The Relic Keeper (19 page)

Mathew sat in puzzled quiet for a moment. The more time he spent in this new England the more it resembled nothing he could relate to. Philip had always reminded him of an east-end club doorman; the way he spoke, his build, even the L-shaped scar across his left cheek had all conspired to give that affect. Now he’d seen another side, and although this part of the man had scared him less, the history that he’d related had left Mathew reeling. He’d always clung desperately to the idea that there were remnants of his past that existed still, or existed in a manner close enough to those that he had known. Now he realised that everything he’d ever known, or loved, or even despised, was gone. When he’d made arrangements for his death he’d thought that there was no gamble. He’d said that. “What have I got to lose?” And now he knew. He’d gambled more than he’d ever thought of.

“I took my degree in modern history,” said Philip, uninvited. “If you’re wondering how I know all this. Which I guess you are. I wanted to be a teacher, but I ended up going into the forces instead. The money was better. With a decent degree you can join as an officer.” He spoke this more to himself, and Mathew wondered if he was actually talking to him or to the room in general. He watched Philip pour another exaggerated glass of Scotch and decided that was exactly what he needed at this point in time.

“May I?” he motioned to the bottle.

“Whatever pal. I’m not your doctor; you do what you like. But if it’s going to be a habit you can start buying your own.”

“So how come you’re a reporter now.”

“I quit the forces after a couple of years, must be nearly ten years ago now. I bought myself out. You have to be a certain type, and I’m not really the sort of person that enjoys being told what to do all of the time. But I saw a bit of the planet that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. And it triggered an interest in what’s going on in the world. I was disillusioned by a lot of what I saw, and started writing about it. Maybe that way I can change the world a little bit. Just enough to matter anyhow.”

“A noble principle for a reporter.”

“Yeah, well, now and then I have them. Principles that is. When I can afford them.”

Mathew poured a large glass and downed half of it, feeling the liquid warm his throat and gradually numb his confused senses. He knew that there was only one chance of regaining anything of himself in this hostile world. He had to track his family down, if there was any part of it left. He finished his drink and started to walk to the window. Where the hell were Rei and Deon.

“Half an hour they said they’d be.”

“Well, I guess they’ve found it harder, or better, than they expected,” replied Philip. “Now sit down and keep away from the window, I don’t want you being seen. If anyone recognises you, who knows what they’ll do. And if they don’t they’ll probably think you’re a burglar or a looter, in which case I still don’t know what they’ll do. But it’ll be worse.” Philip got up held Mathew’s arm tightly, spinning him slowly but firmly away from the visible side of the building.

As they turned Mathew was aware of a flash outside, then in a split second he felt a hot wind, saw fragments of glass fly past him and heard a deafening roar behind him. He suddenly became aware of the fact that he was now lying on the ground with fragments of glass falling all around him. The small amount of light they’d had was now gone, as were the lights out in the street, and in the distance there was shouting and alarms sounded. His face was wet and he put his hand up to wipe the moisture. When he looked down he could make out the colour on his palm and realised his head was bleeding badly. He moved his hand across the floor and heard someone moving in the darkness. Through the darkness and smoke he could just make out the distinctive silhouette of Philip crawling near the door.

“You ok?”

“Don’t know,” said Mathew. “I think so. My head’s cut. What happened?”

“I think we’ve been bombed, pal. Keep down and don’t move there may be people coming in if it’s been set by looters. Stay away from the window. Where are you, anyway?”

“By the far wall from you.”

“I can’t see you. Can you move across to me?”

“I can move, but I think part of the floor’s given way. I can’t really see.”

“Look, get yourself tight up against the wall and stay put. I’m going to see if I can find a flashlight. Ok? If anyone you don’t recognise comes, just stay quiet. I’ll be back as quick as I can.” Then Philip sprang up and was gone, and Mathew laid his head in the debris and thought of nothing whatsoever.

As time passed Mathew began to wonder what he’d do if the no one returned. His options seemed limited: wait for someone, anyone, to show up; or go outside on his own and risk whatever the hell was out there. He’d seen enough of this part of the twenty-first century to know that it wasn’t always the best place to be, especially on your own, at night, and with people who had access to explosives in the vicinity. He tried to force himself to think about happy, positive things, but that always took him back to Paula and Jessica, and that, of course, led him back to his present position. The very real threat of the ceiling collapsing had forced him to move after 5 minutes on his own. He’d carefully, and very quietly, picked himself from the floor and made his way to the side of the room. The dust was still not settled and the street lights failed when the blast occurred so he worked his way across by touch; holding tightly to anything that appeared to be solid. When he reached the wall he turned right, for no other reason than he was right handed, and moved across until he found a corner. For some reason he felt that a corner should be the safest place to be in a bombed building. He knelt down, wrapped his arms about him, and sat shaking.

