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

by Louise Welsh

  Stevie watched them fade into the darkness and then started in the direction of the abattoir. She was used to early morning jogs. The air quick in her lungs, feet slapping a steady rhythm against the ground. Sometimes in the dawn, she could almost pretend she was still in her old life. Running past dazed club kids, contract cleaners, road sweepers, shop assistants, still jet-lagged tourists and blank-faced city workers; London going to bed and waking up around her. She heard Magnus stumble and slowed her pace.

  Magnus felt his breath bunching in his chest. They were miles from the town centre, but he could smell death. Despite their efficiency with fuel and fighting men, it was clear Lord Ramsey and Joe had not managed the removal of all of the dead from the town’s houses. Magnus wondered what diseases hung in the air.

  They were approaching an overgrown roundabout. A sign declared Fergusson Meat & Poultry. Stevie and Magnus slowed their pace. High wire fences waited beyond the roundabout and beyond that, a large car park, flat as the veldt. The sound of howling came from somewhere in the distance, stretching through the dark, sad as an old blues song. Stevie remembered Rees’s talk of wolves and felt a quick stab of fear for Pistol and the girls.

  The abattoir looked vast. A huge white shed with loading bays sealed behind metal shutters. They squatted on the ground outside the perimeter fence. The gun in Magnus’s shoulder holster was heavy. It seemed to pull at some muscle in his heart.

  Stevie said, ‘Remember all those action movies?’

  ‘Mel Gibson, Bruce Willis and the like?’ He had relived the Die Hard films with Shug, retelling them as bedtime stories to the boy when he was little.

  Stevie’s eyes were trained on the abattoir.

  ‘There was always a scene where the heroes walk away from a massive explosion.’

  Magnus said, ‘No one looked back and no one got their balls blown off. This isn’t a movie.’

  ‘No, but if we take what we need and torch the rest, it’ll cut the chance of us getting caught …’

  ‘… And up the chances of us getting shot.’ Magnus narrowed his eyes, searching for any glimmer of movement outside the building. ‘Even supposing we walk away from the explosion, we’ll have the hounds of hell on our back. Lord Ramsey’s a spent force. He might have been a marvel when the Sweats first hit, but he’s become too fond of the bottle to stick to anything for long, including chasing us. But Joe’s a different banana. He’s the kind of guy to bear a grudge. I wouldn’t bank on him stopping at some unofficial border.’

  ‘Joe and his buddies are rapist fucks.’

  Magnus turned to look at Stevie. ‘Did something happen while I was in the woods?’

  ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle.’

  The howling took on a new note, soft and keening. It raised the hairs on the back of Magnus’s neck. He touched Stevie’s arm. ‘I shouldn’t have left you alone.’

  Stevie’s mouth tasted sour. She saw the smoker’s bloody face, his features flattening as she pulled the plastic tight around his head.

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  Magnus took out his knife and pressed it experimentally against the fence in front of him, although he already knew its blade would be no match for the metal wire.

  ‘Burning up all that fuel would be a waste. Joe and Lord Ramsey won’t always be in charge.’

  ‘They might be, if we don’t precipitate a crisis.’

  Magnus dug the blade of his knife into the soil, trying to test how deep the fence went. It touched concrete and he swore quietly.

  ‘I’m not a politician like you or Joe. I don’t give a damn about running elections or toppling regimes. I just want to get Shuggie home safe.’

  ‘Don’t compare me with Joe.’ Stevie turned to look at Magnus, her face sheened in moonlight. ‘I know you’re here to find Shuggie. But whatever Bjarne was up to was bigger than the kids’ disappearance. It may mean we don’t have a safe home to get back to.’ She nodded towards the old abattoir. ‘As soon as we invited the girls to take refuge on Orkney we made an enemy of Joe. We’ve got to put him out of action; land a body blow that sends him after us, or he’ll follow them to the islands.’

  Magnus saw the dirty streak on her face that he had noticed earlier, in the woods. It was a splatter-mark, dark and horribly familiar. He whispered, ‘He won’t know the girls have gone there.’

  ‘He could make a shrewd guess, or one of them may be caught and confess.’ Stevie gave a deep sigh. ‘There’s something else …’

  Magnus waited for her to tell him. When she didn’t he asked, ‘What?’

