The Brink

by Pass, Martyn J.

  “Really? A stick?” said John, brushing it aside and entering the caravan. “Don’t you have a gun?”

  “I... Don’t ask.”

  “Coffee?”

  “The kettle’s just boiled. Help yourself.”

  John walked in and said an enthusiastic hello to Tim, putting the boy a little more at ease as he made a cup from the instant granules on the counter.

  “This is another thing that’s soon to be gone,” he said, holding up the jar. “Sandra told me that they’re down to the last pallet in the stores. After that it’s tea bags and then hot water, God forbid.”

  He stirred his cup and sat down on the settee, facing the table. After his first sip he sighed and said, “News travels fast.”

  “Sam Stuart?”

  “The very man. I hear it didn’t go so well.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “What happened?”

  Alan repeated the previous night’s events as best he could, trying not to put words in that hadn’t been said or feelings that hadn’t been felt. It was hard - he was still in a kind of slow-burn rage and occasionally his voice would rise or his tone would harden as he relived the conversation.

  “I suppose this was bound to happen sooner or later,” said John. “People like Stuart shouldn’t be in positions of power. They can’t handle it and they see everyone else as a threat to them. Hell, you’ve only just arrived and already he thinks you’re about to dethrone him!”

  “Has he always been like that?” he asked. John shook his head.

  “He was a nice guy when he started. He and Doc got to where they were because everybody loved them. If you needed anything, Sam Stuart was your man. If you needed patching up, good ole’ sympathetic Doc would be there with this little black case he used to carry round with him with all his kit in. As the camp grew in size I guess the power got the better of them. We can go weeks without seeing Sam and Doc’s case is now filled with booze he’s stolen and he cares nothing for anything else.”

  “Is this the general opinion?”

  “I’d say so. That’s why the infirmary is the way it is. That’s why the allotment is dead. People won’t work for that kind of boss if they don’t have to.”

  “What would happen if the leadership changed?” he asked. John started laughing.

  “Are you thinking of applying for the job?”

  “No, but if a vacancy were to appear, is there someone who might be better suited to the role?”

  “Not me, that’s for sure,” he replied. “I can think of a few. Your new friend Rachel for one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. We don’t need a military general who barks orders right now, we need someone who cares, who puts the people first. We’re not rebuilding a Government here and I don’t want a dictator, that’s for sure. We need to build a community that employs specific people to specific tasks, puts them where they’re needed and can do the most good.”

  “You’ve become a socialist!” cried Alan with a broad grin.

  “I’ve become a realist. I just look around and see things that need doing, people who can do them and for some reason they never meet. I know Rachel; I know she has the mind of someone who can organise this stuff. Leave the kids to Josie and she’ll thrive, mark my words.”

  “I’ve marked enough words since coming here – it’s time for action.”

  “Do you even have a plan?”

  “Yes. For once I do.”

  “Well,” he said, laughing. “Hit me with it.”

  Alan told him.

  “Oh dear.”

  “What? What’s wrong with my plan?”

  “Nothing,” he said, restraining his mirth. “I just wish I could be there when it happens.”

  When Tim had finished eating and John had drunk a second cup with Alan, the three of them walked towards the school with Moll bounding on ahead to sniff out more paths that always seemed to lead her in the direction of the kitchens. The rain came down harder now and it filled the air with the scent of damp and a faint chemical odour that neither of them could deny.

  “That’s going to be a huge problem next,” said John as he shook the droplets from his hood with a flick of his head.

  “We’ll have to look at filtering it as best we can but the damage is already done,” said Alan. “It’ll be in the ground, in the streams, everywhere. What animals there are will be drinking it. It’ll be in their blood, their meat. We’ll just have to hope it isn’t as bad as we think it is.”

  “There’s so much we don’t know about it. The radiation, the effects, all of it. I mean, are we just going to fade into nothing? Is the whole world just going to die around our ears? We’ve got a mother-to-be who’s literally shaking with the thoughts of what she’ll give birth to in a few months.”

  “Did Doc not even take a look?”

  “Early on he did but that was before the storm. Since then he’s not seen her or listened for a heartbeat - he has a kind of trumpet thing that he uses because we couldn’t find a working ultrasound unit.”

  “Kicks?”

  “Occasionally but she dismisses them as hunger pains. I think she’s lying to try and prepare herself for the worst.”

  “We could have done with a sober doctor then.”

  “Tell me about it,” said John. “Do you know any? The kids we do have are already suffering with sickness, as you can see, but Doc did say that it all depends on how high the dose they received was. Apparently people can survive a certain amount but after that...”

  “Well I know Tim made it through the worst of it so don’t give up just yet.”

  “How the hell do you get to stay so goddam optimistic?”

  “Live long enough and see enough and you’ll find out. The human race isn’t all that bad, John.”

  “Tell that to the Scavs.”

  They arrived at the school, dripping wet, and waited at the door for Rachel to take Tim inside. When Josie came and led him away, Alan told him to have a nice day and that he’d pick him up later. Rachel remained with them until they were both out of earshot.

