That afternoon July was slouching over his typewriter sipping at a cup of coffee and wondering whether he agreed with the established idea that a leader should be feared more than loved, or loved more than feared, or perhaps somewhere in the middle. He knew the names of five current faction leaders – all frightening men – and the sixth, the Royalists, had undergone a change of management. He had listened to the transmissions, the promises of peace and stability, and though he didn’t know the man who spoke those words, he sensed something different about them, a flair of logicality, a mind that understood the nature of things in this unnatural world, an idealist like none other. Which would he be, July wondered, feared or loved?
A dramatic scream echoed from the living-room as July limped down the hall, his metal leg clinking with every step, and lights painted the walls with splashing water. Thomas had repaired the VCR again and was watching ‘Jaws’ while Biscuit rested on his lap. “Unbelievable,” he said to July. “I’ve always wanted to see the ocean and now I’m terrified of it.”
“Imagine one of those things mutated by radiation,” July remarked. “Probably would’ve made a good movie back in the day.”
“Yeah, but they already made Godzilla. Same concept.”
“Well I wouldn’t say it’s the same…” July stopped himself and shook his head. “Hang on... Anyway, uh, The Haven, you know it’s at least two days’ travel, by car, something we don’t have anymore.”
Thomas stood up and paused the movie. “So, you’ve made up your mind?”
July shrugged. “Let’s go home.”
As far as he was concerned their things would remain safe so long as the location of The Bunker remained a secret. What they chose to bring for their journey home would have to be essential for getting them there, which meant food, water and weapons. July wore long clothes, a tattered grey hooded-jacket, a bandana around his neck for the dust, a pair of goggles for the glare, and seeing as he had no use for it anymore he had thrown away his right boot.
The searing golden light that burned through the front door transformed into a gentle passive blue as July and Thomas (and apparently Biscuit) said farewell to their things, not for sentiment, but to accept that they were at last leaving their long-cherished comfort behind. “Well, no time like the present,” said Thomas.
“This is going to be a hell of a walk,” July groaned. One never notices how much walking they do until they have to limp everywhere.
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