Project - 16 (14 page)

We ate some canned meat and biscuits by the water and watched
the day gradually take shape. It was peaceful enough and there were
few birds around as winter pushed most of them south but those that
hung on flittered in the bare trees making up for the lack of
birdsong as best they could.

“
We should reach the first bunker in a couple of days,” I said
to break the silence. “Best make the food last.”

“
I expect that a man of your skills should be able to find
something for us to eat,” she said with a grin.

“
I can find myself something to eat, but how can you live off
bullshit?”

She began to laugh and something inside me switched images to
the hooping girl in the woods, Claudia, not hard-bitten Ranger
Riley of the 75th.

“
Just let it go!” she cried, still creased with laughter. “If
I apologise, will you let it drop?”

“
Maybe,” I said.

“
Then I'm fucking sorry, okay? Will that be enough O' Master
Huntsman?”

“
I'll think about it.”

“
You'll think about it? Man, you hold a grudge, don't you? I
knew a guy back home who never forgave me for scratching his
beloved Ferrari once.”

“
A Ferrari?”

“
You don't know what a Ferrari is?” she said,
stunned.

“
How would I? Do you see any around here?”

“
I guess not. But you've not even heard of one?”

“
Never.”

“
It's a car - you know what a car is?”

“
Very funny. Of course I do.”

“
Well a Ferrari is a very expensive one and my boyfriend had
one.”

“
Boyfriend?”

“
You know what one of those is, don't you?”

“
I didn't mean that, I meant he was your
boyfriend?”

“
Yeah, he was. Anyways, he lends me his flash fucking auto and
lets me drive it around. I'm doing fine, then I hits this corner
and WHAM! - I catch the side walk and slide along a
lamppost.”

“
Was it a mess?” I asked.

“
Fuck no - but he thought it was. We split up after that. Any
guy who loves his car more than me don't deserve me.”

“
I feel sorry for the guy. You're never driving my Land Rover
by the way.”

“
That piece of crap? You can keep it. Smells like a goat took
a shit in there and died doing it.”

“
You're not even allowed in the house now.”

We walked until sunset and skirted around another crumbling
city landscape that looked more like tooth decay than civilisation.
Riley insisted on scanning it with her digital binoculars and,
finding no trace of activity, caught up with me, her pack swishing
behind her.

“
We'll rest up in another mile or so,” I said. “I don't want
to be too close to the old cities if I don't have to. I’ve heard
enough nightmares for one day and howling dogs won't help me sleep
much either.”

“
Do they come out this far?” she asked.

“
If they're hungry enough. I’ve seen more and more of them
leaving the city and heading into the boonies. If they're smart
they won't come back. There's only death and misery there
now.”

“
It certainly looks fucking awful. And people come here to
loot?”

“
Yep. I guess that even now there's plenty buried in the
rubble that would fetch a good price at auction or sold to a
collector. One kid came over looking for Scottish flags. I had to
tell him that Scotland was
that
way and in England we didn't much appreciate a
Scottish flag flying in our country.”

“
Why not?”

“
That's a long story too.”

“
You have many of these 'long stories' then?”

“
A few.”

“
I could tell you a few from Syria. Man, that was a shit
storm. There was this one guy I knew managed to get his leg blown
off on a land mine. He went twenty feet into the air before coming
back down. He survived it though. We managed to evac him and they
gave him a robot one instead. He was back in action the following
year and managed to get the other blown off. Some of his squad said
he did it on purpose so he could have two robot legs, said it would
make him faster. Maybe he's just a mine-magnet.”

“
That wasn't really a 'long' story, was it?” I
teased.

“
No, I was pulling your leg. Get it?”

“
Get what?”

“
Pulling. Your leg. The guy lost his legs. Leg.
No?”

“
Is that a joke or something?”

“
Never mind.”

There was a stretch of woodland off to our left and I broke
away from the rutted path to cross a field to get to it. We had to
step over the well-picked bones of a dead cow first though. Riley
gave its skull a kick and it clattered away across the
stones.

“
There were some good Rangers back in the day,” she said. “I
trained a few crack shots who were just plain loco though. Took
drugs most of the time just to stay awake on a watch. Got addicted,
got sent home either on a medical or in a bag.”

“
You trained them to shoot?”

“
Hell yeah. I was the 75th's champ for three years running.
Made those guys at Fort Benning look like chumps. I guess I showed
them intestinal fortitude!” she said, laughing. “But it was fun.
There isn't much I don't know about rifles and how to kill someone
with one from a mile away.”

The belt of woodland was a mix of oak and silver birch and
was perfect for the hammock I was carrying. There was still enough
light to work with and Riley began hunting for a flat patch of land
nearby where the roots weren't as prominent. I found a pair of
trees that were far enough apart for my tastes and began hanging my
hammock.

“
I've never used a hammock before,” she said, unpacking her
poles and ground sheet.

“
Be my guest,” I said. She came over and sat on the green
fabric a bit unsteadily.

“
I'll fall out!” she said, trying to lift her feet into
it.

“
You won't - they're very hard to fall out of, trust me.” She
finally swung her feet into it and led diagonally across
it.

“
This is more comfortable than I thought it would be,” she
said. “You can have the tent.”

“
I'm fine with my hammock, now get out!”