  ‘I killed three of his men.’

  Stevie’s fatigue and fresh clothes when she joined him in the woods made sense now. Magnus stretched out a hand towards her smeared face, but could not bring himself to touch it.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They were normal-looking guys. The kind I used to pass on the street or sit next to on the Tube and think nothing of.’ Stevie could still feel the texture of the smoker’s flesh as she stabbed her knife into his neck. His blood had been warm and slick beneath the plastic. ‘It was them or me.’

  Magnus sheathed his knife. He took Stevie’s hand in his and got to his feet, drawing her with him.

  ‘I’m glad it was them.’ He spat on his scarf and forced himself to wipe it against her cheek, rubbing away the blood. ‘Let’s find a way inside and blow this place to fuck.’

  Thirty-Two

  The fence was old and not as well maintained as it had been when protesters had lined the abattoir’s perimeter. Magnus found a breach in the links and slipped inside. Stevie followed, close behind. They had copied the girl guerrillas and rubbed mud into their faces in the hope of fading into the night, but the moon was full. It turned the car park’s concrete surface gunmetal silver. Magnus and Stevie might have been actors, running across a stage.

  Fear had been Stevie’s friend in the stables. Now she knew that if she let it in it would become her enemy. She clung to Magnus’s moon-cast shadow and thought only of the next step and the one after that. The girls had been sure that the building was well guarded, but there was no sign of any sentries. It occurred to Stevie that the place might be a decoy, a rumour created by Joe or Lord Ramsey to protect a real stockpile located elsewhere.

  They skirted the loading bays where truckloads of animals had once been delivered to their deaths and made for a modest side entrance. It was padlocked shut. Magnus took a Swiss army knife from his pocket, selected a screwdriver and tried to unfasten the screws securing the hasp. The screwdriver was too small, the screws too firmly embedded.

  ‘Shit …’

  He heard a crack and a distant popping sound that recalled childhood bonfires. The sky glowed: pink, lilac, orange. The air whooshed and banged. Stars scattered in chrysanthemum bursts and a faint cheer reached across the night towards them. It was raining silver, scarlet and gold. Cocktail-coloured heavens rushed towards the ground and rockets whistled up into space. Magnus looked at Stevie and saw her features flit through a tropical spectrum. The night sounded like a final machine-gun battle; eye-to-eye contact and scattered limbs. His heart quickened. The world blazed: alarm-bell blue, hospital red, amber warnings.

  Stevie pointed across the car park. Magnus looked at the expanse of concrete and saw half-a-dozen men with their backs towards them, staring up at the miraculous sky. Stevie jogged in the opposite direction and he shadowed her, around the abattoir’s brick walls until they came to a half-open roller shutter. She ducked beneath it and Magnus followed, into a dark, damp chill, colder than the air outside.

  Stevie whispered, ‘Do you think they got away?’

  There was no way of knowing. Magnus said, ‘They’re clever girls.’

  He bumped against something in the dark and swore under his breath.

  A pinpoint of light illuminated the abattoir. Magnus saw mechanised meat hooks hanging from the ceiling and shadows of machinery he supposed had been responsible for rendering meat. There was no sign of petrol cans or
barrels of fuel.

  Stevie shoved his arm. ‘Turn your torch off.’

  Magnus said, ‘It isn’t me.’

  The source of the light turned its full beam onto their faces, blinding them. It dipped and Magnus saw a cadaver-thin man, with a battery torch in one hand and an axe in the other.

  The man said, ‘Welcome to the funhouse.’

  Thirty-Three

  They jumped beyond the light, but the torch caught them again in its beam. Black dots danced in front of Magnus’s eyes.

  Stevie whispered, ‘Split up,’ and dodged to the left.

  Magnus went right, still blind, aware of his boots, harsh against the concrete floor.

  The torch beam followed Stevie. He saw her outline spotlit against the abattoir wall, her shadow stretched behind her, thin and black. Magnus reached for his gun, but he remembered the petrol stores and grabbed his knife instead.

  ‘Hey, you fucking prick. Pick on someone your own size.’

