Page 51 of 72 Hours

“So we need to evacuate the people around this trailer,” said Niall. “And fast.”

IT WOULD HAVE BEEN amusing to watch Junk arguing with Niall if I hadn’t been so tense about the coming hours. I stood in the doorway of my trailer and watched them standing at the foot of Junk’s front steps. Dylan stood between them, looking from one to the other and panting softly.

Most of Junk’s family was filing out past them, carrying small bags of overnight things, smoking or muttering. Or both. Two of the younger girls looked over to me. One of them had a tear-streaked face. I gave them a half smile and a thumbs-up.

“You have to go,” Niall repeated for about the fifth time.

“Fuckin’ don’t,” Junk said bluntly, and loudly enough for us all to hear. “Don’t have to do a fuckin’ thing you say. You’re some punk that Mac hooked up with, and you know squat about this place. This is my world, she’s my daughter, and I go my own fuckin’ way.”

I stepped down from my trailer and went over to them. “You have to go, Junk, like the man says.” He glared at me, ready to protest again, but I spoke quickly before he could. “We don’t want anyone else to get hurt, you know? You must trust us to help Sheri. This is our world now. Anyway, I need your help.”

“Huh?” He looked back and forth between us, full of angry suspicion. His head was a ridiculous mirror of Dylan’s, except without the long panting tongue.

“We need to contact our other friends, but Niall’s cell has just... died.”

Junk shrugged dismissively. “How many d’you want? Phil has a box of them.”

“No,” I said. “Our friends’ cells aren’t active either, at least for a while.” I sighed, wondering how much to tell him.

“So you need a radio.”

I looked up, startled, and met his shrewd gaze. I nodded. “Well, yeah, that’d be great, just what we could use.” I looked at Niall, who nodded too.

“Brad will have radio contact,” he said. “Wherever he is, and particularly if the cells are out of action. He’s always said he prefers using it anyway, and he’s drummed into us plenty of times the frequency he’d use....”

“...in an emergency, yeah.” I wondered how often we’d use that phrase before the night was done.

“We just need some equipment.”

Junk laughed, a short bark. “If there’s one thing Phil has, it’s equipment. I’ll take you to him, and you can choose what you need.” He snapped his head to one side, indicating for Niall to follow him to the nearby trailer.

“Then you’ll both leave the site for the night,” I said.

Junk looked back at me, and his smile was strained. “Sure. It’s up to you then, Mac.”

​​​Chapter 20 – Wednesday 18:15

Niall came into the living room dressed in nothing but a towel around his waist, rubbing his hair dry with another one. The dust had crept into our clothes, into our hair, into everything. He’d finally showered the filth off him to his satisfaction.

“I’ve been around the site again,” I said, my throat suddenly a little dry. I’d changed into clean clothes, just a pair of loose sweat shorts and a bright, logo-printed tee shirt. I’d found another set of sweatpants and shirt for Niall to use, and they were folded on the couch beside me. Should have taken them into the bathroom for him. Poor bastard doesn’t need to be wandering around looking for some decency. I stared at his half-naked body for a moment, seeing the glistening remnants of the warm water on his ribcage. My own clothes felt suddenly awkward on my body, like they didn’t fit properly. Guess he looked a sight better in my stuff than I did myself. Especially the towels.

I coughed and stood up clumsily. “Most of the trailers around mine have been emptied now, though some of the guys went more grudgingly than others. Junk went off with Phil in his truck. They rounded up some of the kids who were still playing around and took all the dogs as well.”

“Good.” He nodded. “We don’t know what to expect from Greg, so it’s best we don’t involve any more civilians.” He twisted slightly to catch a stray trail of water running from his hair down his back, and the muscles at his side flexed briefly along the pale pink slice of his scar.

He’d always done that to me—made the heat flare like a brand through my body.

“How long since Greg’s call?”

I cleared my throat again. Damned thing still felt like sandpaper. “Hour and a half, or so. I’ve been working on the radio you got at Phil’s, though I think it’s more your kind of thing. Just need you to tune it in. When you’re ready.”

Maybe there was something edgy in the tone of my voice, but Niall stilled. He pulled the small towel away from his hair and let his hand hang down gently against his side. He stared at me, and a slight flush appeared on his cheeks.

I found it strangely hard to breathe.

Then both of us glanced at the strangely shaped metal casing that sat on the card table. It looked like a cylinder sliced in half with a few inset dials and meters. Some electrical wires looped along the central seam of it like mustard trails on the top of a hotdog. There was an external aerial, a microphone, and an amplifier attached, so we could both speak and listen in. Phil’s “Rare Parts” business had found us something rather unusual and probably of suspicious origin. But I’d been playing with it while Niall was washing, and it had the best fucking reception I’d ever heard on a radio. It may have looked odd, but the components were obviously the best. I was thinking of asking Phil to build me some kind of wacky-but-awesome music system sometime.

Though I was also wondering if some new human body parts might be more appropriate after tonight. I had no idea what Greg might have in store for us.