The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

The last couple of days have been about trying to get all the pieces together so that we can figure out what to do.  Our food is running low again; we needed to make a decision today if we’re going to have a chance of finding somewhere with supplies before we run out.

We had to figure out what was important to us, beyond basic survival.  I’ve seen people surviving here, and I don’t think it’s enough.  I don’t think it’s enough to do only that, to live from hand to mouth.  Maybe it’s because I know that there’s a finite amount of food and water around, and that water is a major issue.  Rainwater tanks are poisoned, wells and streams can’t be trusted, so we have only bottled or canned drinks to rely on.  And there’s only so much of that around.

We’ve been lucky with the weather.  The rain seems to come pretty regularly – around the same time every afternoon – but it hasn’t been as hot as it should have been at this time of year.  I suppose the stain in the atmosphere is filtering out the sun’s heat, and stopping it from getting too cold at night.  The winter is bound to be far less kind, but at least we’re not sweating out water we can’t afford to lose.

We tried the radio after we got it charged again, but there wasn’t any answer on the channels listed for the Emergency Coordination Centre.  Or any of the other channels, either.  No guidance from anywhere; it’s all up to us to decide.

It came down to family and the promise of organised help.  Those people precious to us and a brand new mecca.  We laid them all out on the map, dotted all the locations we wanted to get to until it looked like a teenager’s acned cheek.

Working out the route is the hardest part.  Of course everyone wants to check on their family first, but should we make the ECC our priority?  In case there’s help there?  Not everyone has family that we will be able to reach: Thorpe’s parents are in a different city completely, as is my mother, and Sax has a son in another country.  He also has a daughter in the area, and Dillon’s parents are well within reach.  Ben has a sister, who has her own family, and we still can’t get anything out of Nugget.  For me, there’s just Dad, the furthest dot out from where we are now.

It’s like the connect-the-dots game from hell – we’ve taken a break because we kept going around in circles and things were getting a little too heated.  Everyone wants to be first; of course they do.  I keep looking at that solitary dot way out by the coast, and the marks showing where we are now.  The distance we’ve travelled already, from the centre of the dead city to its rotting limb here, is tiny in comparison to what we have yet to go.  And it took us three weeks to get this far.

I miss my dad. I’ve tried not to think about him too much because we’ve been so focussed on getting this far, but now I don’t have a choice.  Now I can think about finding him again, and I’m terrified.

I wish he was here so much.  He’d say something dry and practical, make fun of the mess my hair is in, and I’d feel about a million times better about everything.  I wish I knew that he was okay – that would be enough to make me walk lighter.  It would make all this struggling worth it, if I knew he was there. 

I hear his voice sometimes.  I hear him make comments – I hear him now, saying, “Come on now, Faithy,” to make me buck up.  I can almost feel the chuck on my shoulder where he’d nudge me, pushing me off the depressive path and towards something better.  It used to annoy the hell out of me; now I treasure these whispers of him.  They make my heart beat faster, because for a minute I think he might really be right there, behind me, and the disappointment has a bitter bite, but it’s worth it.  I don’t ever want to lose it, even if it’s his ghost, even if it’s all I have left of him.

I need to stop thinking like this.  Yes, I want to go straight for that distant dot on the map.  Yes, I want to be first.  But we all do. 

Of course, we could split up.  But I think we all know that none of us would survive long that way.  There’s so few of us left already and I don’t think any of us want to see the group shrink any further.  I hope we don’t split up.  We’re stronger together. 

The others are coming back now – let’s see if we can sort this out.

It took a lot of arguing, but I think we have a path now.  It’s a wiggly line across the map, sweeping around and down to the EC through the homes of the group’s families, and then up again for a long, straight stretch to Dad’s place.  I knew I’d come last, but I guess someone has to. 

I have to be okay with that.  I want to find my dad, I want to know he’s alive, I want to throw my arms around him again.  I’m scared that I’m going to be too late, that he’ll be gone when I get there, one way or the other.

Ben tried to point out that it won’t take that long.  The roads’ll be better as we head away from the city.  It won’t be that bad; we’ll make it.  I hope he’s right.  I don’t think he is, but I hope.

I’m coming home, Dad.  I’m coming.  Please wait for me.  Please be there.

I just went into the restroom to see if there was anything useful in there for us to take.  We’re leaving the hospital soon.  I hadn’t been in there before; with no running water, bathrooms tend to be pretty disgusting. 

It’s the first time I’ve seen my reflection in a long time – in a month, I guess.  The bomb shattered all of the glass in the city and the windows here haven’t fared much better; it was difficult for so long that I stopped looking for reflective surfaces.  It’s strange – I was so used to looking at myself every morning, making sure that I looked good enough for human consumption, putting on make up, adjusting my hair. But I haven’t even missed it; there hasn’t been time.  With everything that has happened, with the strangeness of the world now, all of those habits seem like they belonged to a different person who lived a millennia ago.  Now, I barely recognise myself.

