Afterlight (49 page)

Leona shook her head. She had absolutely no idea.

‘I don’t know,’ he continued. ‘Maybe it’ll take them a day or two if the weather stays good.’

She felt her heart quicken. ‘Oh, God!’ she whispered. ‘I thought it might take weeks! Then . . . shit . . . then we have to go—’

‘Don’t say tonight.’

‘Yes, tonight.’

He shook his head.

‘Tonight, Adam. Can we arrange to go tonight?’

He bit his lip. ‘Jesus. I . . . that’s no time at all to—’

‘They could leave at any time.
They
could be leaving tonight!’

He raised a hand to hush her down. ‘Shhh! Okay, okay. Look, I’ll see if I can find the lads this afternoon and arrange to meet at the evening meal break.’

‘Please, do that,’ she nodded. And then almost as an afterthought she smiled through the vines at him. ‘And thank you.’

‘Maybe we should be thanking you. The only reason nobody’s yet bothered trying to sneak out of here is . . . well, we thought this place was it; all that was left.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll try and get back to you before the mid-morning whistle goes, okay? With a time and place to meet the lads.’

She nodded but he was already gone. She resumed half-heartedly picking undeveloped pea pods, hardly even petits pois; food that would end up being thrown into whatever was being boiled to a watery pulp for this evening’s meal.

For a moment she wondered where her strength was coming from to be doing this; she ached all over, she ached inside. She couldn’t make sense of the calm detachment she was feeling; Jacob gone, Hannah gone, and she felt nothing.

Her eyes followed the arrogant swagger of two orange jackets patrolling along the perimeter wall, chatting animatedly, excited about something; both sporting matching white baseball caps perched on their heads at a jaunty angle. Their hands and fingers flicked with exaggerated street gestures they could only have picked up from films or from the older boys. Even the crotch-grabbing swagger both boys were attempting to pull off was a poor affectation of something they must have seen on a DVD or a computer game.

No, she did feel something; a determination, an
angry
determination, that those vicious little bastards weren’t going to get on the platforms and have their fun. She was going to see those child-tyrants die before she allowed herself to shed another tear for Jacob, for Hannah, for Dad. They were no different to the White City gang who’d tried to break into their home and rape her ten years ago. Only some stupid bastard had decided to give this lot guns and tell them they were righteous in all that they did.

Before she shed another tear, she vowed, she was going to see them die, tumbling like lemmings into the North Sea.

 

 

 

N
athan watched them loading up the second barge; a human chain of workers leading out of the dome’s rear service entrance across twenty yards of gravel and weed to the concrete wharf. The barges bumped and scraped impatiently as the Thames stirred softly and a fresh breeze rustled through loose corners of cellophane half wrapped around catering packs of Fray Bentos corned beef and Heinz baked beans.

In his hands he held an army issue assault rifle; an SA80. The very same weapon the old man, Walter, had once allowed him to test fire briefly; a small piece of his old life. Around his waist, beneath the orange staff jacket, webbing dangled, pouches stuffed full of thirty-round clips of ammunition.

Not for the first time he could feel the magical power that holding a weapon like this gave you. He remembered watching the news one night before the crash, when he was about eight or nine. Some American kid had ambled into his high school with a similar weapon and proceeded to kill every kid in his class. He’d asked Mum why the kid did it and she’d said it was because he was evil.

He knew why the kid had done it now.

It was that sense of invincibility, of immortality, one felt holding the cold steel weight of a weapon like this. One tiny pull on his trigger and he could mow down those workers like skittles at a bowling alley. It was almost God-like power and all of it contained within the impulsive twitch of one finger.

That’s why, Snoop had quietly confided in him last night, only the
older
boys carried fully loaded guns on patrol. The younger ones were issued with the same weapons, but with an empty ammo clip.

It’s the moment of pause, bro.
That’s what he’d said . . . the moment of pause.

The young ones had ammo in their pouches, of course, but the time it took to eject an empty clip, unbutton the pouch, pull out another clip and ram it home was the time a younger mind needed to decide whether it was actually necessary to shoot a worker or simply bark an order at them.

