small street, eyes darting left and right, as if daring anyone else to trying something.
'So, people of…' The man looked down at the fallen sign they had made. He chuckled. 'People of Hope. My name is Javier. Major Javier. Who here speaks for you?'
Clive made to move forwards, but Gwen tugged at his shirt. She shook her head, but he patted her hand to tell her it was okay. 'That would be me,' Clive called out.
Javier looked him up and down, perhaps wondering how such a man could have banded together the group; how he could have commanded such respect and loyalty without the threat of fear. 'And you are?'
'Clive Maitland,' he said, trying to toughen up his voice but failing miserably. 'And I demand that you-'
'Demand? You demand?' He lifted his pistol and pointed it at Clive, who bit his lip. 'Well, let me tell you what I demand, little man. I represent the new power in the region and he has sent me out to meet his… subjects. In fact, he's sent out many more of his men to do the same. His name is De Falaise of Nottingham Castle, so remember that. In the years to come everyone will know it. Cooperate and things will go smoothly for you. Oppose him, and they will not.'
'What does this De Falaise want with us?' Clive asked.
'Your fealty, your tribute,' came the answer. 'You have stocks here of food?'
'They are for trading, for feeding my people.'
Javier wagged a finger. 'Except they're not your people anymore, are they? Were you not listening, Senor Maitland?' He waved a hand around to indicate the community of Hope. 'They belong to De Falaise: just as this village is now under his 'protection'.'
So this was what would fill the void. He'd been expecting something one day, but not this. Not a return to the old days that history warned them all about. 'He's like a monarch, then,' observed Clive. 'Or would he prefer Sheriff?'
Javier thought about this for a second. 'Sheriff? Yes, I think he would like the sound of that title very much. We will take most of what you have to feed our troops.' He rubbed his inflated stomach. 'Like me, they are all growing boys.'
Clive stepped forward. 'But how are we expected to eat? There are children here.'
Javier paused before answering. 'That is not my concern. But if you keep this up, we might well be tempted to take a few… other things back with us as well.' He leered over Clive's shoulder at Gwen. 'She's yours, yes?'
'She doesn't belong to anybody!' snapped Clive.
'What did I just say? You all belong to De Falaise. And I think he would be more than happy if I brought her back for him.' Javier pushed Clive aside and made for Gwen. Darryl looked like he was going to do something, but the raised pistol dissuaded him. Clive knew that Gwen no longer carried the knife she'd once used to protect herself. If only he'd left her at the bus stop, she might have been safe. Or she might be dead already, he told himself. At least this way they had a fighting chance.
'Wait… wait,' said Clive, following Javier. 'Look, take the food – you're welcome to it. We'll manage somehow.' There were a few gasps from the villagers, but he knew they'd understand. This was one of their own at risk, and any of the women could be next.
Javier turned. 'I don't need your permission. And the more I think about it, the more De Falaise will be pleased if I bring back such an elegant lady.' He stepped forward, reaching out to touch Gwen's cheek. Her face soured, then she bit the hand he was proffering.
'Ahwww!' screamed Javier, sticking it under his arm. 'You'll regret that!' He struck her across the face with the pistol, sending her reeling back.
'Gwen!' shouted Clive and dove at the fat man. He didn't want to join the rest of the survivors in their grieving, couldn't bear to lose the only person he'd ever truly loved – not now, not like this. But sensing the imminent attack, Javier spun and fired a single bullet. It hit Clive in the ribs, tearing into him and out the other side. He dropped to his knees, glasses falling from his head. Clive clutched his side, bringing one hand up and seeing the blood there – his blood, spilling out of him like juice from a punctured carton. The people of Hope gaped, horrified. Gwen lay on the floor, blood and tears pouring down her face.
'I have to ask myself, is it brains?' said Javier as he approached Clive. 'Is that why they follow you? Is that why she looks at you that way?'
Clive didn't know how to answer.
'I think it is.' Javier leaned over him and snatched the glasses from his head. 'You want to see them, Senor Maitland? Want to see those brains?'
'No!' shouted a voice. Someone, a blur to Clive, was moving towards them. It was too big and bulky to be Gwen, that was for sure. He squinted and saw the outline of Reverend Tate there. 'In God's name, no!' He brought down his walking stick hard across Javier's shoulder blades. The Major let out another cry, then spun on his second attacker. Clive saw Javier raise his gun, but Tate grabbed his arm. The two men wrestled for control of the weapon. Other soldiers were coming across to help, but not quick enough. Javier was struggling to bring the pistol up, Tate attempting to stop him – but it was obvious who was winning.
'Please! This serves no purpose. Can't you see that?' Tate shouted.
The figures were just fuzzy outlines to Clive now. Then there was a sharp bang, followed by a scream from Gwen. Tate fell back, leaving Javier standing above him.
He's killed him, thought Clive, that bastard's killed the Reverend. But then he was aware of a cold sensation spreading over him. His sight was no longer fuzzy, it was dim. Fading. There was a pain in his temple, only the briefest of twinges. But there was no time to register anything else.
Clive didn't feel himself toppling over – though in the final few milliseconds of his life, Tate's words echoed all around him. 'Everything happens for a reason.'
He was at a loss to understand this one, he had to admit. He'd never see Sally or Luke, never see Gwen again: never hold her in his arms, feel her lips brushing against his.
Clive wouldn't feel the loss now, but she would. He knew she'd mourn him, and he was truly sorry.
But none of that mattered anymore. It was all going black, completely black.
And never before had he realised the true significance of what he'd thought earlier.
Life was indeed good.
'You evil… evil thing,' the Reverend Tate hissed from the floor, several rifles trained on him. 'He was a good man and now…'
Javier walked over and looked down at what he'd done. Clive Maitland's brains were spilling out onto the sign he'd helped to make, the name he'd given to this place. 'There are no good men anymore. And there is no hope.' A tight smile played on his lips at the double meaning of his words. Turning back, he said: 'It is fortunate for you that you are a man of the cloth; it is bad luck to shoot a holy man.'
'May you burn in Hell for what you've done.'
Javier snorted. 'Look around you,' he said, pointing to the fires with his still smoking pistol. 'We're already there, together. Now, if you will excuse me.' He nodded to the men to pick the catatonic woman up off the ground, her eyes still fixed on the dead man. 'Put her in one of the jeeps.'
Two of the soldiers grabbed Gwen by the arms, dragging her up and along the street.
'Christ who art in Heaven,' said Tate, 'how can you allow this?' It wasn't the first time he'd asked since the virus had struck, but the first time his faith had been shaken in such a way.
Though Tate thought he detected the Mexican flinching when he'd mentioned the Saviour's name, Javier ignored his words and made to follow his men.
Tate clenched his fists and repeated his question, looking away from Clive's body as he did so, towards June and the children Gwen and Clive had been looking after – both now in tears. Then he thought about what Javier had said. That there were no good men left, that there was no hope…
And prayed to God that the man was wrong.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The lake stretched out ahead, a mirrored surface. He was walking around the edge of it, strolling along without a care in the world. Gorgeously green foliage surrounded him, and across the other side of the lake trees