Of course, everything about me is grubby.  I took changes of clothes from the last store we raided, but I’ve worn everything at least once now, if not three times.  There’s a tear on the sleeve of this shirt that I hadn’t noticed before.  I used to care about what I wore, how I looked, how other people would see me, being as perfect and well-turned-out as possible.  I haven’t been able to worry about that for so long that all I can see now is the practicalities: jeans that are wearing well, a shirt that covers the important bits, and boots that aren’t broken yet.

I pulled the shirt up and took a look at the tattoo on my back.  It’s beautiful; Steve did a good job.  I can’t believe how big it is, rising up my spine and spreading wings across my shoulderblades.  I can’t believe that it has been behind me this whole time.  It feels like it grew out of this last month, out of the falling down and the picking back up again.  Then I remember how much it hurt and realise that yes, Steve really did do the whole thing in one torturously long session.  But it was worth it.  It’s the brightest part of me, possibly because it’s the cleanest.  It’s a  shame that it spends its time under a shirt, really.

The tattoo isn’t the only way that I look different now.  I’m leaner.  My clothes are loose where they used to be snug, but I had thought that they’d just stretched.  I didn’t think much of having to notch my belt tighter lately, but now that I look at myself, I’ve definitely lost weight.  I’ve wanted to lose a bit of extra weight for years, and now it’s gone, disappeared while I wasn’t paying attention.  And I feel good about that.

It seems that the end of the world is the diet that really works.  I could make a fortune with that, if money was worth anything any more.

Even my face seems slimmer; it’s missing some of its softness.  Maybe that’s the lack of makeup speaking.  I caught the sun on my nose – it’s peeling now.  Even with the orange scorch across the sky, enough of the sun’s light sneaks through to burn, it seems.  I’m certainly more tanned than I used to be.

My hair is a mess.  Oddly, it’s not feeling as disgusting as it was a week ago.  It has been lank and gross, but it seems to be losing the greasiness now.  I wish that I could wash it, even if it seems to need it less now.  There are still random red streaks in it, from a whim of a dye job  I did right after I found out about Cody and Bree.  That was a couple of months ago – can it really be that long?  They’re growing out now, dark roots showing, returning to my own colours.

I don’t look great and there was a time when I would be mortified about that.  But I don’t look terrible either.  There are things that I like, and things I’m willing to put up with.  The rest just doesn’t seem to matter that much, though there’s still a part of me that wishes I could be better.  I guess I can’t let go of that desire completely, and I succumbed  to it enough to dig out eyeliner and a hairbrush from my bag. I didn’t look like I used to, but I felt more like me.

There’s definitely something different about my face.  Maybe it’s just that I haven’t looked at it in so long.  Maybe it’s that I haven’t had to look myself in the eye.  Maybe it’s this reflection on myself that I’ve been doing, here in this journal-blog, these things I’m discovering about myself.  Maybe they’re creeping out into the mirror, into the rest of me. 

Maybe it wasn’t just in my face.  I tried to work out what else was different, what there was other than the dirt and the weight. Maybe it’s the set of my shoulders.  I seem straighter than I used to be, like I’m standing taller.  It’s not the heels on these boots – I’ve worn much bigger heels before and not felt anywhere near this tall.  Maybe it’s because I have a purpose now.  Maybe it’s because I have a place here, with these people.  Maybe it’s because, for the first time in my life, I feel more like an adult and less like a child, waiting for someone else’s opinion and direction.  And approval.

Whatever it is, I feel better.  I feel okay.  For the first time in my life, I feel like I can look myself in the eye and not flinch. 

Today, we left the hospital behind us.  Packed everything we could carry into our bags, picked ourselves up, and headed out into the broken world once more.

It feels so good to be moving again.  We had needed the rest and we had needed the chance to really figure out what we were doing.  But getting out onto the street, stretching my legs and knowing that we were on our way to where we wanted to be… that was so much better.

I looked back at the hospital once, with its hunched shoulders and dull, empty eyes.  It was both a disappointment and exactly what we needed.  I was sorry to be leaving one of our number behind, and I was sorry that we couldn’t help those on the ninth floor. 

The hospital didn’t hold what we had hoped it would, but it healed us anyway, I guess in the ways we really needed it to.  Nugget and Ben are operating under their own strength now.  We know that somewhere, there’s an organised fragment of the world that used to be.  A shard of hope, out there in the slopes of the city’s lower reaches.  We have what we need to carry on.

I turned to walk forward, but a couple of the others were also taking a moment to consider the place we were leaving.  Thorpe was frowning – nothing new there – but Dillon’s face perked up, brightly enough to make me look back again.

