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

by Louise Welsh

  Sky’s face clouded. ‘My what?’

  ‘Your fucking pals.’ Magnus scanned the grimy faces surrounding him, looking for his son. ‘Shug, Willow, Adil and little Evie? Are they with you?’

  The twigs and leaves in the teenagers’ hair trembled and more knives were drawn from belts.

  ‘No need to get agitated.’ It was not clear if Sky was addressing her new comrades or Magnus.

  ‘Everyone on the islands is worried about you.’ Magnus moderated his voice. The young guerrillas followed the conversation with their eyes. ‘Are the others here too? Are Shug and little Evie okay?’

  Sky shook her head. ‘I’m the only one of the Orkney crew here. I went along with them for the adventure, but it started to get a bit weird, so I legged it. I told Shug he should come too, but he won’t do anything without Willow and she buys all the shit they’re dishing out.’

  The short girl said, ‘Cut the crap and get his gun off him.’

  Sky turned on her. ‘Shut up, Olivia. I told you, Magnus is one of the good guys.’

  Olivia’s sweet face turned vicious. ‘You’ve only just showed up. Why should we listen to your say-so?’

  ‘’Cos I’m part of the rebellion, same as you are. Kill every stranger you meet and you might as well be that bloody laird we’re meant to be fighting.’

  Confusion flickered across Olivia’s sweet-cruel face.

  Magnus said, ‘You’re going to attack Lord Ramsey’s men?’

  Olivia said, ‘We’re going to wait until dark. Then we’ll sneak up on them and cut a few throats.’

  The girl’s teeth were small and strong. Magnus could imagine them filed into points. He shook his head. ‘You’ll be committing suicide. There are more of them than there are of you. They’re better trained and better equipped. People don’t die silently. Even if you get past their lookouts someone will hear you and raise the alarm.’

  Olivia took a step towards him. ‘You’re just saying that ’cos you’re one of them …’

  A tall, skinny girl interrupted, ‘Shut up, Livy, I want to hear what he has to say.’ There were murmurs of agreement.

  He squatted on the ground. Sky and a couple of the group crouched beside him, but the rest remained standing. His eyes flickered over their hunting knives. Magnus tried not to show that he was afraid. He wondered if the teenagers had resolved to stick to the cutting blade, or simply been unable to lay their hands on guns. His own weapon was still on his hip, but the thought of shooting any of them sickened him. Anyway, the kids were wary. They would fillet him before he had time to kill more than a couple.

  Magnus said, ‘You’re passionate. Maybe you’ve got right on your side, but that won’t be enough to save you.’ He nodded to the treetops above them where the papier-mâché heads swung with the breeze. ‘I’m guessing you made these things and stuck them up there to frighten people away?’

  Olivia said, ‘Just until we got the chance to cut off some real heads.’

  ‘You’re not the only ones who like to frighten folk. Lord Ramsey will skewer your heads on spikes from here to Aberdeen, as a warning to anyone else who doesn’t like his way of doing things.’

  The image seemed to catch the girls’ imagination. They looked at each other.

  Olivia said, ‘Henny could have killed you if she wasn’t such a baby. I’ve killed before.’ She dragged a finger across her neck. ‘Slit their throats from ear to ear.’

  Magnus looked at the small hands holding the knife and wondered if it could be true. He said, ‘It takes a big person to show mercy. Henny caught me fair and square because she sneaked up on me. If she’d rushed me full force, I would have taken her.’ He cast an apologetic look at Henny. ‘You’ll be a fine fighter one day, but I’m older and more experienced.’ Magnus focused on Olivia. ‘Your advantage lies in speed and surprise. If you want to hurt Lord Ramsey, be sneaky. Steal his vehicles, make off with his horses, pinch his whisky supply, raid his petrol depot. Do the deed and make a quick getaway. But remember, most of the guys over there are crofters, just trying to get by. If you start killing them you’ll lose any goodwill you have in the district and the army will come after you like the hounds of hell.’

  Olivia sank the point of her knife into the earth, overwhelmed by an urge to stab.

  ‘You think we don’t do all that already? We’re like flies buzzing round a horse’s arse. Every so often the horse flicks its tail and sends us flying.’

