Only Shadows Ahead

Chapter Eighteen

Groaning loudly, Linka attempted to roll over onto her side. Unable to move, she flopped the quilt up to her chin and rubbed a shaky hand over her eyes and face. A dull ache throbbed through her temples and her stomach was swirling violently.

Too much vodka.

Blinking sleepily, she resettled, focusing instead on the appearance of a pair of large work boots hanging over the edge of the bed.

Did I leave those there?

Her hung-over brain struggled to explain the presence of the shoes and she again attempted to shift her body slightly. Her legs were pinned, however — and it was then that she noted the pair of legs that that the boots were attached to, lying heavily across her calves.

She sat up quickly and a wave of dizziness struck her. A man was sitting propped against wall. He appeared asleep, his chin resting on his chest. His dark brown hair was cut quite short. One of his hands lay palm-up next to her leg and the other hand was clutching her own.

Glancing down, she noted the worn leather bands around his wrist and the red fabric tied tightly around his upper arm. He was tall and thin, almost wiry with smooth olive skin that had darkened over the years.

Ma-Ti.

Hangover forgotten, her heart leapt and she grinned in spite of herself. Tugging gently on Ma-Ti's hand, she watched as his eyes flew open, disorientated for a moment and confused until his gaze settled on her.

"My legs are going to sleep," she said softly. His eyes went wide and he rubbed his face, looking equal parts delighted and overwhelmed.

"Hello, my beautiful friend," he whispered, shuffling his body up the bed and wrapping his arms around her. He held her close, dropping a kiss against her sleep-tousled hair. His voice was unsteady, breaking slightly. "Oh God, look at you."

She squeezed him back, thrilled to see his face. "Hello."

After a while, he reluctantly let go. Giving her a watery smile, he looked her over. "Sorry I am late. Takes a while to get anywhere these days."

"I have noticed," she said, taking the opportunity to inspect him closer. "Was it dangerous?"

"Oh, um… it was fine until I crossed over the border," he remarked, frowning. He seemed flustered and a little emotional, staring at her with such intensity that she had to look away. Ma-Ti seemed to shake himself before taking her hand again. He gave her another tight smile. "Then we had to have our wits about us."

"You came with others?" she asked. He nodded, running his index finger over her ring.

"Yes," he said. "We never travel alone. That's a good way to disappear."

"Oh," she replied. Suddenly self-conscious about her appearance, she ran a hand through her hair and adjusted the plaid button-up shirt she was wearing as pyjamas.

"Enough about that." Ma-Ti patted her hand, gazing at her profile again and studying Linka — as if commiting her features to memory. "I have missed you. WE have missed you."

"You look so different," she offered. She beamed at him as he repositioned himself, settling beside her and clutching her hand again.

"Yes, well age tends to do that to you," he laughed softly. "Kwame and Gi have already filled me in on what has happened. How are you feeling?"

"Like a rat in a maze," Linka lamented, leaning back and peering at him curiously. "I keep expecting to wake up."

"I can understand that," he said kindly. He squeezed her thigh, before pushing himself of the bed and standing beside her. He gazed down at her for a moment, his eyes looking suspiciously bright before he shook his head. "I'll go. I'll let you wake up properly. Just… just had to see you for myself."

"Okay," she said. Linka raised her hand as he ducked quickly out through the doorway. "Bye."

"Just like old times!" Gi exclaimed. She squeezed Linka's feet —currently laying across her lap — and munched happily on a carrot from Trissa's garden.

"Not really, Gi," Ma-Ti commented. He narrowed his eyes, motioning around him. "Quite a few differences, now."

"What do you miss the most?" Kwame's deep voice rumbled from his position on the floor. He was sitting beside his wife, propped up within a grungy beach chair. Trissa sat cross-legged beside him, peeling a small apple and taking small bites. "What is the one thing you would want if you had access to it?

"Music," Trissa said softly. "I miss music. Just being able to listen to a CD, or a song. Being able to zone out."

The others nodded in agreement. Linka sighed, curling up against the back of the sofa and levelling her gaze on Gi's hands — currently rubbing the soles of her feet with her thumbs while she chatted.

Linka found it unusual that whenever Gi was in her presence, her friend displayed the tendency to keep her within arm's reach: often holding or touching her in some manner. Overly tactile, Gi seemed to draw comfort in keeping her close.

Not that Linka was complaining. She had now been away from home for over a week and was still shell-shocked by the events that had unfolded.

Discussion continued around her but Linka's thoughts drifted instead to the Planeteers she had left behind. She wondered — not for the first time — where they were and what they were currently doing. Were they still on Hope Island? Were they grieving? Did they think she was dead?