We were halfway down the block by then, but there was no mistaking the moving figures by the hospital’s listing doors.  There was no mistaking that they were leaning on each other as they came out, or that they were heading towards us.  I told the guys to stop and tried to make out who it was.  I tried not to hope.

Thorpe swore under his breath and I knew who it was: Sally and the doctor.  They looked awful, but they were alive and moving, and that meant more than anything else right now.  That terrible death we heard the other night didn’t belong to either of them; it’s terrible to say, but it was a relief. I couldn’t help it; I was smiling as they neared us.

It was hard to tell whether Sally was holding him up or the other way around, but it hardly seemed to matter.  They were both pale and clammy-looking, and the doctor definitely seemed the worst off.  They wobbled when they reached us – he was staring intently into space and breathing through his mouth, while Sally dared to look up at our faces.  She was braver than I thought; she even glanced at Thorpe’s thunderhead.

“They can’t come with us.”  Of course he was the first to speak.

I chose not to tackle that head-on, not right away.  Instead, I asked them, “How are you still alive?”  They had had no food or water up there, and it’s been days.  Longer, for the doctor.

“He found a stash,” Sally said when her companion didn’t seem capable of answering.  Her voice was wrung out and thread-thin.  “Some liquid stuff.  For patients.”

“Saline?”  It was hard to believe that they had survived on salt water, but here they were.  Barely.  “What made you change your mind?”

She looked off to the side then, evasive, and abruptly I saw the junkie.  I saw the girl who gives in to the itch in her veins.  “There’s nothin’ left.”

It wasn’t the answer I was hoping to hear.  I was hoping that this was a choice, and I was selfishly hoping that I had made a difference.  Instead, this was the last choice left for them, other than a painful death, because they had run out of drugs.  I had to swallow back the sick feeling in my stomach.

“So you’re clean?”  That was Sax, rumbling in from behind me.  Nugget was hiding behind his legs, a pair of big dark eyes peeking.

The defensive note to Sally’s expression said that she had been asked that many times before.  “Yes.  We… we ran out a couple of days ago.”

About the time that someone took that fatal dive out of the window.  That someone that I had feared was one of these two.  Was that why they jumped?  Because there was no relief left for them?  But these two hadn’t; here they were, over the worst of the withdrawal and asking to come with us.  They had made that choice, the one with a chance of life in it.

“You’re not seriously considering this?”  Thorpe again, looking between me and Sax.  Ben was being quiet, as he usually was, but he didn’t look upset with Sally and the doctor being here.  He was standing by my shoulder and he gave Thorpe a quelling look.

I shrugged.  Of course I was considering it.  “Can you keep up?” I asked Sally.

“Yeah.”  She tried to stand a little straighter, even with his limp arm over her shoulders, to show us that she could do it.  That they would try.

“Are you kidding me?”  Our big fireman wasn’t going to let this happen easily.  “They’ll take off the first time they come within a sniff of something to shoot up with.”

I watched Sally; she didn’t respond, didn’t even try to deny that.  She knew that there wasn’t any point, that it was probably true, that we wouldn’t believe her if she said otherwise. 

“They haven’t hurt anyone but themselves,” I said.  It would be different if they had endangered any of us, and even if they leave, the rest of us will be okay.  “As long as they don’t hurt anyone else, I don’t mind them coming.”

“We don’t have the supplies to waste on them!”

“Then we’ll get more.  They can carry their own, same as everyone else.”  They looked barely able to hold themselves up, let alone packs full of food and water, but my sympathy didn’t extend to mollycoddling them.  This wasn’t going to be easy for them, but it wasn’t easy for any of us.  And besides, we didn’t have anything to make them carry right now.

“I can’t believe this.”  Thorpe threw his hands up in the air.  “Are we seriously going to let her do this?”  He looked at the others for support.

Who the hell put me in charge, anyway?  “Well, why don’t we vote on it?”

So we did.  To my surprise, Sax voted to leave them behind.  Ben raised his hand with mine, and it was a dead heat.  No-one looked at Nugget, but Thorpe did give Dillon an expectant glare.  I was about to protest that it wasn’t fair to put that on a kid, when he spoke up.

“I don’t think we should leave them behind.”

I was so proud of him right then.  Brave kid, standing up to the big fireman like that.  I know he thinks a lot of Thorpe; it must have taken some guts to make his own mind up.

And so it was decided: they were coming with us.  Thorpe growled at them to keep up, and then turned on his heel to stalk away.  Sax ushered Nugget before him, his expression dark and closed.  I haven’t seen him like that before.  The rest of us brought up the rear, with a little gap for breathing.

Sally and the doctor managed to keep up all through the day, though they lagged behind.  I’m glad they’re here.  They’re a mess, but they’re ours and I mean to keep them for as long as I can.  They’ll get better, I know they will.  They’re on their way now, just like the rest of us. 