  “How’d you like to be in charge?” asked John with the bluntness of a sledgehammer.

  “Excuse me?” said Rachel.

  “Alan here has a plan.”

  “You do?” she asked, turning to him. He nodded.

  “All we need is for you to step in once he’s carried it out.”

  “Why me?”

  “Why not?”

  “I have a job, responsibilities, these kids need me.”

  “They have Josie. You can pick someone else if you want. You’ll be the boss.”

  “No!” she cried. “I couldn’t, I’d-”

  “You’d be great,” said John.

  “Who says?”

  “We do.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Me and Alan.”

  “Hardly a democracy, is it? Put it to a vote or something. Call a meeting. What’s your plan anyway?”

  “Never mind that,” said John. “We don’t want a democracy, Rachel. We need a beautiful dictator to get this place back on its feet. You’re the girl for the job.”

  “No I’m not. I’d be a terrible boss. I don’t like ordering people around.”

  “You wouldn’t have to; just employ someone to do it for you.”

  “That makes no sense, John.”

  “Look, anything is better than what we have now. Say you’ll think about it.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Please?” asked Alan. She turned towards him now and smiled.

  “Do YOU think I’ll be able to do it?” she asked.

  “Without a doubt,” he replied. “I’ll help you.”

  She looked at them both and sighed. “Okay.”

  “Really?” cried John.

  “Yes. Now go away, you’re soaking the carpet.”

  “Will do boss.”

  “Don’t call me boss. Not now. Not ever. My first law.”

  “You got
it, Chief,” replied Alan, walking away.

  “Or Chief!”

  They went directly from the school to the complex, noting that there seemed to be fewer people milling around near the entrance than normal.

  “They’re scared of the rain,” said Alan, looking back and forth from the caravans to the building.

  “They know it brings the rads. Can you blame them?”

  “Fair point, but there’s going to be a lot of bull shit spread soon without some real science or medicine to dispel the myths.”

  “Like I said, Doc did a good job of keeping it in check, but now people are coming up with all kinds of strange theories and I’m surprised that we haven’t had some crack-pot religion start up, offering sacrifices to the old gods to appease their nuclear wrath.”

  Alan looked thoughtfully at the mast. “Any joy?”

  “None yet,” said John. “Plenty of interference though.”

  “Who’s working it?”

  “Shifts change but more often than not it’s Phil behind the desk, turning the dials. He’s into that kind of stuff so he wants to be there.”

  “Yeah, this voluntary thing didn’t really work out.”

  “You’re telling me. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  They approached the entrance just as the rainfall redoubled its efforts to wash them away in its dirty grey downpour and stopped in the porch, shaking their coats off before realising who was waiting for them on the inside.

  “Richard?” cried John who was first to see him. Alan spun round and, without hesitation, grabbed Moll by the scruff and restrained her.

  “Good morning, Gentlemen,” he sneered. “What brings you here on this fine morning?”

  “Cut the bullshit,” said John. “What are you doing here? You’re a Scav traitor!”

  “Not according to Mr Stuart,” he replied. “He saw fit to show me mercy for keeping my old looted clothes and once I explained all this to him he was more than happy for me to return to my old job.”

  “This is bollocks,” spat John.

  “Now Gentlemen, I’m afraid we’re implementing tighter security measures from now on and I’m going to have to ask you to submit to a search. No weapons are allowed in the complex.”

  Here he turned his smug gaze upon Moll who stood perfectly stock still under Alan’s hand.

  “Nor are animals so I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave the beast at your caravan, Mr Harding.”

  “This is-” began John but Alan put a firm hand on his arm.

  “It’s okay, I’m happy to follow Mr Stuart’s new security measures to the letter. I’ll take her back to the caravan and come back alone. John, get a couple of brews in while you wait.”

  “Ah,” said Richard, holding up his hand. “Coffee, tea and water are all under the new rations act and you’ll have to apply for permission to purchase these beverages from the Stores.”

  “I don’t believe this!” bellowed John as he broke away from Alan’s other restraining hand. Only Moll seemed content to stand still in silence, eyeing Richard with a glimmer of her sharp white teeth escaping from under her curling lip.

  “The man has lost his mind!”

  “Come on, let’s just go,” said Alan, turning.

  “You’ve not heard the end of this,” cried John. “Not for one second.”

  “Good day, gentleman,” called Richard after them. “Good day.”

  They lifted their hoods to the rain and looked about them, feeling that whatever joy they’d had that morning had been washed away down the gutter along with the irradiated dust and grime.

  “So that’s his plan,” said John. “Secure his precious throne by tightening his iron fist around the camp.”

  “It looks like it,” replied Alan. “And with Richard free it adds the double risk of being betrayed at any time. Those gates could be opened and the Scavs would just walk right on in.”

  “I think things just got a whole lot worse.”

  “You’re telling me,” said Alan.

  “Are you still going to do what you said? To Sam Stuart I mean.” Alan nodded.

  “How he reacts to that will decide what I do next.”

  “I can imagine how he’ll react but how far are you willing to go?”

