“
H
ayden
? What is it?”
Miriam’s words blended into the background of Hayden’s consciousness. All sounds blended into the background of Hayden’s consciousness.
All he could focus on was the boy at the back of the supermarket.
Standing there.
Staring at him.
He looked at the boy. Dark hair. Short. Skinny. Manchester United shirt dangling loosely over his tiny frame.
But more than anything, it was the look in the boy’s eyes that Hayden saw. The fear. The fear of… something.
Not to mention the blood rolling down his cheeks.
Just like the boy Hayden let down.
Just like the boy he’d ran away from.
Hayden took a step in the boy’s direction. He felt Miriam grab his arm, but it didn’t feel nice anymore. It didn’t feel soothing. Didn’t feel anything.
“Hayden, what’s—”
“That boy. There’s a boy. He needs… he needs help.”
“What boy?” Russell muttered. “There ain’t a boy there.”
Hayden kept on walking. A lump swelled in his throat. “There is. He’s…”
When he stepped a little closer, he saw the boy wasn’t there anymore.
The boy was gone.
Hayden stood there. Goose pimples rising on his arms. The taste of sweat covering his lips.
He’d seen a boy. Seen a kid.
Not a hallucination.
Couldn’t be a hallucination.
Couldn’t…
“Hey.”
Miriam’s fingers touched his arm again. Snapped him out of his trance. Behind, the rest of the group looked on with puzzled eyes.
Hayden looked into Miriam’s eyes. Was he crazy? Was he imagining things again? Maybe he was. Maybe that’s all this was. The boy was a figment of his imagination. An invention of his mind. A construct of his…
Then he heard the scream.
There was no denying it this time. Not with the way Miriam turned. Not with the way the rest of the group looked at one another.
A scream.
A child’s scream.
A boy’s scream.
“What do you think… hey! Hayden!”
Hayden didn’t stick around to talk this one out.
He ran in the direction he’d seen the boy.
He ran to where he swore he’d seen him.
He had to be there.
He couldn’t let him down.
Couldn’t let another kid down.
Couldn’t turn his back on anyone else.
He slipped over some spilled wine. Flies buzzed up from the crystallised alcohol. He ran out of the alcohol aisle, down past the meat, which rotted away, the smell even worse than the decaying veg.
It should’ve made him hurl. Should’ve made him puke his guts up.
But it didn’t.
It just kept him running.
He heard Miriam call for him. Heard the rest of the group running after him. And he felt some guilt for leaving them behind. Some guilt for running away.
But he wasn’t running away for self-interest. He wasn’t running away to save himself.
He was running
towards
someone who needed saving.
Someone who needed his help.
Help that he should’ve given long ago.
He saw the double doors to his left swinging lightly. Ran through them, metal pipe in hand. He didn’t know what awaited on the other side of this door. Didn’t know how much he’d need the pipe. Just that the boy screamed. Which meant the boy was in danger.
Which meant he needed Hayden’s help.
Hayden ran through the door. Barged through them into another storage area. This was just as gloomy as the last though it wasn’t as dusty. Wasn’t as empty. Boxes of electronics stacked on top of one another. A broken television lying cracked in the middle of the floor. A sign that looters had once been here. Barged in here to find anything of value to sell on in the new world.
Just a pity nothing had value anymore.
Nothing but food.
Nothing but life.
Hayden stopped in the middle of the dusty storage room. Took a few deep breaths, tried to calm himself down. If the kid was in here, he needed to know where exactly. It was a maze of cabinets, of shelves, of makeshift wooden corridors and forklift trucks.
He needed to use his ears.
He needed to listen.
He needed to…
He saw something. Saw movement over to his left. Clear plastic twitching. Something behind it. Someone behind it.
Hayden crept up towards the clear plastic. Held the pipe tightly. If anyone were in here—anyone who tried to hurt his group, that boy, his people—then he’d kill them. He wouldn’t hesitate. He couldn’t, not anymore.
Hesitation was for the weak.
He wasn’t weak.
He couldn’t be weak.
He walked slowly towards the clear plastic. Saw it moving some more. Definitely someone behind it. Definitely someone waiting.
The boy? He wasn’t sure.
Someone else? He didn’t even like to consider that.
