Bell passed the majority of the evening in his room, a cramped space by anyone's standards, reading a book he'd found out scouting. He was a particularly fast reader, which had earned him some small academic accolades when he was a child, but now he regarded it somewhat as a curse, as it meant that a few days after finding a book, he was done and needed a new one. In addition to all the actual, life-ending dangers of the world, boredom was something that any survivor had to keep at bay, which was no easy feat. No power meant that television, video games, digital music, and a whole host of other forms of entertainment were completely useless. About a year after the world had burned itself down to the last embers of humanity, Bell had learned to play guitar. In his modest opinion, he wasn't much good, and it felt at times as if he had five thumbs and one finger, but the brassy voice of his acoustic always lifted his spirits, and reminded him of a life once lived.
Long after the last rays of light had bled into the hills, he went downstairs. The other scouts had returned by now, and suddenly the kitchen-turned-common-room seemed crowded. Lucy was doing her best to dish out the food equally, but as always, empty stomachs loosened lips, and a small commotion broke out. As he had suspected, the root of the problem was Jamie. He was a fairly new addition to the group, having joined only a few months ago, and Bell absolutely and without reservation despised him. He was rat-faced and sneaky, qualities complimented by his obnoxious attitude and a high-pitched voice.
"Why should he get any? All he's done is sit around all day, while I've been out scrounging food, putting my life on the line for you!"
Jack had gone slightly red under this barrage, and was visibly angry. Despite his injured leg propped up on a stool, he had no issues in telling Jamie, none too politely, where he was going to put his foot the second he could stand on it.
"You? Don't make me laugh, look at you" Jamie spat, nudging Jack's leg off of the stool with the toe of his boot.
Jack howled when his foot thwacked onto the vinyl floor, and Jamie laughed as he clutched it.
"Talk to me like that again cripple, see where it gets y-"
He gagged as he was wrenched back off his feet, Ant's muscular arm around his throat, pulling him backwards so he couldn't get his feet under him. Ant dragged him through the small crowd for a second more before dumping him on the ground, where he scrabbled up and pulled a small fish knife. This changed things, and several scouts readied their own weapons. Bell noticed, with a frown, two that didn't pull theirs. They were also newer scouts.
"You'll regret putting your hands on me" Jamie spat.
Ant laughed at this scrawny runt, threatening him in a roomful of people that he had known, often well, for literal years.
"You best piss off mate, an' hope I don't remember this tomorrow morning"
Jamie stormed through the assembled scouts, slamming the door behind him like a teenager, and stomped up the stairs.
"What was that prick whining about?" Ant asked Lucy, who was fussing over Jack while he tried to shake her off without success.
"He thought Jack didn't need any food because he didn't go out today. I didn't agree, and he started spitting and swearing."
"I comfort myself with the thought that I might have to bash his stupid fuckin' head in" Ant said.
Few men could've said something like that in a room full of people who regularly fought and killed, but Ant pulled it off easily. Bell smiled to himself, glad that he'd shown his loyalty to Ant, as he wouldn't rather fight by anyone's side if it came down to it. And judging by Jamie's attitude, that day was looking to be sooner rather than later. It boiled his blood to see such a good person treated so badly, especially by someone that he already hated. The rest of the night passed without incident, and the atmosphere in the kitchen returned to normal. At some point, Bell noticed Ant slip out the door, no doubt to climb back to his perch on the roof. Bell relaxed after he had received his portion, although it didn't banish the hunger as far as he'd have liked, and he knew it would be only too eager to play the cramps across his stomach the next morning. At some point, he decided that he'd had too much excitement for one day, and headed upstairs to sleep the tension out.
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.
"You've got to get up now anyway, today's patrol day"
Adam's mood improved somewhat at hearing this, and he got out of bed and started getting ready.
"Nice. You're with Ant again, I'm guessing?"
"Yeah"
Adam's good mood vanished, and he groaned again.
