by Ann Kelley
‘Now find some small stuff – dry moss, lichens, twigs.’
Sid carefully built a fire with leaves and moss, then twigs, and finally, dead wood on the top. He put a match to the kindling and they sat round watching the little flames and listening to the comforting sound of crackling wood.
‘Wait a while, till there’s ashes,’ Mal said.
Gathered round the firepit they could have been a family, not illegal Runners and a Reducer whose job it was to kill them. ‘Now cover some of the ash with the potatoes and put the rest of the ash on top.’ The man tried to raise an arm to help, but groaned and gave up. Sid did as he said.
‘Now bury the lot with earth. Bury the lot. It’ll take time, but it’ll cook them, you’ll see.’
‘I want sweeties.’ Lo curled up and sucked her thumb, trying to keep her eyes open.
‘Where you heading?’ Mal asked Sid. ‘Can’t stay here forever, can you?’ He hoisted himself over to the tunnel and sat against it, sweating from the pain.
‘Why not?’
‘Someone might see you; find you. What would you do then? How are you going to protect her?’
Mal nodded at the sleeping girl. The once pink dress was rucked up under her bottom. Sid covered her legs with his T-shirt. The air was cooler now and he shivered.
‘Here, have this.’ Mal slipped out of the top part of his leathers, moaning at the effort, removed his khaki T-shirt with difficulty and threw it to him.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, go on, keep it. Plenty more where that came from.’ The man was muscled and spare, with devils tattooed on his hairless chest and a large pair of black wings tattooed across his broad back.
CHAPTER TEN
SID HAD READ the man’s identification papers:
REDUCING AGENT 38752, MAL KENT. WEST PENWITH POPULATION REDUCTION PROGRAM, FORTRESS KERNOW
In scratchy poor handwriting was added:
When Mal woke in the early hours, as light filtered palely through the trees, he found himself looking up into the barrel of his own loaded rifle.
‘What’s up kiddo? You don’t want to play with that. It could go off and hurt someone.’
Sid’s hands shook. He had been awake and watching for hours, trying to decide what to do. His original plan had been to blindfold the Reducer again and lead him far away before releasing him, so that he would have no idea where the den was. But really he should just kill him, make sure he couldn’t come back to hunt them down.
After a sleepless night Sid had decided that it would be wiser to do just that, bury him on the roundabout, leave his body to rot, move on with Lo and find his grandparents. But when it came to it, his hands and arms trembled so much he couldn’t pull the trigger. Bile rose in his throat and he was close to vomiting.
‘Give it me, kid, go on, give it me.’ Mal spoke calmly, lifted his good arm and removed the loaded weapon from Sid’s sweaty hands. Sid ran off, sobbing with humiliation.
‘Brave little bastard,’ Mal gave a tombstone grin.
A gunshot woke Lo. She found herself alone and cried, ‘Sid, Sid! Where are you, Sid, where are you?’
The Reducer peered into the den. ‘It’s all right, girlie, he’ll be back for breakfast.’ She slept again, her skin hot and dry, her breath fetid.
He skinned the rabbit he had shot, groaned with the effort of tearing it to pieces, and buried the pelt and guts, watched by Sid, who hid close by.
Mal searched unsuccessfully for his belongings, all the time spied on by Sid, who would have killed him if he touched Lo. Later Mal limped over to the earth oven, dug up the cooked potatoes and rabbit with his good arm and found the salt. Sid, drawn by the cooking smell, appeared, head down.
‘Sid!’ Lo hurled herself into his arms.
‘Sorry,’ he said to the man, as if he had been caught fibbing, not holding a gun to his head.
‘Don’t worry kid, I won’t turn you in. Owe you my life, don’t I? Yeah? Told you. Owe you one.’
They ate the meat and hot potatoes, scalding their fingers in the process, but not caring. It reminded Sid of meals long ago, when he’d had a proper home, before The Emergency, before the ghetto.
‘Give us the other stuff, yeah? Need my ID. Keep the first aid and torch. I’m leaving.’
‘But I want you to stay,’ Lo sobbed.
‘Angels have work to do. Can’t stay here forever, can I?’ His red beard bobbed up and down as he spoke. Lo was fascinated. She hugged the tatty toy rabbit to her and sucked her thumb.
