We Are The Few Page 8

  Reilly perched herself down on the only available chair in the room, clasping her hands together with a tight expression. She raised one eyebrow as she glanced over at Freda. “Harris told me that the Allied Vigilants are a splinter group from what was left of the army.” Her voice went tight and quiet in that way it did when she was imagining how much better it could have been outside. “I didn’t even know there wasn’t an army anymore.”

  “Well, not like it was, certainly.” Harris gave a shrug. “But we still exist. Other groups exist. The army is still here, just broken up a bit. Our mission is the same, though. Protect the people.”

  The three of them fell silent for a moment, and Freda gazed over towards the white coat of the doctor. He appeared to be grappling with some strange metal implement, and for a panicked moment she wondered if it was going to be used on her. Don’t be an idiot. He’s probably got other people to see in here. And that’s probably just some over-complicated clipboard. Taking in a calming breath, her nerves still shattered from earlier, she let her gaze fall on Harris. She liked the way he held himself, with a calm, confident air as though he was truly fearless. It was the same way she tried to be. “Well, thanks, anyway. Even if…” she raised her arm up and wiggled it from side to side, unable to form the words. “You know, this.” A stab of self-pity went through her, and she couldn’t help muttering, “I don’t know what I’ll do now I’ve lost it.”

  “You haven’t completely lost it,” the doctor replied mysteriously. She looked up sharply to see him at her side, holding the metal device from earlier in his outstretched hands. He held it up, allowing her to see the form of steel fingers connected at one end, the other end covered by a large rubber cup of some kind. Long straps dangled from the rubber end. “It’s only a prosthetic, and won’t be as good as your actual arm was, of course.” He paused, letting his words sink in, his dark grey eyes connecting with hers. “But it should allow you to hold a gun, and perform simple tasks with this hand. You already told me your left is your stronger hand, yes?”

  “It is.”

  “Good. Then that will make things easier for you.” The doctor raised her arm and lined the false limb up with her stump of an arm, carefully sliding it on. As he concentrated, his grey brow furrowed, he continued, “This was top of the line, once. This was a Mecha 2055, the same prosthetic limbs used by the army and police force themselves. They were only replaced just before the war, but they still worked perfectly. This one might be a little stiff at first, but it should work well. Just hold still for a moment…there. There’s a special memory gel in the suction cup that will allow it to fit perfectly to the rest of your arm, and the strap here will make sure it stays in place.” He tightened a strap held around the top of the limb to her shoulder, before flicking a switch somewhere on the outer edge of the limb. Freda gave a jolt as something sharp snapped into her bandaged stump. The doctor winced in sympathy. “Sorry about that. It’s a robotic model, no surgery required. The arm has its own basic nervous system, and the wires connect of their own accord into your nerves, allowing you to use it naturally. You’ll have to replace the bandage once you leave here, of course, but that shouldn’t be for more than a few weeks. How does it feel?”

  Freda looked down at the alien appendage with dismay, unable to hide how she felt. If she had been a weaker woman, she might have started sobbing. As it was, her eyeballs felt hot. “It feels like my arm’s missing, doc,” she quipped, but her voice shook. “It feels like I’ve got a lump of metal stuck where my hand should be.” She told herself that the emptiness she felt was merely disbelief, that she would soon get over a missing hand. After all, it was to be expected in the world now.

  The doctor exchanged a look with Harris, but she was unable to discern its meaning before he turned back to her, forcing a smile onto his face. It stretched far too wide. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it. Just…have a go with it. Try clenching your fist?”

  Obediently, not expecting much to actually happen, Freda turned her arm over and stared at her hand. After looking at it for a few seconds, she glanced back up. “I, er…how do I do that?”

  The doctor tapped a long finger against the side of his head in explanation. “The wires that you felt entering your arm travel all the way to your cortex, in the brain. They connect there and send information back to the limb via electrical signals. So just think about moving your hand, rather than willing it to. It takes practice, but you’ll get used to it.”