Her shoulders slumped in despair. The helplessness was the hardest thing — that she lacked the ability to communicate the fact that she was okay. Banged-up, sore and a little rattled — but she was okay.

A flare of anger rose as her thoughts turned to Barbara Blight. She wondered again what future Blight wanted with her.

She sighed, frustrated that she didn't have all the answers — and she suspected that Kwame and the others were being selective about what they were choosing to divulge. They were definitely withholding information. Keeping things to themselves.

Noticing that Gi was watching her, she settled the side of her face on the sofa cushion and smiled back, focusing in on the conversation again.

"Fast food," another voice piped up from the shadows. "Burgers. Fries. Drive thru."

"Freedom," Grace commented from her spot on the floor. She leaned back, stretching her legs out. "Just the ability to do what you want, when you want."

"I miss takin' a walk outside without someone tryin' to end me," Tyreece said. He hunched forward, eyeing Kwame. "Seriously. We did a hunt for supplies last week and the amount of crazies runnin' around up there scares the shit outta me. We were damn lucky gettin' this one," he added, nodding towards Linka.

"Getting worse," Gi said with a frown. "How long has it been since you had any unwelcome visitors here?"

"A few months," Kwame replied. His eyes settled on Linka. "I think we are about due for more, in all honesty."

"We'll be ready for 'em," Tyreece remarked. He drew his knees up to his chin, the light from the lantern reflected in his eyes. "Let 'em try."

The group fell into an uneasy silence.

Night time soon descended. Linka had spent part of her day catching up with Ma-Ti. She had learnt that he had returned to his tribe in Brazil after disbanding, but he made the pilgrimage north every few months to come and help out. It appeared it was just the populated, industrialised areas of South America that had retained the most damage, the same as the US.

Ma-Ti was unsure of the fate of other countries. Communication had broken down. Linka's thoughts turned to Mishka and her grandmother, wondering how they had fared. Feeling helpless at her inability to check on her family.

Yet Kwame had said that her future self had returned to Russia to be with them. She took comfort in that thought.

The rest of the day had been spent either in the store, or casting nervous glances towards the manhole tunnel, silently willing the last piece of the puzzle to saunter on in, cracking a joke about the poor housekeeping. Complaining that he was hungry. Dazzling her with that ever-present grin and catching her in a sneaky cuddle when she least expected it.

She smiled to herself. Regardless of his marital status, Linka found herself craving Wheeler's presence with an intensity that surprised her.

Gi was missing in action for part of the day. Grace's company was just as good however, and she found herself very at ease within her company. Linka learnt that Grace was originally from Philadelphia. She was twenty-seven and single.

Like Linka, she had no idea about the fate of her own family on the east coast, but was hoping that eventually she would be able to head over and search for them herself. Eventually.

"Running low," Grace said, bending over and peering into the wheat drum. "Maybe a week's worth."

Grace surfaced quickly and Linka did her best to withhold a smile — Grace's forehead and nose were coated in white dust. Linka directed her attention to the powdery smudges and Grace grinned, wiping them off with the sleeve of her jacket.

"Did you have a partner? A boyfriend — before this?" Linka asked.

Grace shook her head, making way for several containers of crops that were wheeled in. They immediately worked to unpack them.

"Nah. I moved away from Philly to be with a guy, but it didn't work out." She smiled, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Met a lot of good friends, so I stayed. I liked it here — at least until everyone lost their minds."

Linka frowned, but let the comment go. "No one here that you are interested in?"

She laughed. "The good ones are taken and the rest —"

"Are no good?" Linka volunteered, and Grace shook her head.

"No, it's not that," she said, sighing. "I dunno. No-one here that I'm really interested in."

They packed away the last of the items and marked off the daily inventory. Strolling back to the bedroom, they conversed in low voices. Linka scanned the public areas for any sign of Gi but found nothing.

She sighed, entering the small room and dropping onto the bottom bunk. She watched Grace haul herself heavily to the top, having decided to reclaim her room but adamant in her offer for Linka to remain. A rustling noise sounded from within the mattress above and Grace's hand and arm suddenly appeared, dangling with something brown gripped within her fingers.

"Hersheys?" Linka asked, staring at the faded, torn packaging with a dubious expression. She reached for the candy bar nonetheless. "Where did you get this?"

"Ty found a case of 'em in the trunk of a car last week on the highway," Grace explained. "Needless to say, we're not declaring them. Don't tell Kwame."

I won't." Linka grinned, peeling off the wrapper and placing a square into her mouth. "It is good."

"Tell me about it," Grace remarked with a laugh. "Who needs sex when you've got chocolate?"

