16
11 Days after the attack.
Barefoot, hungry, and afraid of just about every person she glimpsed from the safety of her ditch, Sarah had spent the last two days travelling exclusively at night and hiding by day. She knew Correy wouldn’t just let her go. At least she had to assume he wouldn’t. Making it clear of his property without raising the alarm had given her the hope and the energy to walk the entire first night without stopping to rest. She knew she had to get as much distance between her and Correyville as possible. The problem was she had no idea which direction she should be traveling.
Hoping for the best and accepting that she might have to backtrack, she moved quickly in the steep ditches that lined the now rarely used highways. More than once, she stumbled over corpses in the dark. Her determination not to be one of them forced her from reacting as she normally would. She told herself that decomposing bodies were just one more hurdle in a nightmare of obstacles that stood between her and being with John again. The first body she fell over nearly unglued her. As she lay in the mud and stared at the rotting head, seeing the lips that once sang or kissed or laughed, she forced herself to shake the thoughts from her mind. And when she did, she leaned over and peeled off the dead woman’s shoes.
In the morning of that first day, she found a large elm tree and climbed it, praying that Correy didn’t have whatever the English equivalent to a bloodhound might be. She wedged herself in the highest forking branches and slept on and off until it was time to slip back into the darkness and walk on.
Somewhere in the wee hours of that second night, her thighs aching and her lips cracked and scabbed over, she met the gypsies. She heard them a good mile before she spotted them. They were nearly a dozen ragtag homeless crouching around a fire that had been built at the base of an overpass. She knew she could avoid them by skirting wide around. But in addition to the singing and laughing, she smelled meat cooking and the aroma drew her to the group as decisively as a collar and leash.
She was starving.
She watched them for a while from the shadows. There were six men, four women and two children. She watched them huddle together for warmth and affection and hand feed each other like they were on a picnic. The men looked harsh to her, with chiseled features and jagged hair. The women all looked old and the children cross-eyed and silly.
Her intention was to beg for food, but if she had to she would take it by force. She knew they could overpower her if it came to that and she prayed it wouldn’t. She didn’t want to kill anyone else. She hoped nobody would make her do that.
She stepped out of the dark and stood waiting for them to see her.
The music stopped and she watched as all twelve heads swiveled to look at her.
“Hello,” she said. “May I join you tonight?”
She wasn’t at all sure what she must look like to them. Her clothes were ill fitting but she looked obviously female even so. She remained where she was standing.
Finally, one of the men stood up and held a hand out to her beckoning her toward the circle of warmth. “You’ll be welcome.”
The leader of the gypsy band was called Declan. Sarah realized it must be a sign of the new times that few people offered a surname any more. Declan’s family had been living under the overpass for nearly three months. They’d been chased out of most communities pretty steadily ever since The Crisis.
Sarah’s intention after sharing their food with them was to leave immediately. She didn’t know how far she’d already come or how far she needed to go. But now, if anyone were to speak to this group, they would know how close Sarah was. Even so, it was very hard to leave.
“If you’ve come from Correyville as you say, you’re only about ten kilometers outside. But kilometers only matter if you’re measuring a distance to something, don’t you think?”
Declan was intelligent but simple. Sarah couldn’t help but think that he and Mike would get on very well. Plus, incredibly, Declan seemed happy with what he was doing. Sarah liked him immediately. The food they offered her was some kind of woodland creature, either possum or rabbit. She didn’t know, she couldn’t tell, and she didn’t ask. It was hot and delicious and she ripped the meat from its bones like she were a wild animal herself.
“How far is it to the coast, do you known?”
Declan accepted a cup of something hot from his wife and passed it to Sarah. She smelled the aromatic vapors of alcohol coming from over the lip of the cup. She drank deeply.
“In miles or time is it you want to know?”
“Miles, I guess.”
“I don’t know.”
Sarah grinned. “Okay, then time.”
“Well, that depends. Can you do twenty-five miles in a day?”
“I’m traveling at night so it’s a lot slower. I don’t think so.”
“Traveling at night because you’re fearful of strangers?”
“That,” Sarah said evasively.
“Or people who are not strangers to you?”
Sarah sipped from the warm wine again and handed it back to Declan. “I don’t want to cause trouble for your family. The people who are after me are evil.”
“You’ll never get where you’re going traveling by night,” Declan said as he leaned back against a tree and lit up a pipe. He grimaced. “Ran out of tobacco almost a year ago now. Ragwort doesn’t draw well and it tastes like shite, but it’s still a comforting habit.” He pushed a stick into the fire and one of the children came and curled up in his lap. Sarah thought the child looked to be about five.