Killers,
said Snoop,
they’ve been educated by me and Maxwell to kill without mercy. Child warriors, Nathan, the best in the world. Ruthless motherfuckers, bro, but they need grown-ups like you and me to lead them.

There’d been something conspiratorial in the way he’d said that, softly spoken for his ears only.
You and me, bro.

Snoop seemed to be trusting him implicitly. There was a growing bond between them. Last night, as they’d shared a joint and looked out across the moonlit Thames, he’d said, ‘I’m so fuckin’ sorry ’bout your friend, Nate.’ Nathan knew he meant that. Word was when Snoop had discovered what had happened to Jacob, he’d killed Dizz-ee himself.

‘I really liked Jacob,’ Snoop had added. ‘Three of us would’ve made a fucking good team.’

Nathan gazed out now at the barge being slowly loaded and felt a painful stab of guilt for shaking Jacob off at the party. He’d been so buzzed-up on the booze, the games, the smokes, the hero-worship . . . Jesus, the boys had been all but carrying him around on their shoulders. And the girls. He could see them making eyes at him - they all wanted to be girlfriend to the second dog; all wanted the kudos and the extra treats that go with that.

He remembered thinking,
me and Snoop are the fucking kings here.
He remembered feeling like some kind of God emperor, like a pharaoh, like Alexander the Great. Him and Snoop, all-conquering generals.

And then he’d caught Jacob’s eye across the stage and he knew with absolute certainty that his best friend just wasn’t going to fit in there; that Jacob wasn’t going to be part of this dream. An unkind thought had sneaked in under cover of the booze.

He pulled on the cigarette, savoured the bitter burn in his throat and watched the smoke flicker out in front of him.

Something inside him flipped over like a bed partner turning over to face away. Like he had bad breath. Like it was sick of the sight of him. It left him feeling queasy.

Self-consciously he thumbed the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose; an expensive pair of Moschinos that Snoop had given him.

Nathan was glad to be wearing them now. This small scrubby path of quayside was busy with workers and praetorians. He didn’t need anyone seeing his tears. He wiped his nose, hawked and spat on the ground.

‘You a’ight?’ asked Hammer. The boy standing guard with him was almost as tall. His head was bare, shaved down to the skin except for a zigzag of bristles that wrapped round the back of his bullet-like skull.

‘S’fine,’ Nathan slurred coolly. ‘Sun’s well bright, though.’

Hammer nodded, pulling on a cigarette and puffing out a ribbon of blue smoke. ‘Hot.’

They watched the loading in silence for half an hour, and then Snoop joined them on the quay.

‘S’up?’

Hammer nodded and offered Snoop one from his packet. Snoop pulled a cigarette out and took a light.

‘Chief reckons on another day prepping-up before we go.’

Nathan nodded towards the barges. ‘Are we taking all three of those?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Loaded with food and stuff?’

Snoop pulled, exhaled and shrugged. ‘Chief’s idea. We take along as much as we can get on there. No knowing what’s left to forage on the way up, right?’

They nodded.

Hammer looked at Snoop. ‘You gonna tell us more about this place we goin’? Coz I heard Jooz sayin’ it was Alton Towers or somethin’.’

Snoop grinned at Nathan.
Kids, eh?

The boys were being kept in the dark. It was easier than trying to explain to them all exactly what an oil rig was, what it looked like, what it did. That, and it kept them all busy guessing, making up their own rumours.

‘Big surprise, Hammer.’

‘Aw, shit, Snoop, c’mon, gimme a clue.’

‘No. Now go an’ help Rascal and the others with packin’ the Toca Rally booths. I wanna talk some shit with Nathan.’

Hammer nodded and swung casually towards the dome’s service entrance; he flicked his cigarette butt at one of the workers as he stepped inside.

‘How you doin’, Nate?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, I’m good, man.’

‘You’re okay with this, right? Us goin’ to your old home an’ stuff?’

