The Hand and the Hatchet

Chapter 3

He tossed and turned for an hour or so before his restless mind finally succumbed to his exhaustion, unable as he was to quell the thoughts that rushed through his head. Something was nagging at him, but he couldn't place it, so he tried to let it go, but it circled his mind like a shark circled a lone fish. He saw the fear in the woman's eyes as the tire iron swung towards her, and he felt the man's struggles weaken as he lowered his body. Heard him gargle blood. He shook the thoughts from his head, and rolled over for the umpteenth time. And he hated the word umpteen. In his head, he could justify the things he'd had to do, as the world he lived in was harsh and brutal, and he had to be the same to survive. The things that troubled him were those that he hadn't had to. He questioned himself, wondering if he'd been forced to do them, or if he'd ignored the voice of reason in his head, and allowed the rage of this new world to wash over him. Eventually, when he did fall asleep, the man and woman came for him in his dreams, the nightmares rampaging across the dark landscape of his mind.

He woke up and rolled off of his bed, and rubbed his eyes. He'd slept funny, any one side of his neck was stiff, making him wince when he turned his head. He stretched, his knees popping noisily as he did so. He examined a few minor cuts he'd received, probably during his altercation the previous day. One was long, and thin, and snaked it's way up his forearm. He traced his fingers across it, his smooth skin marred by the red raised flesh. His fingers stopped at the large patch of twisted flesh on his bicep. His arms were long, and toned with working muscles, the type you couldn't get by relentlessly lifting weights. It was one of the many advantages he'd had as a boxer: his long arms gave him greater reach. He padded across the carpet of his room, bisected by a curtain, splitting it in two rooms; his and another scout's, Adam. They were fairly senior scouts, and thus got a slightly larger living space, shared only between them. He paused at the door, not wanting to wake Adam if he could help it. He listened, and heard the slow, rhythmic breathing of slumber. He inched the handle down, which creaked despite his best efforts, and then slowly opened the door, which stubbornly squeaked with every millimetre. Bell winced. He slid through the door, closing it behind him, squeaking once more. He waited, and there was no sign of Adam waking. He was on his second step down the stairs when Adam's voice reached him.

"Why don't you stomp down those as well mate? Seeing as you're determined to wake me up"

Bell grinned, but wisely elected not to say anything, and walked down the remaining two flights of stairs, to the kitchen. Bell wasn't typically an early riser, but today he was up and feeling good. The spring sun beamed under doors and through curtains, bathing the house in honey-coloured light. He was feeling optimistic, the first time he had felt this way in a long time. Lucy was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the group when Bell strolled in.

"What's with the spring in your step, eh?"

"Nice dreams last night" Bell lied without missing a beat, unable to explain why he felt happy.

"Oh yeah? Naughty ones?"

"Yeah. About watching Jamie getting hit. It made my year"

Lucy laughed, which was akin to an asthmatic kettle having a seizure, and served him a mess tin at the large wooden table. Even the scarce portion of dried meat and bread washed down with water didn't dim his outlook. Bell checked the rota, and found this to be his day of patrolling the estate, accompanied by Ant (who wouldn't be happy at having to leave his crows nest), Adam, and a three others. That might explain my mood Bell thought. It was the easiest day in Bell's rota, except his day off. All he had to do was walk with Ant to the most vulnerable parts of the estate, and shore up the traps they had, with two other teams doing the same. Due to the boom in the animal population, rabbits and game regularly set off tripwires and noise traps. He washed his mess tin up in a small tub of water, one of two allocated to the kitchen daily: one for cooking, one for cleaning. He thanked Lucy for breakfast, and headed back into his room to get changed. After some more complaining from Adam, he reached the wooden chest at the foot of his bed. He opted for shorts, and a large t-shirt. He considered shaving, but he'd have to use his drinking water to do that, and that wasn't something he was prepared to do until his face was positively furry. He grabbed his hand wraps, and left to talk to Ant, pursued by Adams curses.