by Hall, Thomas
CHAPTER 17
I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SEE MY FLAT again, but this time I’m sure.
We stand outside for a moment while Douglas fixes his bag and then turns to adjust mine.
“Comfortable?” he says.
It feels as if the weight is going to drown me. I may have exaggerated how well I’m feeling, but I can no longer sit around all day while he’s out looking for my daughter. I nod.
He closes the door behind us. There is a sign on the kitchen table telling Harriet about the evacuation point, the time and the date. I don’t expect her to come back here now, but if she does she needs to know where to go next.
“Let's get on with it,” I say.
Douglas leads the way. I follow his slow walk, but after a few steps I begin to fall behind.
He slows down so I can catch up, he smiles but I can see his frustration. I don’t like it anymore than he does, but I can’t afford to wait any longer. The evacuation is in twenty-eight days time and I don’t intend to leave without my daughter.
“Let me know when you need to stop,” he says.
“I will.”
“There’s plenty of places to rest. You say the word.”
“Sure.”
We walk through the high street and, as we pass the place where the man attacked me, I tense up. I look around, but no one is there. The few cars on the road before are still there. The windows of buildings lay scattered across the ground, waiting for a wind to blow them away.
I’m not sure where we’re going. Douglas tried to explain it to me, but I couldn’t make sense of it. In the end he decided it was better to let me see for myself. I don’t know what to expect, but he made it sound like a foreign country, and in many ways, I suppose that’s what it is now.
We pass the tube station and I glance towards it.
“You don’t want to go down there,” Douglas says.
“Why?”
He shakes his head.
“Why?”
“At night you hear noises,” he says. “I don’t know what they are, but they don’t sound human.”
“What else could it be?” I say.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”
We pass the station and carry on along the high street. I keep expecting someone to jump out at us but they never do. Everything is quiet.
We stop for lunch on a bench on Duke Street. I sit next to Douglas and feel exposed, like I want to be hiding. The feeling grows stronger when he takes out the food that he prepared for us. He hands me a foil wrapped parcel. I sit there with it on my lap, ashamed to admit that I am scared to open it in case it brings people out of hiding.
Douglas eats without hesitation and after a moment I do the same.
No one comes and once I am finished I start to stand.
“Hold on,” Douglas says.
“We need to keep going.”
“You need to rest. You’re not going to do your daughter any favours if you collapse from exhaustion.”
I don’t like to admit it but he’s right. I can feel the bone deep weariness that I usually associate with the flu. I’m not sure how long I will be able to continue. Resting for a little longer would be best.
I sit down again.
Douglas takes a book out of his bag and opens it at the folded page. Despite living in close proximity for three days, we haven’t talked much. Ours is a relationship of convenience and that convenience is all mine. I’m not sure what he is getting out of this setup.
“They won’t evacuate you, you know that right?” I say. I don’t mean the words to sound cruel, but I am afraid they come out that way.
“I know,” he says, like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t even look up from his book.
“Why are you helping me then?” I say.
He shrugs.
“There must be a reason,” I say. “You know when I find Harriet we’re leaving. Wouldn’t you be better off finding people who are staying?”
He looks up and I follow his gaze, afraid that he has noticed something I haven’t. Then he folds the page of his book down and turns to look at me.
I can’t read his expression. His eyes look sad but he is smiling. I am confused.
“I like you Evan,” he says.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all.
“You say what you mean and not a lot of people do that.”
He doesn’t know me well, but he’s got my number. Cassie used to call me blunt, sometimes rude, but honest.
“You want to know why I’m helping you?”
I nod, although I’m not sure that I do now.
“I’m helping you because I can’t help anyone else.” He lifts up his hand and waves it around to indicate the deserted street. “The city is dying. Heck, the whole country is. We’re doing okay for now, but the food won’t last forever and I don’t see anyone sending help for us criminals. Pretty soon there won’t be anything left and then the fighting will get worse, but it won’t change the facts. If we don’t die of starvation we’ll end up killing each other, and then there won’t be anyone here.”
This is one of the bleakest things I’ve heard. I don’t reply because I can tell he hasn’t finished yet.
“You and your daughter can avoid that. Knowing I’ve helped you will make it easier for me to endure what's going to come.”
“They might send help,” I say, but I don’t believe it and he shakes his head. “What about farming? There are still farms.”
“Do you know how to grow a potato?” he says. “What about slaughter a cow?”
I shake my head.
“Look, I’m not giving up, I’m being realistic. When you’ve gone, I’ll leave the city, see if you’re right. There might be a farm I can take up, but that’s not going to be easy and it’s still going to have the same problems later on. When the food runs out, other people are going to come looking, I’ll have to defend anything I find.”
“If you find other people…” I say, trailing off because he’s nodding.