He could hear people moving outside. Through the gloom he could make out shouting, crying, someone screaming, and the sound of an emergency vehicle. It wailed differently to the ones he knew from home, but it was unmistakably a vehicle siren. He could tell that it had travelled past him because the tone changed, and wondered why that happened and if he’d ever been told. He remembered the bells of the fire engines when he was a kid, and how strangely disappointed he’d been as slowly the emergency services adopted pseudo-American sounds in his adulthood. He wished he could hear one now, anything from his old life, just to remind him that it had really existed before the nightmare of illness had overtaken him like a dark shadow. That shadow had clouded his life and judgement. It’s always possible, he thought, that from the point I became ill I was never really sane. And that thought scared him more than the prospect of dying in a bombed out building.

A noise to the side of the room pulled his attention back to the present. In the smoke and darkness a door opened, although it could have been several floors beneath him from, he was unable to tell. Then there was the sound of something heavy being pushed, and then the noise of someone trying to whisper loudly.

“Lyal. Lyal, you there pal?”

He struggled to his feet and called back to Philip, and although he didn’t know why they were trying to keep quiet, he followed suit.

“Yeah. I’m ok, but I can’t see shit. What’s happened?”

“Not sure really. It’s not this building, it’s the one opposite that’s been bombed. There’s a lot of people there, and police. This isn’t the time for you to make any public appearances, right? So, quiet as possible, I need you to make your way to my voice, there’s a staircase here and we can get out the back, but I’d stay away from the centre of the room; part of it’s given way. Ok? I’ve got the others with me, they were nearly back when it happened.”

“They ok?”

“Rei’s had a knock. She blacked out for a bit, but she’ll be alright. Now go slowly along the wall towards my voice. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Can you see if it’s clear near you?”

“No. I can’t see anything either, so just work your way to me. Steady, slow and quiet.”

Mathew moved in the direction of Philip’s voice. He kept one hand against the wall and shuffled forward as slowly as he could. The dust was still clouding the blackness and choking the air and the sounds of the services outside made him anxious. He could hear the building creaking and could feel spots of rain against his face. Every now and then a shaft of dust was illuminated from a torch across the road, or caught in the beams of light that occasionally penetrated the thick air. He heard something fall on the other side of the room. It crashed, heavy and deadly, on the floor below, and from that came the sound of another fall. Each noise marked another and the warehouse seemed like a house of cards, precariously balanced and impermanent. He moved a step forward and his foot stuck under something. He tugged gently but whatever it was it wouldn’t budge. He tried to move his foot backwards, but proved futile too. He pulled his foot up as hard as he could and suddenly it loosened, sending a floor beam plummeting down. It crashed through the floor below, which in turn collapsed onto the street level. Mathew froze as the floor he was on creaked and fell away.

“What happened?”

“I was stuck. Something fell. I think the floor’s given way here. I’m on a kind of ledge, I think.”

“Well keep it quiet, but try to work your way round to us,” whispered Philip as loud as he dared.

Mathew dared not even breathe. He tried to put his foot down but couldn’t find the floor, he moved about trying to locate something solid to stand on, eventually detecting a joist. He tested it first, resting his foot gently on it and gradually exerting more pressure. It held. He stepped up over it and the wood collapsed under foot, falling away with a large part of the floor attached. Two floors down the sound of the timber smashing to the floor resounded through the warehouse and the noise of several windows breaking echoed upwards.

“Lyal? You still there?”

Mathew clung to a joist floor that protruded from the wall, scraping his feet on the wall, trying to find a foothold. He’d slipped but managed to catch hold of something in the darkness. He could feel his arms ache and the pain in his chest as he tried to pull himself up. Sweat was pouring from his forehead and into his eyes. He swung his legs, desperate to find something to haul himself up, but he found nothing.

“Lyal?”

“I’m stuck. Phil I can’t hold on. Phil!”

He clung on, aware of his grip easing. He tried to move his arm, but each time he tried he felt himself slip slightly. He could hear something moving in the blackness. Then suddenly there was a voice directly over him.

“Mathew, it’s Deon. Hold on, I’m nearly there. Hold on.” Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ok, I’ve got hold. Now relax your body and pull with your arms, I’ll haul you up from here.”