‘You promise you won’t tell anyone about us?’ Sid demanded, thin-lipped, trembling.
‘Promise.’
Mal held out his good arm to Sid and Sid shook his hand. Mal yanked Sid forward and lightly slapped his face. Sid flinched, before realising that it was a friendly gesture.
‘You did good, kid, with the first aid and that. Thanks. You’ll be okay.’
‘Thanks for the T-shirt,’ Sid mumbled. ‘Sorry about the gun…’ He could feel his face burning.
‘No worries, kiddo.’
Lo held up her grubby face to Mal as he said goodbye. He didn’t know how to react. No one had ever wanted to kiss him. No child anyway. He bent, embarrassed, and let her peck his cheek, her arms around his neck. He felt the pressure of the little girl’s thin arms on his neck and the caress of her chapped lips for a long time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE CAT CREPT into the den again that night. The children slept fitfully, disturbed by thunder and the odd flash of lightning. She gave birth to her litter of three kittens in the dry leaves, licked them clean, polished off the afterbirth and carried them out, one at a time to another hiding place, not far away, but far enough so the children would not hear their small cries.
The owl was aware of the birth, as was the fox. But the cat would not leave her young alone for the meat-hungry creatures to get them. She would guard them fiercely, ready to give up her own life if need be.
Finding their grandparents was now uppermost in his mind. He could remember the road, houses that all looked the same except that theirs had a monkey puzzle tree in the garden. On a hill. What else? An attic window where he looked out at gulls on the roof, asleep facing the wind, buffeted, feathers blown all every way, heads tucked under wings. A stream at the bottom of the road, a humpy stone bridge.
It would be easier if he went on his own; he could go faster. Would Lo survive without him for a couple of days while he trekked to Marazion? If he left her with enough food and water she’d be all right. She seemed to have forgotten Mam and Dad. Hadn’t mentioned them for days. Instead, she kept asking about Mal, her angel.
‘Why did he leave? I liked him.’
‘He wasn’t a nice man, Lo.’
‘No. He was an angel.’
‘Yeah, yeah, an angel,’ Sid sighed. He should have killed him. The Reducer wasn’t to be trusted. Sid guessed that Mal had grown fond of Lo, but even so, he might tell the authorities about them and someone else would find her and kill her – and him if the Reducer was right.
They were bathing in the lake when a sudden flash of green made Sid look up.
‘Look, Lo,’ he whispered, ‘A kingfisher!’
‘What’s a kingfisher?’ she whispered back, seeing nothing but green trees and darker green water.
It had gone.
‘Never mind, we’ll see it again.’ He was excited. Apart from witnessing the rainbow beauty of the little bird, it reminded him that there were fish in the lake. Maybe he could make a line from the cotton in the Reducer’s sewing kit, bend a pin to make a hook, find a worm.
But they needed food now. By the time they got back to the den, Sid had made up his mind. There was nothing for it: he couldn’t leave his little sister on her own for long; they would leave the den for now.
He began to pack the things they would need.
‘No, Lo, leave it here.’ Exasperated, he tried to wrench the soft toy from her, but she held on grimly. ‘It’ll be safer here. Can look after your d
olly, can’t he? Till we get back.’
‘No! Want Wabbit! Want Wabbit!’ She started to cry.
‘Oh, go on then.’
He had packed the first aid kit, torch, batteries, salt and water in his backpack. He also took matches and remains of the food. The knife he slipped into his belt where he could get to it in a hurry. They set off to find the town with a ‘z’ in it. First he had to find the signpost.
They passed a burnt-out garage, rusty wheelless cars in the forecourt, and the flimsy shells of burnt-out bungalows, sad with torn flowered wallpaper and the odd shower fittings or washbasin still attached.
‘No people,’ she remarked.
‘No. Nice and quiet, innit?’
A shrieking storm of starlings passed low overhead, startling them.
‘Bloody hell, what was that?’ he said. They watched in wonder as the flock of thousands snaked across the darkening fields, changing shape like a genie escaped from a lamp.
‘My feet hurt,’ Lo complained.
‘Take your boots off then,’ Sid told her. The tarmac was cooling down after a hot day, though a heat haze still shimmered above it. She put the toy rabbit into one of the boots and cuddled it to her.
