The man—Harry—walked right over to the box at the side of Noah. Lifted the blanket over the top of it. Smirked, and went to reach in there.
And that’s when Noah sensed his opportunity.
He threw himself up.
Cracked his rifle against Harry’s head.
Sent him tumbling to the van floor.
Harry stared up. Blood pooling from his head. A look of shock across his wide eyes, which were magnified beneath his cracked glasses.
Noah stood over him. Rifle in hand. The door to the back of the van wide open, and people wandering around there outside.
And then he saw Harry open his mouth.
Heard him start to let out a cry.
He whacked him over the head with the rifle.
Cracked its butt against his skull.
Then he battered it again, again, again, until his skull crunched, and until his attempted scream was nothing more than a mumble, and then nothing.
He dropped his rifle. Unzipped Harry’s Society gear. Started to change into it. The mask was a no-go, but if he could at least disguise himself a little—throw their gear on—he might have a shot.
But then, as he pulled the black jacket over his body, he spotted his arm, and he smiled.
His damned missing forearm. The goddamned giveaway of his identity.
How the fuck was he supposed to keep that under wraps?
“Harry?”
He looked around. Heard footsteps heading his way.
Shit.
He pulled the Society black on.
And then he zipped up and grabbed Harry’s mask, even though it was broken and bloody, and yanked it over his face.
“Harry? What the hell you doing in there?”
Noah looked around and saw him.
A tall guy. Muscular. Mask around his chin. Didn’t look like he was the kind of guy who fucked around.
He looked at Noah. Distant. Disinterested.
And Noah waited for him to recognise him.
Waited for him to realise it wasn’t Harry at all.
But he just stood there and stared at Noah. “Come the fuck on. We don’t have all day, buddy. Gotta walk the last stretch. Element of surprise, and all.”
Noah nodded. “Sure,” he said, trying to deepen his voice a little. “Give me a sec.”
The man rolled his eyes, stuck up his middle finger. “A sec. Two secs. Always a fucking liability, Harry. Always a fucking liability.”
He walked away from the back of the van.
Outside, Noah saw more vans parked up.
Figures standing around them.
Rifles in their hands.
He felt a knot in his stomach. Wondered how the hell he was going to explain himself. Wondered how the hell he was going to explain Bruno.
“And bring the dog with you!” the bloke shouted. “These guard dogs ain’t worth shit, really. More interested in food than anything.”
Noah looked at Bruno. Smiled.
Bruno looked back up at him. Tilted his head, a little confused.
“Looks like you’re a guard dog now, lad,” Noah said.
And then he stood up.
Walked to the back of the van.
Rifle in hand.
He stood on the threshold. Saw more Society figures. Saw them all walking, rifles in hand. All in order. Some of them with dogs beside them.
All heading in one direction.
The industrial estate.
He looked back at Harry’s dead, twitching body. His broken skull.
And then he turned around.
Took a deep breath.
Dropped out of the van.
Into the unknown.
Chapter Forty-Six
Noah walked amongst the Society guards towards the industrial estate and tried not to lose his shit.
It was mid-afternoon. A chill to the air, which sent a shiver up his spine. All around him, trees. Trees that he knew would soon give way to the view of the industrial estate.
All these Society guards—hundreds of them—all walking towards Kelly’s place. All in search of him.
And here he was, walking with them, trying to figure out what the fuck to do.
The explosives plan was dead in the water since they’d ditched the vans. Which left only one option. The nuclear option. Find a way to tap into that void inside himself. Channel that energy like Iqrah had. Destroy every single person here and protect the industrial estate with his life.
But that felt like a wildcard. He didn’t feel like he had the energy or strength left in him to do a thing like that. Not anymore.
But fuck. He had to try. Or he was doomed. They were all doomed.
He walked amongst this crowd of Society guards. They didn’t look at one another. Didn’t interact. He was up front, with the rest of the dogs. At first, he worried they might notice Bruno wasn’t like the other dogs. But weirdly, they didn’t mention it. Didn’t even mention his damned arm. It was like they were so busy trying to locate one location—so convinced that Noah was in one place—that they weren’t seeing what was right in front of them.
The longer that worked for Noah, the better.
The further they walked, the chillier it got. A breeze picked up above. There was a weird atmosphere in the air. A sense that they were on the brink of something. That conflict was on the horizon.
That’s when the leader of these guards stopped. Turned around.
“We’ve got sightings of Reds up ahead,” he said.
A few grumbles amongst the crowd. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” the leader said. “Shit indeed. A fair batch of ’em, too. Seems like they’ve got the same idea as us.”
“So what do we do?”
The leader of the Society group looked around. Like he was studying every one of them here. He took a deep breath and spat onto the ground. “We outnumber them whether they like it or not. This is a war now. So we do what we’ve gotta do. But you’re soldiers. Remember that. And sometimes, soldiers die. You’ve got to be prepared. Just remember it’s for a good cause. Right?”
A few mumbles of discontent amidst the crowd.
A sense that these guards were walking right into a conflict they hadn’t signed up for.
“Right?!” the leader echoed.
“Right!”
“Okay,” he said. “Much fucking better. Now come on. We’re almost there. Any prayers you want to get off your chest beforehand, get ’em said now. You might not get another chance.”
The group walked on. Shoulders a little more slumped. A sense of nervousness in the air. A couple of the