• Theme song: I'm On My Way - The Proclaimers

Our first port of call today was a shopping precinct.  We might have the big plan agreed now, we might have worked out where we’re aiming for and have a line drawn on a map, but we still need to worry about the mundane details.  Like the food supplies and the water we’re going to need to walk that line.

The stores were a bust, at least for the consumables.  We managed to scrape together some fresh clothes from the wreckage, but whoever blew through here before us took everything of use.  I think the others are worried about just how much of this district has been picked clean, but no-one has said anything yet.  No-one wants to make something big out of this by shaping it into sound.

We have enough water for tomorrow, and we just finished the last of the food.  There’s another place not too far away we can try; we should get there after a few hours’ walking.  The roads are too clogged to be able to get a vehicle going here, and the fuel tanks we tested were all dry anyway. 

The doctor said last night that they had collected as much fuel as possible to run the hospital’s generators.  Teams of people went out and did it – he doesn’t know how far they got, but we aren’t likely to find gas within a day or two’s walk of the building.  So I guess that answers that question.  We’ll try for cars again when the roads are clearer.

I tried to talk to Sax today, but he’s closed up for some reason.  He’s focussed on looking after Nugget and won’t be drawn into anything else.  He’s keeping her well away from the doctor and Sally, but I don’t think either of them would actually hurt her.  I wish I knew what was going on with him.

Thorpe’s more grumpy than ever and has barely spoken to anyone.  He is more open about shooting the pair venomous glances.  Unlike with Sax, I’m glad that he’s kept to himself today.

Sally seems to be holding up pretty well.  She’s pale and shaky, but she isn’t complaining.  I don’t think she dares to.  The doctor hasn’t really been with us; he might have got through the worst of the drug withdrawal, but he hasn’t come out of it yet.  I wonder if he ever will – there seems to be something deep-settled about his vagueness.  Sally has been steering him in the right direction; she’s his only saving grace right now.

I’m trying to feel good about all this today.  I’m not going to let the little stuff bother me.  Either there’s food there tomorrow or there isn’t – worrying about it now won’t change that.  Either the doctor will get better or he won’t.  The others just need time to get used to him and Sally, to forgive them.

Sax just started singing.  Let’s see if we can get the others to join in.  Let’s see if we can sound like a group again.

Who ever thought that a hairdressing salon would be our salvation. 

It hasn’t been the best of days and tempers have been fraying badly.  We didn’t cover the ground we thought we would.  Ben isn’t doing so well; his burns are still causing him a lot of pain, under the mummy-wrap of bandages.  We had to take his pack off him, and the only ones not carrying anything were Sally and Masterson.  So of course, there were demands that they take the burden.

Thing is, they’re not doing well either.  They’re both barely keeping their own feet and scraping to keep up, even with Ben.  But I’d already used up all of my sympathy credit in getting the others to let them come along and I couldn’t carry a second pack myself.  So they got to carry the bag and started to fall behind.

Thorpe was up front, striding out angrily.  I told Dillon to stay with him, to make sure he didn’t get too far ahead.  Sax and Nugget weren’t far behind; the kid’s not looking too great either.  She hasn’t complained, though, hasn’t even whined or refused to go where she was told. 

Then I walked with Ben, keeping an eye on him.  He told me he was glad I had stood up for Sally and Masterson, and he was glad that there was someone like that here in this group.  I was relieved to hear that someone knew why I did it, that they agreed that we can’t just start leaving people behind because we don’t like them.  At least I didn’t have to fight all of them, at least someone was on my side.  And I’m glad that’s it’s Ben, too – he’s a nice guy, always ready with something sensible and supportive.  I find myself automatically starting to rely on him.

When we reached the next set of stores, we found that they had been stripped too.  Some of them had even been set on fire – whether it happened when the bomb hit or afterwards, I don’t know.  Either way, they were gutted now.  The only thing left that used to be edible was the fruit and vegetables in a farm shop, rotted and putrid now.  The scent of it rolled out and mingled with the leftover smoke, creating a smell that caught at the gag reflex in the back of my throat.

It was afternoon by then.  Everyone was hungry and we wouldn’t make the next shopping district before rainfall.  The emotions were as obvious as the vegetables on the air as we headed away from there, cutting down into a residential area. 

It took me a little while to realise that the unspoken emotions were making me tense, that I was coiling up inside as if about to break into a run.  Or face another fight.  It had that feeling in it, as if we were about to be attacked at any moment, as if something was going to snap and burst all over us.

We stopped at a crossroads to look at the map, and as the backrunners caught up, the tension bunched up even tighter.  I could feel Thorpe and Sax not looking at certain people, and Sally and Masterson were wise enough to keep quiet while the rest of us tried to figure out where to go next.

