Chapter Eight
THE WHOLE MORNING I'm tense whilst the rest of the house sleep away. If Danae shifted around in her bed, I had to tell myself the rustle of the sheets weren't the sounds of bullets flying at me, or that the birds singing outside the window aren't my screams that still resonate in my mind. To say the least, the nightmare still clouds my thoughts as I make my way to the admissions building to meet all the trainees before we head out.
I find myself extremely aware of my surroundings once I reach the bridge. Through the early morning fog, I'm relieved to see no evidence that my dream was actual reality. No bullet shells are sprinkled on the dirt, no signs of bloodshed; the only thing remotely similar to the dream is the sound of the rushing water. Thus I'm able to breathe a bit easier walking into admissions.
I don't pause as I nod to a guard who knows I'm training today, and I push through the door to the building, thinking it'd make it easier if I just bust right in.
Inside, about sixty people mingle about, ten of which actually work in his part of Hull, and thirty of which are the guards that will be assisting me to train and watching our perimeter. The remaining wait their turn to go up to a worker stationed behind one of the four restored computers to confirm they are there for training, swipe their card for identification and records, and sign in on an attendance sheet after being debriefed on how today will go.
I walk over to be closer to the guards, but I don't bother entering their conversations. Many of these men and women are night time guards, and have volunteered their hours they use for sleep to come here, only to be able to get a few hours of rest before working later once we're done.
I spend a few minutes observing those who came today, watching the men standing in front of the gun table, pointing at, but not touching, the different sized weapons, and the women talk to each other. Amidst the line to sign up I spot Harry, who stands patiently at the front. I'm not sure if he's seen me yet, but his back is to me now.
With no particular expression on my face, my eyes stay trained on his broad shoulders that strain against the shirt that seems a bit too small on him. Tattoos peek from under the short sleeves, covering his left arm down to the middle of his forearm, but his right arm is bare from what I can see. I momentarily wonder where he acquired them. I see many men and women around Hull with tattoos inking their bodies, but they were gotten before The Affliction. Did he get them all whilst he was staying with a different camp? Or were they acquired at different stops in his journey?
I'm snapped out of my admiring when Harry suddenly moves, have being called to sign in. It's a rather short process—the debriefing taking the longest to explain—and during that time, in attempt to divert my attention I find myself listening to the murmurs of two guards standing close enough to eavesdrop on.
"When did you notice it was missing?" One asks, not specifying what item is apparently missing.
The second person responds lowly, "Sunday morning when I was heading out for my shift. I could've lost it the night of the invasion, though, because I ran outside without grabbing the damn card from the table. I only got back inside from catching the door after someone else already swiped their card and then banged on the room door until my bloody roommate bothered to wake up and let me in. I swear if that bastard stole it to try and be funny, I'll cut his balls off."
The other chuckles at the second's threat. "So if you haven't found it by now, how the hell are you getting around? And why aren't you at your shift?"
"Long story short, but I knew I couldn't go to Zachary because he might take me off guard, but no one in files would make me another badge without permission from a Malik, so I went to the second best thing...Zayn. Luckily, he was happy to help as long I returned the favour. So I'm stuck here for the rest of the week, with the order to watch the Benson chick instead of actually working."
My breathing hitches upon hearing the hushed words. I can almost feel their eyes on me when my name is mentioned, and I try to act as if I'm not listening to their conversation. It's rather easy, however, because all I can now think about is why Zayn would send someone to watch me this week. The leader's son must not be able to attend and help like he's done in the past—and I'm not particularly complaining—but he sends someone in his place just to keep tabs on my every move. Never in my life would I have thought the Malik boy would go this far, and I'm sure it's because a certain other boy is training this week.
Whilst thinking of every possible word to call the assertive boy, I don't realise I'm being called until the guard that is posted down the road of houses I live on is standing in my line of vision, successfully snapping me out of my stupor.
"Everyone is ready when you are, Benson," she informs me, stepping back to my side.
I blink, regaining my wits as I notice all eyes are directed at me. During my lunch with the Maliks, Zachary said I would essentially be the head instructor because I'm the only one he can trust with the job. I knew in that moment that I could do it, and I know I still can, but now that I'm conscious of being watched for different matters, I'm thrown off balance. There's no way in hell I'll be able to avoid Harry the whole week.
Looking into the small group on blank faces, the only concerned looking person is about halfway back, standing a few inches taller than the few around him. His hair is pulled atop his head, curls neatly tucked away, and his eyebrows are raised in a silent question. Breathing deeply, I tear my eyes from his, knowing that if I stare too long, I may never carry on with the agenda for the day.
