Authors: S. D. Crockett
After the Snow (9 page)
She got a gun. I see her hold it up between her hands. Aim at that man struggling to his feet. Pull the trigger. The shot explode in the icy air.
Crack!
A lump of snow fall down from a nearby tree. The man stumble. I see the rags tied around his feet trailing in the snow. The remains of canvas hang off him, his hands bound in rags. Deep-set eyes aint got nothing left in them. He drop his stick.
Crack!
The second shot fell him. He collapse forward on his knees and fall onto the snow, the blood spilling out his mouth. He make a gurgling noise deep down inside.
The second shot fell him. He collapse forward on his knees and fall onto the snow, the blood spilling out his mouth. He make a gurgling noise deep down inside.
The woman from the truck look about either side of the road into the trees. She got the gun steady in her hand still.
“How many of them?” she shout at me.
I still been sprawled out on the road just getting myself up.
“Three.”
“You all right?” she shout to Mary. But Mary all right.
The man aint dead yet but he’s gonna be cos the blood’s spitting out of him, staining his matted beard like a feeding dog. The noises aint human. He’s still on all fours on the road, his cudgel lying useless on the ground.
The woman aint scared of this bleeding man and she stride
toward him. She got on a thick felt coat come down to her ankles. I see it tight across her shoulders as she walk.
toward him. She got on a thick felt coat come down to her ankles. I see it tight across her shoulders as she walk.
The man put one hand up, like he’s saying
please don’t kill me
. His breath misting the freezing air like he’s breathing out smoke. The woman with the gun still coming though.
please don’t kill me
. His breath misting the freezing air like he’s breathing out smoke. The woman with the gun still coming though.
The man aint got strength for holding himself up and roll onto his back. It aint words he been trying to say no more.
And the woman with the gun take that last step and hold the gun right up to his head, and she pull the trigger.
CRACK.
And the blood and the brains and all the things that were inside the man’s head make a red puddle under him now, but I seen the woman do it and I see her eyes at the last second cos I been watching pretty good and Mary scream and slip on the ice and come running toward me.
It been the first time I seen someone shot with a gun.
That woman in the big coat turn to us now.
“Are you on your own?”
“Yes,” Mary say, staring at the blood on the road.
“Well, in a few minutes the rest of our convoy is going to come by.”
“What about …” I point to the dead body.
She look about in the trees and sweep her arm around into the dark forest. “They didn’t get you, so they’ll have to eat their own instead.”
A voice come from around the other side of the truck. “Moira, we’ve got to move.”
The woman sling the gun in her belt and climb up to the door of the cab.
Mary grab onto the woman’s leg as she climb up.
The woman look down.
“Please.”
“Come on, Moira, it isn’t safe,” say the voice from the truck.
The woman look back at Mary, and then out into the dark trees. I see her thinking.
“Please don’t leave us,” say Mary.
The woman jump back down onto the road. She got big flat boots, hard and shiny.
“Don’t take them.” It’s the other voice in the cab.
But the woman aint taking much notice, cos I seen her close her eyes in the last moment when she shoot that stealer, so I know she aint as mean as she look.
“Come on,” she say. “Get in the back.”
She pull me up by the arm and Mary too. The back of the truck got a heavy green flap hanging down, faded yellow letters painted on the back:
ANPEC
The woman lift up the canvas, and we got to climb up inside.
Like my dad say, I been lucky cos the one bad thing happen and then this good thing happen. But I got a bit worried now how this good thing gonna end cos the truck got the girl, but it also got me. I aint never been in a truck. I aint never been this close to a truck
before even. Bad-smelling smoke come pouring out a pipe in the back but the woman push us up and inside it. No time to think.
before even. Bad-smelling smoke come pouring out a pipe in the back but the woman push us up and inside it. No time to think.
Either side are benches and a crowd of faces all turn toward us. In the middle a small stove, the chimney going up through the roof.
“Get them out before the checkpoint,” say the woman to the people. That’s all she say. And then she close down the flap. I hear the door of the cab slamming shut. We move off.
There aint been one sound made by those people, just eyes staring at us.
Old graybeard sitting close lean forward with thin dry lips. He been wearing a stiff canvas coat come right up around his ears. Thick gloves all stiff on his hands. He put a hand out. Nasty-looking smile on his face.
“Nice coat you got, kid, where d’you steal that?”
He been so close to my face, I can feel his breath and see in his eyes that he aint too friendly.
“Let him be, Reuben.” It’s a woman sitting further back.
All those people sort of swaying together as the truck bump and swerve along the road. Like trees swaying in the wind.
“They aren’t stealers.”
“How d’you know?” someone else say.
“Stealers don’t have fur coats like that—look at the stitching. They got fur gloves.” The woman lean forward when she speak. “If they’re stealers, Moira’s would have them too.”
“I’ll give you some bread for your gloves.” It’s the old graybeard again and he lean close and reach out touching my coat.
“I said let him be.”
The old graybeard laugh a bit chesty and sit back. “Just offering the poor kid a bit of bread.”
“Come and sit up here at the front,” say the woman.
Mary the first to get up, and I follow her. I’m just gonna look and listen, watching this pack of dogs.
“You’ve got to get out before the checkpoint, like the driver said,” the woman telling Mary.
“When’s the checkpoint?” ask Mary.
“I’ll tell you when—you just sit up here.”
“Why don’t we just throw them out here? What happens if we get stopped? We all get it then.”
