MoonFall Read Free

ever known. But then who could have seen this coming?
    Just thinking about those times made him want a smoke. He reached for the packet in his top left pocket and the three precious, stale, old cigarettes it still contained. He stopped himself before he’d even got one out. There were people nearby, people whose attention he didn’t want.
    He chewed on a strip of jerky to distract himself and watched the caravan.
    They were moving again, through the gap between the cars and down the solid strip of highway that remained despite the weeds clawing their way in from the edges. The gray-haired leader looked up as he passed by below. Noah sank deeper into his seat, tensed as he listened for any sign they’d spotted him.
    Instead, the cough and splutter of engines, the clopping of hooves, and the rumble of wheels on tarmac filled the air.
    As the noise faded, Noah rose in his seat and looked again at the mass of machinery disappearing down the highway. The two teenagers he had watched romped at the back, helping a red-headed woman in a patched green dress push her wheelbarrow along. The boy finally got revenge on his sister, punching her in the arm while she was busy pushing the barrow, then looking all innocent when the woman turned to see what the fuss was about. As the girl protested to an indifferent authority, Noah found himself chuckling.
    He looked up the road north-east, then back towards the column disappearing south. Sure he didn’t much like people, but it had been a long time since he’d had any entertainment.
    “Y’know what?” he murmured, patting Bourne as he opened the car door. “Washington can wait.”

    Noah followed the assembly at a distance for the next few days. It was easy to do—the scouts were mostly occupied seeing what was ahead rather than what lay behind, and when they did double back he just drew back deeper into the woods. Walking through woods was a skill, and one he had plenty of practice at. Keeping up with a group traveling at the speed of a wheelbarrow wasn’t much of a challenge.
    By the third night he was getting close enough under cover of darkness that he could overhear brief snatches of conversation, at least when the speakers were getting loud. He tried to maneuver himself so that he could watch Sally and Todd, the teenagers he’d spotted on the first day, as well as Mary and Claudette, the women who shared wheelbarrow duties with them. It was easy enough to do—wherever the group camped they ended up near the edge, away from the warmth and loud conversations that went on around the central campfire. Their place was out near the shadows, almost as much as Noah’s was.
    That third night the little community reminded Noah of what people were really like.
    Tyrone, the group’s gray-haired leader, called them all together after dinner. He pointed to a map stuck against the side of the bus, an old, frayed thing showing the roads as they had been before all Hell hit. The gathering was too close to the center of camp for Noah to hear what was being said, but it looked like Tyrone had made a decision between two roads.
    Only, not everybody was happy with Tyrone’s choice. One of the motorbike riders—the one Noah thought of as Half-Skull for the symbol on his jacket—stepped forward and gestured angrily towards Tyrone. Some seemed to be trying to shout him down, while others stood behind him, arms folded, glaring at the rest.
    Tyrone argued back. Angry words turned to angry gestures, turned to Half-Skull shoving Tyrone and Tyrone shoving him back. Something glittered in Half-Skull’s hand as he slammed into the older man.
    Tyrone sank to his knees, hands clutching at a knife handle protruding from his chest.
    The whole community fell silent as they watched their leader stare in shock at Half-Skull and then topple over in a pool of blood.
    Someone screamed, then was silenced by a gesture from one of Half-Skull’s friends.
    There was no loud banter around the campfire that night.