Nathan nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘We’ll treat ’em good, you know? Ain’t gonna be like no pirate raid or nothing. This’ll be our new home. All workin’ together an’ shit. Pooling what we got.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

Snoop looked at him. A long hard look that suggested there was more that he wanted to say. ‘Me and you, Nate. Know what I’m saying? Me and you.’

Nathan could hear that gently probing tone in Snoop’s voice; a tone of voice that was asking whether he could be trusted, even if he wasn’t using those words.

Nathan smiled uneasily. ‘Sure.’

‘One day . . . you know? Maxwell . . . he won’t be around for ever.’

Nathan turned to look at him. Snoop grinned. He slapped his shoulder. ‘Later. I gotta go see how much more shit we got to bring up from the mezz.’

 

 

 

T
hey stood in silence amongst a cluster of several dozen large green plastic water butts. They were filled with human waste collected from the latrine cabanas inside the dome. The air above them seemed to shimmer with the warmth of fermentation. The odour of rancid shit was so powerful Leona felt like it was coating her tongue, the back of her throat, lining her lungs.

‘Jesus, Brooksie, why the fuck d’you have to pick this place to meet?’ said one of the men.

‘Why do you think? We got a little privacy here. Just make it look like you’re taking a leak.’

The men obediently circled around a pile of waste and pretended to fumble at their flies.

‘Right then,’ said Adam, ‘let’s start talking. We won’t have long before the whistle goes.’

‘So,’ said Leona, trying to look like she had some purpose being here standing amongst four men supposedly taking a piss break. ‘These guys were in your platoon?’

‘All that’s left of our unit,’ replied Adam quietly. ‘This is Sergeant Danny Walfield,’ he said pointing at the man standing opposite her. Dark, almost black, hair, had been kept cropped relatively short, an untidy cut that looked as if shears had been used. On top it was going thin. He had a thick moustache curving down either side of his mouth, like the black neoprene-grip handlebars of a racing bike. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties.

‘All right, love?’ he grunted. She nodded back.

‘And this is Lance Corporal Sean Davies. But everyone calls him Bushey.’

A slightly younger man with long curly ginger hair pulled back into a bulky ponytail and a scruffy, wispy goatee around his mouth. ‘Hey,’ he said with a small self-conscious wave.

‘And Lance Corporal Davey Potter.’

Thinning a little at the temples, long brown frizzy hair swooped down either side of his narrow face to unite with a thick grizzly beard he’d clearly not bothered to tame in years. He pushed his round-framed glasses up his nose. ‘They call me Harry,’ he said in a tone of voice that sounded as if she ought to have already guessed that. She cocked her head, not sure what he was getting at.

‘On account of the glasses and the surname. Potter? Remember them books?’

The books? Then she got it. She remembered them. Jacob hated those bloody books.

‘Right, I get it.’ She looked at his unruly hair. ‘I’m surprised they don’t call you Hagrid.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, I had short back and sides back when I joined the platoon, didn’t I?’

‘And this,’ Adam said to the three men, ‘is Leona.’

They exchanged formal nods. Like Adam, like every other worker here, they were wiry-lean; every last ounce of surplus fat burned away years ago as a slow and steady downhill curve of calories in their diet was waging a war of attrition on their bodies; slowly but surely starving them to death.

‘Right, so like I was saying lads,’ he said, ‘Leona’s the one that came in last month, after those two boys. All three of them came down together from this other settlement in Norfolk.’

‘Norfolk is it?’ said Harry. ‘That’s where we was based.’

Adam carried on. ‘Their settlement is a going concern, not another crash ’n’ burn. It’s doing just fine and it’s quite a big settlement, right?’

She nodded. ‘About four hundred and fifty of us.’

The men looked at each other, stunned.

‘That’s right,’ said Adam. ‘And the thing is, lads, Leona says we’d be welcome there.’

‘You got food . . . you know, like for ever?’ asked Bushey.

Leona nodded. ‘We’ve been self-sustaining for the last four years.’