Ansell was shockingly fast, covering the ground at great speed with his lengthy strides. Jude kept the pace, accelerating across the square. Years of running the city had prepared him for this as he clung to Ansell’s boots.
They swung into an alleyway as engines fired up behind them. Crashing through the door of a chain metal fence, they zigzagged left and right through the twists and turns of the backstreets. The snow was dying now, though there was no respite from the elements, as the heavy white flecks dissolved to drizzle and then to lashing sheets of rain. They ran on relentlessly through the city, driving through the wind, not daring to look back over their shoulders. Ansell reloaded his shotgun whilst on the move. It remained in his hand, his fingers wrapped around the barrel.
They pushed through riots, ducking and shoving. When they broke free of the clamours, they hit alleyways and ginnels, and on they went in the dark, without looking back.
After what felt like an age of running flat-out, Ansell finally stopped and waited for Jude to catch up the last few strides. As he drew level, Ansell pulled him up a few cracked stone steps and pushed him down into a recessed doorway, sheltering him from the rain. Jude watched as Ansell pulled the peak of his weathered cap down over his brow and rested back onto the door. He followed suit, settling himself into a corner, fixing his hood up over his head and tugging his scarf over his mouth.
Ansell scanned the street carefully. He looked left and right periodically for movement, but the only person to be seen was a lonesome Crochead staggering around near the end of the street. The engines and sirens were now distant echoes, muffled by the chaotic sounds of the city at night.
“We’ve lost them.”
Jude sighed his relief. But he couldn’t quash the fear-filled adrenaline that was rushing about his body. He shivered. A cold bead of sweat rolled through the dip of his spine. He eyed the sky. The moon hung low, glowering at him in ghostly blue, flecked with deep purples and strikes of green aura. The colours that signified the coldest of nights. An impossibly long icicle jutted down from a window ledge over him, and it dripped its water into a pool at his feet.
“We can’t stay here all night.”
“Be calm,” Ansell replied. He stood up and moved out of the doorway to the street, where he began striding along the building line. Spots of blood dripped from his saturated clothes, leaving flecks of red in the snow.
Towering red-bricked buildings lined the street. Old industrial premises, Jude observed as he followed Ansell through the dark until he stopped, abruptly, at a break in the buildings. A fence of grey metal bars, topped with swirls of aggressive barbed wire, stood guard over what looked like a builder's yard. Ansell dug into his pocket and produced a set of keys.
Reaching for the lock on the gate, he fumbled trying to unlock it, his left arm clearly troubling him greatly. He made a final twist and winced as the lock finally clicked.
“You ok?”
He grunted back as Jude rushed forward to push the gate. He followed Ansell through the yard, which was clearly picked dry before the lock went on. There was nothing here worth taking, and all that remained on the sodden ground were mounds of litter and debris. They rounded a corner to the left into a part of the yard concealed from the street outside. Ansell began moving boards of wood and metal drums. Jude dove in to help, pulling away two old rusted shopping trolleys, throwing and dragging debris clear as they continued on. Finally, the way was clear to a small shipping container, and Ansell once again opened a padlock before wrenching the door. It swung open with a dull creak.
In the centre of the container stood a motorcycle. Jude had seen countless motorcycles about the city, but this one was different, somehow daunting and fearsome. The tyres were thick with deep treads suited to off-roading, and the parts Jude would expect to be silver or chrome were matte black. A tank of deep gunmetal grey led on in a beautifully aesthetic swoop to the dark tan leather seat. The bike was Ansell on two wheels – dark, brooding, and aggressive.
“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?”
“No, didn’t get round to passing my test,” Jude replied with a playful grin.
“Sit behind me, grab on to my sides, and tuck your head in. If you think you’re cold now, wait until we’re moving. It will be beyond uncomfortable.” Ansell picked up a set of goggles from a rickety table at the back of the container and threw them over to Jude. “Put these on, or you’ll not be able to open your eyes against the freezing wind.”
Jude obliged him, placing the goggles around his head. He then pulled his hood back over and tightened the drawstrings, so only part of his forehead and nose faced the cold. Ansell pulled on a black motorcycle helmet, leaving the visor open so he could continue his instructions.
