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Authors: Nick Christofides
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deep inside his pockets, then he sat on the seat and waited, looking out over the unusually quiet junction.
He sat silent and still for over two hours, watching and waiting, conserving energy and thinking. Only a handful of cars passed him by, and no one passed on foot. He didn’t recognise anyone, which was odd because he knew a lot of people and recognised most in this town. As darkness fell, he noticed the same cars full of younger men passing again and again. This in itself was not unusual, but as he didn’t know any of the cars or the people he discerned that they were NSO, and he knew he was in the right place. He didn’t, however, have a plan; he was simply overwhelmed by a thirst for violent retribution and he would work the rest out in real time.
It was dark now, but the night was relatively still and relatively mild; he had been sitting for hours and he wasn’t feeling the chill. He had studied the birds, pigeons and blackbirds, merrily going about their business; he had studied the damage to his Jeep’s rear bumper.
Now he was studying the outline of a rotund lone figure shuffling up the street towards him. Then, his stomach turned and adrenalin coursed his blood as he caught a flash of white from the corner of his right eye. His eyes darted from the approaching man to a white car, which turned into the street and directly passed Nat and his vehicle. He recognised the car: it was the regime thugs that he had seen the night before.
As it cruised past his position, his steely gaze pierced into the interior; although he couldn’t see the occupants, he stared as hard, unadulterated and menacingly as he could. The car slowed briefly then accelerated away. Nat turned back to the person approaching; at a distance he recognised the gait, and shortly after, the face of his old friend Wes Milburn.
“Nat, I thought that was you. How are you? I heard about your house…”
Before the old man could continue, Nat responded, “Esme’s dead.”
Wes eyed his old friend, unsure of his state of mind. “I know, Nat. The NSO representative told us about the explosion, the booby trap. What were you thinking, man? I don’t think you can fight them anymore. This is a new system, a new government; for now, the choice is gone, you have to live like the majority of the population want to…I suppose.”
“They raped her; she didn’t die in the explosion. She died in my arms of a bullet wound. She set off the explosion…”
Wes was absorbing the information; he gulped and stared through the pavement stunned for a second. He breathed out, and, lost for words, he put his hands on Nat’s shoulder.
“I-I don’t know what to say, Nat.”
“Just don’t give in that easy, Wes. What exactly have you given over to them?”
“Well, everything. We carry on living in the house, but we have a workforce to work on the farm. All produce is collected by officials and distributed to local shops for sale. I get paid a wage according to the hours I work. But so far that’s it; everything else is exactly as it was. How did your situation get to this, Nat…Esme, I mean?”
Before he could answer, Nat saw the white car approaching up the hill once more, and it had a black car following closely behind it. He knew this was it.
“Go now!” he exclaimed to Wes, pushing him from the bench. Wes read the situation quickly from the tone of Nat’s order and turned on his heels, shuffling off in the direction he had come.
The breeze rustled chill through the naked trees somewhere in the dark behind him, and the cold night filled his nostrils with fresh, clean air seasoned by wood smoke from a nearby fire. Nat stood squarely on the road, rigid and tall, facing his demons head on, as always. The two cars - a white sporty hatchback and a black estate car - pulled into two spaces next to his Jeep. They pulled to a stop with a quiet whistle of breaks and the engines cut out one after the other. Nat stood, waiting, his heart pounding but
He sat silent and still for over two hours, watching and waiting, conserving energy and thinking. Only a handful of cars passed him by, and no one passed on foot. He didn’t recognise anyone, which was odd because he knew a lot of people and recognised most in this town. As darkness fell, he noticed the same cars full of younger men passing again and again. This in itself was not unusual, but as he didn’t know any of the cars or the people he discerned that they were NSO, and he knew he was in the right place. He didn’t, however, have a plan; he was simply overwhelmed by a thirst for violent retribution and he would work the rest out in real time.
It was dark now, but the night was relatively still and relatively mild; he had been sitting for hours and he wasn’t feeling the chill. He had studied the birds, pigeons and blackbirds, merrily going about their business; he had studied the damage to his Jeep’s rear bumper.
Now he was studying the outline of a rotund lone figure shuffling up the street towards him. Then, his stomach turned and adrenalin coursed his blood as he caught a flash of white from the corner of his right eye. His eyes darted from the approaching man to a white car, which turned into the street and directly passed Nat and his vehicle. He recognised the car: it was the regime thugs that he had seen the night before.
As it cruised past his position, his steely gaze pierced into the interior; although he couldn’t see the occupants, he stared as hard, unadulterated and menacingly as he could. The car slowed briefly then accelerated away. Nat turned back to the person approaching; at a distance he recognised the gait, and shortly after, the face of his old friend Wes Milburn.
“Nat, I thought that was you. How are you? I heard about your house…”
Before the old man could continue, Nat responded, “Esme’s dead.”
Wes eyed his old friend, unsure of his state of mind. “I know, Nat. The NSO representative told us about the explosion, the booby trap. What were you thinking, man? I don’t think you can fight them anymore. This is a new system, a new government; for now, the choice is gone, you have to live like the majority of the population want to…I suppose.”
“They raped her; she didn’t die in the explosion. She died in my arms of a bullet wound. She set off the explosion…”
Wes was absorbing the information; he gulped and stared through the pavement stunned for a second. He breathed out, and, lost for words, he put his hands on Nat’s shoulder.
“I-I don’t know what to say, Nat.”
“Just don’t give in that easy, Wes. What exactly have you given over to them?”
“Well, everything. We carry on living in the house, but we have a workforce to work on the farm. All produce is collected by officials and distributed to local shops for sale. I get paid a wage according to the hours I work. But so far that’s it; everything else is exactly as it was. How did your situation get to this, Nat…Esme, I mean?”
Before he could answer, Nat saw the white car approaching up the hill once more, and it had a black car following closely behind it. He knew this was it.
“Go now!” he exclaimed to Wes, pushing him from the bench. Wes read the situation quickly from the tone of Nat’s order and turned on his heels, shuffling off in the direction he had come.
The breeze rustled chill through the naked trees somewhere in the dark behind him, and the cold night filled his nostrils with fresh, clean air seasoned by wood smoke from a nearby fire. Nat stood squarely on the road, rigid and tall, facing his demons head on, as always. The two cars - a white sporty hatchback and a black estate car - pulled into two spaces next to his Jeep. They pulled to a stop with a quiet whistle of breaks and the engines cut out one after the other. Nat stood, waiting, his heart pounding but
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