by Glenn Cooper
Benona went to the kitchen and returned with water. She sat the girl up and put two capsules in her mouth.
“I did it,” Polly said, showing her empty mouth.
“Good girl. Go back to sleep.”
“Brandon, will you be here when I wake up?”
“I’ll be here.”
In the living room Benona and Woodbourne looked at each other until he said, “I know. I smell.”
“Bath and cologne,” she said with a weak smile.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I was almost killed by these men, my daughter is sick, this man comes back to me from Hell, and you ask me if I’m all right?”
“I don’t know how to talk to people proper anymore.”
“Is okay, Brandon. You hungry?”
“Yes.”
“You go, I make some food.”
Later, he emerged from the bath wrapped in a towel, holding a bundle of his dirty clothes. She told him she’d wash them after dinner and sat him down on the sofa with a plate of meat pie and potatoes. She watched as he devoured it.
“You’re not eating?” he asked.
“Not hungry. I’m too worried about Polly. I want her to see a doctor.”
“Let’s take her.”
“The surgery is closed. They evacuated.”
“Because of us?”
“Yes. Many Hellers. Everyone ran away.”
“Not everyone. You’re here.”
“I didn’t want to go to fucking army camp in the north. Someone would come here and take few things I got. I would have gone back to Poland if I had money for travel. Looks like I made a mistake not going. I always make mistake in my life.”
“We can take her to the hospital.”
“I think they’re closed too. No one answers phone anywhere. It’s not safe on the streets.”
“I can protect you.”
Her eyes softened. “I know you can.”
“The pie was good. You got enough food?”
“Only thing I did right. I got plenty before the shops all closed.” She took his plate and put it in the sink. Without looking up she said, “I’m glad you came back.”
“I thought about you every minute I was back there.”
She kept her eyes on the suds she was making with the washing-up liquid. “You want to go to bed with me, Brandon?”
The answer came quickly. “Yes.”
Willie Oakley looked through the peephole into the hallway. He didn’t see anyone but that was little comfort. Someone could be lurking just out of view. He put his ear to the door. Once his hearing had been so acute he could hear a wristwatch ticking from his night table. Now his hearing was diminished. All his senses were diminished. Age did that.
As he gently pushed the door open he second-guessed himself. Did he really need to take out the trash? He was always a tidy man, a clean man. He didn’t like his flat smelling. His garbage disposal unit under his sink had packed up weeks ago and the management company had given him some poppycock about a back-ordered part. Those were the days when a back-ordered part was the problem. The managers, the maintenance people, the caregivers, even his fellow residents had evacuated the Battersea retirement complex, leaving him alone with his smelly trash. It was time to be bold, time to take the trash bags out to the wheelie bins, or at least the stairwell.
Clutching the bags in one hand and a claw hammer in the other he started down the hall. The stairwell was empty too and Willie thought about dropping the bags and retreating, but a bit of his old courage and pride surged through his eighty-year-old body. He had early-childhood memories of surviving the blitz. He had fifteen years of army service in the Southern Command Ammunition Inspectorate, clearing unexploded German bombs from London and the Thames Valley. He could make it to the wheelie bins.
The bins were neatly lined up behind his building. There was no one about. He could have used any of the bins but he was a creature of habit and protocol and chose his assigned one. There was trash in it. Checking others, they were empty. He looked around suspiciously. He had imagined he was the only resident who had stayed behind but maybe there were others. Perhaps his imagination was getting the better of him but he had the sensation of eyes on him. He scanned the windows overlooking the alley but saw nothing. It was time to declare victory and beat a hasty withdrawal.
Back on his floor he moved as quickly as his bandy legs allowed but as he was retrieving his keys from his pocket he heard a door opening behind him. His mouth got very dry very fast. He could either keep going until he got to his door or turn to face the danger.
“Willie Oakley! For fuck’s sake.”
He wheeled around. Del Ruddles was poking his big, mostly bald head out his door.
“I didn’t know you was still here,” Willie said.
“I didn’t know you was here neither. What do you think you’re going to do with that hammer?”
“Build a garden shed, I expect. You want a cup of tea?”
“Yeah, could do.”
Willie saw that Del had a pistol. “You’re asking me about a bloody hammer. What are you going to do with that?” he asked.
“Murder a Heller or two,” Del said, clomping his big frame down the hall.
Willie poured the tea. “So how come you stayed?” he asked.
“I never ran away from nothing in my life,” Del said, his south London accent in full bloom. “I’m seventy-eight years young. I’m not starting now. How ’bout you?”
“I wasn’t going to go to no army base. Had my fill of those when I was young. Is it just us two?”
“I’ve no bloody idea but you’re the first one I’ve spotted since this mess started.”
“Where’d you get the pea shooter?” Willie asked.
“This?” Del said, pointing at the revolver on the kitchen counter. “Tools of the trade. Never got rid of it.”