“I can’t move.”

“Yes you can. Don’t panic, you’re ok. Just have a little faith and move yourself up. That’s it. You’re moving, ok. Now, keep your legs still and heave your body up. Just concentrate on my voice. Nothing else.”

Mathew focused on the soothing tones of Deon’s instructions. He pulled up as hard as he could, and just as he thought he could do no more he felt Deon’s hands on both of his shoulders pulling him up. He scrambled onto the remains of the floor and exhaled, unaware that he hadn’t taken a breath.

“Give me your hand.” Mathew flailed in the unlit void until he discovered Deon’s hand. “Right, now stand, that’s good, and move with me, one hand on the wall, quickly, that’s it, come on, almost there.”

Suddenly Mathew found himself on the stairwell, with Philip bundling him down the cast iron stairs to the ground floor. Half-dragged by the two larger men he reached the ground, was pushed through a doorway, and came out into an alley. Deon put his arm around Mathew’s back and almost carried him down the path and into an open yard. There he saw Rei, covered in ash and blood, but upright. Deon sat Mathew on a wall next to her, and gasped in the air. Mathew took a look around at his three companions, and then vomited.

“Take this,” said Deon handing him a piece of cloth, which Mathew wiped his mouth with.

“Thanks,” he managed through the heavy breaths.

“It’s not your time yet,” replied Deon. “You have things to do first, you just have to believe.”

“Ok, ok,” interrupted Philip. “We can’t stay here, not at all. Can you two walk?” Mathew and Rei exchanged glances and nodded reluctantly. “Good, ’cos we need to move out now.” And with that Philip hurried them through a doorway onto a street and led them away from the screams and cries of the people trapped and dying across the road from their hiding place.

Deon’s apartment was not the safest place to be, but in their present circumstances they had little choice, and even the usually cautious Philip has conceded that this may be the only place they could use with any degree of safety. Mathew still had blood covering his face and could still feel his leg trembling slightly by the time they’d arrived there. They had to take something the others called a taxi, but to Mathew it seemed more like a cross between a three-wheeled rickshaw and a mechanical lawn mower. Added to this was the problem that no one wanted to get the taxi all the way to the apartment, resulting in a three kilometre hike. The walk to the apartment took them through a gloomy alley where groups of youths hung around in the darkened corners, the hoods of their jackets pulled down over their faces and scarves covering their mouths. They spoke to Deon as he passed them, although Mathew couldn’t understand what was said. He kept his head down and hurried past. It seemed that the sooner he was out of London the safer he would feel. He was relieved when they settled into the one-room that Deon lived in and managed to get a few hours rest. He had expected to lie awake following the trauma, but was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

Mathew was woken by the sound of Philip stomping about. He examined his surroundings, the third place he’d slept in, in this brave new world. The apartment that Deon used was small, dark and cold, although Mathew was increasingly aware that he was always cold. Maybe that was a side effect of being near absolute zero for several decades. There was a smell of damp about it and Mathew was rather surprised that this was where Deon actually lived, as it had an abandoned feeling to it. It reminded him of a squat he’d visited in Kingston occasionally when he was at college. He could imagine Bob Marley playing on the stereo and CND or Peace posters adorning the walls. He even vaguely felt that there was a smell of marijuana in the air.

“What are you thinking?” enquired Rei.

“Nothing, it’s just that this place reminds me of a flat I used to visit when I was about 18.”

Phil gave the place a look of disdain. “If the twentieth century was like this, pal, you should be glad you’ve left it behind. Have you really been living like this Deon? It stinks in here.”

“Well, I have had other things to do, you know.” Deon slipped open the door and escorted a plump grey cat out with his foot. “Go away Rameses, you’re not allowed in here. Sorry, I don’t know how it gets in. It pisses everywhere and brings in dead mice.” Everyone made a mental note to check before sitting anywhere. “Anyway, I think of this as my base, not my home. People waste much of their time and effort worrying about the appearance of their houses, you know, when it’s their souls that need maintenance.”

“Well I hope this means that your soul is sound,” snorted Philip. “Now, Rei, are you and Mathew injured badly do you think?”

“I don’t think so. Just cut shaken and dirty. We can rest here today then set off tonight.”

“Right, and that’s all arranged, yeah?”

“Yes,” answered Deon. “We’ll go to the Roamers’ camp later. They’ll take us straight down to Beer over three days.”

“It can’t take three days to get to Devon,” Mathew stated.