As he reached the clear plastic, every muscle in his body tense, he put a hand to it. Grabbed it. Readied himself to pull it aside.
Then, something dawned on him.
He’d been in this storage area some time now and nobody had come storming through the door after him.
No Miriam.
No nobody.
He pulled aside the clear plastic.
The little boy crouched there. Curled up in a ball. Only… no. It wasn’t the little boy he’d seen before. This one was taller. Bulkier. Paler. Wearing a purple cardigan.
Hayden stared at him, stared into his chestnut eyes. The boy stared back at him.
“What…”
Hayden heard something click behind him.
He turned around.
Saw a man standing there. Bald. Wearing white dungarees. Narrow cheekbones. Fluffy beard that looked like it couldn’t buy a fucking bristle. Piercing grey eyes.
“You come away from my boy and we can get this over with nice ’n quick,” the man said.
He was holding a Stanley knife.
Pressing it to the first young boy’s neck.
“
Y
ou come away
from my boy and you step right over here. Step right over here like—like a man.”
Hayden stared into the wide eyes of the bald man. He saw they were bloodshot. Feral. Like a rabid dog. An animal left neglected. Alone for way too long.
He pressed the unfurled Stanley knife into the young boy’s neck. The one with the blood down his face that Hayden had seen earlier. So he was real. He was real, and he was in here.
He looked at Hayden with tearful eyes.
Hayden saw the desperation on his face clearly.
A bang at the door. Fists thumping against it.
“Hayden!” a muffled voice called. Miriam. But even though she was just through the door, she sounded so far away. So distant. Like this room was locked away from everywhere else.
Probably because it was.
“Your friends aren’t gettin’ in here,” the man said. “Not—not until you bring ’um in here anyway. Soundproof. Did soundproofin’ before the world went shitty. Did a good job, right? Did a good job, didn’t I?”
Hayden saw the guy’s eyes lighten up. Like he’d forgotten where he was, what the situation was, for a moment. Hayden noticed just how much the guy reeked of piss. Combined with that rabid look in his eyes, he knew he was dealing with someone not quite sane. Someone with a distorted sense of reality.
The most dangerous kind of person.
“Just… just lower the knife from the boy’s neck—”
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do with my boy. Ain’t that right, boy? He don’t tell Daddy what to do. Say it!”
The boy whimpered. Cried. “He… he doesn’t tell Daddy what to do.”
The man smiled. Nodded. A smidgen of colour invaded his pale cheeks. “Right. Ain’t that right. No one tells Daddy what to do. Not anymore.”
Hayden stared at the man. His heart raced. There had to be something in here. Some way of getting around the man. Some way of fighting him.
The metal pipe in his hand.
Could he swing it at the guy? Swing it at him before the man slit the boy’s throat?
The image of that unfolding filled Hayden’s mind.
The little boy he’d let down.
The way blood spurted out of his neck; painted the glass.
The nightmares Hayden had been cursed with ever since.
He couldn’t let this boy face the same fate. Not now.
Hayden lowered his metal pipe. The man watched him intently, narrowing those wayward eyes.
“I’m putting my weapon down. I’m going to walk away from your boy back here.” Hayden pointed back at the boy hiding behind the clear plastic. “I’m going to walk out of here.”
Hayden started to walk away from his weapon. Towards the left of the man, the boy. Could he grab the boy? Grab him and make a run for it? And what about the other kid?
He heard the banging at the door. Heard Miriam, Seb, the other group members all shouting out for him. He could do with them in here right now. He could do with their help.
He didn’t have that luxury.
He kept on walking towards the door. Away from the boy behind the plastic. Closer to the man with the Stanley knife. The man watched him closely. Kept the blade to the kid’s neck. Would he slice? Would he have it in him to slice?
Hayden didn’t want to find out.
“You—you brought people here. To take my boys. To take ’em away.”
Hayden shook his head. “I came here with friends to find food. To find shelter. Not to hurt you or anyone.”
“That’s what they all say,” the man said, growing twitchier, eyelids quivering. “Always say they ain’t gonna hurt nobody. Always say everyone’s gonna be fine. Everyone’s gonna be okay. But they never are. No one’s ever okay.”
Hayden stared into this man’s eyes. He saw tears building up in them now. Saw them growing more bloodshot.
