Afterlight (61 page)

 

‘. . . because you never
listened
to anyone,’ said Tami Gupta. ‘That is the truth, my dear. I am sorry to say that.’

The mess erupted with a chorus of voices. Most of them agreeing with the woman. The chairs and tables had been cleared away to allow as many people in as possible. Pretty much everyone was here. Those unable to fit in the mess stood amongst the rows of preparation surfaces in the galley, sat on the serving counter, the large roller-shutter fully retracted to make it more like one large meeting room. There were even people crowded on the gantry outside, and sitting on the steps all the way down to the accommodation module’s first floor; mostly children, more likely to find the ‘town hall meeting’ somewhat boring.

‘You know I’m very fond of you, Jenny. I say this because it needs to be said. In the early days, when there was just the few of us, it was right that we had someone take charge. And I think we would never have managed without you making the decisions. Perhaps we would never have settled here. We needed you.’

Tami, seated in the chair next to Jenny, behind the one table they’d not stacked out of the way, reached a hand out to her friend. ‘I love you like a sister, Jenny, but we now need to have some sort of a democracy. There are too many people with different opinions. Too many people whispering because their voice is not heard.’ Tami glanced pointedly at Alice Harton. ‘That is how that man came between us. Like an infection from a simple cut, he exploited the discontent . . . the whispering.’

Jenny sat still and looked down at her hands. ‘Maybe . . .’ she began, then paused. Her words quietened the hubbub in the mess. They awaited more from her. ‘Maybe it’s time, then.’ She looked up. ‘I
am
so bloody tired of it.’

Leona, sitting on her other side, nodded. ‘We know, Mum.’

‘I suppose I just never trusted anyone else,’ she continued. ‘I promised Andy to take care of you both and I just couldn’t put us in a situation where someone else was deciding your fate.’ She sucked in a breath, looking up from her twisting hands at the women and men crammed into the room. ‘But things are different now, aren’t they?’

There were murmurs of assent, nodding heads.

‘I’ll stand down then and we’ll vote on someone new.’

A spattering of applause rippled through them. But Adam, sitting at the end of the table, raised his hand. The applause quickly faded away.

‘But maybe not right
now
, Mrs Sutherland?’

There were a few muted giggles at the man’s formality.

Jenny offered him a smile. ‘Jenny . . . that’s what everyone calls me, Jenny. All right, Flight Lieutenant Brooks?’

‘All right, Jenny.’ Adam tipped his head in acknowledgment. ‘But this election can’t be now. Not until we’re done with Maxwell.’

‘He’s right,’ said Leona. ‘They’ll be on their way. In fact, I’m surprised we beat them back here.’

‘How big is this army?’ someone called through from the galley.

Adam shook his head. ‘Army’s the wrong word for them. They’re not proper soldiers. They’re boys with guns. About a hundred of them.’

A ripple of gasps.

‘You said a
hundred
?’

‘They
all
have guns?’

Adam nodded.

The room filled with voices. It was Leona who raised her hands to quieten them this time. ‘But they’re
boys
,’ she said. ‘No more than that. They’ve never fought in a battle, they’ve never had guns fire back at them. They’re
children
.’ She looked at Adam. ‘At the first sight of their own blood they’ll run, right?’

He nodded. ‘They’re green, untested. The only warfare they’ve experienced is on their games machines.’

‘What about you?’ asked Bill Laithwaite. ‘Are you green?’

Adam glanced at Walfield and the other two, leaning against the back wall. ‘Danny?’

Walfield grinned. ‘Three fuckin’ tours back-to-back providing perimeter security in and around Camp Bastion in Afghanistan. Mostly on the receiving end of mortar and rocket fire.’ He shrugged. ‘We had a few toe-to-toe stand-offs. The local Pashtuns fired smarter than the Taliban-imports ever did. An’ I’m pretty fuckin’ sure both will fire much better than those boys will.’

‘We also have the advantage of the defensive position,’ added Adam, looking through the faces for one in particular. He found Martha. ‘If you hadn’t thrown us the rope ladder, miss, we’d have been unable to get on your rig. They may come with ropes and hooks and have to scramble up to those lowest decks . . . what do you call them?’

‘Spider decks,’ said Jenny.

‘If they’ve brought ropes and hooks, then they’ll have to toss and secure ’em under fire. That’s not going to be easy. Not even for experienced soldiers.’

‘But we’ve only got nine guns, sir,’ said Bushey.

Leona cut in. ‘So? We can make other weapons, can’t we? On the chicken deck there are rooms full of iron rivets and bolts, some of them as big as my hand. We can throw those down at them. There are lengths of bungee cable we could make slingshots or catapults from.’

Adam grinned back at Bushey. ‘Hear that? What she said.’

‘Or we could leave now, whilst there’s still time,’ said William. Heads turned towards him. ‘I’m serious,’ he added. ‘I’m . . . I’ve never fired a gun. I’m not really soldier material.’

Leona shrugged. ‘Yes, or we could leave now. But if we did? If we all left now? I don’t think there’s enough food left ashore to forage - not for four hundred and fifty mouths. We’ll go hungry.’