“So how far do you think the coast is from here?”
Declan shrugged. “Two hundred miles, at least.”
Sarah tried to remember the cart ride after they left the boat. She had slept through some of it but it had easily taken the bulk of three days. How was she ever going to make two hundred miles on foot traveling in ditches by night? It would take her months and Correy would surely find her. She closed her eyes, as if the news was too much to take in.
“But that’s the long way, mind.”
She opened her eyes. “The long way?”
“Aye. Nobody takes the shortcut, you see. That’d be daft. But you, Sarah, you might just be crazy enough.”
“Why does nobody take the short way?”
“Because it’s straight through the Brecon Beacons which is five hundred miles of wilderness, wild animals and bandits.”
She stared at him.
“But it cuts off nearly a hundred miles of going by highway and nobody—not whoever is after you nor anybody else—is going in there if they don’t have to.”
“I have to,” Sarah said with determination.
Declan put down the wine cup and leaned over to hand Sarah another piece of meat from the spit in the fire. “I believe you do. You can travel by day without worry, at least until you come out t’other side.”
“And then?”
“Then it’s another sixty miles of watching your back to the coast. But you should be safe ‘til then.”
Sarah finished chewing and stuck the animal bone in her jeans pocket. She didn’t know when she’d eat again and she could at least suck on it if things got bad.
And things were almost certainly going to get bad.
She stood up. “How far did you say I’m from this Beacons place?”
“Around thirty miles. If you continue on as you’re going, you’ll see a sign for it. It’s a national park. Or at least it was. The people coming after you won’t expect you to go in there.”
“Because I’d have to be crazy.”
“Aye, that’s right. You’ll be safe from them. But there are other things to worry about in there. Mind, keep your eyes open.” Declan stood up and set the child down next to the fire. He took a few steps over to the where a pile of knapsacks were and dug around and returned with one. He handed it to Sarah.
“There’s some jerky in there, and some hardtack. It’s not wonderful but it’ll keep you from starving. Once you’re inside the Beacons, you’ll need to catch some food for yourself. I wouldn’t count on the kindness of strangers. I tucked a slingshot inside. Do you have a knife?” Sarah nodded and took the bag from him.
“That’s good. You know how to skin and gut what you kill? Only I notice you don’t sound like someone from round these parts and most people have had to get their hands dirty since the bomb went off.”
“I know how,” Sarah said. “I can’t believe how generous you’ve been to me. I wish I could do something for you.”
“We have everything we need.”
Amazingly, Sarah thought he really believed that. “You sound Irish,” she said. “Is that where you’re originally from?”
“Aye, it is.”
“Well, Ireland is where I’m going. If you ever find your way back there, I come from a community of people who would love to meet you.” She waved a hand to the rest of the group, who were huddled sleeping around the campfire. “All of you. And you would be very welcome were you to come. Ask for Mike Donovan’s place.”
“Thank you, Sarah. Now you’ll need to be going if you want to make any time at all. You won’t manage it to the Beacons by day’s light, so you’ll have to decide whether to risk it or stop.”
“May I hug you?”
Declan laughed and held out his arms. “Cor, I don’t know where you’re from,” he said, “but it most certainly is not from around here.”
She hugged him tightly and felt his goodness and his generosity help to wash away the horrors of the people she had met in the last two weeks. She released him, hoisted the bag onto her back and, after a brief nod of thanks, slipped back into the shadows.
If she had to guess, Sarah would say it took sixteen hours from the gypsies’ campfire to the sign that said “Brecon Beacons National Park 5 kilometers.” Six hours walking in the dark and praying she hadn’t gotten turned around, and ten hours waiting for the shroud of darkness to cloak her entrance into the park. In the end, she was too afraid to risk walking by day. It was painful to be so close, but Correy’s people had to figure she would go back the way she came and she was still too near the main highway, the A7. If there was ever a perfect time to find her, this would be it.
She found a good elm tree across from the park sign. Just looking at it gave her optimism that sanctuary was close. She hid herself among the branches and found a secure perch where she could doze off without falling. Her stomach growled and she ate the small bits of jerky that Declan had put in the pack for her. He had also included the dented wine cup and a thin, patched blanket, and Sarah blessed him with real tears when she huddled shivering under it against the night’s cold.
