Paul Kane - Arrowhead

Like the community Javier had reported back on, 'Hope' its residents had optimistically called it. Their leader had tried to put up a fight, though from what Javier had said the man hadn't been any kind of threat – which was probably why his people were mourning him right now. Javier had also brought a little unexpected gift back from Hope, the thin, auburn-haired woman who waited inside for him. She'd apparently had a spark in her back at the village, though now she was just like a rag doll which he would use as he pleased; her eyes dull, resigned to the fact she was a possession. It was how he preferred his women to be: malleable. De Falaise took great pleasure in dressing her up in some of the gowns he'd found inside the castle, imagining himself back in the past. He'd tire of her eventually, but for the time being it amused him to have her around. Hands behind his back, he made his way to the nearest doors.

His plans were coming together nicely. And there was nothing or nobody to stand in his way.

The boy had skirted around and was now standing in his way. This kid had been silent, he'd give him that – and quick.

Robert had been running away, been desperate to get away in fact – when Mark had appeared in front of him. He hadn't wanted to get involved, wouldn't have done if he hadn't heard the explosions and gunfire coming from the direction of the market. The fact that he'd been hanging about on the edge of the woods, determined not to attend the market, but somehow gravitating towards the place, had nothing to do with it.

Instinct, that's all it had been: a throwback to his years on the force. His curiosity and the fact that people might be at risk was what made him break cover again. Or was it the idea that Mark might be in danger? He dismissed that, because it was dangerous thinking. Whatever the reason, once he'd seen what was going on at the market, he'd had little alternative but to act.

Robert had to admit he'd been shocked. He'd never seen tanks and guns like that outside of visits to museums. And definitely never in action. What did he have to fight these people with? Only the bow and arrows he used for hunting, his knife. They'd cut him to ribbons before he got anywhere near them. (A part of him actually found this appealing.) But then he got to thinking: it was all a matter of hunting, wasn't it? Maybe he didn't need to get anywhere near them to pick a few off. And if he kept on moving, perhaps they'd miss him initially.

He'd been lucky.

The more adrenalin that pumped through him, the more he used skills he didn't even realise he had: hearing keyed into every bullet fired, every bike or jeep engine; muscles lean and strong, thanks to nothing but exercise and eating from the land; eyes sharp enough to pick a target, enough practise with the bow to hit it faultlessly. It wasn't until now, when he looked back on what he'd just done, that it felt real.

Lucky, that's all. Pure luck.

That and the fact the majority of the 'soldiers' appeared to be novices. Barely a step up from some of the thugs he'd dealt with on a daily basis during his early years on the beat. They knew how to handle their weapons, but that didn't make them fighters. Pin them down and all they really were was scared.

And you killed some – badly injured others…

It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. It was this… what was his name? De Falaise, the Frenchman. And that bastard in the tank, another European. What was this, some kind of invasion?

Not your problem, Robert told himself. Stay out of it and go back to waiting. Waiting for your death.

But Mark was preventing him from doing that, barring his path. He pulled off his hood and sighed. "Look, move out of the way, will you?"

Mark shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine," said Robert, stepping to the left in an effort to get around the boy, "then I will."

Like a shadow, Mark sidestepped with him. He could be just as quick as Robert, probably quicker due to his size. Robert backed up and tried to go right. Mark was in his way there too, having slipped around him in the other direction.

"Oh, come on!" Robert shouted, quickly getting fed up with this game. "Let me through or-"

"Or you'll what?" Mark challenged. "Do to me what you did back there to them? I don't think so. You saved us."

"Maybe that was a mistake." He regretted the words as soon as they'd tumbled from his mouth, but couldn't take them back. Mark stuck out his bottom lip – more child than canny adolescent now. "That came out wrong, I didn't mean…"

"S'okay," Mark said, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. "I understand."

"No, you don't," Robert told him. "I meant maybe I should have just left well enough alone. If Bill's right and they do come back then I could have made things ten times worse for you all."

"They were shooting up the place. They were running me down with motorbikes! They had a tank for fuck's sake-"

"Watch your mouth," snapped Robert instinctively, chastising himself almost as he did so. He had no right to tell this kid off.

Mark looked at him, confused, then added softly: "How much worse could it be than that?"

Robert considered this for a moment. "More men; more guns; more tanks. People like that always come back stronger than ever."

"Then you agree with Bill?"

That was clever – Robert had walked right into that one. If he agreed that De Falaise's troops would return in larger numbers, then didn't he have an obligation to help out? Hadn't he just admitted his own guilt in the next stage of whatever this was? Robert said nothing for fear of digging himself a deeper hole.

"It weren't no surprise, anyway," Mark said eventually to break the awkward silence.

"What are you talking about?"

"The men coming. You hear things touring round, y'know? I knew something was going on, just not what – or that it would reach out here."

"So this is already happening in other areas?"

Mark nodded. "Lots. Food, clothing, all sorts taken. Even people sometimes."

"Why didn't you tell…" Robert had forgotten himself for a moment and Mark punished him for it.

"Tell someone? What, you mean like the police?" He knew Mark was studying his face for some kind of reaction; what Bill had hinted at just ten minutes ago had obviously stuck with him.

"No. I meant… Isn't there someone…"

"I told you before," Mark said, hurt in his voice. "There isn't anyone. I haven't got a regular place to stay. Nobody to take care of me…"

"I thought you said you didn't need anyone to do that," said Robert, turning the boy's own words back on him.

"I don't," snapped Mark, puffing up his chest, then: "But…"

"What?"

"It's hard sometimes. Being on my own." Mark looked down. For all his bluster, this kid missed having a home, having parents. Missed TV, games, holidays.

"Read to me some more, Dad… please…"

Robert shook his head. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Mark nodded at the woodland. "You live out here, don't you? All by yourself."

"Yes."

"Don't you miss… y'know, people? To like, hang out with and stuff?"

Robert thought back to the men in yellow with the gas masks, then in his mind a picture of the men with machine guns flashed up. Nothing had really changed in all that time, had it? If this was the case then the answer had to be no. But how could he write off the rest of the dwindling population when there were still people like Bill out there, the men and women from the market. And Mark. "I… I try not to think about it," was the only answer he could muster.

There was another awkward pause before Mark came right out and said what was on his mind. "Can I come with you?"

So many emotions flooded through Robert at that moment he couldn't really make sense of them. But chief amongst them was fear. He'd felt oddly calm as he'd dodged the bullets and gone up against the German in the tank. Now this simple question petrified him. How could he let Mark come with him, how could he risk spending any time with him at all, when he could be snatched away at any moment like Stevie had been? Robert had come here to wait, not to be an adoptive father.