No Dominion: An action-packed post-apocalyptic thriller (Plague Times Trilogy)

by Louise Welsh

  ‘Is that what they told you?’

  ‘They didn’t need to.’

  Rees pulled out the only chair and offered it to Stevie.

  She rejected it with a brief shake of the head. ‘Didn’t you think it odd, a gang of teenagers with three adults and a toddler?’

  He settled himself on the chair. ‘I don’t know where you’ve just come from, but round here nothing’s odd.’ He emphasised the word, making it sound absurd. ‘People come, people go. Sometimes they need something. Sometimes they’ve got something I need. We trade and they go on their way.’

  Magnus said, ‘Did you ever do business with a man called Bjarne? A big guy, a Yorkshireman settled on the Orkneys?’

  ‘Ammunition and guns trade well.’ Rees hid his expression behind his mug. ‘Maybe I’d remember him, if I had a brace of rifles and half-a-dozen boxes of bullets in my hands.’

  Magnus snorted. ‘I’d want to know what you were going to tell us was worth it, before I handed over a bloody arsenal.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it a good deal.’ Rees took a small tin box out of his pocket. He extracted a small bag of tobacco and some rolling papers. ‘But that’s the trouble with trading information. You never know if it’s worth the price until you’ve paid it.’

  Stevie’s fingers returned to the clasp on the strap that held her rifle in place. ‘You’re a brave man. There are two of us, one of you.’

  ‘Maybe I lied about being on my own.’ Rees sprinkled a thin line of tobacco onto one of the papers. He looked up from his task and grinned. ‘There could be an army hiding in these buildings yonder. Anyway, if you shoot me, you’ll never find out what I know.’

  ‘Depends on where I shoot you.’

  The trader’s grin widened, but Stevie thought she sensed unease beneath the stretched lips, the exposed teeth. He rolled the loaded paper and ran his tongue along it, sealing the cigarette. ‘You don’t strike me as the type.’

  Stevie smiled her best salesgirl smile, the one that had once stoked her salary with commission.

  ‘Inflicting pain makes me feel bad, but I can do it.’

  A small flake of tobacco stuck to Rees’s lip. The trader caught it on his tongue and spat it free. He set his cigarette on the table and placed his hands on his thighs, in easy reach of the rifle stationed by his side. Pistol whined at the door and the dogs in the adjacent container barked, as if they could sense the tension rising.

  ‘We don’t need any trouble.’ Magnus resisted the urge to reach inside his jacket for his gun. ‘We’re just anxious about our kids.’

  ‘Your kid.’ Rees’s eyes were on Stevie. ‘I’m guessing she doesn’t have any.’

  Stevie detected a hint of superiority in his voice that made her think her suspicion about the toddler she had caught a glimpse of was right. She said, ‘None of the children are mine, but I care about them. Guns and ammo are a small price to pay.’ She looked at Magnus. ‘Stay with him. I’ll fetch the rifles from the boat.’

  ‘Stevie …’ Magnus took a step towards her.

  She held up her hands; too low for surrender, but wide enough for apology.

  ‘We need some form of transport and we need to know anything that might help us track down the kids. You can shoot him in the leg, torture it out of him, or we can trade.’ She looked at Rees. ‘We hid the guns inside the boat. It’ll take me a while to get them.’

  Magnus said, ‘Need a hand?’

  She nodded towards the Cornishman.

  ‘I’d rather you kept an eye on him.’

  They both knew there were no rifles in the boat and that whatever ammunition they had was precious. Magnus gave an even nod, his expression neutral. ‘Be careful.’

  Stevie treated him to a smile. ‘Don’t worry. It’s like the man said, the wolves only come out after dark.’

  Pistol gave her a rapturous greeting. Stevie had never quite cured him of jumping up and had to push him away. ‘Down!’ The remains of a rabbit lay bloody on the ground by the shipping container. The dog had ripped the meat and innards from the carcass and discarded the bones and pelt. The rabbit’s head lolled in her direction, large eyes dull and unsurprised. Once it would have made Stevie retch; now she was merely glad to know that the dog had eaten.

  She looked towards the terminal building where she had seen the child. Its windows were boarded up, but she suspected there were gaps in the makeshift shutters, where someone could keep lookout. She checked her watch and jogged away from the buildings, down towards the quayside and onto the boat. Pistol followed her, tail wagging. She ordered the dog into the cabin and shut the door on him, hoping his recent meal would send him to sleep.

