When Darkness Falls, Book 3 Read online

  And I didn’t want him to get his point across.

  He couldn’t be trusted.

  Nobody could be trusted.

  That was the way of the world now.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Alex,” Suzy said. She was trailing just behind me, doing all she could to keep up with me.

  I looked at her for a moment, right into her bright eyes, and I smiled.

  “I won’t. I’ll do the complete opposite.”

  Then I carried on moving towards the newcomer.

  It took me a few seconds before I saw him. But when my eyes cast a glance at him, it struck me right away that he wasn’t what I expected.

  He was tall and thin. He had longish hair, quite greasy, and was wearing a navy blue jumper and light blue jeans. He was on his knees, which struck me as interesting right away. He had his hands raised.

  He looked at me as I stepped towards him, as he kneeled there at the other side of the gates. Behind, I could see the trees and the outside and it made the hairs on my arms stand on end. The thought of all those people out there… of all those possibilities out there.

  All that danger out there…

  The thought of it made my stomach turn.

  “Please,” he said, as he kept his hands in the air. I was standing right opposite him now, just a gate between us. It was a solid wall we’d built around this place, and it was always a work in progress. There were a few former builders here, so they’d helped erect this corrugated steel structure, with bricks either side held together by improvised cement. And the gate—it was just the old gate of the farm, only that had been reinforced to make it more steady and stable, too.

  Oh. And only able to open from within.

  “Please,” the man repeated. “I bring no harm.”

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Simon,” he said. I realised he had a slight stutter. And then I saw something else, too. Something on his face, and on his arms. I wasn’t sure what it was initially—I’d assumed it was mud or something.

  But it soon became clear that this wasn’t mud at all.

  It was dried blood.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Simon took a few deep breaths, sweat dripping from his greasy hair. “My—my home. My people. They—they—”

  “Slow down. Answer my question. What are you doing here?”

  Simon took a few moments to compose himself. He closed his eyes, took a few steadying breaths. And all the while, more people surrounded us. More people came over to see what was happening. And I wasn’t sure I liked that. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

  Simon looked up at me again, like he’d managed to calm himself, steady himself. “I’ve been on the run. I was lucky to get away.”

  “On the run from who?”

  “A group,” he said. “A rival group. They—they have weapons. Weapons that nobody else has. And… and they destroyed my home because we couldn’t pay. They destroyed my people because we couldn’t pay. I was the only one who… the only one who…”

  He closed his eyes and broke down in tears.

  “I can still smell them,” he said. “Their burning bodies. I can still smell them.”

  I heard the mumble of conversation building. I heard the panic rising. And I looked at this man—Simon—sitting on his knees and sobbing in front of me and one word sparked in my mind.

  Bullshit.

  “What do you want from us?” I asked.

  Simon lifted his head and looked up at me again. He wiped his eyes. “The fact that you aren’t already providing for them is a worry. Because they will come for you. And when they do, they’ll… they’ll find a bold way to introduce themselves.”

  “A ‘bold’ way?”

  “You need to leave this place. We all need to leave this place. Because once they come here, they’ll have you. Once they come here, it’ll already be too late. And if they find me…” He shook his head, started shaking, the fear clearly taking hold of him.

  More panic built behind me. More tension grew. And I knew that one way or another it was going to have to stop. Fast.

  “You’re seriously suggesting we leave this place?” I said.

  Simon lowered his hands and shrugged. “I’m sorry. But it’s… I’ve seen the depths this group are willing to go to. And they aren’t far away. It’s the only choice you have. Go. Leave. Leave some stuff behind for them and I don’t know, if they catch up with you, they might show mercy. But we have to go. I know a place we can go to. I know a—”

  “You turn up at our gates and tell us about some ominous group on the horizon,” I said. “You tell us we have to leave, and we have to leave stuff behind. You’re all on your own with no one to corroborate your story. And you expect us to just leave this place? Everything we’ve built? Really?”

  “I know how it looks,” Simon said. “But—”

  “If you know how it looks, then you should leave right now.”

  Simon looked shocked when I said those words. He shook his head. “You’re signing your own death warrant.”

  “You let us deal with our problems,” I said. “It sounds like it’s you that has the problem with this other group—if they even exist. So walk away. Leave us. And don’t come back.”

  When I said those words, I knew what it was. I knew it was my lack of trust making the decision for me, all over again. But I couldn’t be blamed. This man’s story didn’t add up. Something was off.

  He stood up and shook his head.

  “You’re making a bad decision.”

  “And it’s not his decision to make.”

  I heard the voice behind me and I knew I was in trouble.

  When I turned, I saw Stanley walking towards me and towards the gate. He was tall, with a bald head and a beard that was growing greyer by the day. He wore glasses, although the left lens was chipped, something he swore he’d have to get replaced eventually. His mere presence—as the leader of this community—brought with it an immediate sense of calm.