“How do we know they aren’t stealers?”
The people talking about us like we aint there.
“They must be stealers. I say throw them out.”
“It’s only Rose saying they’re not. They must be stragglers.”
“And Moira aint shot them … .”
“Didn’t know there were any stragglers left up here?”
“Well, you don’t see leather packs and coats stitched like that these days.”
“You don’t see much at all these days except snow.”
Everyone laugh at that, a few coughing too.
“Hey, kid, are you a real straggler then?” It’s a big square-headed man asking. He lean over and grab at me, turning me so I got to face him.
“We aint stragglers—we’re beacons of hope,” I say.
That get a bigger laugh than before. But I wish my dad been here cos he gonna say it better, and they aint gonna laugh then.
“I said let them be. They’re not going to hurt anyone—they’re just kids,” say the woman.
Some of the people at the front of the truck move along and I sit tight on the bench opposite Mary. I can hear the engine juddering underneath the bench. Mary look at me with her scared eyes but we don’t say nothing.
“Hey, Rose, it’s Saturday—why don’t you come out with me tonight instead of going home to that lump of a man you got?” someone shout above the engine.
“He’s a better lump than you are.”
“I’ve only got one lump, Rose, and that’s cos I haven’t been home for a month.”
“Me neither—I’m itching down here, how about it?”
Some of the men start laughing and jeering like they been a bit mad, and I get scared then. It all smell strange, and they act strange, and I don’t know where we been going and how I’m gonna get away. I got to get out of here. I don’t know how quick the truck move along but I reckon I been far off by now and no food in my pack an all my stuff up in the cave.
“I said, d’you really live up in the hills?” The man got his face right up close all of a sudden. I aint heard him in the din. He been leaning over and grabbing onto my coat. “Hey, kid, I said, d’you live up in the hills?”
But right then the truck slow down and everyone lurch forward.
“Get under the bench.” The woman pulling at Mary and a few people move their legs. I feel a strong arm on my shoulder and someone push me down underneath the bench too—don’t
know why. There’s three bangs on the wall from the front of the truck.
know why. There’s three bangs on the wall from the front of the truck.
“What the hell now?”
“Road police,” someone whisper.
“What are they doing out here?”
The boards on the floor of the truck are all damp, and I’m trapped behind a wall of boots, all look the same—dirty and thick—and I push myself as far back as I can.
“What if they find those kids?”
But the canvas lift up, and a blast of cold air blow into the truck. A rough voice bark out.
“We need four of you. There’s a drift needs shoveling off the road, and you aint got no plow, so get a move on. You four, not the old man, we haven’t got all week.”
There’s a shuffling and I see some of the boots move and there been murmuring from the men.
“This aint a party so less talking, ladies.”
There’s a bit of laughing from the rough voices, but like Geraint when he laugh at my dad it aint funny, just mean.
“I said we aint got all week!”
Everyone gone pretty quiet now. I look across at Mary behind the legs under the bench opposite. She put her finger to her lips.
“All right. You. And you. Come on, get a move on.” The policeman bang a metal stick on the back of the truck,
clang clang clang
like he been in a hurry.
clang clang clang
like he been in a hurry.
Some of the men get out then and we can’t hear too much just the police laughing and shouting—
“Don’t need gloves, feel the radiation coming off ’em.”
“I said shovel, aint got til summer—”
After a bit the men get back in the truck.
“Move on, driver,” shout the police.
The engine start again and we move off.
“Fucking police,” someone say.
“They’re as bad out here as in the settlements.”
“Leave it now. We’ll all be home in a few hours.”
“Without us, there wouldn’t even be half an hour’s power a day.”
There been an angry muttering.
A strong arm pull me up. “You sit close, boy. You won’t get out before the checkpoint now. No chance.”
“What do you mean?” Mary say.
“We got stuck in that drift on the road, and the rest of the convoy caught up with us. The driver’s going to see you if you get out. And I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
He’s right cos I can hear the other trucks behind us.
“If I was you”—he turn and look at me; his face is as black as coal—“if I was you I’d get back under the bench when we get to the checkpoint. That’s what I’d do.”
“Then what?”
“Then if you’re lucky you’ll get through. It’s Saturday night and everyone wants to get home, even the police, and you’ll be safe inside.”
“Inside where?”
“The settlement.”
“What if we don’t get past the checkpoint?” Mary ask.
The truck swing to the left and half the people fall forward in their places.
“Can’t say, girl. Can’t say.”
“Why are you helping us?”
“Why not?”
He fall silent then.
Mary look across at me. “There isn’t any way back now, Willo—” she whisper.
The truck travel on under the pylons for a long time, swerving and bumping, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but I can’t see nothing. Just got to sit on that hard bench, wondering how we’re gonna get out of here. Fear pumping in my stomach so hard I can’t think straight.
It seem the people aint interested in much now though. Silently pushing a foot-warming pan filled with coals along the floor. Some of them with chins nodding down on their chests. A shovel of coal been thrown in the stove now and then but that drafty truck still been cold and dark.
It seem a long time I sit there. Aint no way to get out. Mary falling asleep against the woman on the other bench. I see her head drop forward. The truck slow down. People sit up. I kick Mary’s foot. There’s a bang on the wall from the front.
I can hear shouting outside.
“Get down, Willo,” she say, dragging me under the bench. I hope the people in this truck gonna let us be. Cos I don’t know who been good and who been bad and everything happen so fast and I aint got no choice.
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