The Brink (4 page)

“We’re planning to advance to a known settlement where we can regroup with other survivors, other trained men and women and thus be stronger for it. That’s what we’re doing and with all due respect, Mr Harding, that’s pretty big in my book. Don’t you agree?”

“Where to?” he asked.

“North. 150 miles. There’s a holiday camp up there just on the other side of the border where we’ve had reason to believe another friendly settlement has recently occupied.”

“How do you know this?” asked Alan.

“I guess this ‘bull shit’ must be actually doing something after all.” He traced a line on the map with a delicate forefinger that had a neatly trimmed nail at the end. “We follow the motorway north as much as we can and turn off here...” He stopped on a highlighted town. “Then west until we reach the foot of the hills here, then north to the camp.”

“How do you know they’re friendly?” he asked.

“Their leader is an old friend of mine, served with me in Syria. I trust him and therefore you must. He’s gathered as many of his former team mates as he can and, combined with our resources, should make the site damn-near impregnable.”

Alan sat back down and sighed. Teague followed, placing his feet back on the desk and crossing them at the ankles.

“I’m telling you all this before I’ve even told my own team. Do you know why?” He fixed Alan with a commanding gaze, a parade ground gaze that made him feel like he was under some kind of test to which he didn’t have any of the answers.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Because I see potential in you. Clichéd, maybe, but still the truth of the matter. In the Army it was my job to keep an eye out for officer material, for Squad Leaders, in short, for anyone who was particularly useful to the service. I look at you with the same eye and see someone who isn’t afraid to use his initiative, to think on the spot, to improvise.

“I don’t wish to overinflate your ego but the people around here respect you. They hear me and they obey but more and more they look to you as well. You’re one of them, you take the time to talk, to chat, gosh - you’ve rescued half of them in one way or another, and they love you for it.”

Moll chose this moment to force her way in through the closed door, panting and dribbling onto the planks beneath her paws. She saw Alan and made a move towards Teague who threw her a piece of cheese off a side table.

“They love that monstrous beast too but I’ll be damned if I know why.”

Moll performed her usual mechanical grin and went and sat at his feet, looking up at him.

“But you go too far. You let yourself, and indeed us, down with your cavalier attitude. I understand. You were self-employed, you were your own boss and circumstances have taken that away from you. Now you’re looking for that same fulfilment and here it is, yet it’s structured and orderly and you’re jittery, you don’t like how it feels and you want to be your own boss again, planting flowers and landscaping rich people’s houses.”

It wasn’t said with scorn like some might. Teague was above that kind of childish remark but it was said in the manner he intended - that it was the trade of the past and useless for the present climate. He was right. Alan had thrown himself into Teague’s group, trained hard and learned all that he could knowing that by himself he had little to offer. With the luxury of a well-defended settlement, growing things would be possible again and that knowledge would prove invaluable. For the time being, Alan knew he had to learn new skills if he wanted to make a difference and Teague had encouraged that.

Moll laid out on her side and Teague eased himself back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Alan’s.

“But you must change,” he continued. “You’ll see that plans and orders are things to be cherished, that with the best will in the world a man can drive his own ship, but without his fellow man he’ll run aground and be dashed upon the rocks. You need to learn that we’re a team, that we’re more effective at ‘making a difference’ as a solid, uniform body and not just a rag-tag bunch of misfits. That might be good enough for the television but not for myself, not for Captain Teague.”

Alan nodded.

“You kept your story to yourself and as far as I know you’ve never spoken about how you came to be alive today when so many died. I respect that. I’ll hazard a guess that you suffered like we all did in those first months, that you saw your loved ones perish. That you didn’t know if there was hope or even a chance to hope.”

Alan felt the pressure inside, felt the secrets trying to bubble to the surface but he couldn’t confide in this man. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“We all went through them and yet here we are, daring to hope that there might be a future after all. A primitive one, maybe, but a future for the human race none the less.”

He planted his feet on the floor again and Moll looked at him. Alan was aware that the coffee pot was boiling away on the hot plate behind him. It popped and spat and Teague got up to pour two more tiny cups, carrying one over to him.

“But that hope needs care. It needs nurture, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he replied. The coffee was good and strong.

“Like a seedling in a pot. You water. You feed. You keep it warm and wait for the first signs of growth and when it’s time, you replant into a bigger pot. More care. Time consuming care. Do you see where I’m going here?” he grinned with his own clever mirth.

“I think I might,” laughed Alan.

“That’s the spirit. We’re the gardeners of a new world, you and I, and all the people here. We endured the darkness, the death, the famine and yet the first signs of growth broke through the soil and reached for the sun.”

He sat and breathed the aroma of his coffee with a loud sigh.

“But it’s time to replant. We need a bigger pot and I know where one is. But it’s going to be traumatic and our hands are duty-bound to get mucky. Are you up for that?”

“I think I can cope with a bit of dirt.”

“From the looks of that smock it would appear you can. So. What’s it to be? Order and discipline or more of your lone-wolf work? Decide now because I need you on board. I’ll need your will and your drive when we make the move.”

“I think I understand. Maybe-” he was about to say something more, to perhaps explain why he was the way he was, maybe even explain about Longsteel, but the chance never came. Steve knocked twice on the open door and asked for the Captain to follow him outside.

“I’m dreadfully sorry but you must excuse me. We’ll visit this conversation again when the hard work is done and the harder stuff is ahead.”

As he was about to leave, Alan stood and said, “You’re right. I’ll stay in line and follow the plan. I’ve been a bit of an idiot and I apologise.”

Teague stopped and smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you. For a moment I feared the worst. If you’ll excuse me...”

