“Stuart is a coward and cowards always avoid a direct confrontation. He’ll try to hurt me through Tim I expect.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Of course it does,” he replied, opening the rickety wooden gate to plot number 7 and inspecting the twelve foot poly-tunnel and its smaller mate. “But if I’m right he’ll wait a bit longer.”
“Why?”
“He’ll need to discredit me first, probably by planting something in my caravan and then having one of his own guards perform a spot search on it while I’m there. In that case he’ll wait until tonight or tomorrow night. I’m betting tomorrow.”
“You’re taking this very calmly.”
“How else can I take it?” he asked, turning to face him. “I’ve been up against a lot worse and to be honest I’m starting to learn that people are predictable. I’m pretty sure Stuart is going to act exactly the way I think he will.”
Alan examined the steel tubing that ran in great hoops beneath the greened plastic, thick with mossy growth, before going inside. It was hot and humid and John gasped.
“They still work then,” he said.
“As long as there aren’t any holes they’ll last for quite a while. We need to get this growth off the plastic though, wash it all down to get the best light coming through it.”
He knelt down and touched the soil, rubbing it between his fingers and watching it crumble.
“Any good?” asked John.
“I don’t know what’s in it but it looks okay,” he replied. “We need to start on the hardy crops. Potatoes. Onions. Things like that. I’ll draw up a list of items the looting parties need to be looking for.”
“Such as?”
“Tubs. Pots. Anything that will hold soil. You said there were grow bags? Compost? Stuff that hasn’t been touched by the radiation?”
“In the sheds over there and I know there’s a big stash of the stuff at a hardware store a few miles south of here.”
“We’ll need a crew. We need to get a team working day and night, all year round. Can you think of at least ten, maybe more who’ll take to the task without complaining?”
“I might be able to round up a few green thumbs, some of the older generation who aren’t too sick. I don’t think Stuart is going to let you get away with that though.”
“You leave him to me,” said Alan. “I’m going to need paper too. Blank exercise books, pencils, pens, whatever you can find.”
“What’s that for?”
“I’m going to have to write down as much as I can remember so that if anything happens to me you’ll have something to refer to.”
“What about books? I managed to save a few from the library.”
“They’re not always as helpful as you think,” he said. “If I remember anything from college it’s that this work needs experience as well as theory and I have both.”
“I’m glad for that, but would you mind if we got out of here before I boil in my skin?”
They stepped back out into the rain which attacked the withered remains of the former owners work with renewed hostility, never ceasing to fire its watery darts down with such force that in places the dirt was thrown up into the air. Alan eyed the rest of the plots from where he was standing, pointing out the other poly-tunnels still standing which would be the first to receive some much needed attention.
“All this crap needs clearing away too,” he said. “The sheds, the flower beds, all the junk.”
“What do you want us to do with it?”
“Pile it up outside the allotment and I’ll go through it.” He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated at the volume of work ahead and the obstacles that stood between him and success. “The more land we have to grow in, the better. Feeding 300 on a plot this size just isn’t feasible.”
“So we tear down the fences then, expand outwards,” said John, making Alan nod in agreement. “What else?”
“The caravans - get people working the ground outside them. Make them own their patch and work it.”
“What would they grow?”
“Potatoes. Tubs of them. Rows of corn if we can get the seedlings started in the tunnels. Herbs in pots on windowsills. Every square inch of land needs to be cultivated and used. Rooftop gardens. Anything.”
“Water?”
“Yes,” he said. “Filters. Carbon taken from fires, any military stuff, even old clothes that can catch some of this dirt and dust from the rain water. We can’t do much for the radiation but we’ll just have to do our best.”
“Do you think it’s even possible?”
“I wouldn’t be trying if I didn’t think it was possible, would I? The rads bother me but there’s no use worrying. What will be will be.”
“Well,” said John, looking around him. “You’ve certainly got me thinking we can make this work. Thanks.”
Alan slapped him on the back, sending a shower of droplets in all directions.
“I told you - we’ll make it. One way or another.”
“I hope so. If this doesn’t work then I think we’re pretty much doomed.”
“On this occasion, I think you’re right.”
After another hour of walking the plots, they made their way back to the camp with a little more hope in their hearts that they could make it work. There was hard graft ahead, to be sure, but they had the manpower and the resources - they just needed the structure to implement it, to divert it to where it was needed the most and to this Alan applied his thoughts.
“The more I think about it,” said John as they approached the camp entrance. “The more I feel that with Rachel overseeing things we could really-”
“Ah,” said Alan, stopping at the closed and locked gates. “Here’s another attempt from Mr Stuart.”