“I don’t want to stop, but if for whatever reason you need me to, tap my shoulder twice. The bike will lean in corners. Don’t panic or resist. Lean with it.”
Jude nodded and gulped.
“I know what you’re thinking. I know a way out past the perimeter guard. Questions?”
“So many questions,” Jude replied, “but I doubt you’ll be pleased to hear them, and we’re in a rush, so no.”
“Good choice. I’ll ride it out. You shut the door and lock it, then get on behind me.”
Ansell threw his leg over the seat and thrust a key into the ignition as he slammed his visor shut. Suddenly, the engine coughed and sputtered into life. Starting off with a deep growl, it chugged into a thunderous rumble as Ansell rode it out in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
Jude followed. Securing the container, he jumped on behind Ansell, resting his feet on the pegs on either side of the machine. The vibrations rang through him as he gripped onto Ansell’s sides. Without warning, the bike jolted off at speed, the engine blasting through the eerie quiet of the surrounding streets. It was exhilarating, a feeling like no other he had ever experienced. He felt totally free, flying through the roads, zipping past cars and leaning through the corners before accelerating out of them on the straights. Before he knew it, he had roared through a narrow, pitch-dark tunnel and burst free on the other side of the city's perimeter barricade. They whirred away into the outlands, a dark flash in the eyes of the skeleton guard left patrolling.
He was somewhere he had never been in his life – outside his city. Joyous emotion consumed him. Lifting his head, he looked around, seeing rolling green fields draped in moonlight and pockets of trees over the gentle hills. He cheered at the top of his lungs, the sound stolen away in the howling wind. He risked taking a hand from Ansell’s side and held it out above his head, feeling the wind push against it, watching it soar like a free bird gliding through the sky. The stars in the jet-black of night were dazzling. With the mist and smog of the city left behind, they hung perfectly in front of his eyes. The moon was so bright, the lack of street lighting was barely noticeable.
They rode on along a wide road with three lanes, churning up snow and slush under the thick tyres. Here and there, Ansell slowed down and leaned the bike as he negotiated abandoned vehicles left years ago, though the road was largely clear due to it being used as a trade route by the City Guard. Jude had seen many fuel tankers come into the city from this direction, flanked by the flashing orange lights of City Guard trucks. Jude guessed they had been on the road for around an hour as Ansell leaned left and blasted the bike through a small snow drift onto an exit road.
The second leg of the ride saw them navigate dark backroads and deserted country lanes. The going was slower now, which was welcomed by Jude, who had finally become aware of just how cold he was. His toes had turned numb, and an icy draft was stabbing at his lower back where his jacket had ridden up, exposing skin. He dared not tap Ansell’s shoulder, resigning himself to gritting his teeth and enjoying the scenery.
Amongst tall hedge rows and imposing trees, the night had darkened, and the orange glow of the bike’s headlamp was doing little to penetrate the black. Ansell was unperturbed, his speed constant. He pushed the bike to its limit, and Jude could only assume that the route was so well-known to him that he could afford to take calculated risks in the darkness. That theory was easier to stomach than the ones in the back of his mind. He imagined the bike stopping, and a swarm of rabid cannibals bursting out from the dark, furiously devouring them in a cloud of blood and a symphony of screams. He shuddered.
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Ever since the city was locked down a couple of years into The Panic, stories of satanic cults, cannibalistic tribes, and marauding bands of outcasts had been rife. The outside was desolate. Dangerous badland, that’s what they called it. He had always thought that perhaps it was just talk, to keep wide-eyed youngsters from running astray in search of a better life. Now he knew it was not. They had passed camps and dens and buildings off the road, where fires roared and painful howls carried on the wind.
Thankfully, their ride was without incident. He wondered whether that was because the monsters out there knew who – or what – Ansell was, and so knew better than to trouble him. Either that, or they’d gotten lucky.
The bike finally slowed as they turned off a country lane onto a narrow dirt track, which cut a path through a seamlessly never-ending gathering of tall oak trees. When they finally breached the tree line, the ethereal light bathed them in silver as the bike chugged up a gradual slope towards the moon. They crested the hill. Ansell dipped the clutch, quelling the engine noise, quietly coasting down the other side towards the dark silhouette of a building.