  “Yeah, right,” Freda mumbled under her breath, but she lowered her gaze once more to the limb. She did as she was asked, imagining the mechanical hand closing into a tight fist. Her heart leapt as it did just that, with only a pause of a few seconds after her thoughts.

  “Wonderful. And unfurl your hand?”

  Again, the prosthetic moved as she concentrated on thinking about opening the hand up, and the doctor gave a satisfied nod, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he watched her. Freda crooked an eyebrow. “So…that’s it? It works?”

  “Perfectly. It’s maybe a little stiff, but that will loosen up as you use it.” The doctor turned away again, adding over his shoulder, “Just keep practicing with it, it’ll be no different from your old hand in no time.”

  As he leaned over the counter again to scribble something in his notes, Freda almost scowled at his white coat. Old hand? Like I’ve replaced it for something newer and better. Except I haven’t. I damn well preferred my ‘old hand’.

  Clearly growing aware of her darkening mood, Harris—who had remained silent during the doctor’s check-up of her ‘new’ hand—pushed himself off the wall and jerked his head towards the double doors. “Come on, I’ll show you to your beds. We’ve set a couple up for you both, until you’re feeling well enough to go on your travels again.” Harris eyed Freda’s leg carefully, tracing the outlines of the bandage beneath her trousers warily. “Can you walk on that thing?”

  “What, this?” Freda shrugged as though it was no more than a scratch. In truth, the cleaver had cut deep, but it hadn’t severed anything important. “I’ll be fine.”

  Harris gave her a searching look, his brow lowered, but said nothing before turning and shoving open the two doors. Reilly jumped up after Freda slid off the bed, hovering in case she fell. It annoyed Freda in a way, but she bit her tongue, knowing Reilly was only doing it because she cared. Although god knows why. I was horrible to her before the bandits, and I got her kicked out of Ripon. But despite herself, she was starting to really like Reilly. It’s almost like having a little sister, or something.

  A lump came to her throat at the reminder of siblings, but she swallowed it down whole, ignoring her feelings as she limped out into the corridor beyond the small medical room. The doctor never even looked up from his work as the three of them made their way out into the blue and cream painted hallway. Light from behind the grey clouds outside flooded it from three large square windows set in one side, the other side flanked by several stained wooden doors. Harris gestured towards them as he marched on ahead. “These are the supply rooms. They’re kept locked at all times.” When both Reilly and Freda gave him a hard look at the implication—Freda somewhat with a reddening face—he shrugged unapologetically. “I’m not saying you two are actually going to take anything from us without asking, but…I’ve thought that before of visitors. I just say it to everyone now.”

  As they strode along through the rest of the building, Harris proceeded to tell them about the history of it and how it came to be the headquarters of the Allied Vigilants. Of how originally it had been a police station for the whole of North Yorkshire, with all operations moved there only months before the Illness struck. How it had lain dormant for decades because of the extreme security measures that had surrounded it—turrets, electrified fencing, robots—and how the Vigilants had managed to come across it and hack into its system. “From that point on, it was simple enough to shut the defences down and restart them for ourselves,” Harris finished up, his green eyes travelling once mo
re over the faces of the two women. The way he did it was starting to make Freda feel a little uncomfortable, as though he could see into their souls with his penetrating stare. She doubted he would want to spend more than a moment looking into hers. He gave a rare but stiff smile as he paused and turned to one side, holding his arm out in a welcoming gesture. “Here. This is your room. You ladies don’t mind sharing, do you?”

  Reilly shook her head. “Not me. It’s like being back at the bunker with my sister.”

  Gazing for a moment at the radiant grin lighting up her friend’s face, Freda gave a frown. “You never mentioned you had a sister.”

  “She wasn’t strong enough to withstand the Illness for as long as I have.” The light faded.