  ‘Or shits on us,’ a high voice peeped.

  Some of the girls giggled.

  ‘It’s not funny.’ Olivia’s voice was fierce. ‘I don’t care if you all run scared. I’ll sneak into the castle and kill him myself.’

  Magnus said, ‘I’m not a big fan of Lord Ramsey, but he seems to be doing an okay job of organising the district. Plenty of people are on his side. Why are you so against him?’

  The girls looked at each other. There was something shamefaced in their expressions. The tall girl was the first to speak. ‘I was only little when the Sweats came, but the older folk say that when everyone started to die, Lord Ramsey came home to the castle from the big city. He organised teams to clear the homes of the dead and halls to house the sick. They say that without Lord Ramsey there would have been chaos. He found people to look after children like us, whose parents had died. He led groups of survivors to guard the supermarkets and petrol stations and made sure no one took more than their fair share of supplies. The older folk still talk about the good he did. But then the Sweats ended and he was still in charge.’

  ‘And that’s what you object to?’

  Olivia said, ‘He keeps everything to himself. There’s plenty of petrol, but only his guys are allowed to use it. There are houses and cars and clothes and shoes and anything you can think of, but they call it looting if you help yourself. My friend Danny took a car. They followed him until its tank ran dry and then they brought him back to Eden Glen and shot him up against the wall as a warning to everyone else.’

  It was the kind of stupid prank Shug or one of his mates might have got up to.

  Magnus said, ‘Did no one try to stop them?’

  ‘Danny’s foster mother screamed and shouted, but they locked her up and did it anyway.’ The girl looked at the ground. ‘Some people were too scared to speak, but others thought they were right to shoot him. Danny had done things before. They said he needed to be made an example of.’

  The tall girl said, ‘That’s not the only reason.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘He wants us all to get married and have babies.’

  Someone giggled and one of the girls said, ‘You didn’t have to tell him that.’

  Olivia’s face was red in a way it had not been when she had talked of killing.

  ‘It’s the truth. He thinks girls exist to make little soldiers for his army.’

  Henny whispered, ‘And little wives for the little soldiers.’

  The group chanted softly, ‘To make little soldiers and little wives for little soldiers who need little wives …’

  The chorus had a well-rehearsed rhythm.

  ‘… to make little soldiers …’

  The chant gave Magnus a shrinking feeling, his own image caught in the multiple reflections of his ancestors.

  ‘… who need little wives, to make little soldiers …’

  Magnus interrupted. ‘Did none of your foster parents object?’

  Olivia shrugged, ‘Some did. Others thought it was a good idea. They liked us when we were little, but we’re not so cute any more. My foster mother said that if I had a baby she would look after it. She went on and on about it – said I could have the extra rations all to myself.’

  The tall girl was sitting cross-legged on the far side of the group. She picked up a leaf and tore along its central vein. ‘He made a chart of all the boys and girls in the district and posted it on church doors. A few kids that were keen on each other signed up, but most of us ignored it. Lord Ramsey said we were too bashful and that he’d do the matchmaking himself. He s
tarted to set dates for the weddings. That’s when we took to the woods.’

  Magnus looked at Sky. She had been a scrappy girl, a good-natured tomboy, with a surfeit of energy that propelled her into fisticuffs and tumbles.

  Magnus said, ‘This isn’t a playground rumble. This is the real deal. Lose and you’re properly dead, lights out.’

  Sky grinned, ‘I always wanted to be a soldier. Now I’ve got a cause to fight for.’

  The rest of the girls had joined them on the ground. Magnus looked around the circle of dirty faces and saw determination. They were lean and hard-bodied. As eager for adventure and as inexperienced in battle as any cannon fodder.

  ‘Why don’t you leave?’

  A blonde, pixie-faced girl who hadn’t spoken before piped up, ‘This is where we live. And some of us have little sisters. If we go he’ll just wait till they’re older and do the same to them. We need to break Lord Ramsey, kill him or take away his power and show everyone else that they can’t fuck with us either.’

  Magnus lifted a fallen twig from the ground and drew a cross in the mud.

  ‘If this is the castle, show me where Lord Ramsey’s petrol store is.’

