The Hand and the Hatchet

Chapter 4

Bell and Ant returned home, and sat through another monotonous evening. Just after they came in, they told the others about the old man and his news of the Home Front's advance. Some were interested. Most just didn't care. Ant unloaded his pack and went straight upstairs, back to the crows nest. The high point of the night was to be the reveal of his jacket. He pushed into the storage room, the heavy fire door cold against his hand, making a clacking sound as it opened. He stepped in, the floor in the room about an inch lower than the floor of the hallway. It was always slightly colder in this room, but Grace sat at her desk, sewing something in her lap as if she didn't feel it. She glanced up.

"Hanging on the line behind you" she said, eyes already returning to her work. Bell forced himself not to look. He didn't want to spoil the surprise.

"Actually, I was hoping you could use this for a hood. It's fur-lined" 

"Fancy. I'll do it now, it'll only take me an hour or so"

"Thank you, I really appreciate it"

"And I appreciate the food you bring us. Anything for my favourite scout"

Bell smiled at her, absolutely positive she said that to everyone, and backed out, into the hallway. He started towards the kitchen, but he could hear Jamie speaking. He looked through the crack in the door and could see him, speaking in a circle of about five people. He looked like he was perpetually tying to swallow a weasel. Two of his audience looked bored, like they were barely listening. Three were nodding, and murmuring between themselves. He decided to go upstairs, and hopefully get a better sleep than the night before. The second his head hit the pillow, he knew it was going to be another sleepless night. His pillow felt too warm, and suddenly he could feel a pulled muscle in his back. He had a day of scouting ahead of him tomorrow. As the supplies in the area around them dwindled, the scouts had to go further afield in order to find anything of actual value. Some of them were already talking about relocating, but they were outnumbered, and most wanted to stay, including Lance, who stoutly refused to leave. Ever. He considered the rumours of the Home Front, wondering if there was any truth behind the old man's words. He saw no reason for him to lie, but false hope was a powerful thing, and he has no doubt that the man could've been perpetuating a huge game of Chinese Whispers. As well as these pessimistic thoughts, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Home Front might be just as bad as the Clans. They might even be worse.

Bell jerked himself awake, the duvet clasping his legs, his fists balled up. Grey, watery light streamed under the curtains, sending shadows dancing across the bottom third of the opposite wall. There were pockmarks on the ceiling, possibly where someone had tacked something up, like a dot-to-dot drawn with a knitting needle. He sat up, feeling the bits on the carpet stick to the bottom of his feet. While keeping yourself and where you lived clean was a necessity, it wasn't to the same standard as the world had been used to before the end. He missed vacuums. He stood and dressed himself, wishing today was his washing day, and went downstairs. He ate breakfast, which pushed the hunger about as far back as he could throw a tank, and stood to leave, when Adam came into the kitchen. 

"Aright?"

"Yeah. Scouting today?"

"Uh-huh. I don't have Jamie again though, so I'm feeling good about today"

"That'd make me feel good too. I think I have Charles with me today" Bell said, confirming this on the rota stuck on the fridge. The fridge didn't actually refrigerate  anymore, but it was still good for storing food and drink, which is what they used it for. 

Just seconds after he'd looked up from the rota, Charles walked in. He was a bit taller than Bell, standing at about six foot two. He had ebony skin, and a lithe figure. There was a thin white scar that went from the edge of his mouth to his chin in a straight line. He told a different story about how he'd gotten it every time someone asked. He was dressed and ready, his pack and shoes already on. He was holding a baseball bat loosely in his hand.