The End of the World Survivors Club

by Adrian J. Walker

  I strained my arm as high as it would go. She hesitated, looked inside, then back at me.

  ‘Please.’

  Finally she reached down.

  ‘Take my arm,’ she said. I grasped her wrist as she grasped mine, and I felt myself leaving the water.

  ‘Oh, God, thank you, thank you, Mary.’

  She was holding me in two arms now. My feet were clear of the surface, my head almost at the hatch. I reached up with my other hand. Soon I would see them.

  But Mary stopped.

  ‘Mary?’ I said, dangling. Her stare seemed to penetrate me, reaching down into the ocean’s darkest places. Then her eyes turned to me, and in one swift, businesslike motion, she unfastened my straps and unhooked my jacket, tossing it to one side.

  ‘Mary, what are you doing?’

  With surprising strength she pulled me close.

  ‘Looking after your children,’ she said, ‘that’s what.’

  I had barely registered what had happened before I hit the water, and this time I sank straight down, with no hope of bobbing back up.

  I watched the surface disappear, and nothing flashed before my eyes but the possible futures of those little hearts above me. Where would they end up? Would they be looked after? What would they be told, what would they believe, what would they become? I grasped for something hopeful. At least that they might survive. Perhaps they would remember me, perhaps they wouldn’t. Either was fine so long as they were happy, so long as they were safe, so long as nobody hurt them.

  Cradling this thought like a pearl, I prepared to close my eyes and open my lungs to the frigid sea, and the last thing I saw was a black explosion at the surface, haloed in orange flame.

  Chapter 9

  I felt time passing without me. The world turned. People spoke, wept, shuffled about.

  Sounds became familiar.

  Bryce’s mutters.

  Richard’s heavy sighs.

  Argument, frustration, the dull thump of water against flat metal.

  And beneath them all was the roar of shifting tides, like leviathans churning beneath my skin.

  Somewhere we met searing light and pelting rain, though my eyes remained closed, and I had a sense of my body being moved like furniture.

  But me? I was elsewhere.

  The world became quieter, darker, stiller. My thoughts persisted, but in some other place; a room locked away from the world.

  And suddenly here I am in our little back garden. Look at this – it’s summer, the tree’s in blossom, and a mobile of mirrors hangs from the lowest branch, glinting as it turns in the breeze. It’s been one of those impossible days where everything has gone to plan. Sleep, food, weather, everything. I’m sitting on a step with a glass of lemonade. Lemonade – when had I last enjoyed that simple pleasure? The fizz and chink of the ice. It’s warm and quiet, and running barefoot on the grass before me is my beautiful daughter. She’s laughing, waving a windmill on a stick. Arthur’s waddling after her, giggling at the colours, and behind him, all tanned and happy with his shirt open, is my husband, Ed.

  There’s nothing wrong. Everything’s right.

  I stand and walk to him. He turns and smiles, and I put my arm around his neck for a long kiss. When it’s finished I look down at Alice, who’s grinning up at me. I can’t hear her, but her mouth says ‘Mummy.’

  The sun glints in the mobile. I turn to look, and in one oblong mirror I see my face. Only that’s not my face … that’s not my face at all. It’s hers.

  Mary’s.

  ‘Alice.’

  I sat bolt upright, looking left. I was on a hard bed beneath a rough blanket in a small square room made of stone. The air was hot and damp, clogged with an earthy smell that reminded me of museums. A tissue-thin blue paper gown hung limply from my shoulders, and my body felt thinner than usual, my joints more noticeable, torso more concave. On the wall to my left was a window with no glass – just a square hole that had been cut into the rock. There was a dungeon-like feeling to the place, and I had the sense that I was high up, as if in some medieval tower. Warm rain blew in, laced with the smell of ozone and wet foliage. I heard cracks and shouts from far away.

  ‘Hello.’

  I turned to see a woman in a nurse’s outfit standing by the door. Her voice was familiar, but her face was in shadow. She was holding a bucket and flannel.