It was Nugget who found it.  While our conversation started circling around, looking for an argument, she was peeping in through a corner building’s windows.  It was a salon with a café out the back – an unusual combination, and perhaps that’s what had saved it.  Dillon tugged on my sleeve and pointed me towards the kid, just as she disappeared inside.

There was plenty of swearing as we followed her in, but that soon changed when we found that the café hadn’t been pillaged.  The kitchen had been tossed and the fridge was disgusting, its contents turned to stinking liquid when it lost the power to keep it cool.  But the storeroom out the back had been missed – there were cans, blessed cans of beans and sausages and vegetables, and precious bottles of water and soda. 

We all laughed then, mostly out of relief.  Packs hit the floor and some just sank into chairs.  The gas stove still worked, so I was determined to have a hot meal.  I roped Dillon into being my arms and dealing with the big pots, got Thorpe to light the gas rings, and when I asked where on earth the plates were, Nugget was there, holding one out to me. She’s a strange little thing, but not as damaged as we thought.

There’s nothing like the smell of heating food.  It wrapped around us like a homey blanket, reminded us of Sunday mornings and warm sunshine.  It eased the taut air, even when the rain started coming down outside.  My little group all lined up with their plates to receive their portion, and they were generous helpings.  Maybe we should be rationing things, but I wanted to remember what a full belly felt like.  Just for this one time.  Almost everyone came back for seconds, until the pots were polished clean.

Masterson threw up.  He’s really not helping his case with that kind of thing – Thorpe’s language was vicious, giving voice to what we were all thinking.  Food is too rare to waste it like that.  Lucky for the doctor, it was raining and no-one was going to kick him out into that.

I don’t know how long it is since he ate solid food.  That’s why he threw up, I think – his stomach needs to get used to it again.  Sally managed to keep hers down, though she looked ill and ate very slowly.  I’m starting to wonder if they really will make it, even with our help.

For tonight, though, we have eaten our fill and cleared spaces on the floor to sleep.  Things grow quiet and dark, and that’s okay. 

We’re back on track today.  Everyone is feeling better after a good night’s sleep and a hot breakfast.  We didn’t splurge on the food as much as we did yesterday, but it was still good to feel that weight in my stomach.  Even Masterson and Sally ate better. 

Our packs are heavy with cans and bottles, but that’s okay.  At least we know we’re going to eat for the next little while.

Our number has grown again.  Sometime in the night, there was a noise in the kitchen.  None of us thought anything of it, but in the morning, Nugget had a little ginger cat in her lap.  I can’t imagine what the poor thing has been surviving on, but it shared her breakfast hungrily today.  She was smiling as the little raspy tongue licked bean-sauce off her fingers – I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen that expression on her face.  She was solemn even when we were all feasting yesterday.

Sax told her off and tried to take the creature away, but she wriggled out of his grasp.  She hid under a table, hugging the cat to her chest, and refused to come out.  The cat seems to like her; it didn’t panic or fight once.  Perhaps it knows that she’s protecting it.

Sax wasn’t the only one who wanted to get rid of the cat.  Thorpe pointed out that we can’t afford to feed it, and he’s right.  Sharing one breakfast is one thing, but our supplies are terribly finite.  I think I’m too soft-hearted; I didn’t want to leave it behind.  I don’t want to leave anything alive behind.

It was Ben who went to crouch down by the table and talk to Nugget.  I was getting in everyone else’s way, trying to stop them from just tearing the kid and her cat apart.  As if the little girl hasn’t been through enough already.

He explained to her that we couldn’t feed the cat.  That it would be cruel to take it with us when we couldn’t give it food.  We couldn’t spare extra for it, so it was kinder to leave it where it was already finding its own meals.

Nugget hugged the cat in close and just stared at him.  It was a few long seconds before she nodded, before she let him know that she understood.  We all went to stuff our packs with everything from the store cupboards, and eventually she put the cat down and came out.

Seems that the cat didn’t like our plan, though.  The damned thing’s been following us, trotting along at the heels of the group.  When we stop, it follows Sally and Masterson up to the rest of us, and then just sits down and watches.  As if it’s bringing up the rear, or keeping an eye on our laggers.  Thorpe tried to shoo it off a couple of times, but it just blinked at him.  It’s a determined little beastie.

It’s here, now, in this garage where we’re taking shelter for the rain and the night.  Curled up with a little girl who snuck it titbits, I’m sure.  With us whether we like it or not, whether we feed it or not.  I can live with that.

I’m getting so sick of the sniping going on at the moment.  If it’s not Thorpe bitching about ‘the two junkies’, it’s Sax disapproving of Nugget picking the cat up (you don’t know where it’s been).  Masterson is feeling strong enough to start snapping back (which can only end badly if Thorpe or Sax hears him), while Sally looks like she wants to turn into a snail and suck herself up into a shell.  Dillon doesn’t know what to do with himself and is starting to echo Thorpe’s sentiments, which is saddening.  Only Ben is helping, by trying to keep Masterson and Sally away from everyone else.

