The Hand and the Hatchet

Chapter 5

Bell hurried through the estate, jogging back down the seemingly endless road, constantly checking behind him. His quiver, now missing an arrow, rattled rhythmically, the satchel he'd taken clinking and thumping into his hip. When the light began to seep from the sky, and his shadow grew in front of him, matching his step, he was back at the shopping centre. He'd thought about waiting for Charles, but the anger that boiled in his gut reminded him of Charles's eagerness to abandon him when danger had reared it's head. In a way, he couldn't blame him, but he knew he'd have fought his way to Charles had their positions been reversed. Once the adrenaline had stopped charging through his system, and his hands had stopped shaking, the betrayal had made Bell seethe with anger. He started crossing the car park and began heading home, forcing himself to keep his pace up, not wanting to be caught in the temperature drop that the nights brought. When he got to the end, he noticed a group of people stood on the other side of the wide road. They'd been talking, but the sound of him walking had alerted them. Caught in the open, he panicked, and dropped into a half crouch, already pulling his bow free when a voice drifted the twenty feet separating them. A voice he recognised.

"Who are you?" Charles asked the half-darkness.

"It's me. Bell"

The steadiness of his voice surprised him. He straightened up and walked across the road in slow, measured steps.

"I thought they'd killed you, It's so great you're alive, man!" Charles said happily. Bell realised that he'd been stood talking with the other survivors, the ones he had saved. When he stepped on onto the curb, Charles took a step towards him, opening his mouth to speak, just as Bell slugged him straight across the jaw, sending him spinning away, his hand holding the place he'd been hit, the swelling already starting. Immediately, the others were readying weapons, the closest one stepping towards him.

"No no, it's ok. I deserved that" Charles said, lightly probing the raised flesh on his jaw with his fingertips. Bell stared coolly at the others as they relaxed somewhat, although they still looked wary.

"This is the guy I told you about, the other one they sent out with me"

"You told them about the rest of us?" Bell hissed, his anger flaring back up again.

"It's ok, they don't know where the house is" Charles said calmly, one hand out in a placating gesture, the other now absently rubbing the scar on his mouth, the opposite side Bell had struck "they're just survivors. They want to team up"

"Really? How do you know they won't sell us out to someone? The Angels have been after us for ages. They'd love to get some payback for the ones I killed today. Without your help" He said pointedly, not just looking at Charles.

"Look, i'm really sorry about that, but I didn't know what the hell was going on, and what was the point of both of us dying?"

He knew he was right. He rubbed his knuckles, which he'd been lucky not to break. One of the survivors was glaring at him while he clutched a pipe. Bell stared straight back, not breaking eye contact until the other man became uncomfortable. The man shifted and looked away, and he looked back at Charles.

"What've you told them?" He asked, his anger fading slightly.

"Just that there's a few of us, and that we're always looking for new friends. We're meeting back here tomorrow, a party from each group. We can work with each other. Doesn't that sound good?"

"It sounds great. But how can we trust them?" he asked, not looking at Charles, but rather at the dark-haired man he'd seen earlier, who looked straight back at him. His eyes were the deepest green, like crushed emeralds, and his cheekbones were high and sharp, the tanned skin completely unblemished. It was an ageless face, he could've been anywhere from twenty to two hundred. Bell thought he looked like a vampire. The man's eyes bored into him, his body looking relaxed yet coiled, like a tiger that could leap into a frenzy in a second. He had no idea what to make of him. Then he spoke.