"That means I have to take that colossal prick Jamie"
"Shame. Maybe he'll fall into the brook and float away"
"If only I were that lucky"
The two men shared a chuckle, and for a moment Bell felt the urge to reach out to the people he had surrounded himself with, good people, people he could trust. People who wouldn't judge him. At the start, or the end, everyone had changed, and they were no hypocrites. But the moment passed, and he felt the walls come up in his mind again. He was uplifted even by this though, as it was progress. Soon, he told himself. Soon.
He met Ant in the hallway, dressed lighter than usual, his pack almost empty on his back, the only weapon he was carrying was the knife on his belt. He sat on the bottom step while he did his boots up. Bell seemed to burn through shoes, spending a lot more time than he liked walking. Fortunately, he was averagely sized, and finding shoes to fit was rarely and issue. He turned to Grace, who was observing the assembled scouts while leaning on the kitchen doorframe.
"Is it ready yet?" Bell asked, hopefully
"Sorry love, not quite. It'll probably be ready by tonight though"
"What's that?" Ant asked, his curiosity piqued.
"I've been collecting leather and hardwearing stuff, and I asked Grace to use them to make a jacket for me, to keep me a bit warmer, and maybe give me a bit of protection" Bell explained. He'd wanted to keep it to himself, but he hadn't been able to resist asking when the opportunity presented itself.
"That's not a bad idea" Ant said "you ready?"
"Yeah"
"Let's get moving then"
"After you"
Ant snorted, and turned, walking down the hallway to the door. The sun streamed through the two small windows in the top of the door, illuminating the dust floating in the air. Then Ant pulled back the bolt, and opened the door. The golden light flooded into the hallway, Ant's frame in the doorway nothing but a silhouette as Bell's eyes struggled to adjust. When the sun-spots faded from his eyes, he walked forwards, and out onto the rough stone path, and to the pavement at the end, stopping just short of the curb. He looked into the dense patch of greenery in front of the house, noticing some rodent or another scamper into the shrubbery.
"Oi, get your head out the clouds, let's get this place sorted" Ant called, jerking him from of thoughts.
He hurried to catch up, slowing his pace when he reached Ant's side. They walked in silence for a while, both of them enjoying the gentle sunlight, which was warm for this time of year. It was then, when he was glancing around, that Bell noticed the entrenching tool strapped to Ant's pack.
"What's that for?" He asked, nodding at it.
"Just thought id try it out, I ain't even used it yet"
"Oh. Cool. Where'd you find it?" Bell said, wondering out loud. Such a tool was rare, and extremely valuable.
"One of the newer scouts had it with 'em when he arrived, told me to keep it when I asked for a look at it. Don't mind if I do, I said"
Bell nodded. Something moved in the bushes to their left, through some small trees, branches giving the barest of cracks. Both men tensed and crouched, Bell drawing his knife, Ant pulling the small metal shovel from his pack, holding it ready. They peered into the foliage, trying to see a potential attacker. Then a rabbit emerged about ten metres away, down the path. It was young, and still had ratty fur covering it's body. Bell watched in mild awe, as this pretty creature dipped it's head down to the grass, sniffing, it's flanks inflating and deflating rapidly.
