My Name is Stab

Chapter Twenty Two - The Great Pursuit

After four weeks of good food and steady training, we were as ready as we were going to get. Though I was still skinny, I had lost some of the gauntness that had come over me since 'the day' and James was bulking up quite nicely, in my opinion. He would never be Sampson but he had managed to take Sampson down in a couple of our unarmed sparring tussles - never Mark but Sampson a couple of times.

I had put James on his back two or three times and I never let him forget it. He put me on my back plenty of times but he was bigger, stronger and had had much more practice.

And he put me on my back several times more in private but that's a completely different matter!

We set off early one Monday morning with enough food for a fortnight. If it was going to take any longer than that, we would have to come back and think again. We were even given a lift for the first couple of miles with a patrol that was going our way.

Then we were off on our own.

The weather was fine and dry. It was a bit warm for traveling but up in the hills it rarely gets too hot. If it wasn't for the shocking state of the countryside, it would have been a pleasant trip.

For the entire first day, we didn't see a soul - not a single living person. There may have been people watching us but they were taking care not to be seen. There were dead bodies, of course, in varying states of decay and many of them showed the signs of having had meat cut off them.

The only animals we saw were a couple of squirrels (yuk). I had developed an irrational hatred for squirrels. I don't know why. It's not really their fault that they don't taste nice. I don't suppose it's really a good idea from an evolutionary perspective, if you think about it.

Nothing had been done in any of the fields since 'the day' and we did not see a single intact house. Many had been gutted by fire. Several seemed to have been the site of extended gun battles and a number seem to have just fallen down for no apparent reason. One had collapsed into a large hole that was now full of water.

The roads were starting to show signs of neglect with pot-holes, crumbling tarmac and weeds starting to sprout in the cracks but we were OK on our bikes. In a couple of places, bridges had collapsed into streams and Mike pointed out one place where this had been done deliberately.

We travelled for two more days before Mike announced that we had reached the gang's last reported location. It was nothing special - just a road junction.

We set off down one of the roads but it didn't feel right to me. After a couple of miles, I insisted that we go the other way.

And about half a mile up there, I was similarly drawn to an unmarked track that led off into some scrubby woods. At a command from Mike, we dismounted and pushed the bikes - with the bike on your left hand side, of course, so it's not in your way if you need to use your rifle.

A couple of hundred yards into the woods, there was an old cabin. It looked like the place had been in a reasonable state and some work had gone into maintaining it since 'the day'. It had, however, been partially destroyed by fire. And you could still smell the recently burnt wood - that fitted with about five weeks ago.

"James, with me. Stab, on guard."

I automatically turned round to watch the road and concealed myself in the trees. I knew Mike was trying to protect me from whatever they found but I suppose I was OK with that. If challenged, I knew he would tell me that I should test my breaking point in my own time and not when we're out on a mission. Anyway, I was probably glad. The fact that the gang had been here was stirring uncomfortable memories

After a couple of minutes, he returned. "I'm sorry, Stab. I have to show you this."

He was holding a white cloth bundle.

When I saw what it was, I could have laughed. Except that I knew that if I had started, I would have cried.

And probably never stopped.

It was a nightdress that had been neatly sliced down the middle.

I made the mistake of holding it against myself to judge the size.

The poor kid could only have been about eight or so.

"Lord have mercy on her soul," I muttered and briefly wondered where that phrase had come from. Probably Old Ghastly, I concluded, though I couldn't remember her ever having said it.

"You know, obliterating those bastards isn't just a matter of revenge any more," Mike observed impassively. "It just became an absolutely imperative act of public service."

He found the pile of bones dumped around the back and expressly forbade me from coming round there until he had buried them in a simple grave. Another case of, 'have your breakdown in your own time'.

When he was done, though, he came and collected me and the three of us stood for a moment at the graveside.

I found myself wiping Theodora's tears from my eyes.

So we set off in pursuit of Deemo's gang with a new determination. And, though the weather stayed warm, somehow it felt colder.

By some inspired guesswork, we found their next stopping place and from there, it became much easier. We knew that they were traveling roughly south-west and we knew how far they could travel in a day.

I could always recognise the places where they had been. Other places had suffered damage, of course, and many showed signs of rape and cannibalism but somehow the presence of Deemo's gang left a characteristic taint which I could never miss. It was as if I could taste the evil in the air.

Where the buildings had not been successfully destroyed, I had to insist that we complete the job. The other two seemed to understand. Anywhere they had stayed would never be clean again.