well, not his bare hands, but damned well close enough. The awe and fear Dan felt in the presence of him mingled together and rendered him something close to star-struck. Unsure of what to say, he blurted out his next thought without applying the brain-mouth filter.

  “We had a gamekeeper back home. He was called Pete too, but we didn’t have any wolves,” he said, instantly wincing at his ‘I carried a watermelon’ level of stupid things to say.

  Pietro carried on the conversation for him, luckily. “I would like to meet this English Pietro!” he boomed, clapping an unnaturally large hand on Dan’s shoulder and rocking him off balance. “Tell me, Englishman, have you ever hunted?”

  Dan was unsure how to respond. He had hunted after a fashion, with shotgun and dogs to flush birds into the air, and later he had hunted men through battlefields and destroyed towns before swapping that battlefield for law enforcement. That was even before the world turned to shit and he had hunted men and dogs under a whole new set of rules. His hesitation gave Pietro room to continue.

  “I shall take you, Dan. You will learn to shoot the arrows as I do.”

  Finding his tongue at last, Dan responded. “I’d rather find a decent supply of military weapons,” he said almost sullenly.

  “Ah!” Exclaimed the Russian, unperturbed at not having his offer graciously accepted. “I know a place you will come to see then.”

  WASTED EFFORT

  Many miles to the north and slightly east of Sanctuary, a tired Land Rover was plodding steadily south. The four exhausted passengers, exhausted not so much through lack of sleep but pure travel weariness, were less alert than their usual natures dictated. They hadn’t encountered another living person for weeks, and since the ambush they had avoided anything which looked like it offered even a hint of trouble. Their journey had been arduous, as they tried to keep away from the main toll roads where they could find themselves trapped and ambushed, instead keeping to the minor roads which were winding and often blocked.

  Rounding a long, sweeping left-hand bend as they drove through countryside full of rolling hills and valleys, three of them were almost transfixed by the elegant beauty of a towering suspension bridge in the distance. The three included the driver, but not Paul who slept noisily in the back seat. Marvelling at the sheer height of it, Simon wondered aloud how many years and how many tonnes of metal it took to make such a bridge, and whether they thought it had been worth it when they had finished. Still, for now he had to admit that it was a thing of contrasting beauty to the green views surrounding it.

  Leaning back and lapsing into a sad silence, he kept his thoughts private about how the bridge would eventually tumble to the earth far below it through a combined effort of nature’s encroachment and a lack of human maintenance. Maybe one day someone, somehow, will look at the remains of the remarkable feat of engineering and imagine the civilisation that built it, much as their own ancestors did with the remains of roman bridges and buildings. A few miles further into the valley and the thoughtful silence had yet to be broken, but as they started to drive up a slight incline towards the start of the bridge, something made Lexi take her foot off the accelerator pedal and coast to a
stop.

  Opening the driver’s door and stepping stiffly out, she raised her weapon to peer down the optic towards the cluster of buildings in the distance.

  Sensing that the movement of the vehicle had stopped, Paul woke from his sleep to see Lexi aiming her weapon. Scrabbling to collect his own rifle he burst from the rear passenger door and threw himself down, asking in a shout what was going on.

  His panic had caused a little amusement to the others, which put him in a bad mood mostly through embarrassment. Standing and dusting himself off, he asked again what was going on.

  “Buildings ahead,” Lexi said, her eye back to the optic. “Something looks out of place; there’s a big green fuel tanker and what looks like some kind of armoured vehicle parked there. It looks completely out of place…”

  Dropping her rifle abruptly, she turned to the others.

  “Dan and the others were planning to get military vehicles from a base, weren't they? This could be them!”

  ~

  From a rooftop ahead, two prone figures watched their approach. The man grunted and shoved his companion with his shoulder to indicate that he wanted the binoculars. She reluctantly handed them over in silence, even that small movement betraying the feline smoothness of her body.

  Leo, le chasseur, watched in silence for a few seconds before asking the woman something in French.

  “Same group, Sabine?” he asked in his gruff voice.

  “Who knows?” she answered. “I didn’t see that vehicle when they were together, but they may have been somewhere else. Either way, they don’t look like they belong here.”

  With another grunt she couldn’t decipher, Leo muttered, “Only a few days after the others were here? Too much coincidence.” Then began to shuffle back from the ledge.