  Shit. I didn’t know. And all this time, every time I’ve mentioned Gareth, she’s stayed quiet. Freda wondered if she should reach out and hug Reilly, or at least comfort her in some way, but she felt too awkward. Instead, she settled for nodding silently, peering over her shoulder into the room beyond. It was small but well-furnished, with two beds set either side of the room and covered in clean blue sheets. A single table had been set up in the centre with three chairs, a flimsy metal effort that resembled a card table. One window at the far side sent a ray of golden sunlight from outside cascading over the ground, rain pattering against it. She turned back to Harris, studying him as closely as he studied her back. Her stomach gave a flip as he realised what she was doing, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he folded his arms over his chest and leant against the doorframe. His eyes gleamed with something mischievous as she responded, “Thanks, Harris. This’ll be great.”

  “Glad to hear it. Someone will bring you some food in a little while. It’s not much, but it’s safe and inside, which is more than can be said for most places.” He pushed himself off from the doorframe, cracking his shoulders as he tilted his head back, gazing down at Freda with a hard stare. “You know, that was pretty brave back there. A lot of people would just let a bandit do whatever they wanted, out of the hope that those bastards,” he paused, spitting on the ground beside his foot, “have a heart. But you fought him, even if he did get your hand.”

  “Yeah. I’d kind of noticed that,” Freda replied glumly, still feeling the strange weight of the limb hanging from her elbow. She cast her eyes down to the floor, focussing on the stained dark patches against the blue linoleum tiles.

  “Hey, it’ll get easier,” Harris said in a softer voice, tucking a finger under her chin and raising it to see him again. “Wear it with pride. You’ve sacrificed something in the name of justice and what’s right.” His finger slipped away from her chin, and his brow dipped. “What the hell were you both doing there, anyway? They don’t usually go that close to settlements.”

  “We, er…we’d just left Ripon,” Reilly answered tactfully, giving Freda a meaningful glance. She tilted her head to one side, sighing loudly. “We were making our way to Boroughbridge when the bandits attacked us.”

  “But why were you travelling out so far? The roads aren’t that safe in small groups.”

  Reilly twisted uncomfortably, clearly unwilling to share everything with a complete stranger, even one who had rescued them. She cleared her throat as she sauntered into the room behind, grazing her fingers over the back of a metal chair. “I…I need to find some information on Brit Bunker. It’s private, but I need to find it before I…well, before I…” she trailed off, meeting Harris’ gaze shyly.

  He gave an understanding bob of his head. “You’re not well,” he finished for her diplomatically. “And you want answers to something. Understandable. And you?” He raised his eyebrows at Freda.

  She ran a hand nervously through her chestnut hair. “I’m looking for my brother, Gareth. He’s missing. We were going to leave our bunker together, but he set off without me. I think…” She took a deep breath, clasping her hands and looking down at them. She watched her thumbs sliding against one another for a moment. “I think he thought I wasn’t coming. At least not right away. So now I have to find him.”

  The plaid shirt shifted over Harris’ body as he let his arms go loose, placing them behind his back instead. He seemed to be charged with a nervous energy that needed to be released in some way, constantly. Scrunching his lips in thought for a moment, he gave another nod. “You know, the mission of the Allied Vigilants is to help people, to protect them. To aid them when they need it. I was going to suggest you ladies stay here for as long as you like, maybe even join up. I mean, that’s still an offer, if you want it.” He splayed his hands out to emphasise his point, the raindrops spattered on the dirty square window at the end of the hallway casting shadows over his fingers. “But I think you’ll both want to get going again. How about if I come with you?”

  Before Freda had a chance to answer, Reilly sprang to the doorframe, her patchy blonde strands of hair floating over her face. Her too-large boots scuffed against the neat beige carpet at the entrance to the room that was set up for them, her thin face eager. “You would do that? We could do with someone else helping us.”

  “Well, I know the area, and I’ve lived out here since I was a kid. You won’t find a better guide.” Pride shone in his voice for the first time. “I’d head towards York. As far as I’m aware, that’s where Brit Bunker set up in the north. And if your brother headed out, Freda, he’s probably ended up there. It’s one of the largest cities we have left. Chances are, someone there will know something for both of you.”