It was far too dark for Jude to take in the surrounding area. The air was blissfully fresh and silent, other than for the tranquil sound of a fast-moving stream flowing somewhere nearby. They closed in on the building, and Jude released his grip on Ansell, pulling his goggles off his face with a grunt against the cold. The building loomed at him, draped in the orange glow of the bike's headlamp. A rugged stone cottage, painted brilliant white, sat under a thatched roof.
Ansell drew to a stop in front of tall wooden double doors on the far right of the building. He wearily raised his visor and stumbled off the bike. Jude hopped off alongside him, and the two pushed the doors open before wheeling the bike to a stop inside the garage. Ansell closed and locked the door, placed his helmet on a rusty hook protruding from the wall, and cut the engine, extinguishing the headlamp. The darkness lasted only seconds until he flicked on a flashlight and led the way to the left of the garage and through a door into the cottage’s living room.
Ansell beamed the flashlight towards a stone fireplace. “Light the fire, get warm. It’s already set, just needs starting. Matches are in a box on the hearth,” he said, his voice ragged and raspy.
Jude set to his task immediately, striking two matches that broke in his hand before he was finally successful with the third. He saw Ansell struggle to heft a heavy oak coffee table off and away from a thick wool rug. He rushed over to help, but the man eyed him and nodded his head towards a couch by the fire in a silent order to sit. Jude obliged but politely hovered in a half stand, half sit, conscious of his sopping wet clothes saturating the cushions. When Ansell had the rug cleared and dumped in the corner, it revealed a trap door, closed and secured with an excessive amount of padlocks.
He opened it and disappeared down a flight of wooden stairs into what Jude assumed was the basement. He was down there a few moments before a low whirring sound vibrated through the cottage, followed by the pops and groans of pipes hiding behind the walls. A lamp on a small side table flickered into life, and Jude’s heart soared as he realised the cottage had a standby generator.
By the time Ansell returned up the stairs, holding a tall glass bottle containing an amber liquid and a green box, the fire was roaring and the room blissfully warm. In his absence, Jude had shed his sopping wet clothes down to his t-shirt and leggings and was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. Life returned to his numb limbs rapidly in the heat, but his skin stayed red and cold-burnt.
Ansell ripped off his layers of blood-soaked clothes and collapsed into a floral-patterned, high-backed armchair with a grunt. His shoulder was worse than Jude had thought. The bullet hole looked angry, still seeping blood, and the surrounding muscle was black and bruised from the impact. Ansell bit the lid off the bottle and spat it across the room before he drank deeply. His face scrunched as he coughed and spluttered.
“That looks like old moonshine,” remarked Jude.
“Moonshine,” spat Ansell. “If I wasn’t in my current state, I'd jump across the room and slap you. It’s a single malt scotch, over twenty years old.”
Jude stared at him, dumbfounded. He had no idea what Ansell was talking about and began to worry he was delirious.
“The brass bucket on the hearth, get it and take it to the bathroom.” He jabbed a finger to a doorway across the room. “Fill it up with warm water.”
Jude jumped to his feet and followed his orders swiftly. Ensuring the water was more than lukewarm, he rushed back to Ansell and waited for his next task.
“Pour it on the wound. Never mind the chair, it's ghastly anyway. I always hated it.”
The water was a torrent of red as it washed over Ansell’s shoulder and cascaded down his chest, pooling in his lap and seeping through to the chair. The view of the wound was clearer now. Ansell swigged from his bottle once more. It impressed Jude mightily that the man had done over a quarter of the bottle in two goes. He had drunk the same amount of Trevor’s moonshine one summer evening and had to be carried to his bed.
He smiled internally as he thought back to that night. One of the best. He had sat up past midnight, drinking and laughing with Trev and Lisa. Lisa had drunk as much as Trevor, and she’d insisted on performing a painstaking rendition of one of her favourite old songs. First, he had chuckled and cringed at the tone-deaf songstress, then he had lulled to sleep. He remembered his giant friend hefting him up and placing him down on his mattress. His rough hands lovingly tucking him in, protecting him from the world outside. What would you say if you could see me now, eh, Trev?
“In the green box, there’s a pair of tongs. Use them to fish the bullet out.”
Flustered, it dawned on him what he was being asked to do. He wasn’t City Health and had never so much as wrapped a bandage, never mind extracted a bullet.
