Them or Us

talk.”
    He looks around anxiously, despite the fact he already knows the street’s clear, then speaks.
    “I don’t think we’re seeing the full picture here.”
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    “We’re only seeing what Warner wants us to see.”
    “Isn’t that usually the way with leaders?”
    “Yes, but this is different.”
    “How?”
    “Can’t quite put my finger on it yet, but those trucks are the key. If we knew where they were coming from then things might start making sense.”
    “Nothing’s made sense for the best part of the last twelve months. Anyway, why are you so interested in Warner? As long as he provides food, does it matter where it comes from?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “You make it sound like you think he has an ulterior motive.”
    “Maybe he does. Someone’s supporting him, that much is obvious.”
    What’s equally obvious is that Peter Sutton doesn’t seem to have any information. He sounds as unsure about what’s happening here as I am. I start to walk back toward town. I’m tired, and I’m desperate not to screw up my “mission” by saying something I’ll regret or getting caught talking out on the street so close to Warner’s food and weapons cache. I need to find somewhere quiet where I can report back to Hinchcliffe, then get some rest in case I end up working another full day tomorrow.
    “I should go…”
    “Just wait. Just give me a few more minutes.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I need your help.”
    “You need my help?”
    Now alarm bells are beginning to sound.
    “Just stop and listen to me, Rufus. I’m like you.”
    “The only thing we have in common is that we’re both still alive.”
    He stands in front of me, blocking my way past.
    “I know what you can do,” he says. “I know you can hold the Hate.”
    For a second I’m floored, although I try not to show it. I push past him and keep moving. How the hell did he know that? Someone must have told him—although I don’t know who, because no one here knows anything about me. Maybe he came here from Lowestoft too? Oh fuck—is that sick bastard Hinchcliffe playing mind games?
    “You know nothing about me.”
    “Yes I do,” he says. “I know what you can do because I’m the same. I can hold it too—”
    Do I believe him? Does it even matter any more? The Unchanged are extinct, so holding the Hate has become as irrelevant a skill as being able to speak Russian. I’m gripping my knife tightly and psyching myself up to use it if Sutton doesn’t leave. Could I kill him? He might not look like much, but I don’t know what he’s capable of, and it’s all about aggression levels now, not size. The screwiest are often the most unpredictable. I’ve seen people half his height kill others twice their weight. Nope, whatever trouble he’s got himself into, I’m not getting involved. I’ve already got enough on my plate—correction, I’ve got nothing on my plate—and that’s how I intend keeping it. I’m about to tell him as much when he starts talking again.
    “When I found out what I could do,” he explains, “I tried to stop fighting, tried to pull away from the war. But there was nowhere to go, and I got tangled up in things I couldn’t get out of. When I learned how to hold the Hate, I started to look at things differently again, started to question what I’d been told and why things were happening. All they wanted me to do was hunt and kill and…”
    “Wait, who is ‘they’?” I ask cautiously.
    “Simon Penkridge, Selena, Chris Ankin…”
    Two of the three names mean nothing to me. I try not to react, but it’s impossible when he mentions Chris Ankin.
    “Ankin?”
    “I never saw him, but the others said they were working for him. They were sending people into refugee camps to kill like bloody suicide bombers.”
    “You refused?”
    “You don’t say no to people like that. I went along with it for a time, then managed to get lost in the crowds and got away from them.”
    “Wise move,” I’m forced to admit, reflecting for a second on my own experiences. The things he says add some weight to his story, but the fact remains, why should I care? All of that is history now, and I need to focus on today. Does this guy know anything that might be useful to Hinchcliffe? Against my better judgment I decide to ask. “So what’s your connection with this place?”
    “Just passing through, same as you.”
    “About these trucks. You’ve been watching them for a