  The next part was more difficult. Stevie slipped off the boat and ran in a wide arc around the quayside, skirting the shipping containers. She was dressed in black and kept her body low, hoping the greys of tarmac, concrete and sky would camouflage her, but there was little cover and she was dangerously exposed to view. She had slid a knife into her left boot and could feel it, loose in its sheath, rubbing against her ankle, a counterpoint to the weight of the gun in her jacket pocket. She glanced at her watch. Three minutes since she had left Magnus and Rees.

  There was an edge of scrubland beyond the tarmac. Stevie used it as her guideline and changed direction, making for the building near where the toddler was hidden. The child looked the same shape and size as Evie, but only a mother could tell one child from another at that distance. Stevie was nearing the building now. She could hear the wind shaking the trees that had colonised the hills beyond the ferry terminal. As she drew closer she heard another sound below the hiss of the breeze and trembling leaves – a song sung in a wavering falsetto.

  Cry baby Bunting,

  Daddy’s gone a-hunting

  Gone to get a rabbit skin,

  to wrap the baby Bunting in …

  And beneath the wavering voice, she heard the sound of a child sobbing.

  Cry baby Bunting,

  Daddy’s gone a-hunting …

  Baby Bunting kept on crying. Stevie drew level with the building, edging close to the windows. Chipboard had been nailed across them. The compressed wood had proved unequal to the northern climate. The boards had swollen and warped; their edges pushed free of the window frames. Stevie crawled along the side of the building and put her eye to one of the gaps. She glimpsed a slice of kitchen – maroon linoleum, a white enamelled cooker, an edge of grey, stainless-steel sink. It was a cold space, the kind that defied cleaning. As far as she could tell it was empty. Stevie felt a surge of sympathy for whoever lived here, caught in squalor on the edge of nothing, but she kept her gun in her hand and crept forward. Time was ticking on. It was six minutes since she had promised Rees the guns and ammo. Instinct told her the trader did not believe the Sweats were a sign that the world needed to slow down. He would be getting impatient.

  The terminal building’s pebbledash was sharp against Stevie’s cheekbone. She moved quietly and peered through the next gap in the boarding and into the eyes of a small child.

  Cry baby Bunting,

  Daddy’s gone a-hunting …

  The toddler was being rocked to and fro, its head resting on the shoulder of the singer, who had her back to the window. It stopped in mid-cry and stared at Stevie, large eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘Shhhh … Shhhhh …’ The woman jiggled the child. It raised a hand, waved a teething ring towards Stevie and cawed an unintelligible greeting.

  The woman turned and Stevie ducked out of sight. The child had lifted its head as it called to her and she had seen its face. It was younger than Evie, its head bald except for a downy covering of baby hair.

  ‘Is someone there?’ The woman’s voice was high and determined. ‘I’ve got a gun.’

  Stevie crouched beneath the window. She had hoped the child was Evie, but now suspected it might belong to Rees. There was a weight in her chest; shame at what she was about to do; fear that it might kill her. She took a deep breath and slid the blade of her
knife into the breach in the chipboard. The damp wood gave way easily. Stevie levered the knife’s handle and the board let out a hollow crack as it split. The woman shouted, ‘Rees?’

  Stevie sprinted to the front door and crouched by the step, her rifle pointing upwards. She held her breath and waited. Time passed. The wind shook the trees. A tuft of grass beside the step bent with the breeze. Stevie’s joints began to stiffen. She risked a quick glance at her watch. Nine minutes since she had left Rees and Magnus. She wanted to look towards the sea and the shipping container where the two men waited, but stared instead at the door handle, willing it to turn. The space between her shoulder blades prickled and she imagined Rees making his way across the flat expanse of tarmac towards her, raising his gun as she came into range.

  The child had not let out a sound since it greeted her. Stevie wondered how the woman had silenced it. A feeling of dread crept over her. Who knew how much the woman had suffered? Fear could trigger desperate acts. One of the first new mothers on Orkney had drowned her baby before cutting her own wrists. They had been discovered in the bath, their bodies cradled together in the pink water.

