The Hand and the Hatchet

Chapter 19

They stayed at the house for another two days, with the buzz of activity gradually increasing until all that was to be taken was packed, and all that was to be left was used if it could be. There were packs stuffed full heaped by the door, and on top of those was a mass of jumpers and other warm clothing. The route was fairly simple, but required constant vigilance from the designated map-readers, and crossed straight through the heart of Angel territory. They'd all been over it multiple times, to ensure there were no mistakes.

They'd walk from their current location a few miles to the edge of town. They'd remain at the border, at some kind of viewpoint, and observe from there until they were sure it was safe to continue. They would then push into town as far as they could before making a camp in one of the houses. They'd sleep the night, wake early the next morning, and then push once again further in. They'd come to Bath Street, a large road full of rich houses, with a river running through the gardens on one side. They'd wait in the pub, and then move through the street until the came to what had been one of the other's house. He'd used to rent canoes as a sort of side business, and thus they'd use the canoes to travel downriver. They'd then come to a large farm field after about half a day of rowing. They'd have to sleep here, and then drag the canoes across roughly half a mile of grassland before reentering the river, and continuing down to Southend. Here, Ant and Bell would leave the others and lay in wait for Jamie and his entourage.  Bell hoped that if he didn't come, they'd abandon their post and jump on the boats with the others, but Ant seemed dead set on waiting as long as they needed to. Something about this was personal. Even more personal than it was for Bell.

They sat outside once more, every member of the group, with two people tending the fire, one feeding it a steady stream of fuel and the other cooking any food that wasn't going to be taken. For once, there was no rationing, as all of it needed to be used, and they didn't want to leave anything for scavengers to take. Most survivors were not quite friendly, but not openly hostile either. However, on the off chance that they were, it was better to leave nothing for them.

The fire blazed and made the front of Bell's face just a tiny bit too warm, but he didn't mind. He lay across the grass, resting on his elbow, a foot to the left of Ant, who was stood with his legs out in front of him. Adam was chortling at one of his own jokes, much to the bemusement of the rest of the group. Bell had two tins of beans in front of him, and one single meatball in the tin he was currently eating. He didn't remember the last time he'd had this much to eat. He was using the spoon from a red multi tool, and he could feel the lumpy metal slide over his lips as he shovelled yet another mouthful in. Everyone was in good spirits, the food and a half-empty bottle of whiskey making sure the atmosphere stayed relaxed.  He could see the alcohol shining in everyone's eyes.

"Hey" Adam said at Bell "they've named a whisky after you"

Bell looked at him quizzically, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about until he turned to label towards him, from across the other side of the flames. He could just make out the words "Bell Whiskey" over a picture of an old man in a suit, standing on a barrel. The label had begun to peel off.

"A horse walks into a bar, right?" One of the others started saying.

There was a collective chorus of "yes"

"And the barman goes, 'we've got a whiskey named after you', and the horse says 'what, Gerald?'"

Unsure murmurs all around.

"There's a whiskey called white horse" Ant said, feeling bad for the flopped joke.

"It's literally exactly the same as my joke, except mine was funnier because Bell is real and Gerald the horse isn't" Adam said.