Willie knew about Del via retirement-home gossip. He’d been a gangster, one of the old-timers who’d had his fingers in lots of pies. A real survivor who’d done long stretches in the nick. Neither man had been much interested in collecting new friends so they’d never done more than nod and grunt in passing.
“Well, we got electricity, water, and the tele,” Willie said. “As long as the food holds up we’ll be all right.”
“The food’ll hold up,” Del said. “I had a look in the cafeteria in the nursing building. There’s loads in the pantries and fridges.”
“Good to know. You think there’re any of them Hellers in Battersea?”
“Expect so. The tele says they’re everywhere.”
“Can you imagine?” Willie said. “There’s really a Hell.”
“Did you ever doubt it?” Del said.
“Sure I doubted it. I was never much for church. Should have paid more attention.”
“I always assumed there was a Heaven and a Hell. In my line of work you tended to think about what was waiting for you on the other side.”
“And what did you conclude?” Willie asked.
“I figured I was probably fucked. Now I know I am. No pearly gates for Del Ruddles. I’ve got a mind to collar one of these Hellers and ask him what’s in store for me. You play cards?”
“’Course I do.”
“Want a game of gin rummy?”
They were tired from miles of walking but most of all they were hungry. Their numbers had dwindled to about thirty yet they were still a cutthroat gang to be reckoned with. They’d kept to their practice of going to ground during the daylight but the last place Heath had chosen to stop had virtually nothing to eat, not even cannie food. His first choice had been a very grand looking building on the Millbank, a palace by the look of it, but even their iron bars couldn’t get them inside the locked Tate Britain galleries. They settled for the Chelsea College of Arts next door but exhausted themselves looking for food in the cavernous building and went to sleep hungry inside a classroom.
Even though the night was young, hunger drove them to break down
the doors of a one-story brick building with the sign that read, Food Deliveries to the Rear.
Within minutes, the grumbling among the ranks turned to praise for their leader as Heath led them through an empty cafeteria to a massive kitchen stuffed to the gills with provisions.
“Eat up,” Heath said, reaching into a bag of oats.
“There’s dressed chickens in the cold box!” Monk said.
Although a mouthful of dried oats wasn’t bad, Heath liked the notion of chicken better and he elbowed Monk aside.
“Someone’s even cooked the birds up for us,” Heath marveled, taking a whole chicken in both hands and lowering his face to it.
“Did you hear that?” Del said, getting up to look out the window.
He and Willie had spent the entire day in each other’s company and only minutes ago had gone to Del’s flat to drink some of his whiskey.
“I heard it too,” Willie said. “Was it glass breaking? Where do you think it came from?”
“The nursing building. I’m sure of it.”
“Your hearing’s better than mine,” Willie said.
“Why don’t you get hearing aids?”
“Can’t stand the things. I can hear the tele fine when it’s turned up. Why do I need them?”
“Well come on then,” Del said, sticking his pistol in his waistband.
“Come on where?”
“To see what’s going on.”
“Why do we need to know?”
“Because we live here, that’s why.”
“If it’s them Hellers, what can we do about it?” Willie protested. “It’s not like the police are responding to citizen’s calls.”
“Don’t be so lily-livered. I thought you were ex-army and all.”
“I am. But I’m also an old man if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Then I’ll go on my onesies. You stay here hiding in the wardrobe.”
Del took his keys and a plastic torch from a drawer and started to leave. Willie swore and followed along.
“Good man,” Del said, leading the way.
They crept along the alley past the wheelie bins and around to the assisted care building. All the windows were dark. They stopped by the front entrance to look for broken glass but everything was intact.
Del cupped his ear. “Hear that?”
“Didn’t hear nothing.”
“I thought I heard voices.”
“Maybe they’re in your bloody head.”
“I’m serious. Let’s go around.”
Closer to the rear, by the cafeteria, Willie heard the voices too, punctuated by fits of laughter.
“We should go back,” he said.
“Nonsense. We’ll just peek in and see what we’re dealing with.”
They got to the floor-to-ceiling cafeteria windows. The room was dark but there was a soft glow coming from the kitchen area. Del was relentless. He followed the flowerbeds around the corner until they got to the smaller kitchen windows. Del was almost a head taller than Willie and he got a view inside first. Willie had to stretch for a glimpse.
Illuminated by the lights of a bank of open refrigerator doors they saw Heath and his men ripping through food.
The two old men ducked down and retreated, not stopping before they arrived back at Del’s flat.
Only then did they talk.
“You think it was them?” Willie asked, out of breath.
“You saw the way they looked. Like bloody animals. They weren’t from these parts, I’ll tell you that.”
“You think they’ll come to our building?” Willie said.
“I should think they might.”
“What should we do?”
Del removed the revolver from his trousers and put it on the kitchen table. “Do? These bastards came to our world, to our city, to our very house,” he said, his neck veins pulsating. “We should do what you should always do when someone tries to muscle in on your territory. You do violence.”
20
John pointed into the mist at the ghostly outlines of a dark, jagged coastline.
“Francia,” he said.
“How do you know?” Kyle asked.