"Where have you been?" Linka asked tiredly, feeling the bedsprings lurch under Gi's weight. She stretched her limbs as Gi clambered over her unsteadily, taking her position against the wall as she had done for the past week.

"Sorry," she said apologetically, slipping quickly under the covers. "A few of us got talking. Lost track of time."

"It is not like you have working watches anymore," she murmured.

"True," Gi chuckled. She wriggled forward, pressing the front of her body against Linka's back and tossing an arm around her. "How're you feeling?"

"All right, I guess." Linka sighed, re-settling into sleep and listening to Grace's steady breathing above them. "Have you been with your soccer-player friend?

"No!" Gi replied a little too quickly, and Linka could practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. "Jose and I are just friends."

"Oh," Linka replied, her tone teasing. She'd spotted them together a few times now, once in a passionate embrace and she had been absolutely delighted, assuming her friend was seeing him and perhaps just shy about spilling the details. "You two look much friendlier that that."

Gi didn't reply — simply squeezed her hand and nudged her forehead against the back of Linka's head.

Gi's breathing slowed and Linka lay quietly, listening to the low voices passing by the curtain until she began to drift off.

The sound of a foot striking the base of the wrought iron bunk roused Linka from sleep. She blinked in confusion, rubbing her face and peering around blearily. Nothing else of note could be heard and Linka sighed, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders and resettling once again.

Shuffling noises soon sounded in the darkness, and a heavy weight soon dropped onto the bed she was sharing with Gi. Linka's eyes flew open, awake and alert now. It was pitch black, but Linka could smell the alcohol and sweat in the air. She froze, her heart pounding in fright as the bed bounced and shifted beneath her body. The mattress dipped in the middle as someone else stretched out beside her. Linka found herself sliding towards a warm, partially clothed body.

An unwelcome arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. A man's voice followed, low and wanting in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. With a dreadful clarity, Linka knew someone had obviously mistaken her for the girl sleeping peacefully on the other side.

Flipping over, Linka jammed her fingers into Gi's ribs, hissing her name until she stirred, mumbling under her breath.

"Gi!"

"What?" she murmured into her pillow.

"Wake up!" Linka seethed, slapping away the man's hands as they strayed too close to her underwear. She wriggled closer to Gi in an effort to put some distance between herself and the unwelcome visitor, but it was a single bed and there was nowhere left for her to go. "Gi, there is someone —"

It didn't take Gi long to figure out what had happened.

"Oh shit!" Gi exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. She fumbled for a moment, attempting to light the wick beside her bed and succeeding on the third attempt. Gi scurried to her feet, pulling and dragging the man out of the room.

Linka sat up, her hair framing her face in messy waves as she got a better view of the intruder stumbling along behind Gi. Her eyes narrowed as she watched them disappear, talking heatedly to one another until their voices went altogether silent. Grace's soft snores from above soon filled the room.

Linka curled back onto her side again, eyeing the entrance worriedly. She was wide awake now, wary and uncertain.

The man who had dropped into their bed was definitely not Gi's soccer player.

The words "woefully out of his depth" had never really entered Bleak's vocabulary, yet here he was. Stuck in this hell-hole with no weapons, no allies and no fucking clue.

He'd trailed Blondie and the Earth dude for some time, careful not to give away his presence. He'd come close to losing their trail twice but had persevered, blind luck leading him in the right direction until he'd spotted the stragglers at the tail-end of the pack.

He was starving, weak and exhausted. What was worse was that he knew he needed to stay alert. The days were unrelenting being out in the elements, but the nights were downright frightening. Big, strong Argos Bleak hated to admit that to himself.

Noises would echo through the pitch-black darkness. Rustling. Dragging sounds. Occasionally rough voices and dim lights dancing in the distance. He'd heard something on the first night away from the scavenger camp. He'd been stretched out on the back seat of an abandoned vehicle in the mall parking lot, in view of the mall the others had disappeared into. Bleak had awoken to a blood-curdling scream close by.

Goosebumps had broken out. The hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end. He'd gripped the upholstery, frozen in fear and waiting for something to follow. Anything. But silence had descended again as he peered out the windows, watching as shaky beams of light illuminated the area around the parking lot. He hunkered back down again, curling into a foetal position and willing himself to calm the fuck down. Eventually the dancing light beams subsided and he fell into a restless sleep.

Bleak kept out of sight once Linka and her rescuers entered the substation. He spotted the sentries posted in the apartment block above and knew he'd end up with an arrow to the back of the head if he even dared approach it.

Feeling content that he at least knew Blondie's location, Bleak spent the next few days lying low. Searching for food. A tin of corn in a restaurant, having rolled under the cold-room shelves. A packet of out-of-date noodles in a car glove compartment.