‘Here, give it here.’ Sid took the other boot and her sock and squashed them into the bag.
‘Can I have a plaster?’
‘None left.’ He held her hand and they sang as they walked.
‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go…’ They didn’t know any more words. But the song made them walk quickly and Lo kept hopping and skipping in her bare feet. No traffic passed going either way.
Other roundabouts had only grass, on which foraged oystercatchers, red legs hurrying, red beaks searching. One roundabout had only gravel, on which nothing lived.
‘I like our roundybout best,’ said Lo.
‘Yeah, it’s the best. We mustn’t ever tell anyone about it, right? Our secret.’
‘Hold my hand,’ said Lo.
‘Listen!’
A low rumble. Vibrations under their feet. He ran with her up the bank and into a field of ploughed earth and they kept running until they reached the cover of a low stone hedge. Hiding behind it he watched a convoy of armoured vehicles and troop carriers speed along the road. It took five minutes. Lo had fallen immediately asleep.
‘Come on, Lolabelle.’ She dragged behind, tugging on his arm like a reluctant dog.
They were just about to go back to the road when another convoy passed and they had to fall flat on their faces onto the soil to avoid detection. He pushed her head down.
‘You’re hurting me.’ She started to cry.
‘Shh! It’s like a game, Lo, they mustn’t see you, okay?’
‘Why?’
‘Because.’
Instead of getting back onto the main road Sid decided they should head across country. He soon became disoriented and with no sun or moon to guide them he was confused about which way was west.
‘Cawwy me, cawwy me,’ Lo begged. He did for a while, then put her down. His back ached and he was hot and tired. After what seemed hours, Lo sobbing and dragging on his arm, they seemed to be climbing. As they crossed rough moorland he could see a faint change of light on the horizon – a pale mauve and a dark charcoal line where sea met sky. The sea! He felt confident that they were on the right track and as they scrambled over a stone hedge onto a little road they saw a sign – ‘Zennor I mile’. Z! Another town with a ‘z’ in it!
The moon appeared from behind clouds and lit up the small village, a huddle of low cottages, a bridge over a briefly silvered stream.
The heavy door of the old church creaked as he pushed it open. There was a not unpleasant smell of dust and damp and there was the faint glow of moonlight at the coloured glass windows.
‘Do angels live here?’ Lo asked.
‘Hope not.’
Water sat in a granite bowl on a granite plinth. It tasted a bit sour and warm but okay so he filled the bottle from it and they drank. There were leaflets and postcards on a stand. He picked one up to read. He missed books. They gathered together all the small hard embroidered cushions that they found on the wooden benches and made a bed for themselves.
When Sid woke, Lo wasn’t there.
‘Lo!’ he called anxiously.
There were stitched pictures on the hassocks – an angel, a herring gull, a tractor, a fishing boat, a fish. On one were the words GOD IS LOVE. He found Lo sitting on the angel cushion on a child’s chair at a low table in the side chapel, playing at tea parties.
‘Lo, there you are.’ He thought how he suddenly sounded like his mam.
‘Sid, Sid, there’s a lady here. Look.’ She stood and pointed at a carving on a dark pew end.
‘That’s a mermaid. Look at her tail,’ said Sid.
‘Oh, a mermaid!’ Lo had once had a book about mermaids.
‘There’s a story about her. She sang in the choir and a boy fell in love with her.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. She took him with her to live in the sea.’ He waved the leaflet with the Mermaid of Zennor story in it.
‘Did she?’ Lo traced the outline of the rough carving with her sticky fingers.
‘Not very pretty, is she?’ her brother said. ‘I wouldn’t jump in the sea for her.’
‘Hello, what have we here?’ A smiling woman in a blue apron and work boots stood over them. She held a large bunch of dead flowers.
‘I’m having a tea party. Do you like my fairyprincessdress?’ Lo lifted her trusting face to the woman.
Sid stood between Lo and the stranger. ‘I’m Sid,’ he said. ‘She’s my sister Lo and she’s eight.’
‘Small for eight, isn’t she?’ The woman laughed pleasantly, not for one moment taken in.
‘I’m a big girl,’ said Lo.
