the like. At the end of the day we’re all fighters, and that’s all there is to it.”
I feel like I should protest, that I should try to say something in defense of my fallen friend and fight in his corner, but I know there’s no point. She’s right. Christ, it was only this morning that I was thinking about walking out on him anyway.
“A fighter who can’t fight,” she continues, preaching at me, “is just a corpse. If you want to do something to help him, then find yourself a gun and put a bullet in his head.”
9
I’M AWAY FROM THE slaughterhouse and the corpses and the flies and the stench now, and the land stretches out in front of me forever. The sun-bleached, knee-high grass shifts lazily from side to side in the warm wind like waves on a gently rolling sea. The world is suddenly absolutely beautiful, calm and almost completely silent. I feel strong and relaxed, revitalized and ready for the next fight. It’ll be time to leave soon.
I take a few steps forward, the blazing sun blinding me and burning my skin, my boots trampling down the long grass and leaving a flattened trail behind me. Considering how close to the cull site this place is, it’s remarkably tranquil and clear. Ahead of me there’s nothing, the land from here to the horizon barely even undulating, only a handful of distant, parched trees daring to stretch up from the yellow-green ground into the intense blue sky above.
Wait. What was that?
I hear something. The rustle of grass. Footsteps? I’m starting to think it was just the wind when, a few yards ahead of me, a childlike figure appears, emerging from the long grass where it had been hiding. Virtually naked and desperately thin; I can’t even tell from here what sex it is. It slowly stands upright, watching me intently, swaying slowly. I don’t care who or what it is. I know that I have to kill it.
I start sprinting, totally focused on catching the small figure up ahead and nothing else. He runs (I can tell from the way he moves it’s a male) and makes a sudden, darting turn to the left, moving far faster than me. The gap between us increases, and I follow his trail through the flattened grass, around and around in a lazy arc until I end up back where I started. The child disappears momentarily, and as I scan the horizon I see that up ahead of me now are the ruins of my hometown. It’s been weeks since I’ve been here, but it’s almost exactly as I remember, just a little dirtier than before. The dark, ugly buildings are in stark contrast to the beauty of everything else. There’s a steady haze of smoke, wisps of white climbing up between the tallest buildings and clouds of dirty gray lying at street level like a heavy fog.
I’ve completely lost sight of the child now, but the trail of trampled grass will lead me straight to him. I start running again. The chase is getting harder now. The air is scorched and dry, and I can feel the fierce sun burning the skin on my bare back. I force myself to keep moving forward, driven on by the thought of killing again. My mouth salivates at the prospect of tearing Unchanged flesh from bone…
A thin strip of brittle hedge marks the farthest edge of the grassland. I crash through, ignoring the spiteful branches and thorns that slash at my skin, then keep running along an empty street I don’t recognize. There are buildings rising up on either side of me now, dilapidated and skeletal but still tall and imposing enough to finally block out the sun. It’s hard to see anything in the sudden change from light to dark, and it’s ice cold in the shadows. Disoriented, I start to slow down. The child I’m chasing is long gone.
I hear footsteps again-more than one person this time, and they’re behind me. I turn around and see a huge crowd of people charging up the long straight street after me. There’s enough of them to fill the entire width of the road, but their true numbers are masked by the worsening gloom. I start to run again, willing myself to keep moving faster. My energy levels are dropping now that I’m the one being chased, and every step takes ten times the effort it did before. My hunger has been replaced with fear, and the crowd’s getting closer. Every time I look back over my shoulder they’re nearer still. There’s a gap in the row of buildings to my left-leading to another even straighter, even narrower road-and I take it, my heavy boots and aching feet pounding the concrete, shock waves shooting the length of my tired frame. All my strength and energy have gone. Can’t keep going…
I stop halfway down the second street, unable to go any farther. I look back, and the crowd is still surging after me like a herd of stampeding animals, close enough that I can see their faces now. They suddenly stop, maintaining an unexpected, cautious distance. I sense they could attack at any moment, and I’m scared. For the first time in months I feel genuinely afraid. I look at the people at the front of the hunting pack, and I see that they’re like me, but I sense they’re going to attack. Why? Do they think I’m one of the Unchanged? I open my mouth to try to explain, to try to make them understand, but I can’t force out even a single word. I feel crushed, devastated, and humiliated, wishing I were like them again. They look at me with total hatred…
I turn around to run and find myself facing Ellis. In disbelief I move closer toward her. She backs away from me, matching every step forward with a single step back, then stops again when I stop.
“Ellis,” I start to say, my parched voice barely audible, “I thought you’d…”
She throws herself at me, leaping up with lightning speed and grabbing hold of my throat. I’m down before I know it, my face slammed hard into the ground…
10
BAD DREAM, SLEEPING BEAUTY?” the man sitting next to me asks. I nod but don’t answer. I rub my head where it just thumped against the window of the van and immediately remember where I am. It’s late in the day, I’m on my way back home with three other fighters, and I’m feeling travel sick. Can’t remember the last time I went anywhere by road like this. Is it safe? The confidence of the rest of the people in the van makes me feel out of step with everyone else.
The cocky, sour-faced guy next to me is Paul Hewlitt, and he seems to have a far higher opinion of himself and his own abilities than anyone else does. In the front of the van are Carol and Keith, who’s driving. As far as I’m aware there’s nothing between them, but they bicker, fight, and argue like an old married couple. I feel like I don’t belong here. I think I’d rather be doing this alone. Maybe I’m just not used to being with groups of people anymore?
“Will you put that damn thing out?” Keith moans as Carol lights up a cigarette. She blows smoke in his direction, deliberately antagonizing him.
“No,” she snaps abrasively, her voice dry and harsh.
“Don’t know where you keep getting them from.”
“You don’t want to know,” Paul pipes up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I saw you,” he says, “checking the pockets of corpses.”
“Well, they don’t need them anymore,” she argues. And she’s got a point. But does that make her any different from the Unchanged I saw fleecing bodies earlier?
“You’re disgusting,” Keith sighs.
“I’m addicted,” she answers back quickly, “and I don’t want to quit. Cigarettes are one of my few remaining pleasures. Where else am I supposed to get them?”
“At least open the window, then. Last thing I want to do is be breathing in your secondhand smoke all night.”
“Hold your breath, then,” she grumbles, begrudgingly winding down her window. The cool, relatively fresh air that floods into the van is a relief, and I breathe it in deeply.
I look around at the three people I’m traveling with tonight, and I can’t help but feel concerned. I haven’t seen any of them in action yet, but I don’t hold out much hope. Keith looks like he’d be more at home in his garden than on the battlefield. Carol appears permanently angry. She has bulging eyes and short, dark hair that obviously used to be colored (the dye’s grown out, leaving a brassy red tidemark). She has long nails that probably used to be filed and painted but that now look more like talons or claws. She reminds me of a woman I used to work with-a bitter, drink-addled ex-publican. She has the ruddy complexion of a heavy drinker and looks like she’d be happiest either
