David Moody - Them or Us

“The underclass?”

“Yes. The people who only fight when they absolutely have to, not because they want to. Problem is, most people like that have been crushed or killed and all we’re left with now are dumb feral bastards like this guy Hinchcliffe and his crew. You and me, Danny, we can see beyond the battle and look toward other things, bigger things…”

I agree with him to an extent, but right now all I’m trying to do is look beyond being trapped in this bunker. Regardless of anything Sutton might say (and he hasn’t actually said a lot so far), I still want out of here. I don’t need any of this. It’s another dangerous and unnecessary complication I could do without. I’ve only been here a few minutes and already I feel like I’m caught between Sutton trying to pull me in one direction and Hinchcliffe the other. If I don’t do something about it fast I’ll be torn in half: ripped straight down the middle.

“I found an Unchanged camp and I was scavenging food from them,” Sutton continues. “I watched them from a distance for days, scared to get too close. I didn’t trust myself, didn’t know what I’d do. All I knew was that there were faces there I recognized … friends, people I used to see in the street … and then I saw Jodie with little Andrew.”

“Andrew?”

He nods back across the shelter again.

“My grandson. Jodie was my daughter-in-law. My son was already long gone, either dead or lost fighting somewhere, but those two were both Unchanged. Eventually they were picked up by the military. They were being evacuated to one of the refugee camps when the convoy they were traveling in was attacked. I’d been following them because I didn’t know what else to do. Jodie was killed, but some of the others managed to get away, and they took Andrew with them. I waited until I was completely sure of myself, until I knew I could definitely control myself and not attack, then I helped them and hid them. Only Parker and Dean and a couple of others really know what I am.”

“What about the rest of them?”

“They think I’m like them. They think I’m one of the Unchanged who can fake the Hate.”

“And what about me?”

“They’ll assume you’re the same.”

Even now, after all this time, the very notion of being thought of as Unchanged still stirs up some deep-rooted emotion inside me. It’s an uncomfortable, disproportionate reaction that’s hard to keep swallowed down. It’s even more difficult to suppress my feelings when I start to wonder if they might be right. Could that be what we both really are?

“So how did you end up here?” I ask, suddenly desperate for a distraction.

“Long story … maybe I’ll have time to tell you one day. Believe it or not, I figure this is probably the safest part of the country, geographically, that is. And when I found this bunker…”

“How did you find it?”

“I had a friend who used to visit decommissioned bunkers. A weird hobby, I know, but there you go. I remembered him telling me about a few places down in this neck of the woods.”

“Very convenient.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Well, that’s how it is.”

“So if it’s your grandson you’re worried about,” I ask, “why not just get him out of here and leave the rest of this bunch behind?”

He shakes his head and leads me back to a slightly quieter part of the room.

“You’re the only person who knows about Andrew. I didn’t used to see him that often. He was barely a year old when the war started. He hardly even knew me.”

“But you haven’t answered my question.”

“Apart from the fact he’ll never survive anywhere else, I don’t think I’d be any good for him. I’m not getting any younger, and I was a crap parent anyway. My son didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Are these people going to be any better?”

“Take a look around you, Danny. Just look at them. Look at how they talk to each other and how they interact. Listen to them. It’s a million miles removed from what we’re seeing in places like Lowestoft. This is how the world used to be. This is what we really lost because of the fighting.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is it? You saw what happened in Southwold. That’s as good as it’s going to get up there. Do you think it’s ever going to stop? Look at what’s happening. The human race is regressing. It’s like some kind of de-evolution. Take the Brutes, for example—you saw that poor bitch by the farm. They’re incapable of functioning anymore. Kids are the same. Have you seen how wild they’ve become?”

I don’t bother telling him about the things I’ve seen.

“And the fighters,” he continues, “for Christ’s sake, they’re in charge now. People have stopped thinking. Violence has taken the place of discussions and negotiations. Day by day what’s left of civilization is becoming less and less civilized. Where’s it going to end? Those stupid fuckers ruling the roost are never going to relinquish the power they’ve suddenly been given, are they? Things will get far, far worse before they get any better.”

“So? There’s nothing anyone can do about it. How is keeping a bunker full of Unchanged alive going to make any difference?”

“Don’t you see? These people are constant. They’re normal, and we’re the freaks. This was all about keeping Andrew safe to begin with, but I’ve come to realize now that these people are all that’s left of the human race. We’ve just got to hope there comes a time when they’ll be able to go back aboveground and start again.”

Fuck. Sutton has truly lost his mind.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You’ve got to face facts, these people are history and all we’ve got left now is cunts like Hinchcliffe and places like Lowestoft.”

“You’re wrong,” he protests. “Help me keep them safe, Danny. All’s not yet lost.”

I’m not listening to any more of this bullshit. “All is lost,” I tell him as I shove him out of the way and try to find my way back to the exit. I can’t take any more of this today. Has Sutton been driven crazy by months of fighting? Whatever’s behind this madness, it’s not my problem. I’m going to do what I promised myself I’d do last night—leave Lowestoft and get away from everything and everybody. I sidestep the man and woman I watched earlier, now lying together, their bodies still locked in an embrace, and all I can think about suddenly is being shut in that damn hotel room yesterday and that rough, loveless sex and how empty and vile it made me feel … The only person I want to be with now is me. I don’t need anyone else. Maybe I’ll go tell Hinchcliffe about this place, then leave them all to fight out their futures between them.

Desperate to get out, I turn to go through the door into the corridor and walk straight into Joseph Mallon coming the other way.

24

“DANNY?” HE SAYS, HIS voice trembling with uncertainty and surprise. “Danny McCoyne, is that really you?”

“Joseph?”

Is it him, or have I finally lost my mind? Am I so sick I’ve started hallucinating now? His voice is unmistakable, but he looks literally half the man he used to be. His face, broad and beaming when he held me captive in the convent, is now distressingly gaunt. His cheeks are sunken and hollow, the whites of his eyes as yellow as his teeth. He wears a grubby woolen sweater that hangs off him like it’s several sizes too big.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were dead,” I answer, slumping back against the wall in disbelief. This can’t be happening. I feel like I’m about to pass out, my hands and feet suddenly numb and heavy, fingertips tingling, eyes not focusing properly … I must be hallucinating.

“You two know each other?” Sutton asks, chasing after me, sounding as shocked as I am. Mallon nods his head vigorously and stares at me, his rasping breathing sounding uncomfortably erratic. He’s in worse shape than me. He grabs my hand and shakes it furiously, grinning like a madman.