"Shit" Ant murmured "didn't bring a bloody bow"
He'd been so busy admiring the Beaty of it, he hadn't realised how much meat he was looking at. Ant's curse had alerted it, and it's black eyes were fixed on them, regarding them warily. It turned, and pranced back into the bushes, barely making a whisper despite the speed it moved with. The stillness he hadn't realised was there shattered, and the birds began singing again, the breeze rustling the trees. He glanced at Ant, who looked much the same as he did. It was a rare thing, to see such a fine display of nature's beauty close up, and Bell was grateful for it. They pressed on to the northern corner of the estate, where the small river was spanned by a bridge. They checked under it, pulling the net attached to the underside out and shaking it. They were rewarded with a few sticks, and one lonely wriggling fish. Ant thwacked it against the floor a few times, wrapped it up in some cloth and put it in his pack. They reattached the net, and carried on, around to the eastern corner, checking along the way the various traps and tripwires placed in the entrances to the estate. The traps were either to catch small animals, or to make enough noise to alert the survivors. They came across one such noise trap in an alley, and it had been sprung. There was a wire spanning the metre and a half walls, at about ankle height, snaking up the wall and around it, where it was connected to a plastic tub of glass bottles and tin cans, perched just the opposite side of the right-hand wall. When something hit the wire, the tub would tip off of it's perch, and smash noisily on the ground. It was close enough to the house for whoever was on guard in the crows nest to hear it, but quiet enough that when tripped, it didn't alert the whole town. Bell stood watch while Ant picked up the largest pieces of glass, and the cans and various rocks littered on the ground. He began refilling the container, making sure to stack the pieces to fit the maximum amount into the box. Ant was always efficient, always focused. It was one of the many things Bell respected about him. He glanced around, the sun slanting through the gaps between trees and buildings. One of the houses closest to them had a window that was divided into different coloured glass portions, and it sparkled prettily in the light, sending miniature rainbows dancing across the ground. The low buzz of insects was barely audible, yet seemed to be everywhere. There had been many days like this since the end. Noiseless days. Sometimes it felt harsh and oppressive, like the silence after a last breath, but not today. Today, to Bell, the silence felt natural. Ant finished with the box and put it back onto it's perch, grunting slightly as he lifted it. They carried on their was around the estate, chatting easily between themselves, flitting between topics. There wasn't a whole lot to actually talk about, Bell thought, but it was nice to know that Ant was comfortable enough around him to somewhat lower his guard. For the second time in so many hours, he had the desire to reach out, to connect with the people he spent so much time around. He took a breath to speak, then let it out. He almost tried again, but the feeling had retreated back into the recess of his mind once more.
"Got somethin' on your mind mate?" Ant said, not looking round at him, his eyes wandering around the overgrown estate.
"No, just feeling a bit warm"
Ant snorted at the obvious lie, which irked Bell slightly, but he didn't press it or ask more questions, which he appreciated. They walked down a slightly rough tarmac path, beneath the canopy of some small trees, stooping over the pathway like old men. The houses had changed to bungalows now, their windows masked with lacy curtains, the kind you only ever see in old people's houses and nursing homes. This would've been the sleepy part of the estate, he imagined, where only the retired people lived. The thought of growing old had used to terrify him, the feeling of being robbed of his strength and energy, his mind falling apart until he couldn't remember the faces of his parents. But compared to having his head bashed in with a large stick, dementia sounded positively cuddly. There was a dead rabbit in the middle of the path ahead of them. All he could make out was a lump of white fur. From this distance, it looked like a slipper. Bell pointed, and Ant nodded, walking at the same pace until they were on it. This time, Ant stood guard while he hunkered down and inspected it. It has probably been caught in the snare last night, he discerned, as there were no marks on it, just the twine which had snapped tightly around it's left hind leg, making the fur twist where it made contact. The rabbit's beady eyes were open, rolling around in it's tiny head as Bell removed and reset the snare, tying that night's dinner to his pack by it's legs. He straightened up, and they carried on.
"I wonder if we just saw your friend" he murmured absently, looking at the rabbit.
"That explains the noise trap then."
Bell hadn't even considered that. He'd been imagining the taste of rabbit stew.
"Are you sure? That box weight a couple of kilos, I don't think a rabbit would be able to tip it over"
"What about a load of 'em?"