His desperate searching had also uncovered bodies. Long since dead, he assumed they were victims of the look-outs posted outside. People who had ventured too close to the substation and had been taken down and dragged into the depths of the abandoned buildings.

He slept out of sight, hidden underneath desks or in spaces that granted him protection, but permitted an easy exit if he needed to leave in a hurry.

Bleak had ventured a little further each time, gradually building up a solid knowledge of the area. A visual map.

He was sitting propped comfortably inside a bombed-out cafe, reading a two year old newspaper and pretending this was all so resoundingly normal when he'd heard it. A resounding thump that echoed loudly.

Bleak's jaw hung open. He stood quietly, approaching the street and peering around the corner of the doorway.

A body lay on the other side of the road, broken and very-obviously dead. He glanced upwards at the sentry window, knowing the positioning of the body meant that the victim had taken a swan-dive from the top floor.

Something was wrong.

A sharp cry from above startled him again. He glanced up, trying to get an angle on things but the distance was too far.

It was now or never.

Bleak took the chance and exited the cafe. He edged around the store-front, ducking into an alley and froze. Three figures had suddenly appeared on the other side of the street.

They slipped inside and it took Bleak a fraction of a second to make the decision. Knowing the remaining sentries would either be dead or preoccupied, he bolted across the street and skidded inside, following them.

He flattened himself against the wall, soon realising he was inside the remains of the apartment block foyer. The elevator doors were stuck in an open position and a man lay dead in front of them. Bleak assumed it was the individual keeping a look-out downstairs.

He doubted the three new arrivals were connected with the bodies — they had turned up well after the first body had hit the ground.

Bleak heard footsteps ascending the fire escape and he followed the sounds, hands clutching the handrail as the noise of shoes on concrete faded. Shouts and scuffling reverberated as he made his way upstairs.

More shouts. Bleak took the steps two at a time — on edge and half expecting an arrow (or knife) to slice through his flesh at any moment. He slowed as the desperate scuffles gained clarity, no longer muffled but close now.

Edging towards the landing, the fire-door to the top floor was already open. A corridor led out into the apartment entrances and he jumped back, startled as a man clutching a knife literally flew through the air in front of him. The man hit the hallway wall and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

The knife lay discarded on the ground. Bleak inched towards it, bending down and clutching the weapon tightly within his fist. Flattening himself against the plaster again, he peeked around the side of the doorway and spotted around seven individuals crammed inside the tiny apartment.

One sat in a chair — an injured sentry, Bleak assumed. He held a rag to his bleeding head and was being tended to by two others. One man had been wrestled to the ground and was being held securely, snarling abuse.

Another figure was by the window, holding onto the window frame and peering down at the body in the street.

"Spotted 'em around four blocks away," one of the men said, nodding towards the man struggling under his friend's weight. "Had a feeling they were up to no good. Followed them here."

"Thank God you guys came by when you did, Tom," the injured sentry on the chair said, wincing as someone strapped up his injured head. "On a supply run?"

"Nah. Bringin' this one in," he said, jacking his thumb in the direction of the man by the window. "Kwame sent us to meet —"

Bleak didn't catch the end of the sentence.

The floorboards creaked behind him.

Shit.

Something impacted hard against the back of his head and the force sent Bleak sprawling forward, crashing to the ground. He flipped himself onto his back and raised the knife but the flimsy weapon was kicked away as the Tom guy bore down on him.

"You with them?" A hand shot out and gripped his throat. Tom glared at him, tightening his grip as Bleak attempted to fight him off. "Any more of your little buddies out there?"

"No," Bleak gasped, trying to dislodge Tom's fingers, but they held firm. "Not… I'm not…"

"Who are you?" Tom shouted. A second shadow loomed over Bleak's face and he sensed another presence peering down at him. The man by the window had suddenly appeared, staring down at Bleak in shock.

"His name's Argos Bleak," the other man said sharply. Bleak's grip on Tom's wrist slackened, distracted now as he stared at the newcomer. Bleak's eyes swept over the red stubble covering the man's face and neck; his eyes hidden beneath a baseball cap.

Nonetheless, a flicker of recognition passed through Bleak.

The man in the baseball cap was tall and well-built; dressed warmly in cargo pants and a sweatshirt. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and he shook his head, incredulous, scarcely believing what he was seeing.

"Who?" Tom asked, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features. "How do you —"

"It's freakin' Argos Bleak," the other man said, the Brooklyn twang unmistakable.

"You sure? How do you know him?" another asked.

The man removed his cap, revealing tousled red hair and piercing blue eyes. Bleak stopped struggling as the Firebug crouched down on his haunches, glaring at him.

"Because I never forget a jackass."