David Moody: Them or Us

Turn this around, McCoyne told himself. Play the victim.

“Help me,” he said quietly. “They’re here. If we don’t get out of sight they’ll kill us.”

“Who are you?” the man croaked, his voice barely audible. “How did you get here?”

McCoyne was struggling to come up with a plausible response when he heard Llewellyn shouting again, calling them back to the trucks. He didn’t have long.

“They’re coming,” he said. “Loads of them. Two trucks full. They followed me here. We need to get under cover.”

The man stood his ground for what felt like an eternity, eyeing McCoyne up and down and trying to make sense of the situation. McCoyne forced himself to stay still and not react, all the time knowing that he should finish this Unchanged bastard now and that if anyone found out he’d been standing here talking to one of them like this, they’d probably kill him as fast as they’d kill them.

“This way,” the man said suddenly, turning around and gesturing for McCoyne to follow him inside. He led him into the hut (a gift shop with shelves still well stocked with teddy bears, toys, and other assorted rubbish), through an interconnecting door and into yet another similar building, then out through another rear exit and across a narrow strip of asphalt. Hidden behind garbage cans and a mud-streaked golf cart emblazoned with the theme park’s logo was a door in the side of a large brick building. McCoyne followed him through, making sure to shut the door again behind him and block it to prevent the Unchanged from doubling back and getting away. They tripped down a tight and steep staircase, then squeezed down a narrow, twisting corridor before emerging into a huge, dimly lit space. McCoyne struggled to make sense of what he was seeing for a moment. The room was a vast and clearly artificial cavelike structure, with fake stalagmites and stalactites bolted to the floor and ceiling, and pools of foul-smelling, dripping water. Light came from a number of lanterns dotted around the room, just enough illumination for him to see at least another eight Unchanged, wide-eyed and mole-like. He shuffled back until he reached the nearest wall, eager to stay out of sight, and his foot kicked against a heap of dummies like the one he’d seen standing in the stream. Then it dawned on him, this was the Mine—the huge building he’d stood outside earlier.

He could hear the man who’d led him down here talking.

“He was outside by the kitchens,” he explained.

“For Christ’s sake, Jeff, they’re outside. Are you fucking stupid? He’s with them!”

“He’s not, I swear. He’s like us. Would I be standing here now if he was one of them?”

McCoyne slid along the wall, watching the small group beginning to splinter, listening to the arguments develop and the volume of their voices increase.

No time for this. Got to act.

He ran forward and splashed through an unexpectedly deep puddle, his boots sinking into several inches of silt. Off balance and running almost blind, he tripped over a rocky mound and fell, then picked himself up again and carried on. The Unchanged panicked in response to the sudden movement and noise. Several of them ran after him. They were close behind, and he could hear their footsteps echoing off the walls and low ceiling. He kept moving, unable to see much more than just the occasional shadow, focusing more on the fact that Llewellyn and the others were about to leave than anything else. The ground beneath his feet began to slope upward. He ran up a long access ramp, then hit a wall, bounced off, and glanced over to his right, where he saw the faintest chink of light. It had to be the way out. One of the Unchanged dived for his legs and caught hold of one of his boots. McCoyne kicked out at him and managed to get free and keep moving, running now with arms outstretched. Another sharp bend and up ahead he could see the boards across the entrance that he’d seen earlier, shards of brightness pouring through the gaps between them. He slammed against the wood and peered through. The others were leaving, walking back to the trucks dragging their semifilled bags of supplies behind them.

“Llewellyn!” McCoyne yelled. “Back here!”

Someone lagging behind turned around and looked for him, but when he couldn’t see anything he turned back again and carried on. One of the Unchanged reached McCoyne and tried to pull him away from the door. He managed to force one of the smaller boards free. He shoved his arm through and grabbed hold of another piece of wood so they couldn’t pull him back.

“Unchanged!” he screamed.

McCoyne didn’t know if the others had heard him. With two Unchanged now trying to drag him away from the entrance, he closed his eyes and clung on. The Unchanged, desperate but, incredibly, even weaker than him in their pitiful, malnourished state, couldn’t break his grip. He could feel a third one hanging on to the back of him, tugging at his shoulders, and now the fingers on his right hand were starting to slip off the wood. He tried to stand his ground, but it was impossible. With a barely coordinated yank, he was wrenched from the entrance and dragged down onto his back. One of the Unchanged came at him with a knife, its blade glinting momentarily in a narrow shaft of light. As the terrified man dropped down and lunged for him, McCoyne managed to roll over to one side. Another one rolled him back, then another grabbed his kicking feet while others grabbed his thrashing arms.

The wooden boards across the door began to splinter as someone outside struck at them repeatedly with a heavy axe. The Unchanged scattered, and as soon as a big enough gap had been forced open, fighters and scavengers alike began to pour through. Suddenly free, McCoyne scrambled up onto his feet and pressed himself flat against the wall until the flash flood of bodies coming in had dried up, then got down on his hands and knees to avoid the fighting and crawled out into the open. He sat on his backside in the dust, panting hard, listening to the screams coming from the Mine, and waited.

* * *

All talk of radiation levels and other such threats had been forgotten in the euphoria of the kill. Three-quarters of an hour later and the theme park courtyard was still a hive of activity. Scavengers searched the den and collected piles of supplies the Unchanged had hoarded. Fighters dragged the bodies of their enemy out into the open and stripped the corpses of anything of value. Eleven kills. More than the last ten days combined.

Llewellyn marched over to where McCoyne was working, piling food into the back of one of the trucks that had been driven in from the parking lot.

“What’s your name?”

“Danny McCoyne.”

“Lucky find, McCoyne.”

“Suppose.”

“So what happened? Did you just stumble into their nest? Take a wrong turn and find yourself surrounded?”

“Something like that.”

“Talk me through it.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t I’ll break your fucking legs.”

McCoyne sighed and threw the bag of food he’d been carrying into the truck.

“I found one of them while I was scavenging. I made him think I was like him and that you others were looking for me, then I got him to take me to the rest of them.”

“And it was that easy?”

“Yep, that easy.”

“So how’d you manage that, then?”

“Just something I picked up.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep.”

Llewellyn grinned at him. “You devious little bastard, you can hold the Hate, can’t you?”

McCoyne looked away and picked up another bag. Did he really want anyone to know?

“So what if I can,” he said nonchalantly. “Not a lot of call for it these days, is there? Hardly any of them left.”

“When we get back to Lowestoft,” Llewellyn said, leaning over him until their faces were just inches apart, “you’re coming with me to see Hinchcliffe. He’ll be interested to know we’ve got a freak like you in town.”