"I suppose so. Must've been a lot though"
"You'd be surprised how many there are. Especially since it all happened. Not so many things killing' 'em now"
He accepted that it had been rabbits, and they carried on. The only other food they came up with was a pigeon, also caught in a snare, this one placed near a children's play park, the end of it tied to a bin shaped like a frog, it's mouth open and pointing skywards. They were on a long cycle path, which sloped downwards at a very gentle gradient. There was a thick line of cracked white paint splitting the three metre pathway in half. Then Bell heard something. A creak. And another. And another. It was a rhythm, the same pitch each time, evenly spaced apart. Then came a trundling noise, added to the symphony. He looked at Ant, who mouthed 'Trolley'. He nodded, and they crept into the bushes and laid in wait. They didn't have to wait long. An old man, pushing a trolley, and two young teenage boys. Seeing no need to use stealth, and not wanting to use lethal force, the two men merely stepped out of the overgrowth, knives drawn, right in front of the odd group.
"We've done nothing to you" the old man rasped "Take our things if you must, but let us through"
"I don't think so mate, how'd you even get in 'ere anyway?"
"In where?" he asked, that dry voice grating on Bell's ears
"The estate. It's trapped. How'd you get in?"
"Oh. We came through an alleyway, and knocked a box full of bottles over. It was awfully loud but no one came, so we bedded down in one of the houses"
At this, Bell glanced sharply at Ant.
"How didn't you know?"
Ant looked as confused as Bell felt.
"I...I dunno, I could hear that thing goin' off from miles away, we tested it!"
Bell thought for a second, chewing on a thumbnail "wait, I know"
"Go on" Ant said, not taking his eyes off of the old man lest he try something tricky.
"Yesterday night. When you dragged Jamie away, you left the perch for a few minutes. What time would you say it was you came in?" he said, the last to the old man
"A bit after sunset" he said, eyes moving between the pair, his matted beard wobbling as his chin turned.
"That explains that" Ant said "You're gonna get yourself killed, walking around with two ten year olds and a cart louder than a car"
"We're not ten, we're fourteen" one of the kids said icily, eyes boring into Ant.
"Quiet" the old man said. Bell took this opportunity to inspect him closer. His very skin appeared to be grey, like old canvas that had been washed too many times. His eyes were wet and glassy, and his hair was the same as his beard, matted and greasy.
"Show me your right arm" Bell said
Ant looked at him quizzically, but said nothing. The man, to his credit, didn't so much as look funny at him, and began pulling the grubby tunic up to expose his arm. He was horribly thin, practically a skeleton with flesh draped over it. His body reminded Bell of famine victims, emaciated and dry. When the man bared his ridiculously skinny arms, he saw no trace of a tattoo. He nodded to Ant, who looked like he was deliberating something.
"Got anything' to trade?" Ant asked, his voice staying as even as always.
"Nothing really. A tin of old beans, a plastic bottle of water, a kids leather jacket-"
"I'll take that" Bell interjected.
"Really?" The old man's eyebrows rose on his forehead.
"Yes. I'll give you some matches for it"
The man looked to be about to argue, but then he rifled inside the cart, which had a sheet of material laid over the top of it, and handed the jacket over. Bell held it in one hand, returning his knife to it's sheath with the other. Ant kept his out. He squated, and then rifled through his pack until his found the matches. He tipped half out, and then gave the other half in the box to the old man.
"Have you heard the fighting?" the old man asked as he put the matches away.
"You mean the Angels roundin' up the strays?" Ant said, a little dismissively.
"I don't know what the Angels are. I'm talking about the Home Front"
"What?"
"A new faction, fighting their way across the country. They say they're going to restore society. Every clan that's fought them has been wiped out, so the story goes"
"I'll believe it when I see it mate, the Clans are the closest things we've got to armies. The Angels control this entire town, and most of the surroundin' ones too"
Bell watched the exchange, and thought about what it might mean. If this was true, a military was going to wipe out the Angels, and then restore England to how it had been, or something close to it. Then he began doubting it. It sounded suspiciously made up, too good to be true.
"Believe whatever you like. Come on boys, we're leaving"
"You go straight across that bridge now, no pissin' about" Ant warned.
"And find something other than a shopping trolley, it's going to get you killed" Bell added.
The old man tutted, and began walking down the path, the two teenagers in tow, shooting glares back at Ant and Bell. They watched them to make sure they left, and then turned for home.