Page 115 of What Blooms in Barren Lands

Then, straightening back up as I blushed, he spoke as if into the air, but with the clear intention of getting Rossi’s attention. “Who knows, if pizzas and chilled wine were within their powers, perhaps our hosts could manage a double espresso for you. Your favourite, isn’t it?”

I shot him a mutinous look whilst Angelo Rossi scrambled up to bring me my coffee.

40

A UNION IS ACCEPTED

“Don’t tell me you trust him?” I asked as soon as we left Bastia behind, speeding away in our refuelled car, buildings flicking by our windows in a blur.

“I found him extremely tolerable compared to the deranged fanatic that I’d been expecting,” Einar replied tentatively, weighing his words. “But no, I certainly do not trust him.”

He stared at the road ahead with a frown, hands gripping the wheel at precisely nine and three o’clock.

“Why did you play into his hands then? Did you think our lives would really be in danger otherwise?”

Einar swerved to avoid the wreckage of a car on the road, unfolding peacefully in front of us in the dying light.

“Yes, for one thing. Though that will only provide us with temporary protection. But I really want his weapons. We’ve run low on ammo. We don’t have enough left to take on another swarm. Not to mention I’d love me some machine guns ...”

“Men and their toys,” I scoffed, and he rewarded me with a threatening look. “Do you think there’s a chance he’ll treat our people decently?”

I made a mental note to return to the trifling point of our safety.

“That’s a complicated question, sweetheart.” He looked into the rear-view mirror and scowled at Angelo’s dark SUV, which was still at our tail.

Santini had insisted that Angelo and four of their men come back with us, bringing with them explosives and ammunition to replenish our stocks. The reasoning he gave us for this was that they were to observe and learn our techniques for exterminating fury swarms. But it was clear that they were to spy on us.

“It’s a double-edged sword. You see,” Einar continued, his brow creased, “all uninfected, able-bodied people are great assets these days. Santini needs them more than they need him. If we were on the mainland, there would be no doubt in my mind that he would have to treat them fairly or else they would simply find a way to migrate to another country or another quarantine zone. As we are on an island, though ...”

He fell silent, leaving me to ponder the unsaid implications.

“You think that he may prevent them from leaving?”

“Look to your left.”

I did. We were passing through the outermost fringes of Bastia, miles away from the safety of the quarantine zone. There was a marina at the coast below, yet nothing but a few masts protruded from the water, as well as sunken, capsized sterns, dull in the descending shadows.

“Nothing but wrecks ...”

“Exactly.” He nodded grimly. “I already noticed it on the way here, and in more places than one. Virtually all harbours this side of the coast are empty. And meanwhile, Bastia’s own port practically overflowed with vessels.”

He swerved to avoid a cow skeleton.

“Oh no ... You don’t think he’s trying to get all the ships on the island destroyed? Surely he’d never succeed!”

A lone, frail infected stumbled into our view, a soulless remnant of an aged man, with isolated strands of white hair onhis spotted skull, his thin body clad in rags. He moved feebly in our direction, his mouth opening in a growl we could not hear over the engine’s roar.

“Damn it!” Einar came to a full stop and pulled on the handbrake before undoing his seatbelt.

“Why don’t you just run him over?”

“Can’t be arsed to clean the car after. Stay here.”

I watched Einar get out in a swift motion. The black SUV came to a stop behind us. Einar opened the trunk of our car and pulled out a sledgehammer. Swinging it wide with a deceptive ease, he cracked the fury’s skull in one unhesitating motion. Blood and brain matter dirtied the road with an unappetising splat.

Einar laid the hammer on the ground and retrieved a plastic bottle of antiseptic solution from the car trunk. He poured it generously over the hammer, wiping it with a rag and putting it away. Then he took off his shirt and drenched himself in the transparent liquid, scrubbing his arms and face. He put a fresh shirt on, closed the trunk, and got back in the car, the seat creaking underneath his weight.

“You stink,” I complained and cracked the window open as we took off again. “Never mind that now, though. What did you mean when you said that agreeing with his vision would only be a temporary protection for us?”