“We’re okay. I swear—”
The man shook his head. Slapped the side of his face. “No. No. No one’s okay. Just me. Just me and my boys. All that matters. Can’t have anyone else. Can’t have anyone else ’cause anyone and everyone else always just goes away. Always just goes away.”
Hayden felt the weight of the man’s words. Aside from the fact he had a blade on the boy’s neck—a way of playing on his emotions to get him away—he heard what the man said loud and clear.
He heard the distrust in the man’s voice.
The distrust of others.
The lack of confidence.
The lack of faith.
All this man cared about was survival. His own survival. Not his boy’s survival. If he cared about his boy’s survival, he wouldn’t have a blade to his neck.
He cared about himself.
Just like Hayden had before he’d met Miriam’s group.
Hayden stepped up to the man. Slowly. Didn’t want to risk anything. Didn’t want to risk him cutting his boy’s neck. Not after all this time. He ignored the rattling against the door. Ignored the sobs from the other boy.
He just focused on the man.
“I was like you once. Scared. Afraid of other people.”
“Don’t go poisonin’ me with those words.”
“I was afraid of everything. Everything new. I was afraid of stepping up. Being somebody. Just like you need to be. For your children. For yourself.”
The man shook his head. Tears fell freely down his face now, hit the tiled floor below. “Words don’t mean nothin’. Words don’t mean nothin’ at all.”
“I’m walking away. But I want you to come with us.”
“No! I don’t. We don’t. We’re together. We’re—”
“If you don’t come with us, you’re going to die in here. When your food runs out. When your water runs out. And I don’t just mean your sons. I mean you, too. You’re going to die in here because you didn’t show the balls you need to survive in this world. You didn’t show the leadership to make the tough decisions.”
The man shook his head some more. The Stanley knife grew shaky on the boy’s neck. He sobbed. Hayden saw the top of his scalp was all patchy, all flaky like he was losing his hair through stress.
“Hey. I’m sorry. For coming in here. For… for ruining what you have. For frightening you. But I swear. I swear to you, if you come with us, we’ll keep you safe. We’ll keep all of you safe.”
The man glanced up. Wiped the tears from his eyes. Blood trickled from a skin-deep wound on the boy’s neck. Terror in his eyes.
“Really?” the man asked. “You—you really mean that? For me? For me and… and for my boys?”
Hayden smiled. Nodded. “Sure. Just lower the knife.”
The man and Hayden exchanged a long stare. Probably a lot shorter than it felt, in truth.
But eventually, the man lowered his Stanley knife.
Put it by the side of his son’s feet.
“I’m just afraid. Just afraid of what’ll happen. Just afraid of—”
The man didn’t finish speaking.
Hayden booted him in his face.
Knocked him away from his boy.
Before the man could fight back, struggle free, Hayden grabbed the Stanley knife.
Straddled the man onto the ground.
“You put yourself before your boys. You put your own fucking pathetic self before the ones you’re supposed to protect.”
He lifted the Stanley knife.
Pressed it to the man’s neck.
“Some people get a second chance. Some people deserve a second chance. Not you.”
The man’s eyes widened.
Hayden sliced his throat.
He felt the man’s warm blood cover his hands. Listened to him gasping, spluttering like a pig. He heard the boys crying somewhere behind.
But as he crouched there, blood spurting out of the man’s jugular, Hayden didn’t feel a shred of guilt.
He’d done this to protect those boys.
He’d done this to protect his people.
Because that’s what they were. His people. The ones he cared about.
He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
He waited for the man to stop twitching and gasping before stepping away.
Put the bloodied Stanley knife into his back pocket.
Walked over, grabbed the metal pipe.
When he turned, he saw the boys holding one another by the door.
Hayden walked over to them. Saw them cowering. Saw the fear building in their eyes. Smelled urine. Faeces. Horrible conditions they’d been put in. Horrible conditions they’d been forced to live in.
He looked back at the man, lying in a puddle of his own blood.
Then he looked back at the boys.
“You coming?” he asked.
The boys looked at one another. Looked at one another with tear-soaked faces.
Then, they nodded.
As Hayden opened the door back into the supermarket, he saw the boy he’d left behind clearly in his mind.
He saw him smiling.
He saw him saying thank you.
But the pride didn’t last for long.
Not when he stepped out into the supermarket.
Heard the cry.