“Really?” said John, looking around. “This is getting childish now. Locking us out? Seriously?”
John raised his leg and kicked the gates as hard as he could, calling out to the guard who could just be seen through a gap in the steel sheeting, warming himself by a barrel fire.
“Open up,” he cried. “Stop being ridiculous.”
The guard, ignoring the noise, continued to rub his hands together over the flames and started to whistle through his feigned nonchalance, a tune that broke off at several bars into a hoarse blowing noise. John kicked again, shaking the chains that held both doors closed.
“There are new security measures in place,” he called without turning around. “You were not given special dispensation to leave the camp and thus cannot return until dispensation has been granted.”
“Special dispensation? How the hell are we supposed to get special dispensation from out here?”
“That’s none of my concern,” said the guard, laughing. “You should have thought about that before you walked through those gates.”
“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the leadership meeting this morning, by any chance?” asked Alan, knowing the answer already.
“I’m afraid you weren’t present at that meeting, but yes, this new tightened attitude to security has brought about the changes you now see. Good day, gentlemen.”
The guard walked off around the corner and left them alone on the wrong side of the gates, chuckling to himself as he went. By this time John was seething with anger and he stood there, staring at the steel tubing and mesh as if his burning hatred could cut its way through.
“What a prick,” he cried. “I used to respect that man. I used to think he would turn this place around. How wrong was I?”
“Very,” said Alan. “Why don’t you tell him how angry you are?”
“Eh?”
Alan pointed to the other side of the fence and John peaked through the gap, seeing that Sam Stuart, Richard and Frank were now heading towards them. All three grinned, joking between themselves as they approached and when they were within a few feet of the gate, they stopped.
“Mr Harding. Mr Swarbrick. You did not seek the proper dispensation before l
eaving the compound,” said Sam Stuart. “That is why you are locked out and why we cannot let you in. You left without my express permission.”
Alan looked at John, indicating that he shouldn’t reply.
“We didn’t know about the new laws,” said Alan. “How were we meant to know?”
“I think common sense would have told you to gain my permission before leaving my camp, wouldn’t you agree?” said Sam Stuart, leaning heavily on the word ‘my’.
“Can we have it now?” he asked. John clamped his hand over his own mouth, his face turning bright red with his trapped rage.
“I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure I heard you correctly,” said Sam Stuart. “Did you ask for ‘my’ permission to enter?”
“Yes, I did, Mr Stuart,” said Alan.
“Then you may have it. Richard, be so kind as to grant these two fine gentlemen access to my camp.”
“Will do, sir,” replied Richard, laughing. Alan watched him through the gap, sauntering towards the padlock and chain and lazily opening it before stepping back out of the way. The gates swung inwards and both John and Alan entered the camp with Moll following behind. He made no effort to restrain the beast and when she passed near Richard, the man backed away with his face wiped clean of his mirth.
They stood before the smiling old man and Alan, his face blank and unreadable, looked keenly into his eyes, saying nothing and everything all at the same time. Sam Stuart tried to hold the gaze but once more broke away, indicating to the other guards that it was time they left.
“Now what?” asked John.
“We keep going,” he replied. “Get those people together but do it quietly. Get them started as soon as you can.”
“What about this dispensation?”
“Get it. I think he’ll refuse of course, but play the game their way for now. It won’t stop us doing what we can within the compound. There’s only so far he can go and I’m sure that once he sees what we’re doing he’ll make another attempt to stop us.”
“Can’t he see he’s killing us by doing this?”
“No,” replied Alan. “He probably can’t. Can I leave you to it?”
“Of course. I’ll try and gather up the writing stuff and have it taken to your caravan. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to pay a visit on the good Doctor first.”
“Really? Is that wise?”
“Probably not but he’s the only person in this whole Bedlam of a camp that we need to help the most. His knowledge is too valuable to lose.”
“And you think he’ll have some influence over his brother?”
“No. If I know anything about Sam Stuart it’s that he’s ashamed of him. The impression I got was that he hoped Doc would help him run the place, but when he turned to the booze all that went down the toilet. Now he feels alone and caring for Doc will grind him to dust. He’ll be desperate soon. Dangerously so.”
“You think he’d murder his own brother? Surely not.”
“I’m afraid so. That’s why we need to move fast before he’s driven to it. I’m going to go find him and see if I can do something for him or at least look at ways of protecting the man.”
“You’re either bloody compassionate, Alan, or just dumb.”
“I might be both,” he replied.