  Olivia took the twig from him and started to draw a network of roads and buildings.

  ‘My foster dad said it used to be an abattoir. He’s got other places where he keeps fuel, but that’s the main one.’

  ‘Why would he choose there?’

  ‘Lord Ramsey’s dad wanted to make a place where lots of beasts could be killed and all of their parts used up, even bits people wouldn’t normally eat. My foster dad said there were big protests, people coming from all over to try and stop him. Lord Ramsey’s old man wouldn’t give in. He fortified the building and stuck high fences around it.’

  ‘Is there any easy way in?’

  Olivia shrugged. ‘We want to stick it to him where it hurts, but none of us has a death wish. We keep away from that place.’

  Foliage crashed and Pistol bounded towards the group. The young guerrillas reacted like one organism, each reaching for their knives.

  Magnus raised a hand in the air. ‘Don’t worry, he’s friendly.’

  Stevie followed in Pistol’s wake. She looked tired, despite her nap, and was wearing different clothes from when he had left her: a man’s shirt and trousers a trifle too large for her. She ruffled Pistol’s head. ‘Good dog, you found him.’ Stevie looked at the camouflaged teenagers and then at Magnus. ‘And looks like you found Burnham Wood.’

  Magnus nodded, ‘The kids are showing me where Lord Ramsey keeps his fuel.’

  Olivia stared at Stevie, her eyes wide. ‘Have you come to destroy him?’

  Stevie took something from her pocket. ‘Maybe I have.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Stevie had woken with a stab of panic, the scent of pine sharp in her nostrils. Pistol was gone. Three men stood inside the woodshed, staring down at her. She propped herself up on one arm, relieved to feel her gun still beneath the makeshift pillow.

  ‘Hello.’ She gripped the gun beneath her folds of her jacket and forced a smile onto her face.

  The soldiers looked surprised, as if they had not expected her to talk. They mumbled a greeting. One of them crouched on the grass beside her.

  ‘Your man left you alone, has he?’

  Stevie’s smile hurt her face. ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave you alone. Not if you were mine.’ The soldier was in his forties, lean-faced with the tobacco complexion and deep lines of a heavy smoker. He touched her hair with his fingertips. ‘Don’t be frightened. We’re not going to hurt you.’

  Stevie caught sight of the knife in his free hand and tried not to wince. One of the other men, a sad-looking fellow with caved-in cheeks, shuffled his feet and Stevie saw that he was nervous. She sat up, hugging her jacket in her lap like a comforter, the gun bundled inside. The third soldier had a powerful torso and short legs. He reminded Stevie of a bull, ready to charge. She said, ‘I’m a guest of Lord Ramsey’s.’

  The smoker raised his eyebrows. ‘Lord Ramsey’s guests don’t sleep in the wood store.’

  Pistol bounded from the forest towards them, tail wagging. He saw the soldiers and growled. The nervous man took out a gun and pointed it at the dog.

  Stevie adopted her command voice. ‘Pistol, stop!’

  The dog halted, but it was against his will and the growl was still in his throat.

  Stevie got to her feet. ‘I should get back to the castle before they miss me.’

  The smoker put a hand on her elbow, as if he wanted to take her right there on the piles of logs. She shrugged him free, her eyes on the encampment, scanning the field of men and tents for Magnus or even Joe.

  The bull said, ‘They won’t miss you for a while yet.’

  The dog growled again. The bull raised his gun.

  Stevie pointed away from the castle, towards the old main road. ‘Pistol, go!’ The dog took three, slow steps and stopped. He looked over his shoulder at her, eyes doleful. She repeated the command, putting all her authority into her voice. ‘Go!’ The dog trotted reluctantly off. She knew that he would not go far.

  The smoker said, ‘A well-trained dog.’ He touched one of her breasts tentatively, plucking at her nipple, and smiled when it hardened. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t tell your old man.’

  She said, ‘My husband’s a killer.’

  The smoker nodded. ‘Aren’t we all?’ He put his knife against her neck and tugged the jacket from her arm. ‘Bob, do us a favour and grab her gun, will you please?’

  The bull took the gun from her. Stevie saw other soldiers watching them from the encampment. It would not be long before they built up the courage to join them.

