Authors: David Moody
“Like what?”
“You could have talked to Ankin. You could have tried to find some common ground.”
“I didn’t get the chance. Anyway, the Unchanged are our common ground, or at least they were. Now it’s just every man for himself. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d talked to Ankin for six fucking months and agreed with him on everything, the end result would have been the same.”
“No it wouldn’t. There was no need for what you did.”
He lets me go and takes a step back.
“What
I
did? You fuckwit, Danny, I didn’t do anything. For the record, neither did Ankin. Lowestoft is dead today because Ankin’s appearance gave people a choice.”
“What?”
“I watched the whole thing from up on the roof once it kicked off. I always knew there was a chance it was going to happen. That was why I came down so hard on John Warner in Southwold last week. People always think the grass is greener on the other side, but it’s not. You have to take away the temptation. Everywhere you look now, everything is fucked. Word got around that Ankin had surrounded the town. Half the people panicked and tried to fight them off because they thought they were coming in to raid Lowestoft like we’ve raided everywhere else. The other half were throwing themselves at their mercy, thinking these assholes in their fucking uniforms with their fucking tanks were bringing them some kind of salvation. The people destroyed Lowestoft, not me and not Ankin. Granted, it would have been better if the stupid fucker hadn’t turned up like that, but that’s how it goes.”
“I don’t understand. You just walked away from it all?”
“From what? From a few hundred fighters who couldn’t take a shit without checking with me first? From a couple of thousand underclass who could barely function? Do you think any of that actually mattered?”
“What about your breeding plan? The stuff that was going on at the factory? All the food you’d been storing?”
“The storerooms were almost empty, and the factory was just a remnant from Thacker’s day, something to keep Rona Scott entertained and out of my hair. As for the hotel … that was just a way to keep people quiet and keep them occupied. You know, all that stuff you said after you came back from Southwold that time, you were absolutely right. The world is well and truly fucked, and the only thing that matters now is looking after number one. No amount of farming, fucking, or fighting is going to change anything, I’ve come to realize that. I stayed in Lowestoft because it was my best option until now, but it was never anything worth fighting for. I knew it wouldn’t last.”
“What about your fighters?”
“What about them? They can make their own choices. They’ve got brains—some of them, anyway. Those who haven’t will just go the way of the Brutes.”
“What about you? What do you do now?”
“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? And it depends on you. Like I said, I always knew something like this was probably going to happen sooner or later. Didn’t think it would be quite so fast, though.”
“Wait, wait … what do you mean, it depends on me? What have I got to do with anything?”
“You’ve got a plan, haven’t you? You weren’t just showing those foul fuckers downstairs around your house, were you? You must have had a damn good reason to risk bringing them here.”
“I was giving them the food. I don’t need it.”
“Bullshit. Where were they going to take it?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
He shoots out his arm and slams me back against the wall again, winding me.
“Pissing me off is
not
a good idea, McCoyne. Tell me what you were planning.”
“I’m not telling you anything. Listen, just kill me if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll be dead soon anyway.”
He screws up his fist and pulls it back, and for a moment I brace myself, but he doesn’t hit me. In frustration, he turns around and kicks the abandoned board game across the room.
“You’re probably right,” he says. “You can’t talk if you’re dead.”
“I’m not going to talk.”
“You don’t have to. I’m getting to know you too well. I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Why would I bother lying now? What’s the point?”
“Depends how many more Unchanged you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding any Unchanged. Come on, Hinchcliffe—”
“Deny it all you like, I know you’re helping more of them.”
“Think what you want.”
“The taller guy downstairs,” he says, “just before I killed him, I heard him say something about a boat, and something about a guy called Joseph.”
I try bullshitting my way out of trouble. “The name means nothing to me. All I know is they were going to try to take a boat from one of the boatyards in town.”
“They’d never have made it.”
“That’s what I told them.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
“I still don’t care.”
He stands across the room and glares at me, and I can see him thinking, working through the options.
“So where is this Joseph?”
“I told you, I’ve never heard of him.”
“And I told you, I can tell when you’re lying. So if the Unchanged were trying to get onto a boat, it’s safe to assume this mystery man Joseph and his pals are close to water.”
“Hinchcliffe, I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“They’re not going to want to travel any farther inland, so the coast would have been the best option—and as the bulk of Ankin’s forces came from Norwich to the north, I’m guessing they’ll have wanted to travel south. Am I getting close now?”
My silence gives him all the answers he needs. He grabs my arm and drags me downstairs.