“That’s the plan, and I can make it work, but later. I’m helping you now. If you’re trying to get rid of me, you’re not doing a very good job.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” I say.
His face splits into a wide grin and this time it reaches his eyes. “I know, I’m kidding. You want to get some sleep?”
I shake my head.
“Rested enough?”
I nod.
He puts the book back in his bag and stands with an exaggerated sigh. “Guess we’d better get going then. It’s a long way to Ermsoth and we’d be better off getting there before dark.”
I don’t ask him why that is, I already know. Instead I stand up as well and there is no need to exaggerate the stiffness in my own muscles. We pick up our bags and start walking.
If you have never walked through London then you might have a strange idea about its topography. If you only travel by tube, London must seem like a series of small islands, completely separate from one another with nothing inbetween. But it isn’t like that.
One road leads to another. Despite what the Transport for London would like you to think, it is possible to walk from one place to the next. But it does take time.
Some of the streets are so long that the ends are impossible to see. The architecture ranges from modern to ancient. This is what I love about London and I am aware that it is the last time I will be seeing it. Wherever Harriet and I end up it won’t be the city that we have called home.
Douglas makes me wait outside to “keep watch” while he goes into a shop. I hear him moving around inside, mumbling to himself and swearing. When he emerges he has two dusty tins which he holds up to me.
“Full English Breakfast,” I read.
“Fry up for dinner?” he says.
I haven’t eaten like this since I was a student, but neither of us can afford to be fussy. As Douglas said, the food will run out and then he will be wishing he could have more
breakfasts in a tin.
We don’t make it to Ermsoth before dark. I am expecting to spend the night camped under some trees. I am surprised when Douglas finds a house and breaks the back window to get in.
He looks at me as if he expects me to accuse him of something, but I don’t. I am glad to have a roof over my head and a little warmth.
We eat the tins he took, warmed up on the camping stove he has been using since I met him. I am falling asleep before I get halfway through mine.
“You take the bed,” Douglas says.
I look at him, my eyes are heavy and my body aches. I’m not sure I can make it to the bedroom.
“You need to rest,” he says, thinking that my reluctance is good manners. “I’ll be fine on the sofa.”
I force myself to stand and stumble through the house towards the bedroom. I don’t get undressed. I am asleep before my head hits the pillows.
CHAPTER 18
DOUGLAS IS ALREADY AWAKE. HE IS SITTING ON the sofa reading his book. He doesn’t turn around when I enter the room.
“Sleep well?” he says.
“Fine,” I say. I walk over to him and sit down on an easy chair by the window. Outside it is misty and, despite the warmth, I shiver. “Good book?”
He shrugs, turns the corner of the page over, and puts it on his lap. “It’s nothing special. To tell you the truth, I was never much of a reader, preferred television and films. But there’s not a lot of that around anymore.”
I nod because I understand what he’s saying. Not only about television and films and books, but about lots of things. We’re both making do. The difference is that I can expect this period of 'making do' to end soon. Wherever Harriet and I end up, there will be electricity and civilisation. I’m a tourist. For Douglas this is life.
“Shall we go out for breakfast?” he says.
“There’s nothing to eat here,” I say.
He nods. I don’t feel like playing along with him, but he’s helping me and I have no way of paying him back. A little kindness is the least I can do.
“Where do you want to eat?” I say.
“Shall we go for a walk and see what we fancy?”
“Sure,” I say. “Sounds good.”
We get our things together and leave the house. I don’t expect the person who owned it will be coming back, but if they do, it’s unlikely they will know we were here. We put everything back where we found it, I even make the bed that I slept in. I don’t expect it, but the process makes me feel good. By the time we step out the front door I am smiling for the first time in days.
There are a few shops nearby but after looking inside the first few, we decide that they are all empty. They were ransacked and, as the mist clears, I can see that this part of the city is in a bad state.
There are overturned cars on the road and several of them are burned out shells. They don’t appear to have been in accidents, these look like separate and purposeful acts. Shop windows are broken. Worthless electronic devices are scattered across the ground. We pass an Apple Store and step over hundreds of iPhones strewn across the pavement like leafs.
“We should be careful,” Douglas says. It is an unnecessary warning.
“You know I’m not that hungry,” I say.
“Do you want to skip breakfast and head into the city?”
“We could get an early lunch instead?”
“Good idea,” he says.
We walk a little quicker. I am pleased that I can keep up with him better today, but I still tire quickly. It is only the desire not to even stop here that keeps me moving. This place feels wrong in so many ways.
An hour later we approach Leicester Square. It is clear that it was not an isolated area of destruction which we were passing through. On the contrary, we are moving through it still and it’s getting worse. The once familiar landscape looks as if it has been the focal point of a war. Everything is battle scarred and ruined.
