by Hall, Thomas
Douglas tries the door and it opens. They aren’t holding us prisoner, at least not in this room. He doesn’t try to leave, but walks back towards me.
“I don’t like this,” he says.
I nod, then shake my head, I don’t like it either. “It’ll be fine,” I say.
“Then you’re going to tell them about Harriet?”
Nothing they have said or done makes me trust them enough to reveal why we’re really here. I shake my head.
“Exactly.” He begins to pace around the room. I’m worried that he’s getting himself worked up, but there’s not much I can do to reassure him. I would be pacing as well if my body didn’t hurt so much from all the walking.
“What are we going to do?” Douglas says. He stops in front of me, his cheeks red and his skin oily with sweat.
“There’s nothing we can do,” I say, trying to sound calm, but the truth is his anxiety is making me nervous. What if he’s right? He has been in London throughout the whole evacuation, he knows better than me.
“We should go,” he says, walking back to the door.
“We can’t go,” I say. I don’t follow him to the door, if he decides to leave me behind there’s nothing I can do to stop him. “They’ll catch us.”
“I thought you said there was nothing to worry about?” Douglas says.
“You know what I mean,” I say, but I’m not even sure whether I do. “Let’s see what they want and then decide what to do.”
He looks back at me, from the door, and then his whole body seems to sag. He closes his eyes and walks back, dragging the weight of all his concerns with him.
When the door opens again we are still standing where the men left us.
The man’s name is Chris. He’s from the West of London, not far from where my flat is. He doesn’t look so scary without his gun.
He hasn’t told us much more than his name and reminded us that we are meeting Cortez Reinhardt. I don’t know the name, but Chris speaks as if I should, so I nod and try to look impressed.
Then we wait in silence.
Cortez Reinhardt is much smaller than I expected. In some ways his appearance is reassuring. He is about forty years old, thinning on top and wearing glasses. His skin has the dark glow of a man who has Mediterranean heritage but, other than that, he looks like a bank manager. He is even wearing the pin striped suit that was the uniform of that profession in my youth.
I remind myself that this man is a criminal, that they all are, otherwise there is no reason for them to still be here. I stand up straight and watch him as he crosses the room towards me.
“Evan,” he says, correctly guessing my name and offering me his hand. I shake it and he turns to Douglas. “And Douglas,” he says, repeating the procedure. “Chris tells me you’re looking for food?”
“That’s right,” Douglas says, answering before I have the chance to repeal the lie and tell him about Harriet. “We’re looking for food.”
“Well that’s good news,” Cortez says. “Food we can help you with. I assume neither of you is infected? You don’t look it, but these are challenging times and we can’t be too careful.”
If he thought there was a chance we were infected, then I don’t believe he would be standing in front of us now. He is playing a game with us. I’m not sure what it is and I have no idea whether it is better to play to win or hand the victory to him. I can’t get a reading on the man.
“You know Evan, you seem familiar. Is it possible we worked together?”
I shrug.
“What is it you did?” Cortez says.
“I was a copywriter.”
“A copywriter,” he says, turning the word over in his mouth as if he’s tasting it. He shakes his head. “No, no I don’t think we can have worked together. It must be something else. I’m sure it will come to me.”
I don’t know whether he is being serious, or if this is part of the game. I don’t say anything and after a moment he starts walking back towards the door. There is a poise and confidence to the way he moves that concerns me. He looks as if he is in complete control of the situation, as if he commanded men long before this all began.
“If you’re hungry then come with me,” Cortez says. “We’re about to serve dinner.”
I can do no more than glance at Douglas and cannot read anything in his expression. We walk to the door and follow Cortez out.
The dining hall is very big and filled with people. There are dozens of round tables in the middle and, at the end of the room, there is a long table on a raised platform. It reminds me of a wedding.
A hand on my shoulder stops me following Cortez to the top table. I turn around and see Chris looking at me.
“We’ll find a space for you back here,” he says.
I nod and we follow him to the very back of the room. There are so many people sitting around that I can’t take them all in. The faces blur together as do their conversations. After a moment I stop trying to look at them and follow the back of Chris’ head to a small table at the end of the room. As far away from Cortez as I can get.
There is already food in front of me by the time I sit down. It isn’t much, but saying I was hungry wasn’t a lie. The fact that it is hot and smells like actual food is enough for me to forget my misgivings about the situation.
I start to eat and the room falls silent except for a few hundred knives and forks scratching at bone china.
There are people to clear away the plates and cutlery when we’re done. A few people have started talking, but everyone at our table has their heads down. I don’t risk starting a conversation with Douglas while everyone can hear us. I don’t know what happens next, but I hope they will allow us to go somewhere we can talk.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice says. I look up and see a man in an ill fitting red jacket standing beside the top table. “Please be upstanding for our host of the evening, Mr Cortez Reinhardt.”