‘Runners, are you?’ the woman asked Sid.
‘Looking for our grandad, we are. Name of Joe Jenkyn?’
‘From around here is he?’
‘I think so, yes.’
The woman sniffed. ‘Looking for a good bath, I’d say. Have you had breakfast?’
‘No,’ they chorused.
They followed the woman past a farm gate with a notice that said ORGANIC CATTLE, though there were no cows to be seen, heard or smelt. Sid remembered a lesson at school about it: the culling of cattle and sheep to help stop global warming. They burped too much, or something. Too much Co2, or was it methane? The woman threw the dead flowers onto a sweet-smelling compost heap. They passed empty barns and sheds, which Sid thought would make great dens, and then he heard the strangest sound. It sounded like a monster groaning. Lo clung to him.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘That’s Buttercup. Our milk cow.’
‘Are you allowed?’ Sid asked.
‘Oh yes, we have a milk licence. Not all the cows have gone, thank goodness.’
‘Will it kill me? asked Lo.
The woman laughed and picked up the small girl and showed her to the cow. Lo giggled, her hand over her mouth. ‘It’s got eyelashes, like me,’ she said.
The woman led them along a sloping mud path with stone hedges on either side. Lo skipped ahead. Dwarf citrus trees had puddles of fallen petals beneath them.
‘Look Sid, pink snow.’
Eventually they came to a low cottage by a stream.
‘Any fish?’ Sid asked hopefully. In the distance he could hear the whispering sea.
‘Not enough, my boy. Go in, go on.’
Lo didn’t hesitate and Sid followed. It was a small cottage with the front door opening straight into the living room. On a scrubbed pine table was a jug of honeysuckle. A wood-burning stove stood in the fireplace and from it came the smell of bread. The woman told them to wash their hands and sit at the table. Gladly, they did as they were told, marvelling at the clean red checked tablecloth, the brightly coloured rag rug under their feet. Soon they were tucking into warm milk and hunks of freshly baked bread spread with melted butter and
blackberry jam.
‘Where have you come from?’ the woman asked Sid. Before he could answer, the door opened and a man came in. He was tall, with thick dark hair and sad blue eyes.
‘Runners?’ he asked gruffly.
‘They’re children in need of food and love, that’s all I know.’
‘Better get rid of them in the next five minutes, or they’ll get more than food and love.’
‘What do you mean, Henry?’
‘TA’s down the lane. We’re next on their list, I reckon.’
They bundled the children out of the back door, Lo complaining that she didn’t want to go anywhere, Sid trying to remain in control of his emotions.
‘Keep on down that path to the beach. They won’t go there. Can’t get the vehicles down there and too idle to walk.’
Sid prayed she was right. ‘Thanks for the food, missus,’ he said, a chunk of buttered bread in one hand as he led Lo away. As they hurried off down the coast path they heard the muted rumble of an armoured vehicle.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THERE WERE NO ROLLS of razor-wire or other barricades across the small beach. No coastguards or lookout towers on the looming jagged cliffs. The authorities obviously weren’t expecting refugees to attempt landing a boat there. Weed-wreathed rocks punctuated the pebble beach and the sea boiled with white water.
‘Is this the seaside?’ Lo clung to Sid, alarmed and overwhelmed by the limitless sea. To the small girl it looked like the sea was too high and would inevitably tumble on top of them. They huddled on pebbles against the cliff and watched the waves roll and roll and never stop. Lo picked up the smallest round grey pebbles and put them in Sid’s bag. He was contemplating what to do. The sea’s never-ending movement was hypnotic. Calming. They sat and stared. After about an hour, they started back along the path to the hamlet. The armoured vehicle had gone. Climbing the few steps into the churchyard they looked at names on the gravestones. Sid examined them all. No Jenkyns. Many graves were new, with fresh flowers in jam jars on them.
‘James and Charlotte Simms. Forever young,’ he read. ‘Josephine Kellerman, aged 36 months. Our little angel.’ There were many more, some for entire families, with the inscription ‘Sacrificed for the survival of Humanity’. And he drew Lo away from them as if he feared that she might stay with these little ghosts. They gazed longingly at the cottage where they’d been given bread and jam but there was no sign of the woman.