I feel like tearing my hair out.  It’s like being at school again, all back-biting and fabricated drama.  This is what I left Facebook to get away from; this is what I started this blog to get away from. 

I want to grab them and shake them and tell them to stop acting like children.  Apart from Dillon and Nugget, they’re adults, and all of them older than I am.  They should know better than this.  Can’t they see that the group is fracturing?  Can’t they see that it’s all going to fall apart?  And I don’t want that.  I don’t want to lose anyone else here.  I don’t like all of them, exactly, but we’ve been through so much together.  We’re like family now.

I’m afraid to say it like that.  I don’t want any of them to leave me.  They’re not perfect: they’re aggravating and annoying and demanding and hard work.  But we’re all each other has.  We should hold onto that; we should hold onto everything we’ve got left.

I’ve lost family before.  I know what it’s like.  I know what it’s like when they walk away, when the group you go home to shrinks and whittles away, and I don’t want to go through that again.  I shouldn’t care so much, I know I shouldn’t.  I shouldn’t let this remind me of when my mother left, or when Chastity died.  But it does.  I can’t help it.  I do care.

I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want them to be alone.  There’s so little else now, for anyone.  I just want this to stop.  I want them to stop fighting.

It was starting to feel like we were the only ones left in the world, the last loud footsteps on a swept-clean floor.  In the hospital, it was easy to forget the quiet, but out here again, walking the ruined streets, the silence encroaches.  I think it’s part of why everyone’s at each other so much; it’s wearing away at something inside us all.  A vital nerve is being eroded and we’re all fighting it, fighting each other.  I can feel myself being short with people, so much that I was afraid I was going to snap again.  Just let go at someone until the venom is all on the outside.  That’s good for no-one.

That happened when we met the first group we found.  When they demanded their toll, swaggering up to us as if their name was imprinted in the concrete.  We were lucky that time; they were too stunned to respond, and too few to be a real threat to us.  It’s not something I’m eager to risk again, though, so I hung back when we saw a couple of people moving about down the block.

A few of us exchanged glances and agreed silently to go around them, just in case.  We were looking around for a cross-street when the buildings around us boiled to life.  They made a lot of noise, whooping and screeching like makeshift sirens, piling up and over cars in their haste to surround us.

Just like that first time, we moved instinctively, putting the kids in the centre of the group and the strongest of us on the outside.  All of a sudden, Thorpe had a length of steel pipe in his hand – I think it had been lashed to his pack – and Sax was holding his saxophone tightly as if he was ready to smack someone with it.  Ben was standing up as if there was nothing wrong with him, and Masterson was smiling vaguely at everyone.  You can’t have everything, I suppose.

Me, I was wishing that I hadn’t decided to put that knife in my bag.  I wished that I had something in my hands other than air and a fragile temper.  But I was standing in front of Dillon anyway, refusing to hide behind the others. I couldn’t help but think how odd this all was, how distrust had become a habit so quickly.  The lack of even the hope of authorities to protect us left us grabbing for weapons at the least opportunity.  It’s terrifying.  It made my heart claw at my throat, begging me to run or fight, right now.  Trying to reduce me to animal instincts as these new faces moved around us.

They were a ragged bunch, these wolves.  Some of them looked like they were wearing the same clothes they were in when the bomb went off, stained with ash and sweat.  Others looked like they had raided the local biker’s store, their leathers slashed because it’s really too hot for that kind of thing.

They were a mix of men and women, all of them in their late teens or twenties.  Ten or twelve of them altogether – it was hard to count heads with the way they circled us.  A couple of them moved badly, limping or lopsided; we weren’t the only ones bearing injuries. There were bruises and recent blood on a few of them, but I couldn’t tell if the fighting had been between each other or another group.

Either way, they looked ready for a fight right then, ready to take all of us on. They didn’t even bother to hide the way they were sizing us up, or the way they fingered their weapons – bats mostly, and a few blades.

I noticed then that Thorpe was the one standing closest to the fella that looked the most like the wolves’ leader.  I groaned inwardly; he is not the most tactful spokesperson.  However, he was probably a better prospect than I was, considering what happened the last time we had a meeting like this.

Somewhere, the other group’s leader had found enough gel to make his hair stick out from his head in all directions.  I managed to keep that thought to myself, even after he started fronting up to Thorpe, demanding to know why we were there in his domain.  To his credit, Thorpe was calm when he answered, neither intimidated nor confrontational.  He assured them that we were just passing through, that we didn’t want anything in the wolf-group’s patch. 

When he said where we were headed, they laughed.  I don’t know why, and I didn’t like not knowing what was funny.  There was something sinister in it, something that was trying to curl up in my stomach and roil uncomfortably.  They refused to tell us, of course; they liked their amusing little secret, and they liked having something over on us.