‘And the fact is Maxwell’s boys might attack us ashore anyway,’ said Adam. ‘Maxwell’s made them dangerous,
predatory
. . . do you understand what I mean by that?’ Not many of them seemed to. ‘You’re mostly women. Those boys have come for that as much as anything else.’

A ripple of whispers across the room.

‘We can’t let them on,’ said Leona.

‘We’ll have much better odds fighting them here,’ said Adam.

‘Perhaps this Maxwell is coming in peace?’ said Rebecca. ‘Is that possible? Could he be coming in peace? Maybe planning to co-operate with us?’

Adam and Leona looked at each other.

Adam shrugged. ‘Maxwell’s a power junky. If he comes he’ll want one thing only; to be in charge. That’s why he created his boys’ army and called them his praetorians. It was all about prolonging his authority at the dome . . . at any cost.’

‘If he did take charge here,’ added Leona, ‘his boys would be in charge. And the women would have to . . .
submit
.’ The word spelled out more than enough without her having to qualify what she’d meant by it.

‘Abandoning the rigs and running ashore,’ said Tami, ‘does sound like a very bad idea. But after this is done, going ashore is what we will eventually do?’

‘Eventually,’ said Jenny guardedly.

‘We could move now if it wasn’t for Maxwell,’ said Adam.

‘Is it really safe to do this yet?’ asked Sophie Yun. Her sisters nodded at the question being asked.

Leona nodded. ‘Yes, Sophie.’ She turned to her left. ‘It’s finally safe, Mum. It’s not the same place we ran from. Maxwell’s praetorians are the last of the
men
with guns.’

‘Did you see others ashore?’

‘A few. There’re a few people out there,’ replied Leona. She recalled those people on the motorway; a mute crowd of the hungry. Not menace in their eyes, just lingering hope that someone, somewhere, had an idea how to reboot this world.

‘If we start something ashore, we need to take our time about it, a phased migration. We prepare, plant, grow . . . those people still out there will come. They won’t take it from us, they’ll join us.’

The room was silent.

‘I think - no, I’m certain - we’re probably the largest group left in Britain still managing to make a go of it. Do you see? The community we build ashore, the way we set it up, the rules and values we agree on now, well, those things will set the tone for our future.’ She smiled. It was a hopeful smile, the ghost of which seemed to spread across the mess table to those standing in the room.

‘We’ll be deciding how the future is going to look . . . in a way.’

A soft breeze tickled through the portholes and filled the moment with a portentous whisper.

Jenny nodded. ‘The future.’ She pulled herself wearily out of her chair and met the eyes of those that had deserted her for Latoc as well as the few who had remained loyal. ‘So maybe then, heading ashore . . . this should be the first thing we vote on. What does everyone think?’

Heads nodded silently.

‘All right. This is how it is. We stay here and fight . . . let me see your hands for that.’

One or two at first, then others, encouraged by that, joined. Soon the room’s low ceiling was almost held aloft by a sea of hands. It appeared to be almost unanimous.

‘Afterwards, we make our plans to move back ashore. Hands for that?’

The last few unraised hands appeared.

Leona looked at her mother and thought she saw the clearly defined angle of her shoulders droop ever so slightly beneath her thin cardigan. She knew that gesture so well, she’d seen it so many times before back in the old days; after a long grocery shop when the plastic bags were off-loaded on the kitchen counter and she’d let out a sigh. It wasn’t the sagging shoulders of someone defeated, it was relief.

If that gesture of hers had words it would be this:
Job’s done
.

 

 

 

‘I
missed up here,’ said Leona. They both listened to the rustle of leaves, soothing in the darkness. The moon peeped out at them, painting the helipad a perfect blue momentarily before hiding away again behind a relay race of scudding clouds, all racing each other to reach the distant shore first.

‘How did our old house look?’ asked Jenny.

‘Just as we left it, I suppose. We got weeds growing in the lounge. Oh, and the lawn needs mowing.’

Jenny laughed softly.

‘It’s not our home any more, Mum. It doesn’t feel like that any more. It’s just a place we used to live.’ She plucked at her lips thoughtfully. ‘I thought going back there, I was going home. I thought that’s where I wanted to be. With Hannah gone it seemed pointless struggling on. I just wanted to curl up in my bedroom and, you know . . . ?’

‘I know,’ she replied squeezing her daughter’s hand.

‘But it’s not our home any more.’
Just an empty house with broken windows and damp curls of wallpaper and leaves in the hallway
.

‘Is . . . ?’

‘Is Dad still there?’

Jenny nodded.

‘Yes, he is.’

The night was warm, even with the breeze. The sea hissed and splashed nearly one hundred and eighty feet below, bumping gently against the platform legs like some giant turning over in its sleep.

‘Tell me, Lee, how did Jacob die?’

‘Defending me, Mum.’ She could have described her small stifling cell, the smell of shit, the sounds coming through the walls, the night after night of fighting off that scrawny bastard who wanted to tame her, to make her his plaything. All unnecessary details.

‘He was protecting me from another boy.’ She swallowed, pinching at her lips again. ‘He died just like Dad died.’

She felt her mother’s shoulders gently shaking. It might have been easier to change the subject, move on, but Mum needed to hear what she had to say.