  He waved his hands in the air, but the light stayed glued to Stevie. Magnus tried to run towards its source. He brandished his knife and let out a warrior yell that drew the beam to him. His eyes sank into his head and he heard Stevie gasping for breath somewhere on the other side of the hall. Magnus ran, expecting to hear the whizz of the axe followed by the thud of its blade between his shoulders. Fireworks were still cracking and banging outside, but not a flicker of light penetrated the building. Magnus stubbed his toe against something, and then his whole body slammed hard against metal. He was like a bug in a box, trapped in some schoolboy experiment.

  Stevie shouted, ‘Over here, arsehole!’

  But the light was on Magnus now. The collision had winded him. He bent over, gasping for breath. The beam grew bigger, the axeman closer. He thought of Shug and drew himself up. Some unseen machinery was hard at his back. He moved to his right and then his left, but he was hemmed in. The light was closer, the man still hidden behind it. The axe had a longer reach than Magnus’s hunting knife. The man would be able to swing and chop without ever letting Magnus get close enough to strike.

  He braced himself. The axeman would have to drop the torch before he hit and then they would both be in the dark. An axe was unwieldy, his knife quick and sharp. He listened for the assailant’s breaths, trying to pinpoint where he was.

  The torch fell with a clatter. The beam of light bounced, illuminating belts of machines and went out. There was a slicing noise, the wet wheezing sound of an open windpipe and a thump as the man’s body fell to the ground. Magnus was keyed to strike. He leapt forward. Strong hands grabbed him and his knife rattled against the floor.

  A deep voice said, ‘It’s all right, lad.’

  Magnus was shaking. The hands held him by his elbows, firm in the dark. The voice said again, ‘It’s all right, lad, I’ve got you.’

  He fought against the stranger’s hold, but the other man was stronger.

  Stevie shouted from the darkness, ‘Magnus? Are you okay?’ Her voice was high-pitched and frightened.

  Magnus cleared his throat. ‘Stay where you are.’ He felt an urge to sink, sobbing, into the stranger’s embrace.

  The stranger called, ‘He’s fine.’ The hands loosened their grip. ‘You’re fine. Just a bit of a fright.’ He let go and gave Magnus a friendly pat between the shoulder blades. ‘Deep breaths.’

  Magnus heard the stranger bend and pick the torch up from the ground. He fiddled with it for a moment and then the light was back. The man shone it on his own features, illuminating a round, blood-spattered face with a high forehead and bushy beard.

  ‘I’m Col.’ He held out a hand.

  Magnus shook it, aware of the dead man’s blood, warm and sticky between their grips.

  ‘Thanks.’ Magnus retrieved his knife from the ground and slipped it into its sheath. ‘That was a close call.’

  ‘Aye.’ Col’s accent had a north-country burr. He nodded to where the thin man lay ruined on the floor. ‘Help me get him out of the way before the others come back. They took a foot each and slid the corpse beneath one of the redundant machines. ‘His name was Matti. He was one of those guys who loved the Sweats. It made him feel special, everyone dead and him still here and what passes for healthy. Before, he was one of those guys who hung around bars getting drunk and starting fights. Afterwards, he was a valued member of society.’

  ‘I thought I was a goner.’

  ‘Aye well, Matti was still a drinker, but it didn’t seem to affect his aim. I daresay he could have knocked your head from your body, given half a chance.’ Col tucked Matti’s legs beneath the machinery and shone the torch on the ground, making sure the body was out of sight. ‘How many are you?’

  ‘Just two,’ Stevie said, beside them in the darkness.

  ‘Ha.’ Col shone the torch briefly on each of them and clicked it off. He gave an unhappy laugh. ‘I thought you were the vanguard of the glorious revolution. I might not have killed him if I’d known there were only two of you.’

  Magnus bit back an impulse to apologise. ‘We’re trying to get to Glasgow. My son and some of his pals are headed that way. We want to catch up with them, before they get into trouble.’

  Col clicked the torch back on and shone it on his own face, showing them his sad expression. ‘Too late.’

  Magnus’s heart seemed to twist in his chest. ‘Do you know something?’

  ‘I know it’s impossible to get anywhere without landing in trouble. Look at you now.’

  A cheer came from outside the abattoir. The guards applauding an especially spectacular explosion.

  Stevie said, ‘We’re running out of time. We need petrol and a van. Can you help us?’