The chairs around me scrape backwards and I find myself standing as well. There is a glass in front of me and, as I see everyone else doing so, I raise it into the air.
“Cortez! Cortez! Cortez!”
I glance at Douglas and see that he isn’t taking part in the chant. I keep my glass in the air but I can’t bring myself to join in either. Over the tops of a hundred different heads I see Cortez stand and wave his hands at us.
We sit down.
“Thank you,” he says. He is beaming but there is something false about his joy. It occurs to me that this isn’t spontaneous. This is a regular event at mealtimes, and that it is a tradition that was probably started by the man himself. “It’s always such a pleasure to dine with you all.”
A man who I can’t see, but who I imagine is large due to his booming voice, calls out: “Here, here!”
This is almost exactly like a wedding. Except I have no idea what I am doing here and I don’t recognise any of the other guests.
“I know you all have work to do, so I will keep this brief. Today we have two guests, who I hope are going to decide to stay with us.” He looks towards the back of the room and I try to shrink into my chair. “Evan, Douglas, why don’t you stand up so we can all see you,” he says.
I look at Douglas and he shrugs. We both stand up.
Somebody gasps but I can’t see who.
“Evan and Douglas everybody,” Cortez says.
There is applause.
I stand there feeling very uncomfortable and not a little confused. What is this place? What are these people doing here? What am I doing here?
When Cortez moves onto other subjects, we sit down. I want to leave right now, but I know I can’t. Wherever we are, we are here until Cortez decides otherwise, of that, I have no doubt.
CHAPTER 20
OUR ROOM IS FAR AWAY FROM EVERYONE ELSE. It is smaller than the one where we first met Cortez. There are two beds and a bowl of water with towels next to it where we can wash. There is a window and I stand by the door and watch Douglas try to open it, only to find that it is locked
. I am disappointed, but not at all surprised, to find that this time they have also locked the door.
“We’re prisoners?” Douglas says.
I nod. The bed looks very tempting. It feels like weeks since I slept in anything so comfortable, my body is weary and on edge. I don’t think I would be able to sleep, but I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to find out.
“What are we going to do?” he says.
“I don’t know. There isn’t much we can do.”
“You don’t seem worried,” he says.
“Why should I be?” I say. “No one’s tried to hurt us. They fed us and they’ve given us a place to sleep.”
He looks at me and I can see that he needs more. It isn’t that I trust Cortez. My first impression of him is that he might be dangerous, but the facts remain the facts. “They’re keeping us locked up in case we’re dangerous.”
“Why would they think that?”
I shrug. “No reason, but no reason to trust us either. If they let us go wandering around we could do anything. They don’t know us.”
“So send us away.”
“We’re starving remember, they’re doing us a favour letting us stay here.”
He looks at me and I can see him thinking about it, considering the possibility that I’m right. I have no idea whether I am or not, but worrying about what might happen to us isn’t going to help right now.
“Here,” I say. I reach for the knife. I hold it out to Douglas. “Take it,” I say.
He shakes his head and looks away. One of the things I like about Douglas is that he shares my dislike of weapons and violence.
“If they were planning to hurt us then they wouldn’t have let me keep the knife,” I say.
He doesn't look at me while I’m holding it. “I suppose.”
“They’re only being cautious.”
“Sure.”
I can see that I’m not going to convince him one way or the other, but at least he is quieter in his distrust now. I put the knife away and limp over to the bed. My bones hurt and it is dark outside. I see no reason to wait any longer. I lay down and the bed creaks. I don’t look at Douglas as I close my eyes and wait to find out whether sleep will come for me.
My sleep is troubled and I wake before it is light. I lay on my back trying to fall asleep again but I can tell that it isn’t going to happen.
With some reluctance I get up and stretch my legs. When I turn towards the door I notice something on the floor and limp over to see what it is.
The piece of paper in my hand seems unreal. It is an ancient receipt from a supermarket. Of no real value to anyone, but to me it might be the most precious thing in the world.
“SHE’S HERE”
That is all it says. I have turned it over in my hands so many times that the heat has made the original receipt disappear. I don’t know who wrote the message, nor how it got to me.
Douglas is asleep on the bed across the room. His snoring fills the empty space with an irregular sound which makes it difficult to think.
I should do something.
If it’s true, and I have not discounted the possibility that it might not be, then Harriet is here and my journey has come to an end. But, even if it is true, I am reluctant to believe that it is that simple.
I begin to pace. My footsteps are silent but my heart is racing. I am half convinced that the sound will be loud enough to wake Douglas.
If I woke him then I could tell him about the note, but I can already guess what he would say.
They kidnapped her.
But there is no more reason to think that than there is to think that they kidnapped us. I am sure that, if we decided we wanted to leave, all we’d have to do is tell someone and they would escort us out.
If that is true of us, then and all I have to do is tell someone and we could all go.