Neither of us speaks as we walk over broken glass and torn up pavement. I cannot even begin to imagine what has happened here, but it scares me that the people who did it might still around.
There are people here as well.
I see them in the distance, walking as if they are zombies, but paying no more than cursory attention to us. I don’t want to approach them, but I am afraid that is exactly what Douglas has in mind.
It occurs to me that I was both fortunate and unfortunate to meet people when I went back to my flat. We didn’t see anyone else all of yesterday and that seems to be the rule in most of the city, but not here.
Are these people are friendly like Douglas, or dangerous like the man who attacked me? They might be Infected.
The first gunshot startles us.
It seems to come from some distance away and is answered a moment later by the ratter-tat-tat of a machine gun. This is the first time I have heard one in real life, but I recognise the sound from films and television.
We look around but there is nowhere to take cover.
“Let's get out of here,” Douglas says.
I nod my agreement but we don’t go far. Around the corner, past an ice-cream shop that is no longer open for business, and up the street towards The Prince Charles Cinema. We duck into the entrance of a building when three men carrying guns come running towards us.
We wait.
My heart is hammering hard against my chest.
Neither of us says a word.
They are dressed in camouflage armour but I know from a glance that they aren’t soldiers. At least not in the traditional sense. They seem to believe they are fighting a war.
The men walk towards us. They don’t appear to be in a hurry.
“You two,” one of them says. “Get out here.”
I wish they weren’t talking to us, but there is no question that is the case. We are the only one’s on the street.
Douglas looks at me and I offer a minor shrug in response. What choice do we have?
I step out of the sheltered doorway and limp towards the men.
Douglas stops beside me.
“Who are you?” the man in the middle says. While the other two raise their guns - one marking each of us - he keeps his by his side.
“My name’s Evan, this is Douglas,” I say.
“I don’t recognise you,” the man says.
I’m not sure why he should.
“What are you doing here?” he says.
The decision is down to pure chance, a random coincidence, prompted by my dislike of guns. I decide not to tell him that I’m looking for Harriet. “We’re looking for food,” I say instead.
“Food?” the man says. I’m not sure whether he believes me, or whether the lie is written all over my face.
I nod in response.
“You’re in Leicester Square looking for food?”
“That’s right,” I say.
He doesn’t bother looking at the two men either side of him. I expect him to raise his gun and to take the pleasure of shooting us for himself. Instead he starts to smile.
I risk looking at Douglas, but he seems as confused as me. We stand there together looking at the men as the others lower their guns.
“You’d better come with us then,” the man says. “Cortez will give you something to eat.”
It seems like asking who Cortez is would be a mistake. As would turning down the offer and trying to leave. Instead I nod and when the men turn to walk away, we follow them.
They lead us through Chinatown and into Soho. I can hear other people in the narrow streets either side of us. I catch glimpses of them in my peripheral vision, but they make themselves scarce before we reach them. It gives me a bad feeling about the men with guns, but I am still powerless to do anything except follow them.
I glance at Douglas and find him looking back at me with wide, frightened eyes. I can’t ask him why he’s scared and can’t reassure him. He must feel as anxious as me.
We walk through parts of the city that are unfamiliar to me. Having
lived in London for most of my life, I rarely travelled to the tourist spots. Even when I was younger I only came here to play games at The Trocadero or eat at the restaurants.
I don’t know how long we walk for.
When we stop I am surprised by how far we have come. But London streets can be like that; even to a Londoner it is not always clear how one part links to another. It may be a sign that I have become lazy in the past few years and caught the tube too many times. I am not sure how we’ve made it all the way to Buckingham Palace.
“Open up!” the man with the lowered gun shouts at the wall.
For a moment it seems as if nothing is going to happen. Then, with a creak and a groan, the gate begins to open.
CHAPTER 19
DOUGLAS AND I FOLLOW THE MEN INTO THE castle. In the courtyard there are more people standing, pointing guns at us and not speaking. The men who brought us tell them to lower their weapons and they do.
They take us inside.
I haven’t been to Buckingham Palace since I was a child on a school trip and it feels different to my memory. I can hear distant voices, shouting and swearing. I don’t know who these people are but I have a newfound respect for them. If the Royal Family survived the outbreak they would have been some of the first evacuated. This is the logical place for anyone to build a stronghold.
I follow them through the long corridors. There are paintings on all the walls and the furniture looks about a million years old. We pass other rooms with the doors open and hear people talking.
The men lead us to a large room. There is no one else in it but lots of furniture. It is stacked up against the walls, covered in thick dust sheets.
“Wait here,” the man says. It is the first time he has spoken to us since we reached the castle. His voice sounds strange and it takes me a moment to realise that he is almost whispering.
Before I can ask him what we are waiting for, he closes the door behind him. I relax a little, as if I can now be alone with my thoughts, but it is only because I don’t have a gun within view.