  Well. To everyone but me, anyway.

  He opened the gate.

  He stood opposite Simon.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” he said.

  Simon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t want to be on my own anymore.”

  Stanley put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be.”

  Then he pushed him along into this camp, into our home, into our community.

  Stanley’s eyes met mine. And for a moment, I could sense the way he was looking at me. I could hear what he was thinking.

  You do not get to turn people away.

  You do not get to make that decision.

  “We have to get ready,” Simon said, the urgency in his voice rising. “We have to gather all essentials and leave immediately.”

  Stanley sighed. Then he looked at Damon and Anna, two of his most trusted heavy-weights. “I’m sorry to say this, Simon, but for all Alex’s flaws, he’s right about something. There’s a lot of questions to ask before we can even think about walking.”

  Simon looked around like he didn’t understand.

  Damon and Anna grabbed him by either arm and started to drag him away.

  “No. No!”

  “I’m sorry, Simon,” Stanley said, as I watched—everyone watched—him get dragged away to the holding cells. “But if you are honest, we can co-operate. And if we co-operate, we can solve whatever problem you face together.”

  But it didn’t stop Simon’s shouting.

  Crying.

  Screaming.

  “I’ll die here!” he was crying. “You’ll all die here!”

  And although I was relieved that the problem of Simon was being put on hold at least temporarily, I couldn’t help sensing an ominous sincerity to those words as the clouds thickened even more and specks of rain began to fall…

  Chapter Three

  As I lay in bed, Sarah and our unborn child beside me, I couldn’t deny I
wanted nothing more than to get to sleep without any conversation.

  I could hear the wind blowing heavily against the caravan. Rain lashed down on the roof. The sound of it was relaxing, usually. I dozed off better to the sound of the rain hitting the steel roof. And it was a good thing. More rain meant more water—as long as it wasn’t so much that it caused problems like flooding, something we’d no doubt face when winter took a grip.

  But I could also feel Sarah twitching and turning beside me. And I knew from all my years as Sarah’s husband that she always twitched and turned like that when there was something on her mind.

  And when she had something on her mind, I knew for a fact that she’d be mentioning it—and having a conversation about it—before sleep arrived.

  It took her longer to bring up the events of earlier that day than I’d expected. I was actually on the verge of dozing off, which made it even worse.

  But when she said those words, I knew there was no hiding. Not anymore.

  “I heard about what happened earlier. We’re going to have to talk about it eventually.”

  My stomach sank. I reached over, put a hand on her extended belly where our child was living. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

  “I heard you were pretty keen on that guy Simon walking away.”

  I looked at her and I saw the way she was looking into my eyes and I wondered. I wondered how she could still have the kind of outlook she had with all that we’d been through together; with everything we’d lost.

  But there was no point lying to her. I had to be honest.

  “I was saying what everyone was thinking,” I said.

  “You can’t make those kinds of decisions for everyone,” she said.

  “I was worried what might happen.”

  “And what about if this Simon’s right? What if there is someone out there? I mean, he was covered in blood, right?”

  I shook my head, turned away from Sarah and closed my eyes. “It’s too off, his story. I don’t trust him.”

  “You’re going to have to start trusting people eventually, Alex.”

  “I’ll start trusting people when Bobby comes back to life, okay?”

  I knew I’d made a mistake right away. I knew I shouldn’t bring Bobby up in the heat of the moment like that. It was an unspoken agreement we’d come to, that we didn’t go there when emotions were running high, because our gorgeous, sweet son wasn’t someone who should be used as a way of scoring points.

  I looked back at Sarah. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “I know it still hurts you,” she said. “And it still hurts me too. Every moment of every day, it still hurts me. I wake up and I remember. I eat and I remember. Sometimes I want to hide away and forget but I can’t, Alex. I can’t. But I still wake up. I still eat. And I remember what a good kid Bobby was and how cruel it was for him to lose his life that way and I…”

  She stopped. I could tell she was fighting back the tears.

  “You need to remember that it was your lack of trust that caused those problems,” she said. “Not the other way around.”

  I felt my body tighten up. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

  Sarah frowned. “What—”

  “Are you saying it’s my fault that Bobby died?”

  “Alex, I didn’t—”

  “Because what happened happened. If I’d been stronger then maybe it wouldn’t have. If I’d been more ruthless, it wouldn’t have. If I’d been…”

  I stopped, then.

  I stopped because I could see that Sarah was wincing.

  Her eyes were tightened shut. Her teeth were showing.

  And she was clutching on to her belly.

  My body froze as flashbacks returned. Flashbacks of the moment we’d lost our first child.

  The wincing.

  The blood.

  The rush to the hospital.

  Then the despair.

  “Sarah?” I said.

  I reached over for her then stopped, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to react.

  My heart pounded. I went to get out of the bed. “A doctor. I need to get a—”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  I stopped. Looked around at her. “You’re not okay.”