  ‘Where am I? Where are –’ I gasped, winded by a sick surge of memories. ‘– my children.’

  I threw off the blanket and swung out my legs.

  ‘Don’t.’ The woman dropped what she was carrying and stepped nimbly from the corner to steady me, but my right foot had already touched the ground and I howled with pain. I fell back on the bed, retching, though nothing came up. ‘You have only just had the plaster off.’

  ‘What plaster?’

  ‘I was just about to give you a bed bath, actually. It’s been a while since your last one, I’m afraid, and I would have done you sooner only we’ve been so terribly busy, what with everything going on out there.’

  Swimming back from nausea, I focused on the woman above me. Her face was thin and lightly wrinkled, and a brittle sadness inhabited her eyes.

  ‘Mildred?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. You broke your leg in the wreck. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘No, I don’t remember anything after …’ I broke off again, paralysed by another flash of memories. Arthur’s cries, Mary’s hand, that look in her eye, falling into the freezing darkness. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Some of the wreckage hit you. We saw it from the raft. I can’t believe you managed to swim all that way. It was … well, let’s just say you didn’t look pretty when that man pulled you aboard.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘The great big hairy one. Briggs, or whatever his name is.’

  I remembered the dark shape in the water and the flames above it.

  ‘Bryce.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s the fellow. He dived in and pulled you out.’

  ‘Who else was on the raft?’

  ‘It was more like two rafts, actually. Two platforms joined beneath the water. We thought it might have been a part of that terrible oil rig. We kind of –’ She turned a finger in the air, and a smile flickered on her mouth. ‘– spun around each other as we drifted. Like a dance, I suppose. Anyway, you and your saviour, Bryce, were on one section with five others, including that tall man with his son, what was his name …?’

  ‘Richard.’

  ‘That’s right. Funny, you’d think I would remember their names.’ She blinked and looked away. ‘I was … well, I suppose I was a little distracted. I didn’t join in much of the conversation. Gerald always did most of the talking for us.’

  I lay still for a moment, staring at the stone ceiling. Then I sat up and placed my feet upon the floor, gently this time, experimenting with the pressure on each leg.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Mildred. ‘I’m sure the doctor said you shouldn’t be putting too much weight on it to begin with.’

  I pushed harder, ignoring the stabs of pain.

  ‘Especially after you’ve been unconscious for so long.’

  I stopped and frowned at her. Another splutter of cracks sounded somewhere in the distance.

  ‘What? How long have I been unconscious?’

  Mildred tightened her lips, flustered. ‘You contracted a terrible fever. You came in and out of consciousness that first night, but you were never properly with us after that.’

  I glowered at her. ‘How long, Mildred? And where are we?’

  ‘We … drifted for a few days. We tried to follow the lifeboats west, but the current from the wave was too strong. And Richard was wrong; nobody found us. Nobody.’

  I gripped the bed.

  ‘You lost them?’

  She looked down at her hands.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  My insides seemed to move of their own accord – heart spluttering, guts shuddering, lungs pumping short, sharp breaths.


  ‘Try to calm down,’ said Mildred, touching my shoulder. ‘You mustn’t get upset.’

  I knocked her hand away.

  ‘My children were on those boats. She … she took them.’

  Mildred’s face hardened.

  ‘Yes. I saw what she did. We all did.’

  ‘You and Gerald were with Mary in that camp, weren’t you?’

  She gave a swift nod. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know something about her, don’t you? What is it?’

  She searched the walls, the ceiling, floor, eyes dotting about like pinballs until finally they gave one last roll at the ceiling.

  ‘Oh, God …’

  ‘Mildred.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ She expelled a long breath through her nose, then walked to the window and looked out. The strange cracks continued, like axes hitting wood.