She managed to get back on her feet and continued building
her shelter whilst I hung my tarp. The night was coming and it was
getting colder as we finished up. I was keen to get a fire going.
If the drone happened to return then at least we were far enough
away from the house to worry about it tracking us. Besides, I was
at the stage of hoping to draw the attention of the NSU anyway. We
could be searching for Alex and the woman for years if we didn't
pick up their trail and if the Russians were already here then
they'd lead us right to them, saving us some leg work. As long as
we evaded them and didn't get caught. But tracking a detachment of
soldiers was far easier than two people on their own.

I walked off into the woods around our camp and began
gathering sticks. Riley had dug a shallow pit for the fire and was
making a pile out of some dried leaves and thin shoots to use as
tinder.

“
You sure about this?” she asked, her hands poised to strike
the match.

“
Yeah. I don't really think that drone will fly over again. I
wouldn't expect them to be looking for us, would you?”

“
I suppose not. I could do with the warmth anyway.”

The match flared into life and Riley lit a small twig before
submerging it in the tinder pile. In a minute or so it was burning
nicely and I started to add the smaller branches to the top,
leaning them against each other like a pyramid, the flames burning
away underneath.

An hour or so later and the fire was going strong. Riley led
down next to it with an MRE in her hands, waiting for the water to
boil in her billy can, staring into the crackling and snapping
flames that gave our camp a warm orange glow. I was eating a
rehydrated curry I'd made with pieces of dried beef and vegetables
in. The heat was enough to sting my mouth and lips and the chilli
pieces made it even worse. For some reason I was enjoying the pain
and it took the edge off the cold. Riley began laughing at the
tears that were streaming down my face as I carried on eating
it.

“
My Pops used to make a mean chilli beef,” she said. “That
would have brought real tears to your eyes. You'd also have ended
up living on the toilet seat too.”

“
Can it be hotter than this?” I said, swilling my mouth with
water from my bottle.

“
Let me have a taste.” She leaned over to me and dug her spoon
into the bag, taking a generous mouthful with it. She chewed for a
while and laughed. “Pops would call you a wuss. A lot of people
loved his chilli.”

“
What did he do for a living?” I asked. I put the remains of
the meal down and sat back.

“
He worked construction. Built farmhouses, warehouses, those
silly prefab buildings that got popular 'cause of how cheap they
were. Worked almost 7 days a week bringing home a decent wage. Then
he bust his back for a while and the money dried up. Ended with us
living in a trailer until I left for the Army.”

“
Was that bad?” I asked.

“
Not really. It was cosier than I liked but I was doing a bit
of work here and there, helping out with the bills but Dad did his
best selling his chilli to the other trailers. It made him some
beer money. Just a shame he never got over it. He's still there now
I think.”

“
You don't know what he's doing now?”

“
Nah. Ain't been back home since I signed up. We had a bust up
about me leaving and I slammed the door on my way out. Not been
back or heard from them since.”

“
Doesn't that bother you?”

“
Nah. I figured I'm grown up enough to get by. I still think
about them from time to time. I thought about them a lot when I got
my tab. I kind of wished they'd been there.”

The conversation dropped just as her billy can began to talk
with a nice rolling boil. She poured the hot water into the foil
pouch of the MRE and began stirring it with her spoon.

“
This stuff could strip paint,” she said to herself as she
mashed it up. “Still tastes good though.”

“
What is it?”

“
Beef strogonof. I’ve had this one before.”

The fire crackled some more and I sat back against the trunk
of a tree with my feet near the flames. The air was crisp with
winter and I felt the way I always did at this time of year - oddly
in touch with the world, like the cold made more connections
possible. Food tasted better, warmth was tangible and life seemed
to be in technicolour. Riley ate her meal whilst staring into the
flames. There were no more drones and eventually we both said our
'good nights' and went to sleep.

I woke after a dream that I struggled to remember precisely,
but I felt it'd been bad enough to wake me and so I stared at the
smouldering embers of the fire in the early hours of the morning
and tried to think it away. It was still reasonably dark but the
light was just starting to radiate from the east. I led there, warm
and snug, not wanting to get out of the hammock just yet. My stove
was within arms reach and so I set a pot of water boiling for a
coffee. I sat back and watched the morning be born. I looked at the
trees. I breathed slowly and evenly. I lived.

“
Fucking hell that was a cold night!” burst Riley from within
her tent. “Surely you've got a fire going by now?”

“
Get your stove burning. We need to hide this pit and be on
our way so I'm not lighting it again.”

The zip tore through the peaceful morning silence and Riley
emerged - her hair a birds nest of tangles and her body covered in
every layer she was carrying. She wore her sleeping bag like a
cloak and from the quilted mess her bleary-eyed head poked out into
the fresh air.

“
Are you okay there?” she said with as much sarcasm as she
could muster. “How do I get me one of those?”

“
I did offer you one back at the house,” I replied. The pot
was boiling away now. I leaned over and poured the hot water into
my waiting cup.

“
I don't remember that,” she said, dropping the quilt. “I've
got business to do in the woods. No peaking.”

Riley was an interesting creature to watch. I led there with
my brew in my hands, waiting for her to come back. When she did,
she set about boiling some water and collapsing her tent with a
strange kind of nonchalant skill, like she had all the time in the
world, like she expended no effort in whatever she did. Before I
knew it, she was packed away and sat on the top of her rucksack,
sipping from her mug as often as her lips would allow, her beloved
rifle propped up next to her.

“
Are you even getting up today?” she asked.

“
Maybe,” I replied. “Maybe not.”