  “No, really,” she said. The pain had gone from her face. There was no blood on the bed. None of the things I’d seen last time. “I’m fine. Just… just indigestion.”

  I got back into the bed.

  And although deep down I knew I should’ve still gone to get medical advice regardless, there was that shared denial between us. That fear that something was wrong. And by acknowledging something was wrong, it only got all the more real.

  I held Sarah, hands on my stomach, forgetting the words we’d had.

  “We’re going to be okay,” Sarah said. “All of us. You and me and the little one. We’re going to be okay, no matter what.”

  I closed my eyes and I didn’t say another word.

  Because all I could think about was what Sarah had said to me.

  “You need to remember that it was your lack of trust that caused those problems.”

  And all the while, as I drifted off into a restless sleep, I couldn’t help but wonder.

  What if Sarah was right?

  Chapter Four

  Ian Powers stood over the snivelling man begging for his life.

  It was night, and the only light was from the flickering flames of the camp behind this kneeling little bitch. It was a cold one, too, summer well and truly gone now. Ian could see this man’s breaths as he crouched there, hands together, begging. And he liked that. It added to the drama of the whole situation. He liked it when things played out theatrically. Especially moments like this.

  Little did the man on his knees know, this was all going to get a whole lot more theatrical—and fast.

  Ian listened to this man’s cries. The man had a name, of course. Benjamin. But Ian didn’t like to think of him by his first name. He just liked to think of him as one of his providers.

  That way, when it came to situations like this, he wouldn’t feel any attachment and therefore no regrets about doing the things he had to do.

  “You let us down, my friend,” Ian said, shaking his head.

  Benjamin shook his head, tears rolling down his face. From behind him, the flickering of the flames gave off an intense smell of smoke—a smell that Ian always found so soothing. So calming.

  “I mean, we did have an agreement, didn’t we?”

  “We—we just needed a little more time.”

  “A little more time? I gave you two weeks. That’s more than enough time. Now not only in those two weeks did you decide not to gather me my supplies; you decided to try and ready yourselves to take us on.”

  “Please. I didn’t—”

  “I don’t care whether it was you personally or not, you snivelling wreck. You are the leader of these people. You represent them.” A pause. “Or at least you did.”

  Right on cue, Ian heard an agonised scream from inside the burning camp. He looked into Ian’s eyes, saw them getting more and more bloodshot, more and more angry.

  “It’s sad, isn’t it? Thinking that could be one of your old friends. Or someone even closer.”

  “Don’t,” Benjamin said.

  Ian smiled. He looked around at his people as they stood there, all armed. They’d been fortunate to run into the armoury when they had. A whole host of real-life firearms, right there for the taking.

  And while ammunition was certainly hard to come by in this new world—while they had to be careful not to be too trigger-happy—they had something, and the vast majority of the other survivors had nothing.

  Simply having these weapons put them at an advantage that a lot of people could only dream of.

  Oh. And they had trucks, too. Military trucks. A whole fleet of them, working.

  Let’s just say they’d had a very co-operative run-in with some old military frie
nds. A run-in that, while ending in bloodshed, had turned out very fruitful for him and his people after all.

  He crouched down opposite Benjamin. He put a hand on his shoulder. “You see, I’ve destroyed your camp. I’ve made you watch it burn. And some would say that’s enough. Some would say that’s plenty enough to make you realise how serious we are about our deals, and how serious we are about making sure broken promises don’t go unnoticed.”

  “You’ve messed up your own future,” Benjamin said. “By destroying us, you—you’ve cut off your nose to spite your face.”

  Ian leaned back. He let out a whistle, started chuckling. “Did you hear that, team? We need Benjamin’s supplies, apparently.”

  He stepped back, walked around Benjamin, circling him completely as he kneeled there in the dirt. The heat from the flames was getting warmer.

  When he reached Benjamin’s front, he stood over him, stared down.

  “We don’t need shit from anyone,” he said. “We could survive on our own. But being able to get people to do stuff for you? Being able to utilise workers, to get the little man to do the little man’s work? That’s how it always has been. And that’s how it’s going to be.”

  He moved in close to Benjamin, so close that he could smell the dried blood smeared on his face.

  “But do not make any mistakes here. Do not be under any illusions. We do not need you. You are not important.”

  He pulled out a knife and pressed it to Benjamin’s neck.

  “Besides. What good to me are you when you’re a dead man anyway?”

  Benjamin’s eyes widened. “Plea—”

  Ian dragged the blade against Benjamin’s throat.

  He pushed his head back. Held it there and stared into Benjamin’s eyes as the thick red blood pooled down onto his chest.

  “This is the last face you’ll ever see,” Ian said, as Benjamin choked on his own blood. “The last face you’ll ever see is the man you tried to betray. Goodnight, Benjamin. Sleep well.”