  ‘Gerald wanted to tell you,’ she said, ‘but I made him promise not to. I felt sorry for her, truth be told. She hadn’t done any harm, not really, and after what had happened it just didn’t seem fair.’ She paused, giving me a half-smile over her shoulder. ‘We never had children, Gerald and I. We almost did, but I’m afraid I lost her quite early on. I’m sure it was a girl. We were only young. It upset me terribly, and Gerald didn’t speak for days. It was a dreadful time for us. I know it happens a lot, and that it’s not like losing a real child, and I’d heard that most couples keep trying, but … well, I just don’t think either of us had it in us to withstand another loss if it happened again. So we decided not to. We just lived our life, Gerald and I.’

  She turned and gave me a full smile this time, eyes glistening.

  ‘And it was a wonderful life. It really was. A wonderful, safe and untroubled life with the man I loved. I never worked, apart from volunteering at the nursing home, and I had my bridge club and coffee mornings, cruises in the summer to look forward to, and my husband to look after. The man I loved.’ The smile faltered. ‘And I know what you’re thinking; women aren’t supposed to do that kind of thing any more are they? It’s weak, it’s not feminist enough, giving up your life like that for a man. But I’m afraid I just don’t care. I loved my life, and I loved my Gerald.’

  She sighed and turned back to the window, placing her fingers delicately on the stone ledge. A breeze disrupted a strand of mousey hair that had escaped from her nurse’s cap.

  ‘What I’m trying to say is that I may not have ever experienced a mother’s instinct, but I do have some idea of what it’s like to lose a child. That’s why I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What did she do?’

  ‘We were given rooms to live in. In the camp at Whitby. Nothing more than cubicles, really, like swimming pool changing rooms with beds. There was absolutely no privacy; you could see under the walls and hear everything. Gerald and I had been in there for two weeks when Mary arrived. She had a little baby with her. Well, needless to say Gerald made it clear to her right from the off: ‘“I hope we’re not going to be kept awake by crying at all hours!”’ And Mary replied: ‘“I’m a single mother, and my daughter is only five months old. I’d appreciate a bit of understanding.”’

  Mildred looked at me.

  ‘My daughter, that’s what she said. I’m a single mother.’ She shook her head. ‘As it turned out the baby wasn’t any trouble at all that night. But the next day something very strange happened. In the queues for the canteen we heard a woman scream, and she came running to the queue with her arms outstretched exclaiming, “My baby, my baby!” and “Mary, you found her!”’

  ‘It was Mary she was running to, you see. And then this man came running too; the woman’s husband, we supposed, and it was clear that they knew her, and that they believed she had their baby. I remember the look on her face, hunted, like a cornered animal. There was a moment when I could have sworn she was going to run, but she didn’t. Instead she turned on a smile and handed over the baby, and embraced the woman and her husband, telling them where she’d found her and that she was fine, and how lucky it was that they had bumped into her. The couple were so happy to have found their little girl that they didn’t ask any more questions, and Mary gave her up, just like that.

  ‘Well, Gerald and I were horrified. “Single mother”, she had said. “My daughter.” He went to speak to the couple later that day. We didn’t tell them what she had said, but asked them how they knew her and what have you. They said they’d known her from before, they’d been friends with her and her husband.’

  ‘Mary’s husband. Nathan – he wasn’t with her?’

  Mildred shook her head. ‘There were terrible floods. He drowned in them. And they’d had a little baby of their own who had drowned too.’

  A chill ran through me.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I felt sorry for her, and I thought that maybe we’d misunderstood her. Gerald had a way of talking that … well, I thought perhaps he had made her nervous and the words had come out wrong – he could do that, could Gerald, he made people nervous.’ She faltered with doelike eyes. ‘I don’t know. I just saw her with your lovely children and she was so good with them …’

  There was a crutch by the bed. I snatched it and stood, immediately collapsing. Mildred caught me.

  ‘Please, you shouldn’t be moving about so much.’

  ‘She took them.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I never once imagined that she would do such a thing. And we were on a boat. What could happen on a boat?’

  ‘Tell me where we are.’

  ‘I … I’m sure she wouldn’t hurt them. I’m sure they’re safe.’

