The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger by Crumby Robin

Author:Crumby, Robin [Crumby, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
Publisher: Novatum Publishing
Published: 2020-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 34

“That’s the last of it,” said Riley as they finished stacking the twenty blue Ikea storage boxes in the covered entrance by the castle’s main gate, ready for collection by Salieri’s men.

“You mean the half we’re giving back?” smirked Tommy. In truth, they had kept the bulk of the hoard recovered from the Bunnies’ compound at Barton. The rest, an eclectic assortment of broken or duplicated items from other scavenging trips, boosted the overall volume. Without an inventory, Riley reasoned Salieri could have no way of knowing the difference.

“What time did Scottie say they’re due?” she asked, breathing heavily from the morning’s exertion. Her thoughts returned to Marco, the olive-skinned Italian, wondering whether he would make the journey.

“He didn’t,” replied Tommy. “At least it’s ready when the Italians show up.”

“I still don’t see why we have to give any of this stuff back,” whined Tommy.

“Because a deal’s a deal. If this is what we have to do to get Heather and Jen home unharmed, then it’s a price worth paying. We don’t need another turf war.”

“I’d like to see them try.” Tommy nodded towards the sand-bagged position overlooking the spit where a canvas tarpaulin protected their tripod-mounted machine gun from the elements, its twin at the other end of the compound. Tommy treated those weapons like treasured silverware, cleaning and polishing twice a week.

A wolf whistle from the lookout on the Gun Tower made them spin around. In the distance, a vessel was making up tide towards the castle.

Down at the jetty, Tommy handed Riley the binoculars. “Didn’t Flynn get the message last time?”

“It’s not military,” she replied, scanning the thirty-foot snub-nosed trawler. Two females sat either side of the skipper, heads bowed against the wind and spray. The craft pitched into a wave and everyone ducked the resulting spray. Riley struggled to keep the figures in focus at this range.

Behind the relative shelter of the spit, the approaching vessel lost the wind and tide, gently coasting towards the wall of tyres and fenders protecting the floating platform. One of the women removed her scarf, prompting an excitable yelp from Riley. What on earth was Stella doing here? She appeared much altered, her face pale, her belly swollen with child. Sister Imelda helped her upright as the boat nudged against the pontoon.

Seeing her old friend again after so many months of separation, broken only by the occasional exchange of letters, Stella cried and laughed, all at the same time, waiting for the crew to secure lines bow and stern. Riley offered her hand to help the expectant mother ashore, but she declined.

“Why didn’t you warn us you were coming?” asked Riley.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” explained Sister Imelda. “It was all very last minute.”

Stella appeared unsteady on her feet, her cheeks hollow and gaunt. Instinctively, Riley retreated a few steps, keeping her distance. “Don’t get me wrong. Personally, I’m thrilled you’re here. We just can’t take any risks with infection, that’s all.”

“Of course. Look, it’s not what you think,” claimed the sister.

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