With that thought in mind, I finally speak.
"You all know why you're here today," my strong voice slightly echoes against the walls, reciting the speech I've been practicing for days. "We will be training for six hours each day for the next week. You will be able to choose who you work with, but if there are any complications you will report it to me, and we'll see about getting you a new partner. These next couple of day aren't going be something you learn by listening to me behind a desk. You will be outside the gates, which is dangerous enough as is, and you will be practicing with real guns. Of course, we can't waste our supply of ammunition, but you'll be shooting what are called blanks. They are only harmful if they hit you at close range, but we plan for that to never happen.
"You will learn all basics that every guard and runner should know. How to properly stand, aim, load your magazine of blanks, and distinguish when to shoot or hold fire. You don't want to kill innocent people. You will be accepted or denied by the end of the two weeks and that's when you go to in depth training with guards that have been doing this for years."
"You say we'll learn how to tell if someone is innocent or not," a man with his arms over his chest says from front of the group. "But is that not what Zachary did to the man last Saturday night."
A guard speaks before I can, firmly articulating, "Zachary Malik didn't kill an innocent man, Fool. He killed a man that trespassed into our home! For all we know, the bastard could have been infected and wanted to spread it to us! He got what he deserved."
The guards words successfully quieted the man, and soon enough the attention is back towards me. "Does anyone else have something to say?" I ask, daring them with my eyes to raise their hands, but I know they're too afraid to do so with the recent outburst. "Good. Now pair up with a guard, and they will take you to the table on the other side of the room, and you'll be given an empty gun. They will carry the blanks until it's time for practicing with them. I will also be paired with one of you. The remaining guards, you will watching the perimeter."
It takes a moment before everyone begins to move, but once it's clear I'm done talking, the first person moves and the rest follow. Unsurprisingly, I'm not the first choice to be partnered with. For most people, it's an easy decision on who to partner with, while some take a little convincing. Almost everyone is paired together and heading for the table of guns before the man I need to avoid is standing right in front of me.
"It looks as if we both need a partner," Harry says, looking around as if to emphasise his point. "Would you do me the honour?"
Though his gesture is polite, I respond, "I don't think...that's the best idea, Harry."
"Why is that?" Disappointment laces his tone.
I contemplate telling him the truth, that Zayn has stooped down far enough to give me a guard dog, but I would probably sound foolish, seeing as the guard that was speaking about me isn't paying me any mind. He must either be very good at his job or must not care enough and will give some made up story to report to Zayn with. I figure the prior.
"Is it because of Zayn?" He questions when I don't answer. Little does he know he's hit the nail on the head.
Sighing, I start walking towards the nearly cleared gun table, hearing Harry's footsteps behind me so I know he's following me. "It's not just Zayn, Harry..." I trail. "It's...it's Wilson, too. He says I shouldn't ruin my chances with Zayn, so I shouldn't be around you."
"But from what I've seen, you don't even want to be with Zayn," he states.
"That's not a problem to Wilson—or Zayn, for that matter."
"Of course it doesn't," Harry mutters. "I've seen the looks Zayn's given me. But they aren't here, are they? You don't have to worry about them this week. Personally, I'd really rather not be paired with someone I don't know."
I pick up one gun, smiling at his confession, and I routinely check the chamber and magazine though I know they're both empty. "Honestly... I don't either. You're already nicer than the majority of people that have lived here their whole lives." I face his front again, holding the black handgun between us, the barrel pointed to the wall, daring him to take it. "I'll carry your blanks."
Harry stands in a sort of shock for a moment, staring into my eyes as if I'm going to laugh and tell him I'm joking. However, when it's obvious I'm being completely serious, Harry's hand reaches for the gun, between us and takes another moment before lowering it to point at the floor.
Screw Zayn's watch dog, I tell myself. I'm not doing any wrong by partnering with Harry this week.
I lead him to the door that goes outside, having a fleeting thought about how he only passed through them a couple of weeks ago. I've only been outside for training, because shooting even blanks inside the gates is dangerous. However guards are always with us, making sure no one runs off or gets lost. We always go to a little clearing just outside the admissions building to the right, close enough to run back inside in the matter of a minute if danger were to arise.
Everyone is accounted for and Harry stands off to the side a bit as I stand in front with a few other guards in order to give instructions again.