  I glared down at her, dizzy with a sudden rabid urge to grab her by the throat. ‘I am their mother and so long as they’re not with me, they’re not safe. Now tell me where we are.’

  Her jaw trembled. ‘Like I said, we were taken east for a day or two, after which we somehow found our way into the Mediterranean.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We were in bad shape – you especially. We had no food or water, and a couple of the others didn’t make it. There was a terrible storm that tossed us from pillar to post. I thought for sure we were going to die, but then –’ she turned to the window, from which yet another round of snaps and bangs could be heard ‘– then we were saved.’

  ‘Who saved us?’ I gripped her shoulders. ‘Mildred, tell me where we are!’

  ‘We’re in Gibraltar,’ she said. ‘It’s been twelve weeks since the SS Unity sank.’

  ‘Please, come back. You shouldn’t be walking on that leg yet.’

  Using the crutch, I hobbled down a narrow, stone corridor lined with cells like the one in which I had awoken. They were hospital rooms, and each one was occupied. Some patients were bandaged and unconscious, while others groaned or screamed as they were restrained. Mildred scurried after me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said.

  My leg was like rubber and protested with every step, but the pain was silenced by a furious flood of adrenalin.

  Gibraltar?

  Twelve weeks?

  They could have gone anywhere in that time. I had to get out. I had to get to Florida. Right now.

  ‘Beth, please,’ said Mildred.

  ‘What is this place? Are these people from the wreck?’

  ‘No. They were here when we arrived.’

  ‘Why are there so many injuries?’

  ‘If you’ll stop for a second, I’ll explain.’

  ‘I don’t have time to stop, Mildred. I’m in fucking Gibraltar, and thanks to you my kids are with some lunatic on the other side of the Atlantic.

  ‘Thanks to me? I wasn’t the one who left my children with a stranger, thank you very much.’

  ‘Where the hell is Gibraltar anyway?’

  I turned onto a second wider corridor, then followed it onto a third. The air was fresher, the light brighter. The sounds from outside grew louder with every step.

  ‘Bottom of Spain,’ mumbled Mildred. ‘It kind of just d
angles there, a bit like a tonsil. Used to, at any rate. Very muggy. Maggie says the floods—’

  ‘Used to?’ I smelled warm plant life, as if we were in a jungle. There were more people on this corridor, busy with their heads down, and some gave me strange looks as I passed. I felt naked in my flimsy gown. ‘Where are my clothes?’

  ‘Maggie has them.’

  ‘Who’s Maggie? And why are we still here after twelve weeks?’

  I turned another corner and stopped. At the end of the corridor was a short flight of steps leading into an oval room with one wall missing. The empty space was curtained by creepers and foliage, and beyond was a wide vista of sky, sea and distant mountains. I walked towards the stairs. The room was carpeted with a huge mosaic rug and furnished with antique furniture – chests, cupboards, a square table and three desks. At one of these sat Josh, nervously scribbling notes on an A4 pad.

  At the second desk stood what I thought was another young man, but soon realised was a shaven-haired girl of about seventeen staring down at a series of papers. She wore grey cargo pants and a military green vest, and had a fierce, fine-featured face with dark skin. In one hand she held a walkie-talkie.

  The third and largest desk was empty, but behind it stood a woman examining a huge map on the wall. She was striking – tall, dark-skinned, in her fifties, wearing a short-sleeved checked shirt tucked into khaki shorts. Her greying black hair was swept into a loose ponytail.

  There was also a monkey on her shoulder. It screeched when it saw us, and the woman turned.

  ‘Aha,’ she said. Her smile revealed a large gold tooth. ‘You’re awake.’

  The strange cracking noise from outside was now accompanied by the occasional concussive thud, which shook dust from the ceiling overhead.

  I reached the stairs and used the banister to help me down. Josh looked up.

  ‘Hi, Beth,’ he said.

  ‘Josh, where’s your dad?’

  ‘He’s upstairs with Bryce in the radio room.’ He turned to the woman at the map, with a look of deference. ‘Can I go and tell him?’