If they haven't kidnapped her then why the note? Douglas would ask. Why didn’t she come to you herself?
It would be a valid point.
The first light of day begins to fill the room and brings with it a wintery cold. I stand by the window and look out, but I can’t see anything except another side of the building.
I can’t rest and I can’t leave, but I need to do something.
I sit on the floor with my back against the wall.
How much time do I have before we need to be at the evacuation centre?
I’ve lost track of the days and realise that I never actually expected to find Harriet. It is the only explanation that makes sense. I never expected to find her so I never expected to go to the evacuation centre. I never needed to know what day it was. But now there’s a chance.
Now there’s a chance.
I let the thought settle and I am ashamed at myself for having given up on her. If I had been more prepared…
It feels as if a bomb has started to tick, but I have no idea how long the countdown is set for. It might already be too late.
I stand up.
I sit down.
Nothing seems to help.
I walk over to Douglas and consider waking him, I may have done him a disservice by assuming I know what he would say. He might offer an insight that I cannot imagine, it might help to hear things from someone else.
I turn away.
I turn back.
I look at the note and then fold it up, put it in my pocket and then take it out again.
It might be a trick. She might not be here. There is only one way that I’m going to know for sure.
When Douglas wakes up I don’t tell him about the note.
“How did you sleep?” he says.
I shrug. “You?”
“Better than I expected.”
There is nothing for us to do except wait for someone to open the door. Neither of us knows what time it is. We sit and wait. Douglas takes out the battered paperback that he has been reading since I met him.
I stand up and stretch, walk to the window and run over what I am planning to do. Is it stupid? Am I stupid?
“Everything okay?” Douglas says.
“Fine,” I say without looking back at him. I should warn him, I know, but he might say something to talk me out of it. I can’t discount the fact that, when I am gone, he will be alone and he might try to prevent that from happening.
I don’t think he would try to sabotage me, but I can no longer count on him as an ally.
“Fine,” I say again, this time turning back to look at him. “Only thinking.”
“About?” His book is resting on his knee, the black cover pointing upwards.
“This place. It’s somewhere you could stay. They seem to have everything you’d need. You might be happy here.”
“I suppose,” he says, but he is guarded now and I feel as if is reading things into my words that I don’t want him to. I would like to give him the opportunity to back down from what I am planning, but the only way to do that would be to reveal it.
I am still considering the possibility when the door opens and Chris comes into the room. My opportunity to separate myself from Douglas disappears.
“It’s breakfast time,” Chris says.
Douglas heaves himself off the bed and puts his book back in his bag. I can feel the tension in my whole body, the anxiety of what I am about to do. I am shaking but there is nothing I can do to make myself stop.
“I want to speak to Cortez,” I say.
I can feel Douglas staring at me. I don’t turn to him but I can imagine the expression of betrayal on his face.
“Excuse me?” Chris says, as if he hasn’t quite heard what I’ve said.
I swallow and my mouth is dry. “I need to speak to Cortez.”
“About what?” Chris says.
Douglas is nodding, he wants to know the same thing.
“It’s a private matter,” I say.
“A private matter?” Chris says.
This time I nod and wait to find out what he will say. It is possible that he will refuse.
“You
’re sure about that are you?” he says. The friendliness in his face has gone replaced by the weariness of a soldier returning to war.
“Completely,” I say, but it is a lie. I am not sure about anything.
“You’d better wait here then,” he says.
The door closes and he is on the other side of it. This is not what I was expecting to happen and it already feels as if my plan is spilling all over the floor. I had assumed that Chris would take me to see Cortez, not the other way around. Remaining locked in a room with Douglas was not what I wanted.
“What’s going on Evan?” he says.
I take a moment to compose myself, then remove the note from my pocket and hand it to him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says.
I shake my head. None of the reasons I could give, real or false, would improve the situation. It is what it is.
“So you think she’s here?” he says.
I prepare myself for him to cast doubt on this, but he doesn’t. He folds the note back up and hands it to me.
“What are you planning to do?”
“I’m going to tell Cortez the truth and ask to see Harriet.”
“Do you think he’ll let you?”
I shrug. Whether he lets me, or not, will answer a lot of questions and, at the worst, I will know where I stand.
“Wow,” Douglas says. He walks back to his bed but doesn’t sit down. “So you did it then?”
“I guess so.”
“Are you going to make it to the evacuation on time?”
I shrug.
I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for him, but I try. If everything goes according to plan he’ll be alone again soon.
“You could stay,” I say.
He shakes his head but doesn’t get a chance to elaborate before we hear a key in the lock and then the door begins to open.
Cortez has an armed guard either side of him. Chris stands outside.
“What can I do for you Evan?” Cortez says. His voice is calm and friendly, but the guards tell the real story.
I have no idea what to say. I should have prepared but I haven’t. For a moment I can’t do anything except look at the man.
“Chris said you wanted to speak to me?” he says.