The laughter made Thorpe angry.  I could hear it creeping into his voice, his tone growing shorter and sharper with each word, each snicker.  It punctured the playful balloon that had blown up around the wolves and reminded them that they had teeth.  Our big fireman and their spikey-haired spokesman were more obviously squaring off suddenly, trying to work out who was alpha here and who would run off with their tail between their legs.  Measuring dicks, as my dad would say.

Everyone was watching them to see who would come out on top.

They demanded our water.  It sounds ridiculous when it’s put like that, but it really is precious now.  The simplest thing in the world is now the rarest and most valuable.  I wasn’t looking at Thorpe – I was too busy keeping an eye on the wolves nearest to me – but I caught him shifting his weight in the corner of my vision.  As if he was crossing his arms and showing them just how unintimidated he was.  Of course his answer was ‘no’.

We were all getting nervous then.  We were obviously speeding towards the question of who would strike first and away from ‘if’.  There was a little part of my brain that was analysing everything.  It knew that a solid first strike might intimidate the other group into backing off, maybe long enough for the kids to get away.  That’s what we needed – to get the kids away, and to get these wolves off us long enough to follow them.  But there was no way that I was going to make that first move, to turn tension into all-out violence.

I was abruptly aware that I was unarmed and there was about to be a fight.  The only thing I could think of was the cans in the bottom of my bag and how much it would hurt to get hit by that weight.

I was just slipping the pack off my shoulders when Sally made a noise behind me.  I glanced around to see one of the wolves reaching past Sally and pulling a pack out of the middle of the group.  The pack was still attached to its bearer: Dillon.  Sally was trying to push the wolf away and got shoved off her feet.  Dillon wriggled and fought the attempts to pull the pack off him, and was backhanded.  I remember that sound very distinctly, the sharp slap of knuckles meeting flesh.  Meeting Dillon’s face.  My Dillon.

I snapped.  I swung the pack around as hard as I could and caught the bastard wolf in the face.  I know I was shouting, but I don’t know what. The wolf fell – I don’t know how badly he was hurt.  I know there was blood.

It was chaos then.  There were weapons everywhere, shouts filling up the air until we couldn’t tell one voice from another.  I called to Sally and the doctor to get the kids out of there, and swung my pack at anyone who came near me.  I tried to keep them away from Dillon and Nugget, but it was hard to keep track of everyone.  I don’t know how many I hit, or how badly. 

I got hit a couple of times – I can’t even remember who by.  I was angry that they had picked on a kid while none of us were looking.  I was terrified that one of them would hurt me, or one of the kids, or one of the others I cared about. All of it made me strike out furiously, made me keep on hitting them, over and over.  I just had to keep them away, I just wanted them to stay away from us.

It was over so quickly.  All of a sudden, there was no-one to heave a heavy pack at.  Ben was pulling at me, come on, come on, let’s get out of here.  I checked the others, and they were backing off too, stumbling away from the wolves.  There were so many of them, and so many had blood on them.

Thorpe hadn’t stopped.  He was still hitting on the spikey-haired wolf with his pipe, making hollow, damp noises.  The wolf was barely trying to defend himself by then and I ran over to pull him off.  I caught at his upraised arm and called his name.  I told him to stop before he killed the guy.  He spun around and smacked me.

It was my own fault; I should have known better.  It worked in breaking him out of his frenzy, though.  He looked frightening for a second, like he might start hitting again, but the wolves were closing in. 

We grabbed each other and ran, took off up a street and left the wolves behind.  We didn’t stop until we were a few blocks away and found an empty apartment above a store to break into.  Then there were injuries to tend to – and there were a lot of injuries.  Nothing life-threatening, but all of it painful.

It was an hour before my forearm started to ache, and since then the pain has radiated out to my shoulder and right down to my fingertips.  It’s like I can feel the bone pulsing.  My cheekbone is bruised and swollen, and I have other purpling marks on me as well.

Even now, just thinking about all of this, I’m still shaking.  If it wasn’t for the pain, I’d have trouble believing that it really happened.  I think we’re all in shock, to some degree.

I have first watch tonight.  Just in case the wolves come looking for us in the darkness.

It took a while to assess all the damage yesterday. There were a few slashes from the knives – they’re the most tricky to deal with, I think.  Mostly because they’re open and we can’t wash them easily.  Or cheaply.  The rest of the injuries were from the bats – bruises, a couple of possible cracked bones.  Nothing broken, luckily. I think the only one who got away without any damage was Nugget. 

It was lucky that we had just come from the hospital; we had enough dressings for everyone.  Enough bandages to wrap up the sore parts.  I’d do anything for an icepack, though.

