Them or Us

Wrentham, a strangely skeletal place. Everything of value has long since been removed and taken back to Lowestoft. In the silent center of the village there’s a junction. The road sign directly opposite is bent over double like a drunk throwing up against a wall and it’s hard to make out what it says. I think it’s around a mile and a half to Southwold. Fortunately the road names here are pretty self-explanatory: Lowestoft Road, London Road (note to self—don’t go down that one), and Southwold Road. I follow the Southwold Road, looking out for somewhere safe to leave the car so I can finish the last mile or so of the journey on foot. I’ll draw less attention to myself and have more chance of avoiding any trouble that way. Damn Hinchcliffe, I really don’t want to do this. If there was more fuel in this car I could make a break for it and try to find another place like Lowestoft. Then again, what’s the point? Every surviving town will probably have its own KC.
    Another mile or so and I reach a business park, which seems as quiet as everywhere else. I drive as deep into the property as I dare, then park the car inside a large warehouse, out of sight. I quickly check the building out, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for months. There’s an undisturbed layer of dust everywhere, and that’s reassuring. I need to be careful with the car. Not only will Hinchcliffe hit the roof if I don’t get it back to him in one piece, but it’s also my ticket out of here. I take my CD with me, just in case, shoving it into my backpack along with some clothes, weapons, two books, scraps of food to trade, and Hinchcliffe’s radio.
    *   *   *
    I skirt around the edge of another village first, Reydon, then follow a dog-eared tourist’s street map that Hinchcliffe gave me to get deeper into Southwold. I check the map repeatedly as I follow the main road, which runs right through the center of the town. I don’t feel like a tourist today. I’m nervous as hell.
    There’s not much to this place, and I’m assuming that here, as in Lowestoft, any settlers will have gravitated toward the center, where the shops, pubs, offices, and everything else used to be. If there are only thirty or so people here, they probably haven’t spread out that far. I don’t know anything about this guy John Warner, but it’s safe to assume he’s probably a nasty bastard. He must be pretty sure of himself to have turned down an “invitation” to relocate to Lowestoft. Either he’s dumb, or he’s got balls of steel.
    This place is like a ghost town. Perhaps because of its relatively remote location and small size, Southwold seems to have escaped much of the recent fighting. There’s plenty of surface damage, but most of the buildings still appear structurally sound. The once carefully tended shoulders and lawns are overgrown and wild now, although the grass is yellow and limp. Weeds are beginning to sprout through the cracks in the pavements. I stare through a dust-covered window into the deceptively normal living room of an abandoned house, then catch my breath when I hear voices nearby, carried on the winter wind. Focus! I tell myself. I can’t afford to take chances. There’s a reason these people are defying Hinchcliffe, and if they’re prepared to piss him off, they’ll have no qualms about getting rid of me.
    There’s a lighthouse up ahead. I didn’t pay it much attention when I first saw it marked on the map, but now that it’s actually looming up right in front of me I can’t help but notice it. Unlike most lighthouses I’ve come across before, this one is nestled deep in the center of the town rather than out on the rocks or at the edge of the water. I edge closer to try to get a better view, peering around the corner of a row of modest-looking houses. Circling the very top of the lighthouse is a metal gantry, and there’s someone pacing around it on watch. I can’t see much from this distance, but it looks like he’s armed. There’s no sense taking any unnecessary chances. I decide to work my way around the center of the town in a wide circle rather than risk getting too close too soon and being shot at.
    Through a narrow gap between two oddly spaced rows of houses I see a small group of people working in a field near a church. I can’t see what it is they’re doing from here, but I change direction again to avoid any confrontation. Still staying tucked in close to the fronts of the buildings