47
HINCHCLIFFE KNOWS HIS WAY
around this place far better than I do. Bastard’s obviously had his escape routes planned for some time. He drives the fully loaded jeep at a frantic speed along back roads and side streets I didn’t even know existed, frequently skidding in the ice and snow, obviously as eager to get away from Lowestoft as I am.
The nauseous panic I’ve felt since he appeared in the house has finally started to reduce. I’ve spent weeks focusing on myself, my every decision made at the potential expense of everyone and everything else. Hinchcliffe is still doing exactly that, but now I find that I can’t. I know that the fate of Joseph Mallon and the rest of the Unchanged now rests squarely on my shoulders, and suddenly it matters. Peter Sutton told me they were all that was left of the human race, and I’m starting to think he might be right. If I don’t get to Southwold, they’re fucked. I might not have the boat we promised them, but this jeep full of supplies is their lifeline. This food will buy them a little time, and with all that’s happening in and around Lowestoft, that time might be enough for them to find another way of getting away. Then again, if I turn up there with Hinchcliffe, they won’t have a hope in hell anyway. I have to get as close as I can, then get rid of him.
“All this was inevitable,” he says as he swings the jeep around another corner, sliding across the road and just missing hitting a lone vagrant who scrambles for cover. Hinchcliffe doesn’t even flinch.
“What are you talking about?”
“The war, them and us—the human race has been on a downward spiral since the first caveman killed the fucker living in the cave next door because he’d stolen his woman or his dinner.”
“We were better than that. It didn’t have to be this way.”
“Yes it did. We’re all hardwired to want to survive, and when push comes to shove, we’ll do it at the expense of everyone else. I worked in the City, remember? I used to shaft people for a living. The Change came, and the war that followed was inevitable. There was nothing any of us could have done to stop it. We just did what we had to do, you included.”
“We’ve all played our part, I don’t deny that—but trying to rebuild a society based on power and fear? How was that ever going to be anything but a failure?”
“I was never trying to rebuild a society, you idiot. Don’t you listen? I was just trying to survive. This day has been a long time coming,” he continues, swerving around a traffic circle the wrong way and joining the A12. “Thing is, Danny, people have
always
been out for themselves, even when they made it look like they were cooperating. Look at this Ankin guy and all those other politicians you remember—elected into power to serve the people, but all they were doing was making sure their own backsides were comfortable and safe, lining their own nests. All the Hate did was accelerate things and help us all cut through some of the bullshit. Look back and you’ll see that everything’s always been built on power and fear. Think back to any story you remember from the news before all of this began, and you’ll be able to trace it back to someone, somewhere who wasn’t prepared to be fucked over by someone else.”
I don’t do what he says, because I’m sure he’s probably right to an extent. What’s gone is gone. The fact remains, though, I think he’s wrong, and that a small group of Unchanged has survived against the odds is proof positive. We pass a couple more people on the side of the road, fighters and underclass. They all look the same now—pathetically lost and alone, with nothing left to fight for. Hinchcliffe doesn’t even look at them. The bastard truly doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.
“It can’t all be as simple as you try to make it sound. Fighting doesn’t solve everything.”
“I never said it did,” he says, struggling for a moment to keep control of the jeep in the slushlike snow.
“That’s what you implied.”
“You can get people to do what you want without hitting them.”
“But it’s easier if you do hit them? Or just let them think they’re going to get the shit kicked out of them?”
“Something like that. Look, it’s survival of the fittest, that’s all I’m saying, and I’m damn sure I’m going to be the one who survives.”
“What for?”
“What kind of a question’s that? It’s obvious.”
“Is it? Spell it out to me, Hinchcliffe, because I don’t get it. If you’re the only one left standing after all of this, how exactly will you be feeling? You’ll be a lonely fucking despot with nothing to do and no one left to order around. There’s a cost to everything, and the more you take, the more you destroy. The last man standing in this world will inherit a fucking empty ruin.”
“You’ve been spending too much time around Unchanged,” he sneers at me. It’s snowing hard again now, a sudden blizzard, and it blows in through the broken windshield, making it hard to see exactly where we are. I’m aware of the snow-covered shapes of several buildings on either side, and I realize we must have reached Wrentham, just past the midpoint between Lowestoft and Southwold. If I’m going to try to get out of this mess, I need to act fast.
“Just let me go, Hinchcliffe. Keep the jeep and all the food, just let me go.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m dying. I’m not like you, I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere I’m not going to be surrounded by people taking from me. I’ve got nothing left to give.”