With a stronger voice than before, I explain, "What you hold in your hands are simple but varying guns that runners use when they collect food and necessities for Hull. They are semi-automatics, meaning each time you pull the trigger, one bullet will fire. However, today you will keep the safety on, and will not fire any blanks, because if you do, you will be dismissed back to your occupation.
"Now, as you see, there is an extended piece on the barrel of the gun. It's a silencer, so when you do pull the trigger tomorrow, it will muffle the sound and keep everyone inside the gates from worrying. And just a reminder, this isn't the time to play around. Do not aim at anyone, do not improperly hold your firearm, and do not carelessly move it around. You have to remember it is a dangerous weapon. If you fail to do so, your partner will take you back inside."
Everyone spaces out in the clearing, leaving enough room to be comfortable. Harry has reserved a spot to the far left of the area, and I'm glad he chose that spot because it's far enough away from my watch dog.
"You ready?" I join the shaggy haired man as he inspects the weapon in his hands, tilting it back and forth under what little sun breaks through the clouds as dawn breaks. I put my hands on my hips, feeling the weight of the blank-filled magazine in my back pocket.
"I've been waiting for this week since I entered those doors," he nods to the doors of admissions.
"Okay, then," I muse. "We're going to start with the parts of the firearm." I step closer so I'm able to touch and explain what each part is. "This—" I point at the front of the gun "—is the barrel, where the bullet is dislodge when the trigger, which is this piece right here, is pulled back. On the side, near the trigger, is the safety button. When the band of colour is green, it means the safety is on, but when it's red, the safety is off. The bullet shell will fly out of the chamber when the top moves backwards during the process."
Harry hums to let me know he's paying attention, and I continue to the last major part. "Then, of course you have the handle." I haven't thought the movement through when my hand is suddenly covering Harry's because he still holds the object. I fight the heat from rushing to my cheeks, looking up through my lashes to see if Harry has noticed my action, but he catches my glance straight away. "The magazine is loaded into the bottom, here."
I rotate the gun so the bottom faces up and Harry can see the empty space for the magazine.
"You don't deserve it."
Brows furrowed, I look up to his face that is completely void of humour. "Sorry?" I ask, not understanding his bold statement.
"The cards you've been dealt for your life," he says. "First you never get to meet your parents, and then you're stuck behind some gates that are heavily guarded, forced to tolerate a grade A dick. It's not fair to you."
I sigh, awestruck that Harry makes these connections about Hull and the way we live from only being here a short period of time. However much I'm grateful, I tell him, "Well, you don't have to worry about me. I'm a big girl. I've handled Zayn this far, haven't I? I'm sure I can deal with him a little while longer. Besides," I pull the magazine out of my pocket, holding it up for him to see, "You have to worry about Mira."
"Mira? And why would I have to worry about Mira?"
I take his gun, holding it the right way and I load the magazine with one easy motion. "Oh, please," I shake my head. "The girl doesn't everything but drool when she talks about you. She can't wait to go to the wedding with you."
"Really?" He frowns as I release the magazine and hand everything over to him in order to let him try. "I was only trying to be polite. Fuck, she's going to hate me."
"You don't like her?" I clarify, wondering how the hell Mira is going to take the news when she's wants to go further into a relationship with Harry and he doesn't.
"No," he stresses, focusing his attention on the task before him, quickly loading the magazine into the gun, locking it in place in two swift motions.
My mouth gapes open. "How the hell did you do that so easily? Most people are terrified it'll go off if they handle it that hard."
His lips curl at the ends, "I think you're forgetting that I spent my whole life out here. I've been carrying a gun since I was eight, and for the past couple of years, I've been the one protecting my mum and capturing our food. I'm not completely new to this, Astrid."
"You...let me make a complete fool of myself by explaining the basics of a gun to you..." I whisper, unbelieving I could be so incredibly stupid.
"Don't worry, Love," Harry breathlessly chuckles at my reaction. "I found it rather...endearing."
***
I'm very sorry for not updating much this month, but hopefully that won't happen again.
I'll be truthful, I've never been one to talk about the lack of comments I get on my stories, because I understand that you'll get the most reads, fewer votes and even fewer comments, and that's just how publishing online works.
But it's really hard to feel to judge if people want to read this story or if they're enjoying it when I receive no feedback, and then I feel like I could go without updating and no one would care because they never comment.
With that said, I hope that you like this chapter, and will drop a vote and a comment! I have ten chapters waiting in the drafts, and I'd update more often if I get feedback, otherwise it would be around every three weeks that I update. Sorry!
-Ash xx