Road to London: City of the Dead

III
July 19th

Although his eyes were focused on the road ahead James could hear Nathan drifting in and out of consciousness. He kept calling out for Svet even though she was already by his side, dressing his wounds. James felt guilty. He had already been responsible for Svetlana carving a gash across Nathan’s undamaged eye when he swerved while she was stitching his face up. To be honest she should be thankful for getting them out of that shithole before her boyfriend has his whole face chewed off.

The motorways of South West England were never usually heavy in traffic but since the group had left St. James’ they hadn’t seen a single car actually moving. There was however a vehicle every couple of miles that had crashed into the trees or barriers that lined the roads. There were also occasionally cars that had simply rolled to a gentle stop in the middle of the dual carriageway when their owners had lost consciousness.

So it was fair enough that Svetlana had not expected the Land Rover to make any sudden jerks but it still wasn’t James’ fault that there were half eaten carcasses and startled deer that needed to be avoided. Feeling the first tickles of fatigue kick in, James took his left hand off the wheel and rooted around in his pocket until he found the small white container. Using just his finger and thumb he worried off the lid and popped a small pill into his mouth, swallowing it with an audible gulp.

James wasn’t sure how much he really needed the Ritalin. His parents had already concluded that his lack of attention in primary school had stemmed from the fact that the material was far below him but they had conveniently forgotten to cancel his prescription. In all his sixteen years James had never noticed any adverse effects from the drug and so took advantage of its properties to further pursue his personal interests like advanced physics and engineering.

From an early age James’ parents had been aware of his potential. His “positive vibe” was one of the reasons that they had adopted him in the first place. His father had told him that they felt it was their responsibility that James didn’t have to live with a family that would pressure him into being unhappy. So he had been free since then to do almost whatever he wanted in the hope that he could find his own passions. Although his parents were incredibly laid back and borderline ‘hippie’, they both had respectable positions within the cooperation EDF energy and could afford to grant him a sizeable monthly budget with which he could buy books, parts, equipment, live specimens and pretty much anything his curiosity desired.

The Ritalin allowed James to perform boring repetitive tasks like driving the group around without becoming distracted by the intricacies of the Euro fighter’s fuel combustion system. Later when they rested he would be free to assume a comfortable position and contemplate the engine’s inner workings, but for now he was content with examining the road ahead for potential obstructions. He really did not want to have to take another earful from Svet when she extended Nathan’s mouth half-way up his face.

He liked driving. Although the drugs prevented him from thinking too deeply he could use the rear-view mirror to observe his passengers. As always Hiya-kō was deep in meditation. Although she hadn’t even used it back in Bunerton, her sword was once again across her lap, being cleaned. James understood why. The action must be therapeutic enough to help keep her in a state where she could reflect and learn from her experiences. He admired the katana from his seat in the front while flicking his vision between it and the road. It was as graceful a weapon as it was deadly and James had seen it in action often enough to appreciate its awesome power.

Conrad was also silent. He was slumped by himself against the door with his eyes staring at the floor. The guilt was obvious from his expression. He was angry for himself for putting the group in a position where they all could have died and Nathan nearly did. Although he doubted that anyone could hear properly after the petrol station had exploded he suspected that Conrad was completely deaf. The punishment for helping his friend. Conrad was a born leader. The kind that could make difficult decisions but then would hate himself afterwards.

Turning the mirror slightly he saw Katrina huddled next to Hiya-kō. It looked like she was attempting to be comforted while not actually disturbing the girl. She was a typical blonde teenager. Stunning, proud, yet unbelievably stupid. She was the only member of the group who didn’t actually have a specific role. She just did whatever work needed to be done at the time, usually surprisingly well. In time James planned to teach her to drive, both to give himself a rest and to give the group an alternative driver in case anything happened to him. Making such plans didn’t bother James in the slightest. It was necessary.

Katrina brought innocence to the group. Because she couldn’t fight in any way she was the only member who hadn’t yet stained her hands with blood. Because of this the others unconsciously did everything they could to protect her purity. As if she was the last true human amongst them. Although the others probably couldn’t see it James was aware of this and most of the other psychological constructions that the group had erected regarding each other. For instance Conrad had never actually been elected leader, the others had just looked to him because of his aura. James didn’t envy him.