“You have to remember that the roads are not as well maintained as they might have been once,” Philip explained quietly.

“Also,” added Deon, “the Roamers need to work, so you’ll be in a slow convoy. They can arrange a vehicle to take us along the coast to Southampton, and I’ll get a private boat from there to France. I’ll get it all done by the time we arrive. That way everything’s done in advance and we’re not drawing attention to ourselves, which we would if we have to wait around too long making arrangements.”

“Once we’re across the Channel things should be a bit easier,” Philip stated. “We can start to be a little less paranoid and arrange a ride east by rail quite easily. No one’s going to question anything from there. Rei will accompany you on the last part of the trip. I can write and research the story and try to get some exposure on the Walden Centre from Europe.”

“What about you?” Mathew asked Deon.

“I need to go where I’m needed. That will become obvious as we continue, and somehow I’ll be provided with the means that I need.” Philip caught Rei’s eye and gestured his cynicism, but Rei just shrugged. Mathew was her concern; Deon would look out for himself as she guessed that he’d always done.

“I’ll get some provisions later,” said Philip as he sorted through a projection of stories from his c-pac. “Right, this looks like it. Yeah, there’s something here about a blast in east London. Shit, it’s worse than we thought.” He opened up the screen, which projected into the air in front of him, to reveal an image of the street opposite the warehouse that they’d left. Several medics were operating on people on the side of the street, while a parade of corpses were just visible lined up in the background. The group looked at the devastation in stunned silence. A fire was still visible in a church, and people were stumbling around outside the building. The outside broadcast reporter came into view.

“The latest that we have,” she said, “is that at least 65 people are known to have died and nearly 100 others are injured. The explosion ripped through St Peter’s Church in the early evening during a mass. This is an unusually Christian area, and the church was packed following an appeal from ministers for people to show their support and solidarity after a 28 year old woman was killed here last week, and the murder of Bishop Peter Ross. The woman was at the centre of an anti-Christian attack, and the blast here tonight appears to have been yet another act of terrorism against the followers of this religion. Eye-witnesses claim to have seen an unknown young woman in the church, and some say that the blast originated from beside, or even
inside
her, which suggests that this may have been a suicide bomber. The community here is a close-knit one, and many people that I have spoken to say that this will only serve to strengthen their resolve. Police officials are refusing to comment on widely accepted reports that an Islamic group has claimed responsibility of this. Unofficially we’ve heard that police are keen to interview Nasreen Freeman who disappeared after the attack on the Fort Burlington community several weeks ago. It is believed that she has links to an Islamic group. Police have also said that they would be interested in interviewing one Deon Underdown, who also disappeared from the commune at the same time. They are also now examining whether this attack could be related to the two recent murders in the area and similar explosions elsewhere in London and in Leeds last month. That attack, although not in a church, seemed to target a Christian group organising a non-religious meeting. That was not originally seen as being religiously or sectarian based, but it was also a suicide bombing, so may be related. Twenty-two people died there and if these are organised by the same extremists this may represent an escalation in this manner of attack. If these atrocities are the work of suicide bombers then police are baffled as to how they brought explosives through the security checks at the church. Since this latest attack on a Christian target the BBC has heard from a group calling themselves Crusaders for Truth, saying ‘that if this blast does turn out to be the work of religious extremists, then they will retaliate against the perpetrators.’ It now remains to be seen whether inter-religious sectarian fighting of the type seen previously in North America and Africa will be spreading across Britain for the first time. Diane Bell, BBC News.”

Deon became slowly aware that everyone was looking at him.

“You knew about Unit already,” he said, surprised to be the focus of attention. “I told you about that.”

“Actually,
I
told everyone else about it, pal.
You
said you were a porter called James. Anyhow, that’s not the issue. We all know about the commune, but you’re linked to another attack by the police and that’s not going to help us move around anonymously.”

“Hang on; what’s this about a commune? I don’t know anything about this.” Mathew felt incensed that no one ever told him what was happening. “Is this guy dangerous?”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m a victim. I was nearly killed there, but I know how the police deal with people like me, and I wasn’t about to wait to be revolved by them.”

“Revolved?” asked Mathew.

“Framed,” explained Philip. “If you want to fit in here, you’ll have to listen to how people speak. Right, Deon, we know that you weren’t involved in what happened. Lyal, I’ll explain it all later. But what we need to decide is how we’re going to handle this. And Deon, have you heard from this Nasreen woman?”

“No, not since I left Unit, but I know that she wouldn’t be involved in some weird cult thing.”