  Both he and Reilly looked over at Freda as though waiting for her permission, and she sighed inwardly. Reilly was right, of course. Having an extra gun—especially one who knew his way around—was more than simply helpful. But she didn’t know anything about his group, or Harris himself. She felt for the twinge in her gut that usually foreshadowed something bad happening, but she couldn’t feel anything. Meeting his sea-green eyes, she finally gave a stiff bend of her head. “Fine. I’m not sure if you can help, but we’d appreciate it.”

  Something in her tone of voice must have been just a little too cutting, as Harris gave a snort, the closest she had seen him come to laughter yet. Chewing at his bottom lip for a moment, he ran his hand over the rough stubble that bordered his jawline. “Then it’s settled. You ladies rest here for a few days, and we’ll head out. Even if,” he added jokingly, his eyes shining, “I can be of little use.”

  As he breezed past, Freda’s ears burned scarlet and Reilly giggled to herself from the doorway to the guest room. Scowling over at her friend, Freda pushed past her and into the warmth, throwing herself down on one of the beds and turning over to face the wall. She tried to ignore both the giggling and the heavy weight dragging her arm over more than it usually would, and she closed her eyes. The sooner they got going, the better.

  Chapter Seven

  May 18th, 2049 – the Past

  “You have to hold it higher. Come on, you want to get better, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Duh.” Freda pursed her lips at the lightly teasing tone of Matthew as he hovered behind her, raising the barrel of the gun so that she stared easily along its length. She shivered as his arm snaked over her shoulder to adjust the hold, her heart thumping against her chest. Not that he would have noticed. He hadn’t noticed in the last two years, even when he had been out on food hunting trips with her. Sometimes it was Gareth and Freda, sometimes it was Freda and Matthew. On very rare occasions, such as today, it was all three of them. Not that Matthew ever spoke to Gareth—but Freda’s brother had explained that it was over an argument a few years before, nothing to do with his leg. It didn’t make her any happier about it, but she was pleased that Matthew wasn’t a bigot.

  Breathing out slowly, she narrowed her eyes and focussed on the target ahead. An adult rabbit, seemingly oblivious to the three teenagers watching it, was feasting on grass just half a field away. She squeezed the trigger, grunting as the butt bounced back into her body. The rifle was a lot harder than the handgun she had used for the last couple of year
s, but she was determined to get it right. The bullet flew out and arched through the air…missing the rabbit by several metres. By so far, in fact, that the creature merely looked up and sniffed the air. Freda decided it must have lost its sense of smell or be suicidal.

  “Here, let me show you,” Matthew intoned as she gave a growl of frustration, almost throwing the weapon to the ground. She tensed as the warmth of his body came up behind her, covering her back with his height as he leaned over and placed his hands over hers. Freda’s palms moistened under his grip, and she prayed that he didn’t noticed, her pulse rocketing through her veins as she caught scent of his faint aftershave. It was fresh and musky all at once, and it made her body tingle in a way she didn’t understand. “Just put that up, that’s it. Then aim again…good. Now take a breath in before you shoot, and remember where to place your legs. It’s much easier that way.”

  Freda almost closed her eyes as his breath tickled her ear, her cheeks overheating as he manoeuvred her grip to improve her aim. The only thing that stopped her was a short snort of laughter from over near the trees. She turned her head sharply to give Gareth a black look. He was perched on a fallen log, his shotgun resting against it with his crutch as he cut his laughter short with a sheepish expression. It wasn’t the first time he had teased her about her crush on Matthew, and it wouldn’t be the last. Despite the fact they didn’t talk, he had assured her that Matthew was a nice lad, and he simply folded his arms over his chest and sat back with a smile in response to her annoyance.

  Her eyes fell for a moment to his crutch, and her heart sank a little. He had adapted it to allow him to move around easier with a gun—creating a strap and shortening it so he could tie it to his thigh and use it as a makeshift leg—but it still slowed him down. When they had been children, the difference was barely noticeable. But now that Freda was as tall as him and grown herself, she was far faster than him. It hadn’t really hit her until recently just how difficult the rest of Gareth’s life was going to be.