  “As far as it takes. There are 300 people to consider - what’s the life of one or two compared to that?”

  “You’d really go that far?”

  Alan turned towards the gate and the allotment beyond, thinking just that thought to himself. How far would he go? And could he stop himself once he’d started?

  “Let’s go and see what we need to get your farm going,” he said. “Surely he can’t stop us growing food too.”

  As it turned out, Sam Stuart planned to do just that. When they headed towards the allotment they found more guards posted at the gate wearing ponchos, standing in spite of the rain with the water dripping from the tops of their hoods and a blank stare fixed to their faces.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said John as they approached the entrance to the fenced off area. “What the hell did you do in the few minutes you spent together? Shit on his mother’s ashes?” Alan shrugged. “The old man’s lost his marbles.”

  “Let’s see what’s happening before we jump to conclusions.”

  “Jump? We don’t need to jump - our conclusions are right there, about to stop us from going inside the only hope we have left. I don’t understand what he’s thinking, Alan, I really don’t.”

  They walked up to the two guards standing at the chain-linked fencing and stopped. Neither of them looked away from the distant spot on the horizon they were staring at. Neither of them moved an inch even when John stood right in front of them, bouncing on his feet in rage.

  “It’s just going to be quicker for us if you step aside now,” he said. “It’ll save a lot of red faces and get these crops growing quicker.”

  “I’m sorry John,” said the guard on the left, still unable to look him in the eye. “We have our orders.”

  “Orders? You’re a voluntary security force - what the hell do you care about orders, Frank? Or you, Jimmy? When did either of you listen to the old man?”

  “We started listening this morning,” said Jimmy, chiming in. “When Mr Stuart offered us extra rations of booze and food.”

  “You two are that cheap that some alcohol will make you lose the plot? And what happens when the rations run out and we’ve not grown a single bean because you two idiots are stopping the only person capable of making something grow in this rad-filled hell-hole from doing his job?”

  “We have our orders,” repeated Jimmy. “Chances are we’ll be dead anyway before the rations run out.”

  “Oh my god,” said John, slapping his own face with his palm. “The world’s gone mad.”

  “Look, go back to the camp and enjoy yourself,” said Frank. “Don’t worry about running out of food, the Doc-”

  “Doc? When was the last time you saw that drunk bastard anyway?”

  “This morning,” said Jimmy. “At the meeting. And he was as sober as a nun.”

  “What meeting?” asked Alan.

  “The Leadership meeting held at 6 am this morning. It was all discussed then.”

  “Who discussed it? Who was there?” asked John.

  “The Leadership team,” said Frank.

  “We have a Leadership team?”

  “We do now. Mr Stuart organised it and called the members together last night and arranged the official meeting for this morning. Sorry, you weren’t invited.”

  “So this meeting, it came to the conclusion that growing food for us to eat is a waste of time?”

  “A group decision concluded that to attempt to produce a safe food stuff in irradiated soil would be counter-productive and harmful to the health of the camp.”

  “So we’re to starve?” cried John. “The rations won’t last much beyond next year. What then?”

  “Mr Stuart has a plan,” said Jimmy.

  “What p
ossible plan could there be?”

  “Increased patrols, continued aggression against the Scavs and more intensive looting parties.”

  “Oh Jesus,” said John, turning and taking a few steps away from the two guards. The rainfall intensified with the insanity that Alan felt exposed to and he couldn’t help but feel that he’d started something that was now beyond his control.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said very slowly. “Either you let us into that allotment or you, Stuart and the rest of you utter dim-witted morons will regret surviving this long and I’ll make you wish you’d died in the rad storm. Do I make myself clear?”

  It was Frank who broke his gaze towards the horizon and locked eyes first with Alan and then with Moll. Jimmy soon followed.

  “You can’t threaten us,” said Jimmy. “Mr Stuart-”

  “Yourselves and Mr Stuart will get much more than threats if we don’t get into that allotment and make a start on trying to live long enough to tell our grandchildren about the jumped-up clowns who tried to stop us from saving our future. Now step aside.”

  The two guards looked at each other for a moment before exchanging a look of mutual fear at what might happen if they ignored the giant and his hungry looking dog. Then, with a carefully managed reluctance, Frank stepped aside and Jimmy removed the padlock from the gate.

  “Now go back to the camp and tell your boss all about what happened here,” said Alan, moving between them with Moll at his heel. “And think carefully about the next twenty-four hours of your life and whether or not you want to live through them.”

  “You’ll regret this,” sneered Jimmy, following Frank down the road. “You’re no better than the Scavs.”

  “I think you’ll find he’s much worse,” said John, waving them off with a grin.

  When they’d disappeared around the corner, he said to Alan “This is happening much quicker than even I expected.”

  “It tends to when you give a hornet’s nest a good kicking.”

  “Aren’t you bothered?”

  “What can he do to me?” he asked, making his way down the narrow paths that ran between each numbered plot and scanning it as he went.

  “If I’m right he’ll go for Tim, Rachel or you first.”

  “Gee,” he cried. “Thanks for that.”