Alan headed back out through the concourse, thinking about what Teague had said. Maybe he was out of line, he thought as he meandered his way back outside. Maybe Teague was right and it was time he toed the line and stopped trying to do things his way. Teague had definitely been right about one thing though - he hadn’t gotten out of the habit of being his own boss. Even as he thought about following a stricter chain of command he felt his anger swell and thoughts of fleeing crossed his mind. Out in the wilds he’d be his own man again with only Moll as his companion. Could he do that? He loved people too much though. He’d find another settlement and start all over again. He knew he wasn’t meant to be a loner but it sometimes felt to him like his default position, like it was a kind of defence mechanism he couldn’t shake off.

He made his way towards the eastern side of the complex and walked down the orderly rows of tents and dwellings erected there. Children were kicking a ball about and he had to rush through them as they kicked it around him, laughing and running over to stroke Moll. He looked at them, wondering how they kept so happy despite the danger that lurked outside the complex and put it down to the ignorance of youth. It was the kind of ignorance he wanted for himself; to forget it all for an hour and relax, maybe even have some fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something resembling fun. When Teague’s team weren’t on patrol or on duty they often talked amongst themselves or played a few hands of poker but this wasn’t the kind of fun he had in mind.

When he reached the other side he saw the barracks where he’d been able to get a bed for himself indoors at the cost of having to bunk with five others in the converted sandwich shop. They were a good bunch but they often worked alternating shifts and that meant being woken at all hours by them coming and going. Still, looking back at the tents and shelters, Alan was glad of the luxury.

“Hey Alan. Back so soon?” said Gary Swanson who saw him enter from his position on the bed reading a comic book. He was a tall man with a dark complexion and he wore his wiry hair in a kind of top knot that wasn’t long enough to be considered a pony tail by any stretch. He laid there in combat trousers and unlaced boots with his muscular torso on show for anyone who might be passing and be remotely female. As Alan didn’t fit this category, Gary quickly dismissed him and returned to reading his comic.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked, setting his kit down at the foot of his bed. It was an army surplus camp bed that folded up when not in use, as were all the others in his bunk. They did the job, he supposed, but nothing else.

In his corner of the room Alan had done his best to claim the small space. There was a thick rug for Moll on the floor near a tall cabinet where he hung his clothes and rigging and he had an upturned crate for a bedside table upon which he’d lined up several paperbacks using soup tins for bookends.

As he lay down on the bed, Moll went straight to her rug and sat down, examining a piece of rawhide that she’d been working on for quite a while now.

“How was it?” asked Gary without turning his attention from the comic.

“Rough,” he replied. “Henry and his family are back though.”

“Nice one.”

“I also got chewed out by Teague.”

“What for?” asked Gary.

“Disobeying orders.”

“Yup,” he said. “He does like people to do as they’re told. I thought you knew that by now?”

“I did. I guess I just didn’t care.”

“You should. Keeps the world turning. Some command, some follow. It isn’t too hard to understand once you get to grips with the basics, though I admit you never looked like the ‘following’ kind of guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Alan, sitting up.

“It means we all took you for that kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy?”

“Well,” he said, finally putting his comic down but keeping his thumb between the pages as a marker. “The rest of us put you down as a bit of a hot head, a fire brand. We had bets on how long it would be before you were ‘reassigned’.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t take offence, man. We just never saw you as a team player. You and that dog seem to enjoy each other enough without the rest of the world complicating the issue.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?” asked Alan, quite shocked by this revelation and sitting bolt-upright on his bed.

“Not really but I guess what my Dad said was kind of right.”

“What did your Dad say?”

“That the best leaders are first the best followers. That if you want to be the head honcho anywhere you need to be the lowest guy in the room.”

“Sounds like Zen bullshit to me,” replied Alan, sitting back down, a little more deflated.

“It kind of makes sense if you think about it.”

“Tell that to Teague. I don’t think he was ever the lowest guy in the room.”

“You think?” said Gary, taking up the comic again. Alan looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean don’t be too quick to think you’ve understood the Captain without knowing his past.”

“And you do?”

“I’m not saying that,” he said, turning a page. “I’m just offering a bit of friendly advice.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Alan got up and began to take off his smock and boots. “Is that your blood?”

He woke at some point in the late afternoon and realised he’d fallen asleep whilst reading a book. The paperback was still open, face down on his chest, and Moll was laid out on her rug, snoring. It was quiet outside and there didn’t seem to be the usual amount of hustle and bustle, the roaring of engines, the shouting of children, the moving of equipment with the loud fork lift trucks, nothing. Only the odd shout here and there or the clatter of some trolley being pushed to the food hall from the kitchens next door.

Alan stayed where he was and sighed, relaxing deeper into the blankets beneath him. It was an odd sort of moment for him. It felt like a lull or a break in the tension, like he was free from the nightmare of surviving for a tiny moment and he wanted it to last forever.

In the bed directly opposite his own lay Reb - a woman of perhaps 33 years who’d been based in the region when the disaster struck and had joined up with Teague right from the start. He looked at her lying on her side, facing the wall with her lips parted a little and a soft, almost imperceptible breath coming and going between them like they were border checkpoints with lazy guards on them. Around her were the tokens of a life that had been left behind and like the other bunks they were so carefully arranged as to be almost shrines to long-dead household gods; each person offering sacrifices of love and heartache upon them day and night. Fragrant incense rose up from them as reminders of a lover’s perfume once worn or cologne often splashed upon the skin of a lost father. They performed the sacred duty of remembrance with such skill that no passer-by could fail to be moved by them or walk past them without presenting their own painful offerings.