The days were the worst because, with no activity, it was hard to turn off her brain. And her brain was full of fears and what-ifs and terrible memories. She tried to will herself to sleep, but the occasional movements below of travelers kept her alert and fretful. She just had to survive undetected until nightfall, then she’d find a cave or a campsite and really sleep.
For now, she just had to not be seen and not fall out of the tree.
When evening fell, it was hard not to climb down before it was really dark. The longer she sat in the tree, the more keenly she felt John’s pain and imagined his tears. And the more frantic she became to get back on the road toward him.
Finally she slipped to the ground. She hadn’t seen or heard anyone in over an hour. These days, most people made sure they were some place safe before night fell. As usual, Sarah stood absolutely still for a moment and listened. When she was sure she was alone, she walked over to the ravine that ran parallel with the highway and looked in. On more than one occasion, she had found people sleeping in the ditch.
She preferred the corpses.
There was no moon and she was tempted to jog along the highway instead of getting back in the ditch. Five kilometers were at least a solid two hours at the rate she had to move in the ravine. On foot on the highway, even in the ill-fitting dead woman’s shoes, she could make the distance in less than an hour. The urge to get somewhere she could feel safe and not have to constantly look over her shoulder was paramount.
She decided to risk it.
Turning away from the ditch, she hoisted her pack on her shoulder and began to jog in the direction of the park.
In twenty minutes, I’ll be a third of the way there, she told herself. If it gets dark at nine, then I can be in the park and bedded down by ten.
She checked that her gun was still snugly fitted in the small of her back and held the slim blade in her hand and picked up her pace.
With no moon to go by, she tried to count the minutes but decided that was too distracting when she needed to be on the lookout for people. Her experience with Correy’s group had told her that when they came, they would come noisily. She assumed they wouldn’t bother with carts for this errand, nor would they come on foot. She was banking on the fact that she would hear—she would literally feel—mounted riders coming down the road toward her well before she could see them.
The gun she took off Gil was a semi-automatic pistol. It had a full clip of 15 rounds. As far as Sarah was concerned, if she had to she could take out at least a dozen before going down herself, especially if she was in a good strategic position when they found her, like in a tree. Problem was, they knew she was armed. They would probably dress accordingly. Nonetheless, the gun gave her strength. No matter how my story wraps up, she found herself thinking, I’m not quitting without taking a good many of them with me.
Winded and distracted by thoughts of which direction they might come from, the sound of a branch snapping jolted her out of her near complacency. Silently, she slid into the ditch on her stomach and pulled out the gun. She tried to soften her panicked breathing—the only sound in the night for miles. Her eyes darted down the highway and into the brush across the road. It sounded like a branch, so that meant the woods. Was someone in there? Someone watching her? Following her?
She lay without moving, her fingers growing slick with sweat around the handle of the gun, but she was too afraid to risk wiping her hands on the ground or her jeans. Had she imagined the sound? If it didn’t come again, did that mean whoever it was had seen her jump in the ditch and was now waiting for her? She blinked and tried to see in the gloom of the darkest part of the night, but the trees and bushes across the road remained impermeable and solid.
She knew she had all night to make a distance of what now was probably only a little more than a mile. All night to wait this guy out, whoever he was, and not do something crazy impatient like jump up and try to run the rest of the way to the park entrance.
All night.
She took a steadying breath and was about to stand up and chance that it was her imagination after all when she saw him. He materialized out of the shadows from deep within the woods. At first she thought she might be hallucinating. He stepped quietly, almost gently, onto the vacant highway and lifted his nose high up to catch the scent.
Catch her scent.
Sarah’s heart pounded in her chest at the sight of the sheer size of the black bear. How could something so big creep so silently? She aimed the gun at the animal’s head. She’d read that some bears have skulls so hard that bullets fired from terrified hikers just ricochet off them, serving only to enrage the beast and prompt it to charge.
Could it smell her? Could it smell her fear?
Frozen and determined not to move unless she had to empty the entire clip into the animal, which she was fully prepared to do, Sarah fought not to allow the whimpers of terror escape her trembling lips. The bear rose up on his back legs and staggered to the middle of the road. The odor from his foul-smelling pelt reached Sarah like a slap. When it hit her she jerked and the gun, slick with her perspiration, slid out of her grasp. She gasped and lunged for the falling gun just as the beast snapped its head in her direction, its eyes roaming, flashing and scanning the ditch until it found her.
Groping desperately for the gun that had skidded to the bottom of the ditch, Sarah scrambled further into the ravine. She looked back over her shoulder just in time to see the monster standing at its full height, roaring in fury. And then he charged her.