  The smoker said, ‘Bob will give it back to you when we’re through.’

  Stevie knew then that they would kill her to ensure no reprisals. ‘Let’s go somewhere more private,’ she said and grinned.

  The smoker lowered his knife and put an arm around her, as if they were lovers taking a stroll. She encouraged him to go in the direction that Pistol had taken. His two companions followed a respectful distance behind.

  ‘You should be more careful.’ His voice was concerned, as if he was not about to rape and murder her. ‘You’re lucky it’s us doing this to you and not some of those other guys. Some of them are right cruel bastards.’

  A set of low wooden stables stood a small distance away from the main building. The man steered her towards them.

  Stevie said, ‘I’ll go with you, but only one at a time. I don’t want an audience.’

  ‘Suits me.’ The man looked back at his companions. ‘I’ll call you when I’ve finished.’ His grin was nervous.

  Stevie said, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  He leaned in and kissed her neck. He smelt of sweat and desperation.

  ‘We only get one life and it’s too short to never have a little loving.’

  She softened her voice. ‘Did you have a family, before the Sweats? A wife? Kids?’

  The smoker’s knife pierced her shirt. It touched the soft skin above the waistband of her jeans, its point sharp and warning.

  ‘I know what you’re trying to do. Don’t bother, unless you want to upset me.’ He kept his knife pressed against her side. ‘We’re here for a good time.’ It was dark inside the stables. The stalls had been ripped out, in their place stood a row of vintage cars, shrouded in plastic. The man said, ‘Lord Ramsey would blow his stack if he knew we were in here. These belonged to his dad. They were his pride and joy.’

  He kissed her again, his tongue alive and searching. His hands were on her now, tugging at the buttons of her shirt. Stevie whispered, ‘Why don’t we get into one of these cars and drive away?’

  ‘He’d tear out our innards and make us eat them.’ The man’s lips were on her neck, his hands on her breasts. ‘Anyway, he’s had them all disabled.’

  The smoker pressed her onto the bonnet of a Rolls-Royce. The plastic shro
ud crackled beneath Stevie. Her shirt was undone, her bra ripped. The man sucked at her breasts, his teeth sharp and biting, his breath stale. The weight of him was crushing. Stevie’s heart hammered in her chest, panic rising. He was too heavy for her to push away. The smoker’s fingers fiddled awkwardly with the fastenings of her jeans. Stevie wriggled a hand down towards his crotch. She unzipped his fly and released him.

  The smoker’s breath was a ragged wheeze. ‘It’s been a long time.’ The knife was still in his right hand. The fingers of his left still struggling with her jeans.

  ‘I’ll do it.’ There were tears in Stevie’s eyes. She reached down, unfastened her Levi’s and forced a laugh. ‘Let me get them off.’

  She wriggled her trousers halfway down her hips and bent forward, as if to unfasten her boots. The smoker pulled her to him. Stevie smelt the piss-sweat scent of him and tried not to gag. She reached for the knife in her right boot, but he was pushing her further up the bonnet of the car, trying to force her legs apart. The urge to shove him away almost overwhelmed her, but she mimicked his short, fast breaths and whispered, ‘We won’t get anywhere with these jeans on.’

  Stevie could hear a low murmur of conversation from the two men waiting outside and guessed that it would not be long before they grew impatient for their turns. The smoker swore and tugged at her left boot, but it was fastened with a combination of buckles and laces and would not come free. He lifted his knife ready to cut the laces and slice her clothes from her. Stevie took her chance and scrambled away from him, further up the Roller’s long bonnet. The man lunged at her.

  ‘Come here you black bitch.’

  The plastic shrouding the car was slippery, the man’s skin bathed in sweat. He lost purchase and slithered backwards, down the bonnet. She pulled up her jeans and tugged her knife from her boot. She kicked the tobacco-stained face with the heel of her boot and threw herself onto the man, falling with him to the floor. The plastic car cover came with them, tangling them in its folds. The man’s knife clattered against the concrete. Stevie’s weapon was clutched tight in her hand. She sat on his chest, pinning his arms to his sides with her thighs and jammed the blade against his Adam’s apple. The plastic crackled beneath them. Their breaths mixed, shallow and rapid.