“My heart bleeds,” he says, clearly not giving a shit. We’re approaching the junction in the road now. He brakes hard and almost loses control of the jeep again, skidding to a slow stop and nudging up against the curb. “But we both know that’s not true, don’t we. We need to find this guy Joseph, remember? So which way now?”
“You choose,” I say, determined not to help. We’re barely two miles from Southwold, three at the most.
“Interesting,” he mumbles, opening his window and looking down at the road. Some of the earlier snow has thawed and then frozen again. “Lots of tire tracks here. I’m guessing this was you earlier?”
I don’t bother answering. He drives forward again, following the tracks he can see, and I slump back into my seat with relief. He’s taken the wrong route and we’re heading toward the bunker now. If he keeps going this way we’ll end up back at the farm, and I’ll make a break for it once we’re there. There’s a motorbike still lying in the yard, I think, and Peter Sutton’s car is probably hidden somewhere nearby. Or maybe I can just trick Hinchcliffe into going inside the bunker, then shut him in? I like the idea of burying the bastard alive down there.
“Wait a minute,” he says suddenly, “this isn’t right. This road leads inland. You might have come
from
this direction, but this wasn’t the way you were planning to go back, was it, Danny?”
My lack of response seems to answer his question. He pulls hard on the handbrake and spins the jeep around through one hundred and eighty degrees, sliding through the ice and slush until we’re facing back the way we came. This time, when we reach the junction again, he looks more carefully at the tracks. I’m hoping enough fresh snow has fallen to make things less obvious, but it hasn’t. He spots the wide sets of tracks left by the van and the delivery truck heading toward Southwold. The fucker is frustratingly smart. The tone of his voice changes as he accelerates toward the coast. He sounds excited, his mouth virtually salivating at the thought of killing Unchanged again.
“How many of them are there? There’s at least two sets of tracks here, so we must be talking more than five. Ten? Honestly, Danny, you should have known better than anyone that we’d find them eventually.”
“Just leave them alone, Hinchcliffe. Let them be.”
He shoots a quick glance in my direction, letting me know in no uncertain terms what he thinks of that idea.
“You must be sicker than I thought. Leave Unchanged alive? For fuck’s sake, I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
He’s riled, and I sense an opportunity to distract him. His temper and aggression might be his undoing. About a mile and a half to go now. Need to act fast.
“They’re not a threat to you, and just about everybody else worth worrying about is dead. You should just get over yourself, Hinchcliffe. Just fuck off and get on with what’s left of your own life and leave the Unchanged alone.”
“Listen to what you’re saying, McCoyne. This is Unchanged we’re talking about. They were the cause of this fucking mess, and you want to let them live?”
“What difference does it make? There’s hardly anyone left alive now. Just go your own way.”
“You fucking moron! I should kill you!”
I know where I am now. I can see the snow-covered roofs of the business park where I left the car when Hinchcliffe sent me to Southwold before. Got to do it. Do it now.
“I’d rather spend the little time I’ve got left with the Unchanged than you, Hinchcliffe,” I tell him, sneering and deliberately antagonizing him now. “It’s fuckers like you who caused this war. At least they’re—”
He snaps and lunges across the car at me. I duck under his flailing arms and grab the steering wheel from under him, turning it hard right. He tries to shove me back out of the way, but I’ve caught him off guard and I won’t let go. His balance is off center and his reaction is too little, too late. He finally manages to push me away, then looks back out front and tries to steer in the opposite direction, but we’re going too fast and the ground is covered with ice. The jeep skids, lifting up onto two wheels, then overturns and flips over. I tense my body and brace myself as we roll over and over, stopping with a sudden jolt as we hit the side of a building, thumping back down onto four wheels. My head snaps back on my shoulders with the sudden impact, and there’s an immediate sharp, jabbing pain in my right ankle, but I stay conscious. Hinchcliffe is thrown forward, his head smacking hard against the wheel with a sickening crunch. He drops back into his seat and doesn’t move, blood pouring down his face.
For a moment I just sit there, numb with the shock of the crash, watching Hinchcliffe and waiting for any sign of movement. He’s completely still, not a flicker of life. I unstrap myself and force myself closer, desperate to make sure. I put my ear next to his mouth, terrified he’s about to wake up and lunge forward. Nothing. No sound. I try to feel for a pulse with ice-cold, numb hands, but I can’t feel anything.
This is it.
I’m still alive, and what’s left of me is in one piece. The passenger door’s buckled and won’t open, so I have to scramble out through the broken windshield. I look back, once, then I start down the road, wishing I could move faster.
It’s about a mile to Southwold.