Before the apocalypse happened, I thought a lot about what I would do. I imagined stealthy supply runs though zombie infested city centres, underground bunkers and a nuclear winter. I imagined fighting off alien invaders, or even Russians. What I hadn't imagined, was that I would be doing the very same job post apocalypse that I had during my very ordinary and pretty boring 'normal life'.
Okay, so it isn't pizza anymore. But I am still a delivery girl, and I still have to wear a silly hat. And it pays better now too – although not in cash. Messengers – our official term – are pretty highly thought of, risking our lives in the wasteland to transport important packages between the settlements that sprung up in the aftermath of the very real apocalypse 7 years ago.
Yeah, there are many advantages to being a simple delivery girl in the end times. Respect, freedom, a great little space of my own – no sharing rooms in the messenger guild. And we are neutral territory, like Switzerland. There are always small level battles going on, usually for resources or territories, but nobody would dare harm a messenger. Sure, it can be dangerous in the wastelands, but it was less bad now than it had been, and I had my trusty steed.
I look down at my bike, patting it fondly on the tank. I found it hidden in a garage in the second year after society went to shit – an almost new Ninja ZX-14. It had been hard to leave my old CBR behind… but not that hard. I took a last bite of my apple and flicked the core over the edge of the hogs back, watchinf as it rolled down the hill. I'd just finished a delivery to the Rats, a group holding up in what used to be Guildford. It wasn't my favourite place, but they did always tip in fresh fruit – a welcome change from the tinned stuff that was staple.
My plan was to head back to the guild, but there was no rush now the job was finished, so I contemplated a little trip to the coast. There was an all-women settlement in old Brighton that had some good places to let off steam. There weren't many settlements I felt comfortable spending much time in, but the leader of this particular one… well we have some shared history.
Quite a lot of history in fact.
Maybe not the best stop then. This far south, most of the established communities south of Birmingham were exactly what you would expect from the end of civilisation – not very safe for a woman alone. Even an armed one. It's not likely even the boldest man would be willing to kill a messenger – but there are worse things than death, and worse things than men out there.
Sighing I threw one leg over my bike and turned the ignition. A quick drink at Jacques and then home then. Not much of a detour, but delightfully isolated.
The drive to Jacques dive bar took a little under two hours – most of the motorways had been cleared by the messengers, but there were a few diversions. Those of us who remembered the early days always tried to vary our routes – there had been no point making ourselves targets for overly ambitious thieves, and old habits die hard. As usual, when I arrived the shutters were down and the door barred closed. To any unsuspecting eye it looked like any other abandoned house, except for a much-too-clean and shiny motorbike parked at the end of the long sweeping drive running down the side of the building. I pulled up and cut the engine, walking my bike the last few feet and resting it on its' stand beside the other. Pulling a sandy coloured tarp out of my saddlebags, I covered the entire thing, ensuring no green showed. No need to announce my arrival too loudly, and my ride was hardly inconspicuous.
Ignoring the front door, I jimmied the lock on the back gate until it swung open with a high-pitched whistle, and edged through. The back door of the bar was directly in front of me, and I knocked, three short loud raps. There was a shuffle and a loud bang, followed by some muttered cursing. Then a gruff voice,
'Who's there?'
'It's me.' I answered, raising my voice slightly. Victor, the bouncer, was a little hard of hearing.
There was an answering grunt from Victor and the door swung open to show all of his 6 foot 7 inch frame, heavy with muscle from his days as a boxer. A few too many blows to the head, he would explain - often after a mishearing - pointing to his ears with a grin that showed a less than full set of teeth. His head was wrinkled like an overripe peach, and hairless except for two grey tufts that framed his cauliflower ears.
'Got any apples?'
'Oranges.' I said, patting my satchel.
Another grunt, and he moved out of the doorway with surprising grace. A couple of oranges anywhere could keep me drunk for days; fresh fruit was still a real luxury. Still, I pulled one from my bag and rolled it down my arm, flicking it in Victor's direction. No harm in keeping the heavy muscle on your side. He grinned his lopsided grin as he caught it, and closed the door behind me.
'Jacques was hoping you would stop by.' He ushered me through the kitchen area and into the living room, or more accurately now, the bar. Set up like an old speakeasy from the 20's, the lighting was low and the few tables framing the bar were spaced for privacy. The bar itself ran the full width of the back wall, an old mahogany piece with ornate carving running along the length of it. Jacques was behind it, polishing one spot with a rag and looking every bit the part, even down to his slicked-back dark hair and patterned waistcoat. I almost laughed out loud at the predictability of it all.
I shot a wide grin to Victor that he returned as I took a few steps towards the bar. He retreated quietly back through the door, closing it behind him and leaving me to walk the length of the room.
Jacques straightened up as he watched me, the rag in his hand dropped out of sight behind the counter, a small glass and a bottle of bourbon almost magically appearing in his hands. I slid into a stool and he smiled, widening his arms in a welcoming gesture.