  Col shone the torch on his face again. His hair was as bushy as his beard. The torchlight gave him a lionish aspect.

  ‘Why don’t you let the kids do what they want, spread their wings? This is a new world. They’ve got to learn how to make their own way in it.’

  Magnus said, ‘They went with people with doubtful motives. They took a baby with them. Her mother’s frantic.’

  Col pressed the torch off and on again. ‘Steal from Joe and he’ll come after you.’

  Magnus looked at Stevie, wondering if he should come clean about their plan. She read his expression and gave a small nod. He said, ‘We’d intended to blow this place up, so they couldn’t chase us so easily.’

  ‘Ha.’ Col laughed again. ‘You do realise I’m meant to be one of the guards here?’

  Magnus remembered the ease with which the big man had sliced open Matti’s throat.

  ‘It was just an idea. We wanted to make sure there was no one inside, before we set the fire. That’s what the fireworks are about.’

  ‘Aye, that was a neat touch. But it didn’t work on the likes of Matti, nor me for that matter.’ Col aimed the torch at the floor, keeping the beam small, like a cinema usherette leading patrons to their seats after the film had started. ‘Follow me.’

  He led them through the vast abattoir, his torch picking out meat hooks, conveyor belts, rendering machines and animal pens.

  Col’s voice was deep and warm in the chill damp of the windowless halls. ‘You must think us a pretty feeble lot around here, letting Lord Ramsey and his boyfriend rule the district?’

  Stevie said, ‘We know not everyone’s for him.’

  Col’s voice was rueful. ‘More than you would think. He’s alienated a lot of the youngsters, but most survivors still seem to think he’s their best chance of stability.’

  Stevie said, ‘The Sweats were a shock. I guess people want to get back to some sort of normality.’

  ‘Funny kind of normality. Armies traipsing across the country, girls getting married off, whether they like it or not, people paying fealty.’

  Col spat the last word out like grit. He led them into a second, grand hall and danced the torch beam around the space. Three petrol tankers were parked side by side. Lines of jerrycans stood along the walls, like troops on parade. It was more fuel than th
ey had on the islands, much more than they needed to make their escape, but Stevie said, ‘I thought there would be more.’

  ‘Maybe there is.’ Col unscrewed a lid from one of the jerrycans and sloshed its contents around the hall. ‘Matti seemed to think so.’

  Stevie sprang back, the scent of petrol strong in her nostrils.

  Magnus put a hand on her arm, drawing her further from the fuel. Something in Col’s voice made Magnus ask, ‘Were you and Matti already fighting when we arrived?’

  ‘Matti was an argumentative kind of bloke.’

  More petrol splashed across the floor. Outside the fireworks continued to whizz and shriek. Magnus wondered if Joe would think the firework display the result of a spontaneous fire, or if he and his men were already on their way to check their fuel supplies.

  Col said, ‘Before the Sweats I worked for the Postal Workers’ Union. I’d given up hope of the crisis of capitalism ever precipitating a revolution. Big corporations could screw up as many times as they wanted. They’d always get bailed out.’ More petrol splashed against the concrete floor of the abattoir, rivers of the stuff, irreplaceable and more precious than gold. ‘I spent my time trying to make the best of a bad job. When the Sweats came I’ll admit there was a part of me thought we had a chance to forge a new way. Millions of deaths were a high price to pay. But I wasn’t responsible for that.’ He paused for a moment and looked up at them. ‘Instead we got Lord Ramsey and Joe. Feudalism combined with a good dose of tyranny.’

  Stevie said, ‘Why didn’t you leave?’

  Col threw an empty petrol can to one side. It clattered against the wall. He unscrewed another.

  ‘The usual story. I fell in love with a woman born and raised here. Her husband and kids are buried in the graveyard, her parents too. Once again I made the best of it. We kept a small orchard, farmed a couple of acres and paid fealty.’

  He was working his way backwards, into the darkness of the first hall, petrol slopping in his wake.

  Magnus followed him. ‘We just want to get on the road. All we need is a van and a few of those petrol cans.’

  Col reached into his pocket and drew out a set of keys. He flung them through the dark towards Magnus. They rattled against the concrete floor and he had to get down on his hands and knees to find them.