  Stevie was half out of her crouch when the door handle slowly began to turn. She braced herself and watched as the door opened a crack. It was all she needed. She rammed the muzzle of her rifle into the gap and sprang to her feet. The gun rose with her. The woman screamed. Stevie said, ‘Stay where you are.’

  The woman’s eyes were wide in the darkness of the hallway. Stevie’s rifle rested horribly against the crown of the child’s head.

  ‘Don’t hurt her.’ The woman’s voice was hoarse.

  It was an effort to keep the gun where it was, pressed against the child’s soft skull. The baby gave her a glassy look. Stevie said, ‘Open the door and throw your gun outside, beyond the step.’

  The woman pulled the door wider. She had dark hair and the raw complexion of someone used to working outside in all weathers. She said, ‘I took the safety catch off. I need both hands to fix it.’

  Stevie stroked the child’s cheek with the barrel of her gun. ‘I won’t ask twice.’

  The woman’s eyes were wild with fear, the set of her jaw determined. She was short and wiry, dressed in a grey T-shirt and running bottoms.

  ‘It’s liable to blow all our heads off when it hits the ground.’

  To let the woman put both hands on the gun was to invite her own death. Stevie said, ‘That’ll put an end to all our worries.’

  The mother’s glance flitted across the hills and down to the bay. She must have seen no chance of help because she did as she was told and tossed the gun beyond reach. Stevie tensed as the weapon hit the tarmac but the woman did not blink. Stevie saw that she had been lying and knew that, given a chance, the mother would kill her. She nodded towards the child. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Mercy. I named her for the times.’

  ‘Why isn’t she crying?’

  ‘I gave her something to keep her quiet.’ The woman put her hand on the baby’s skull, her fingers dangerously close to the barrel of Stevie’s gun. ‘How did you know I’d open the door?’

  ‘I didn’t. But it’s the only point with a clear view of your man’s storerooms. You’d already risked stepping outside since our boat docked. I thought that if I got you rattled, you might risk it again.’

  She could have added that most survivors ran towards trouble. If they had to die they preferred to be on their feet.

  The woman stared Stevie in the eye. ‘Rees is a crack shot. He’ll have the legs from you before you even know he’s there.’ Her voice broke. ‘I know children fetch good prices, but they’re high maintenance. Put your rifle down and I’ll make sure he gives you goods to trade.’ Her fingers stroked the child’s thistledown hair.

  ‘Take your hand away from the gun.’ The target between Stevie’s shoulder blades burned, but she dared not turn to see if Rees was behind her.

  The woman slid her hand free of her daughter’s head, all the while keeping her eyes locked on Stevie’s.

  ‘Mercy’s getting over a bad cold. She might not survive a long journey. Let us both go and my husband will give you guns.’ She tried to smile. ‘High value, no hassle.’

  It was a good slogan, the kind any salesperson would be proud of. Stevie said, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Lucy.’ The woman kissed the top of her child’s head, her lips almost brushing the barrel of the gun. ‘I can see you’re a good person. You wouldn’t shoot a child.’

  ‘Are you willing to take the chance?’

  Lucy held Mercy close and cast her eyes downwards, as if it hurt her to look at Stevie.

  ‘Whatever you want, you can get it without threatening a baby.’ She stepped from the house. The strain was beginning to tell. The hands that held the child were trembling. ‘If you have to aim a gun at someone aim it at me.’

  Stevie’s biceps ached with the effort of keeping her rifle steady; there was a knot in her right shoulder where she would feel the recoil if the gun fired.

  ‘We’re going to your husband’s man-cave. Stay in front of me and keep a steady pace. I don’t want to hurt either of you, but if you trip or make a break for it, I will shoot you both.’ Stevie heard the conviction in her own voice and felt afraid.

  There was no longer any need to seek cover. They walked across the tarmac, Lucy leading the way with Mercy in her arms. Stevie followed a breath behind, her rifle still aimed at the child’s head. A thin spatter of rain drove in from the sea, hitting them in their faces. The baby whimpered, but whatever Lucy had given her had taken hold and she did not cry.

  Stevie saw Rees and Magnus step from the shipping container and was glad the Cornishman had time to take in the scene: his wife and child, her rifle. Rees reached for his pistol. Magnus said something to him and he dropped it. The Cornishman raised his hands in the air to show that he was unarmed and then slowly lowered them.