'I wondered when you'd reappear. Usual?' I inclined my head in agreement and he poured a generous measure.
I downed it in one and slid the glass back towards him. He poured another. This time I sipped it, and took a moment to enjoy the burning taste.
'Spot on, thanks Jacques. Any news?'
The bottle disappeared behind the bar once more, the rag reappearing. Jacques sleight of hand wasn't limited to bar tricks either. It was always in your best interest to keep a close eye on your valuables near him – or be generous enough that he didn't consider you a mark, friend or no. To that end I fished out 3 large oranges and a pear and piled them neatly in the space between us. I added 4 pouches of tobacco and a large bottle of premium vodka to the collection. In addition to regular updates from his customers, I also rented a small room here at Jacques. Privacy doesn't come cheap in the apocalypse, even between old friends.
The items disappeared from the bar top quickly and Jacques once more flashed me a broad smile. His eyes flickered to a table in the corner, where a slight man hunched over a beer, long collar turned up as if to hide as much of his face as possible.
'Shall we retire to the back?' As soon as the words had left his mouth Victor reappeared, this time from a small stable style door to the left of the bar. He leaned slightly on the far side of the counter and kept his eyes fixed on the wall in front. I drained my glass and slid off the stool, following Jacques through a dark door to my right. It led to a library, the kind I'd always wanted before the world ended, with its walls lined from floor to ceiling with books of all kinds, and two deep green leather chairs in front of a large marble fireplace. They were big, heavily cushioned pieces with sweeping wooden arms and deep backs, perfect for curling up with a good novel. An ornate mahogany desk was set under the leaded window at the far side of the room, beside it a matching end table with what I knew to be a selection of premium single malts. That was where Jacques headed, gesturing for me to take one of the leather chairs as he passed it.
I sat.
'Did you hear about White Harbour?' Jacques returned and handed me a glass before settling himself down opposite me. White Harbour, so named for the anarchist gangs whose graffiti tags that now covered the walls of the Royal Quays Marina, spanned the area around old Newcastle and into Yorkshire. It was the third biggest settlement in the UK mainland and by coincidence my third least favourite. When the world fell, a few places had turned to anarchy, with no real law or consequence, but none had gone quite so far as White Harbour. It had become a bit like Mad Max with Jordie accents. I shook my head gently.
'Well, it's gone now. Or, at least, it's now a part of the Easterly territory.'
At that I had to put my drink down. The Easterly family controlled the second biggest area, that encompassed Cumbria, Lancashire and most of Scotland – or at least the bit before the highlands, and nobody really knows what's up there now. Although if they took control of White Harbour, they were probably now the biggest. Certainly, the most ferocious and well-armed. I shuddered.
Jacques noticed. 'Yeah I can see you understand why this is a concern. There's also been a whisper that the wife of the youngest Easterly brother-' My head shot up and I glared at him. '-is missing.'
'Jac I'm sure you're not suggesting…'
His hands shot up in a defensive gesture 'No, of course I know she's not with you. And of course, I told nobody of your past. But I'm not the only one who remembers your history, and I knew you'd be worried.'
I shut my eyes and took another large mouthful of my whiskey. 'It's none of my concern what Keri gets up to anymore.'
'Yeah okay, fine. But you should also know there are scouts from the messenger guild looking everywhere for you, which means an urgent job.'
FUCK.
'Fuck.'
'Yeah… I can let you go out the back but…'
'The guy in the bar. He is here for me, isn't he?' I remembered the thin man, nondescript features. He was typical guild.
'Mmmmm' Jacques sipped his whiskey. 'Your room is as you left it. I'll leave you to finish up here, Victor will show you out quietly.' He stood and took a few steps towards me, then tentatively reached out an arm. He hesitated, unsure of himself, before resting a hand on my shoulder.
'Don't be too hard on her. It can't be an easy life, the one she chose.'
I said nothing, and he sighed and walked to the door. 'I'll keep him from noticing your absence for a couple of hours. It's the best I can do.'
Jacques left me then, closing the door behind himself.
Ah shit Keri, what have you gone and done? I finished my drink in one more mouthful and set down my glass. There was no point in avoiding this, in avoiding her. Fuck though, was this going to hurt. Before I lost my nerve, I strode out of the library and back into the bar. Victor looked surprised to see me, I assumed Jacques had filled him in. To his credit, Jacques didn't so much as blink. He'd known all along what I would do. I strode to the table with the non-descript man sitting at it. He looked up at me, meeting my eyes but saying nothing.
'Tell Jonathan I'll be there in the morning.'
The man nodded and stood up, still not breaking his silence. He retrieved his helmet – complete with gold decal announcing his allegiance to the guild – from under the table, where it had been hidden from my view. Then he simply strode out of the room.
I returned to the bar 'One for the road please, Jac.' I sighed and drank deeply, listening to the sounds of a motorbike peel away down the road.