IMPACT (Book 1): A Post-Apocalyptic Tale by Matthew Eliot Page B

press this button to speak,” Neeson pointed it out on the device, “and release it to listen. We only use the walkie-talkies in case of danger. No point in wasting battery. Got it?” Everyone nodded. The soldier’s eyes focused on Paul again. The priest’s expression was still slightly stiff, debating whether to protest. Catherine sensed the man felt his position as a lookout was somewhat demeaning. Neeson, too, appeared to be aware of this. “Father,” he said to him, his voice strong but cordial, “you must understand that our safety depends upon knowing whether possible enemies are approaching. Both Ms. Abbott and Mr. Moore must accompany us inside the warehouse, we need them to locate the medicine stash and to check its contents.”
    Paul nodded. It was difficult to tell if he was convinced or not.
    “And,” continued Neeson, “I’m told you didn’t do very well during firearm training. It would be imprudent to have you enter the building given that.” Paul nodded gravely. Catherine felt the unexpected urge to lean forward and hug him, to reassure him.
    “Also,” added Neeson, “Mr. Moore here appears to be short-sighted, or at least that’s what his glasses suggest. Is that correct, Mr. Moore?” Edward dipped his chin.
    Clever , thought Catherine, he’s pointing out a weakness in Edward, to counterbalance Paul’s with the firearms . Despite the fact Neeson was quite obviously used to imparting orders to unquestioning soldiers, this didn’t prevent him from taking a more considerate stance when dealing with civilians.
    And although this was a rather basic psychological move, it did seem to soothe Paul’s vexation a bit.
    “Remember, all of you, this is not a game.” Neeson’s tone had now lost its delicate touch. “Do exactly as I or Lance Corporal Billings say. Do not pause to think or debate. Do what you are told, when you are told. Understood?”
    “Yes,” said Catherine, her voice one of three uttering the same words.
    This is all getting very real, very quickly , she thought.
    * * *
    Neeson moved fast.
    Catherine was doing her best to keep up with him, crouching as they advanced, the rifle clutched tight in her hands. Its unfamiliar weight, like that of a strange new limb attached to her body, made her movements awkward and uncertain.
    The cubic construction of an abandoned petrol station blocked their view of the warehouse. They proceeded along it, their backs brushing against its grimy walls. Somewhere on the opposite end of the building, Moore and Billings were doing the same.
    They were nearing the edge when Neeson held up a clenched fist. She’d seen this gesture in countless films – the man in the lead telling his men to hold still – and was mildly surprised to find out it was actually used. She stopped, observing Neeson’s quick, efficient movements. He slowly peered past the edge, rifle close to his chest, allowing only a few inches of his face to protrude around the petrol station’s corner.
    The warehouse was on their left. Neeson glanced in the opposite direction first, presumably scanning for possible adversaries. Then, he turned to the left, to the warehouse, and the same direction where Moore and Billings would be emerging.
    Catherine noticed his hesitation. It was a brief instant, in which his body appeared to be perfectly still, eyebrows drawn close to one another. He turned towards her, evaluating his words before speaking.
    “Ms. Abbott,” he said, “when we emerge onto the street, you’ll see something that will shock you. Do your best to ignore it. We’ll move fast, and reach the entrance of the warehouse. It’s–” he shot a quick look outwards again, then looked back, “about 30 yards from where we stand. You go first. I’ll be right behind you. When you reach the door, crouch and stop. After that, you’ll await my orders. Got it?”
    She nodded, doing her best to show Nesson he could count on her.
    His eyes hesitated on her features for a second,