When we got inside the apartment, I went to Masterson and shook him – I think I was a little bit hysterical.  He was smiling, the stupid, vague bastard, and the rest of us were trying not to go into shock.  But he was a doctor, and I was damned determined that he was going to be a doctor for us.  We needed him to.  I had to shepherd him around each and every person, and I had to watch him closely with all of them.  When I could be, I was his hands.  I didn’t trust him not to poke at them the way he did with me, that first time.

First, though, I had to peel him away from Sally.  She was a mess, crying and shaking as if she was going to tremble into bits on the floor.  She begged him for some relief, said she needed something so badly.  Then Masterson started to crumple under the knowledge that there weren’t any drugs for them to escape from all this.

I didn’t know what to do.  Thorpe made a snide comment about the doctor being useless to us, and that made me more determined to get him to do something helpful.  I couldn’t deal with him right then, so I turned and shouted at Masterson again, told him that he damned well better be a doctor today, because there are patients here who need him.  It turns out that if you shove and pull and bully him enough, he’ll do as he’s told.

Dillon was mostly all right – he was the first one I made Masterson check.  Some awful bruises, flushing violently dark under his skin.  He and I have matching bruises on our cheekbones.  He was so clearly trying not to cry that I put an arm around him and told him he did really well out there.

He asked me if I thought it was his fault that the fight started, because he’s the one that was grabbed first.  The poor kid was terrified that we would all blame him, that we’d think the blood and purpling marks on us were all because of him.  It had never even occurred to me to think of it like that, and I don’t think anyone else here would blame him either, and I told him that.  I’m not sure if he believed me.

I wanted to stay there, to sit with him and reassure him.  It seemed like he needs someone to do that, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fond of him.  I like having him around, and I’d like to be that person for him.  But there were others who needed seeing to, so I did the only thing I could think of: I sent him to look after Nugget and keep an eye on her.  I don’t know if that was the right thing to do or not.

Ben all-but collapsed when we had got inside the apartment.  His burns had taken some punishment and he has a couple of cracked ribs.  I dressed and bandaged him as best I could, but there’s nothing I can do about the pain.  I wish I could do more for him.  He’s always ready with a supportive word or a helping hand, but I feel like I can’t return the favour now he needs it.

Sax has a nasty lump on his bald, shiny head and a limp now.  The doctor didn’t think he had a concussion, but the injured knee is a worry.  Masterson showed me how to strap it properly; hopefully that’ll help.

Thorpe was the most difficult to deal with, of course.  I had left him until last because I knew it would be hard.  But by then I was exhausted from trying to chivvy and push the doctor into doing what I needed him to.  Look here, what’s wrong with this, how should we deal with that, is this going to be enough.  No, look here.  I got shorter and shorter with him as we moved from one to the next, and by the time we got to Thorpe I had no temper left at all.  I had to clench my hands to stop them shaking.

He didn’t want Masterson anywhere near him, let alone touching him somewhere tender.  He had tasted the blade of the spikey-haired wolf’s knife a few times, though, and I wasn’t in the mood to mollycoddle his feelings.

The big fella got told very shortly to sit still and shut the fuck up so that we could deal with him.  He stared at me and I glared back – I might have the imprint of his hand on my cheek, but I’m not scared of him.  I probably should be; I saw him whaling on that guy, and he would’ve kept going until someone was dead if I hadn’t stopped him.  And there was that shocked second after he hit me when I thought that he might just keep going.  But he didn’t, and I refuse to be scared of him.

He still refused to have Masterson touch him, so I had to be the doctor’s hands.  It made it harder to get him to focus, but we muddled through.  I had to glue a couple of gashes together – he really needs stitches, but no-one wants to do that if we can avoid it.  My right hand isn’t strong enough to do it; it would have to be the doctor.  Hopefully the glue will hold and we can skip that headache.

It was such a relief to send the doctor back to Sally and be able to sit down.  That was when things really hit me, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.  Ben asked if I was okay and I had no idea what to tell him.  All of a sudden, everything hurt and it was hard to breathe, like the whole fight had hit my nerves all at once.  I guess that’s what happens in an adrenaline crash.

He held my hand until I was feeling better.  We talked about nothing until the rain came and it was time to eat.  Dillon came to sit next to me, and it felt good to curl an arm around him and let him lean on me.  I think we all needed that.

Today, I’m so stiff that I don’t want to move.  My right arm vibrates like a plucked harp string every time I move it, singing all the way through me, and my back muscles are locked up the battering I took.  I’m not the only one feeling stiff and sore, and it was a silent consensus that let us stay here today.  I feel like we’re wasting so much time sitting and resting, but I don’t want to walk anywhere today, let alone carry my pack.

Ben seems to be up and about, which is surprising, considering.  I should go help him.  And check on everyone.  I don’t know why, but it feels like I’m the only one who can do that.  Who will do that.  It’s better than sitting here feeling sorry for myself.