“It’s not our first rodeo.”
“Indeed not,” Emily said grimly. “No shortage of unpleasant memories on these shores.”
Sergeant O’Malley and Trooper Culpepper were roaming the deck of the galleon, safeties off their rifles, guarding against any last-minute hostilities. Captain La Rue was giving out orders and his crew was turning the ship into the wind and dropping sheets until they were dead in the water. Only then did the captain call for both port and starboard anchors to be dropped.
La Rue climbed down from the quarterdeck to the railings. “Well, monsieur, it seems our transaction is complete. In exchange for not receiving a bullet in my head, I have delivered you to Calais. My men will row you to the beach and then I will depart for Brest where I will do my best to forget your face.”
John held out his hand and La Rue, after casting his eyes to the sky and shaking his head in disbelief at the gesture, took it then quickly released it.
“Captain, I’d like to make you an offer. This voyage was on you. How’d you like the next one to be on me?”
“On me, on you? Whatever are you saying?” La Rue said.
“What I’m saying is that if you wait here for our return, I’ll fill your pockets with gold to return us to Brittania.”
“Where is this gold? Is it buried in a chest? Is it inside the hollow of a tree? Will you find it up your posterior parts?” La Rue asked.
Kyle snarled at the Frenchman but John cooled him off.
“Why don’t you tell me how much gold it’ll take?” John asked.
La Rue pointed to a slop bucket. “That much.”
“All right. We’ll return with that much gold. If we don’t have it, you don’t sail to Brittania.”
“Monsieur Camp, you will come with your big guns and La Rue will be threatened with a bullet again.”
“You have my word I won’t do that.”
“I do not trust your word. However, I will trust the word of mademoiselle who I have come to know as an honorable woman. And she is very beautiful.”
“Thank you, captain,” Emily said. “I will promise you.”
“Very well, when will you return?” La Rue asked.
“As soon as we can,” Emily said. “We are in a great hurry but I’m afraid it will be at least a fortnight. Please wait for as long as it takes.”
“For a bucket of gold I shall wait one month. A day beyond that, I will assume you have met a bad end and La Rue will set sail and be gone.”
The longboat approached the same beach where John had battled French forces on his first arrival in Francia. Gazing up on the high cliffs where soldiers had peppered him with arrows and cannon fire, he thought about that harrowing journey to find Emily. Less than three months had passed but it seemed a lifetime. He ached for his simple life at the lab, a life devoid of adrenaline rushes but filled with the tranquility of ordinary pleasures. He had his work, Emily had hers, and when they weren’t working they retreated to a magical space of togetherness where time seemed slower and sweeter. Would he ever have this life again?
Emily, seated beside, must have seen his wistful look.
Over the sound of oars stroking the chop she asked, “Are you all right?”
“I was just thinking.”
“Always a dangerous thing.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Thinking about what?”
“You. You and me.”
She put her mouth closer to his ear and said softly, “Do you still love me?”
“More than ever.”
Kyle was behind them, O’Malley and Culpepper in front of them, French sailors manning the oars. It was hardly a place for intimacy. The best she could do was press her shoulder into his.
“When we get home,” she said, “when we fix this, we’re going to have the most beautiful life together.”
> “You’re a scientist,” he said. “What’s the probability of that happening?”
“Close to one hundred percent.”
“Close to. That worries me.”
“Ninety-nine point nine nine nine. Complete certainty is a difficult concept.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is.”
The five of them splashed through the low tide and waved off the French oarsmen. The SAS men took the point and Kyle took the rear, all of them weighed down by their provisions and ammunition. The beach sands were soft and yielding, making walking especially tough for Kyle but John let him soldier on in silence. They weren’t going to reach Paris on foot. They needed horses and he knew where to find them.
John had raided the nearest coastal village for horses before. The village was on the prosperous side owing to its smuggling trade, and he had found a stable there with horses and tack. He wasn’t inclined to waste a day waiting for the cover of night so they barged into the barn with guns raised.
The stablemen tending a dozen horses were the same men John had ambushed before. They cursed their fate when they saw him.
“Hi boys, I’m back,” John said. “Miss me?”
They answered in rapid-fire French, pointing to some rope and crossing their wrists.
“I don’t think they speak English,” O’Malley said.
“They’re speaking the universal language of surrender,” John said. “Tie them up and pick your horses.”
They rode due south on the Paris road until darkness fell, encountering only a few travelers on foot and some men driving carts. All showed fear and averted their gaze as they passed. They found a lightly wooded spot by a pond to camp for the night and water the horses. They took sentry duty by shifts and in the morning they were well enough rested to talk about a hard push to make Paris by nightfall.
At midday the road bent sharply, limiting their line of sight. O’Malley, a better horseman than Culpepper, told John he intended to ride ahead to make sure they weren’t heading into any problems.
“Good idea,” John said.
O’Malley was about to head off when he hesitated and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“When this is done will we be able to talk about what we’ve seen and what we’ve done?”