  Magnus picked up the abandoned gun from the ground. Stevie expected him to point it at Rees, but he held it by his side. She felt a blast of impatience. The scent of moral superiority was typical of the Orcadian.

  She waited until they were close and said, ‘Ready to trade?’

  The Cornishman ignored her and looked at Lucy. ‘Are you all right?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Give her what she wants.’

  Rees lifted a hand, as if he was about to touch his wife and daughter. It hung in the air, an incomplete gesture. He let it fall to his side and looked at Stevie. ‘Name your terms.’

  The wind blew Stevie’s hair across her face, but she dared not move a hand to brush it away.

  ‘We want to know everything you can tell us about where our kids are headed and anything you know about Bjarne, the trader from Orkney.’ She kept her eyes trained on Lucy. The woman’s hips were taught, her spine straight; back muscles defined beneath her thin cotton top. Stevie realised Lucy was tensed for flight and whispered in her ear. ‘It’ll be over soon. Keep your cool and I promise everyone will walk away in one piece.’

  She thought about telling Magnus to make himself useful and point his gun at the woman, but was afraid he might refuse and that the slender power balance would be broken.

  Rees said, ‘Why don’t you give my wife and daughter a break? I’ve already promised to tell you what I can.’

  Stevie kept her gun steady. ‘The sooner you tell us, sooner they’ll go free.’

  Mercy whimpered and Lucy made a soft shushing noise.

  Rees said, ‘Your kids are headed south. They think they’re going to civilisation, but the people they’re with will sell them to the highest bidder. If they’re lucky they’ll go straight to one of the big scavenging gangs. If they’re unlucky there may be a few detours along the way.’

  Magnus moved to Stevie’s side. He pointed the gun he had lifted from the ground at the trader. ‘What kind of detours?’

  Rees looked him in the eye. ‘Use your imagination.’

  Magnus said, ‘Is this guesswork
or do you know for sure?’

  ‘No one announced it, but I could tell that was the plan. The kids were high on adventure and the adults were keeping them that way – spinning them a line, full of promises about how things would be when they reached Glasgow – electricity, cinemas, Internet, hot-and cold-running water.’

  Stevie said, ‘Belle was held captive by a gang trading in women. She wouldn’t get involved with people trafficking.’

  ‘What planet have you been living on?’ Lucy’s back was still to Stevie, pinned in place by the threat of the rifle. ‘Ex-slaves make the best traffickers. People are commodities. That’s why I hide Mercy every time a boat docks. Babies are scarce.’

  Magnus said, ‘Little Evie’s eighteen months old. My son’s only fifteen. He’s a tall lad, but he’s just a boy.’

  Lucy looked at her husband. ‘You said they were all old enough to know what they were doing. You never told me there was a baby.’

  Rees gave a weary shrug. ‘There was no point in upsetting you. Whatever price they’d put on her would be beyond our means. I wanted them gone before they started poking about and discovered Mercy.’ He looked at Magnus. ‘You’d think the Sweats left plenty to go round, but you’d be wrong. It left a lot of technology no one knows how to use. That makes manpower valuable. The kids you’re looking for are young and fresh. They’re in for a hard time.’

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ Lucy’s voice was dangerously low; thunder before a lightning storm. ‘They asked you for help finding stolen kids and you pushed them for a deal?’

  Mercy wriggled in her mother’s arms and started to cry. Lucy shushed her again, but the child refused to be silenced.

  ‘The teenagers are old enough to take their chances, the baby is gone.’ Rees looked from Stevie to Magnus, his expression a contradiction of shame and defiance. ‘This life makes monsters of everyone.’ He nodded towards Stevie’s rifle. ‘I bet you never thought you’d hold a gun to a child’s head. Well I never thought I’d use some kids’ disappearance as a chance to scam ammo, but if we want to keep warm and fed this winter we need merchandise to trade.’ Rees shook his head. ‘I used to work for the HMRC. I thought it was stressful.’ He dragged a hand across his face. ‘There’s no point in a Mexican fucking stand-off. Let’s go inside the cabin. Keep your guns on us if you want, but Mercy’s heavier than she looks. Lucy won’t be able to hold her for much longer. I’ll tell you what I can.’