Philip and Rei exchanged a glance, but didn’t say anything about Deon. Philip continued:

“The thing is, she
was
a member of a group of extreme Muslims who were linked to some hate crimes a few years back, so whatever you know about her, well, it may not be true. And if she contacts you now, she’ll put us all in danger.”

“How do you know what she’s done in the past?”

“I’m a reporter, it’s what I do. Fucking hell, you spend enough time changing people’s identity details to know that you get access to anything if really want to. Now, we’ve got a few issues on our side here still. Firstly the police were definitely under the impression that the Fort Burlington massacre was some kind of ritual suicide with two escapees, so they’ve not been chasing you, which is how you’ve managed to avoid any contact with them so far. That and the fact that the DI in charge of that case is an arsehole and is totally incompetent. Apart from the three of us no one’s going to link you to James Peacock yet, so there’s no reason to think that there’s any kind of trail leading to the Walden Centre. Our trouble is only if anyone recognises him, and that’s going to be a lot more likely if we all travel together. So let’s try this, we carry on as planned, except Deon stays here and arranges the boat from,…where did we say? Portsmouth?”

“Southampton’s easier at the moment, and it’s quieter.”

“Right. You stay here and arrange the passage, then come down separately to meet us in Southampton.”

“That’s what I wanted to do originally,” he protested. “It’s probably easier to arrange a boat from here then it is from a travelling camp.”

“Good, well you’ve got what you wanted, you should be pleased. Is everyone ok with that?” Rei nodded slowly, wondering if this new turn of events would hinder their progress.

“I’m fine with the arrangement,” said Mathew. “But I still need to know what happened at this fort. And what’s this about fighting from America and Africa spreading to here?”

“It was ’cos gangs of Muslims massacred Christians in Morocco,” Deon recited, well-schooled.

“It’s not really that simple,” Philip interrupted. “And it was in Mozambique, not Morocco. A party of Neo-Conservative Christians, backed the Californian government, amongst others, seized control of the country in a coup about 15 years ago. There was a lot of fuss, but basically most countries’ governments either supported the coup or didn’t care. And California still has some sway in world affairs, even since the break-up of the USA. Anyhow, the Synod that controlled the country started on this policy of religious singularity. They started out by cutting funding to any Islamic or Jewish groups, people or temples, and over the course of about 2 years it turned into genocide of any religious community that wasn’t Christian. You know what the Inquisition did in the Renaissance? Well it was like that; a Christian police, torturing people into recanting their former beliefs. And because the Church controlled the government, any secular political affiliations led to imprisonment as well. And when they ran out of Muslims and Jews, they started on Protestants, Mormons, anyone who didn’t share their fascist fundamentalism. During that time the policy spread to a number of other countries. There were thousands killed and people took up arms against each other, it was like something out of the Middle Ages, really. The protests became stronger around the world, especially in the south of North America and the Near East, and as it escalated so one group of Muslims would attack a church, and then Christians would bomb a mosque, and so on. Eventually the government in Mozambique collapsed, not due to anything religious, they just screwed their internal accounts and went bankrupt, and then everyone condemned them and the factionalism kind of died out, although the country’s still counting the costs of it all now, and has never really been stable since. There’s still a great deal of mistrust and antagonism in these places between Muslims, Christians and Jews, and whenever there’s an issue between them this is always seen as one of the causes. And of course there’d been religious clashes in America about 10 years before all this. That was based around racial and ethnic inequalities. The riots manifested themselves as inter-religious, but some of that goes back to the last century. What happened in America and what occurred in Africa had very different root causes, but obviously the end result – these wars apparently between religious factions – was the same.”

“How many died?”

“No one’s quite sure. Between 2 and 6 million in Africa, probably. Most just disappeared. In America it was nearer 1 million, but over a much longer time scale.”

“But it never happened here?”

“Well, not yet it hasn’t.”

“But there must be a reason for it, because Christians don’t behave like that; not without a good reason’ stated Deon. “And I’ve heard that the Muslims caused it by torturing kids and burning schools. When you’re forced to behave in a certain way, sometimes you have to fight back. I’ve heard about the killings done to the Christians there, it was appalling and God needed people to fight for him. They killed babies you know!”

“Deon, I do know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, it’s not like you were there or something.”

“I’ve studied this. I do know about it. Anyway, that’s what happened. But our main concern now is getting out of London, so let’s concentrate on that ok? We’ll need to leave in about six hours, so you may want to get some rest.”