At the very back of the Land Rover sat Israel and Latiwa, out of James’ view. Although with
his damaged hearing he couldn’t be sure, he assumed that the pair would be chatting and joking. Both putting on the appearance that the day’s events hadn’t affected them. The two were much more sensitive than they let on and so took refuge in each other’s affection. To James this wasn’t a bad thing as it would keep them going for the time being. But he also knew that sooner or later the illusion would come crashing down and they would have to deal with reality. He hoped that they would still have each other when that time came.

Last and not least he took a moment to observe Svet and Nathan. Although he resented her outbursts he understood her concern. Though she wasn’t nearly shallow enough to be put off by any superficial facial scarring she knew that any extra open wounds would increase Nathan’s chances of contracting an infection. And potentially dying. She cradled him like a mother, taking a momentous amount of care with each stitch, and cleaning the burns tenderly.

Though she didn’t have any formal qualifications, Svetlana was as much of a doctor as any medical school graduate. James assumed that she had known right from the start that this is what she wanted to do. Everyone at school had heard the story of how she had saved a gunshot victim on the street back in Russia at the age of thirteen. Many people passed it off as an exaggeration but James didn’t. He knew from talking to Nathan that she had spent every Summer, Easter and Christmas holiday in hospitals and surgeries, both in Russia and wherever the rules weren’t too strict in England. The fruit of her labour was obvious from the precision and elegance of her work on Nathan. The needle in her hand seemed like an extension of her fingers as it flowed back and forth from his skin as if it were made of water.

Despite her brilliant work, James doubted that Svet would be able to rescue her boyfriend’s left eye. At the moment the carbonised flesh around the socket was sealing the lids shut so Svetlana couldn’t look at it directly but any blast hot enough to weld a person’s eye closed was probably bright enough to burn out that same person’s retina. There were also tiny shards of metal dotting his cheek and there was every likelihood that one had buried itself in his eye before the heat wave had hit.

James couldn’t help looking on the positive side of this. If he lost the use of his ears and one of his eye’s, the remainder would become incredibly potent, improving Nathan’s reconnaissance abilities. If there was one thing that James had learnt in the last few days it was to always look on the up-side, no matter how terrible the downside was. This was one of the lessons that he would have to ensure was remembered if the group was to maintain their sanity in the coming days, weeks or whatever time they had given.

The Ritalin would still have a few minutes before it reached its full effectiveness so James took the opportunity to evaluate their current predicament. As their visit to Bunerton had been cut short, they did not have the supplies they needed. They had however stocked up on enough petrol to take them half way across England, and filled several vodka bottles with super-unleaded so that they could be used as firebombs. However, the unpredictability of the Molotov was still fresh in their minds and he doubted that Latiwa would ever take one up by choice again.

After deliberating silently with himself he reached a verdict that towns of any significant size were to avoided until the group had the means and plans to plunder them properly without the risk of repeating today’s incident. That left the options of small towns (with slaughterable populations) and standalone homes. Both choices must of course be tested, but which first depended solely on the luck of the draw.

Mildred was skipping about on the dashboard so he jammed her under the seat where she stayed quiet. Mildred was James’ baseball bat. He’d had it as long as he could remember as it had been presented to him as a gift from a family friend who played baseball for England (not a hugely impressive feat). Although he had never played a game of baseball with it in his life he had always kept it, knowing that it would be extremely useful at some point in the future. Once again James’ infallible intuition had paid off and now the bat was in dire need of a scrub. Much to his surprise the shaft hadn’t been dented by its owner’s excursions, probably due to its expertly hand crafted, titanium composition. In fact the only marks on the weapon were from the lettering engraved into its face with chisel and hammer, the letters M to D reading from handle to head.

As they ran over a decomposing corpse lying in the road the car bounced slightly. Svetlana hissed angrily at James but didn’t actually shout so he relaxed. Romantic concerns aside Svet was a very rude person. Perhaps she would like it better if she fucking drove while he tried to patch up Nathan’s face. Checking the rear view mirror again he felt a slight pang of guilt when he realised that the needle had actually gone through Nathan’s ear.