Chapter Text
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot
It’s 11.57pm exactly when he first sees it.
Louis remembers exactly, because it was 11.57pm when Max, the waste of space that he’d spent the last three years following round like a lost duckling, broke up with him.
It’s 11.57pm, with the words ‘I can’t do this anymore’ echoing through his head when his eyes pass behind the greasy ash blonde mop to the TV on the wall, and it’s such a small, insignificant thing. Such a tiny footnote compared to the shit-show that is his life, that Louis’ eyes pass directly through ‘9 drown off coast of Chile’ and onto the tiny bright 11.57 in the corner, and the only thing he really think is huh, I’m about to miss the last bus home.
--
A car horn blasts faintly in the distance and Louis shakes his head to clear it. That wasn’t a car horn. Of course it wasn’t. Because there aren’t any cars. It had taken a surprising amount of time for petrol, oil, diesel, and anything else that came from an inaccessible hole in the ground to run out. But run out it had, so Louis knows he’s hearing things, however real it might seem.
The horn sounds again, nearer this time and he spins quickly in place, his mouth hanging open as a dirty white van rounds the bend of the slightly run-down country road. Its paintwork is scratched but it’s clear that it used to be white, and it’s bouncing heavily over cracks in the tarmac where nature has begun to creep back in.
There was a time when Louis would have waved his arms, would have jumped up and down shouting and smiling, but the past year has been long, and the harsh winter finally quietened his enthusiasm. There was a time before that, when Louis would have hid, but he’s more experienced now, and the mystery of a working van is too much to pass up.
He takes a cautious step back, convinced at least that whoever it was would stop to investigate. Healthy mid-20’s males weren’t particularly rare, but he knew he was desirable. He could lift and carry and work, and there was always the chance that he might have technical experience that could be useful.
Louis takes another careful step as the car slows to a stop. He isn’t worried particularly, but that’s no excuse for carelessness. He shifts the small rucksack on his back. Whoever it is has a van, so they hopefully won’t be interested in stealing his things.
A blonde head leans out of the window and grins at him, all white teeth in neat rows.
“Not hiding from me mate?” The accent is Irish, and that surprises Louis even more than the clearly dyed hair.
He shrugs, pausing for a fraction too long on his answer.
“You have a car.” His voice is a little rough, and sounds strange and unfamiliar.
The man grins wider, as if that was a reasonable response to his question. “Yeah mate, it brings all the boys to the yard.”
Louis nods, because he remembers the song, but he keeps his mouth shut, because something is going on here and he’s not giving anything away until he knows what it is.
Perhaps he’s made a mistake. Perhaps he should have hid. Too late now anyway.
“Are you heading somewhere?” The tone in his voice is light and cheerful, and Louis doesn’t trust it for a second, so he shrugs again, hoping for the man to leave. “Ah don’t be shy mate, we’re miles from the nearest hospital.”
“Cars travel miles.”
The man laughs. “True enough. But I don’t know enough science to run tests on ya, and I haven’t got enough electricity to go searching for stragglers.”
An electric car then. Presumably solar. The man is most likely from a compound. Somewhere with an engineer or two.
Such a well-off compound would probably be welcoming. He could walk there – given a day of two – and check it out. If it looked stable enough he might even join them for a few weeks. Just long enough to fill his stomach a bit.
But there’s something about this man-- a little too cheerful. A little too eager. A little too clean. His chin is smooth and his shirt washed, and Louis doesn’t even have the energy for missing those sorts of things.
He stays silent, and risks tearing his eyes away to scan the surrounding countryside. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, and he’s pretty confident he can get away before the man manages to get out of the car. He’s always been fast.
Of course, the smiling-stranger isn’t necessarily alone.
The silence stretches out with the gentle ticks of metal settling, a sharp reminder of a past that Louis feels much too far away from. The man’s smile dims.
“Listen mate. We need news if you have it, and we’re willing to give you supplies in exchange, a place to stay maybe? You can meet new people, make friends…”
Louis takes a step back, the tips of his fingers going cold. He should have hid. He should have hid.
His eyes scan the fields again, considering his options. His knife is tucked safely in his bag - wrapped up to avoid injuring himself. He wouldn’t know how to use it anyway. Not for this.
He takes a deep, slow breath, “…and how long would I be… staying for?”
The smile is completely gone now, Louis notices. “Ah well. We’ve all got to do our bit now haven’t we?”
Oh. Right. Shit. Shit fuck shit. Wrong decision then. A word goes through his head. A dangerous word. An ugly word.
Farm.
He should have known the man was from a Farm. He should have fucking known.
Louis tenses his legs a little. There’s a bank behind him – if he can get up it then there’s only a short sprint across a field until he reaches the farmhouse he’s slept in for the last two weeks. He can probably make it.
“And what if I don’t feel like sharing… news?”
“I’m sorry mate. Really. But this isn’t about just one person, yeah?”
Louis is already climbing as the back of the van bursts open, two broad shouldered men jumping out and leaping after him.
He scrambles to the top of the bank relatively easily, dodging the hands that reach for him and ignoring the shouts. Not bothering to waste his breath shouting back.
The grass is long and coarse as he runs, wild flowers just starting to push up in the early spring, and the ground is damp from last night’s rain. He makes good progress, but he can hear the sounds of his pursuers.
His bag is light and Louis is fit. Of course he’s fit. He’s been living in this dystopian nightmare for the last 5 years. Unfortunately though, he’s being chased by Farmers, and there’s one thing that they have that he doesn’t.
Food.
Steady, reliable access to food. Food like carbohydrates. Protein. Things that build muscle. Things that make you strong. So it doesn’t really matter how awesome Louis’ cardio is, he realizes as his muscles start to shiver beneath him and his ankles buck. Because the fish he’d caught two days ago hadn’t been enough, and the farmhouse had already been cleaned out when he’d gotten there.
He was never going to make it really, but it had been worth a try.
The shoulder that jabs into his back is painful, but not unexpected, and the breath is knocked out of his stumbling frame as he’s tackled to the ground. The force is enough to rattle him, his vision blacking out for a few seconds, and by the time he comes back to himself he’s already bound, and it’s really too late.