“Damn it! Will you hurry up? Get the tongs, hold me down, and dig the bullet out!”
“That would require me to put my hand on you, and last time I did that, I nearly lost it, remember?” Jude scoffed, in a weak attempt to slow the inevitable.
“Shit,” Ansell snapped, bewildered. “Are you always so damn pissy? Do what I ask, or you’ll keep your hand and lose your head in its place!” He slugged at the bottle again, now medicating his irritation as much as the burning hole in his shoulder.
Jude’s hands were slippery with sweat as they scrambled around the box, eventually pulling a set of metal tongs free of the medical supplies. He ripped them clear of their sterile packaging and looked at the wound. He dropped his eyes to the floor, rooted to the spot.
“I’m scared, Ansell. What if I make it worse?”
Ansell swallowed back a flippant reply and composed himself. “Look, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been shot before and worse than this. Sometimes it’s best to leave the bullet in, and twice I’ve had to do just that. Fortunately, this one isn’t deep. When you look closely, you’ll see it. Just grip it with the tongs and pull. You can do this.”
“What’s a rodeo?”
Ansell laughed, raspy and full of blood, yet bright and contagious, his eyes softened and his head tilted back. Jude chuckled with him, then shook off his nerves and approached the wound. Sure enough, the bullet was right there.
He pushed his free hand into Ansell’s chest, bracing him into the chair, then pressed the tongs into the hole, amazed at how steady his fingers were. He squeezed the bullet. The tongs slipped on the blood and jabbed into the torn flesh. Ansell stifled his agony and took another deep slug from his bottle. Jude’s second attempt was successful. He gripped the bullet and eased it out slowly, his face triumphant in the dim firelight as he dropped it to the floorboards. His exhale was huge as he realised he had been holding his breath the whole time.
“Not bad,” Ansell said, his head tipped back resting on the chair as he poured the last of the bottle over his shoulder. He grimaced and grunted as the liquid lapped over his wound. Jude followed further instructions on how to pack and dress the wound using the supplies from the green box. Finally finished, he retired to the fireplace and lay on his back, exhausted.
Ansell remained on his chair, head back and eyes closed as he spoke once more, his voice ragged and drowsy. “You were good tonight. Don’t sleep there. There’s a bed with clean sheets. Down the corridor, the first room on the left. The shower works. The water will be hot.”
Jude felt his mood surge. He hadn’t had a warm, fresh bed since before The Panic.
“That door there” – Ansell threw his arm towards the only door in the room not accounted for – “is the kitchen. There’s food.”
“Thank you, Ansell. Sleep well,” Jude replied as he picked a thick throw from the couch in the corner and draped it over him, making his way towards the kitchen door.
“Jude,” Ansell called after him, his voice slurred. “We’ll kill Brunner. For what he did to your friend.”
“Give me your word,” Jude replied swiftly, but Ansell was already asleep.
He crossed the warm wooden floorboards and stepped through the kitchen door, his toes curling at the contrasting cold of the tiles. The fridge was near enough bare and still warm, but a cupboard next to it had tins and dried foods. He selected a red tin with a picture on the front showing a steaming bowl of orange liquid. He returned to the fire, clutching it and squinting at the instructions on the label.
Using a set of iron tongs hanging by the hearth, he held the open tin over the fire until he could wait no longer. His stomach heard the popping and bubbling of the thick orange liquid and urged him to slurp it down. He poured it into a large mug he had found in the kitchen and guzzled it greedily, barely coming up for breath. It was delightful. His senses soared and his tongue was curled in his mouth, overwhelmed by the flavour. With a large burp, which threatened to wake Ansell, he rose to his feet and made his way to the bedroom.
The shower was a dream. He hadn’t washed in a real clean shower with warm water in years, and he savoured every moment. He found soap and scrubbed and rubbed himself from head to toe. When he finally got out, he wrapped himself in a towel, which was wonderfully warm from the radiator he had left it on. He thought there was no way his evening could improve any further, but then he collapsed onto the magnificent double mattress. He sank deep into it with a sigh of pleasure and tugged the thick duvet around him like a cocoon. As he closed his eyes, his heart yearned for Zuri, but before he could think about her, he drifted off into a deep and peaceful sleep.