17
As the rain began to ease off a little and the daylight made a fleeting attempt at shining down on the camp, Alan and Moll walked towards the complex but this time avoided the main entrance and instead walked around the perimeter, looking for another way in. Thankfully the guards employed by Sam Stuart weren’t the most highly trained and he was quickly able to find a fire exit, held open by an empty barrel of ale to allow fresh air to pass into the stuffy kitchens.
The passageway was empty and a quick check in the adjoining rooms told him that there was no one else around. They hurried along, taking a few turns and, finding a narrow service stairwell, climbed up to the next floor. From here, Alan made careful examinations of every room. Minutes stretched into hours, pulled into longer and longer strands by the difficult, tedious task of making sure he was alone and with the rising heat from the kitchens below, the air became hot and humid. Moll herself walked with her tongue hanging down from her mouth, sniffing as she went, silent on those thickly padded paws and as quiet as he was, owing to her unfailing obedience.
Eventually he was forced to climb another flight of stairs, seeing that Sam Stuart’s quarters were not on that floor and he found himself exactly where he needed to be. The entire area had been cleared of debris and before the disaster it must have been home to the site’s meetings and gatherings of higher officials within the company. The place was meticulously clean with thick piled carpets of crimson, immaculate white walls decorated here and there with tasteful art and, arranged at appropriate intervals, were pieces of furniture which, to Alan, didn’t appear to be a part of the original design but had been added after by someone with a keen eye for antiques. Even the air was fresh and scented with lavender, but nothing could disguise the underlying pungency of booze coming from somewhere down the hallway to his left.
Together they walked softly down, following the heady aroma until they stood outside a stained oak door, slightly ajar. Alan stood to one side and looked through the narrow gap into the room, struggling at first to make anything out in the darkness. There was a faint light coming from the left but he couldn’t see its source and it failed to show him anything more than the vague outline of a row of tall bottles on a coffee table to the right. As he stood there he believed he could hear the sound of someone snoring, but it was so faint and so subtle that he couldn’t be sure.
Seeing no other option, Alan pushed the door further open and stepped into the gloom.
“Who’s there?” cried a voice from the darkness. “Is that you, Samuel?”
“No,” said Alan, closing the door behind them and searching for a light switch. He found it and pressed it, shutting his eyes as the sudden shift from Stygian darkness to brilliant Elysium light blinded them both.
“You!” cried Doc, writhing on his bed covers and rubbing his sore, bloodshot eyes. “What do you want?” He was laid fully clothed on the folding bed but his outfit was creased and crumpled and partly unbuttoned. His hair was in wild disarray and his hands trembled as he tried to compose himself in the filthy room. In total contrast to the rest of the floor, this niche of decay was clearly where the Doc intended to see out the last of his days, wallowing in empty ration packs, partially drunk bottles of Brandy and the stained filth of defeat.
“I hate to say it,” said Alan, looking around the mess. “But I need your help.”
“Me? Help you?” he slurred, sitting up. “Why the hell should I? My brother told me about you, about what you’re planning to do. Yes, he’s seen right through you and I curse myself for not having seen it the other day also. You’re bad news around here, you’re nothing but an usurper, come to take and steal by force or cunning and-”
“Shut up, man,” cried Alan. “I’ve not got time for this.”
“No, you don’t,” said the old man, rising to his feet but sitting back down almost as quickly on the bed. “Because in a moment my brother will come and he’ll find you here and when he does-”
There was a noise outside and Alan realised that his timing couldn’t have been worse. There were footsteps and talking in the hallway and he looked around the room, hoping to find somewhere he could hide and wait for them to pass.
“It’s no use,” said Doc with a sneer. “They’re coming with fresh booze and when they find you they’ll lock you up, mark my words.”
“Listen to me,” said Alan, eyeing the door to the en-suite bathroom. “If you tell them I’m here they’ll open that door. I’ll kill them, then I’ll kill you - do you understand?”
“You don’t scare me!” cried Doc but Moll leapt up and, planting both paws on the old man’s chest, knocked him backwards onto the bed and lunged for his neck. He made a stifled noi
se but Alan recalled the animal before she tore out his throat.
“Tell them I’m here,” he whispered. “And I’ll feed you to her.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but darted into the bathroom, barely able to fit inside after urging Moll in front of him. He gently pulled the door closed until there was only a sliver of a gap to watch Doc through and waited, his stomach in his mouth with dread. A confrontation now, no doubt resulting in either their deaths or his willing arrest, would ruin everything and he cursed himself for taking the risk in the first place.
As the door to the bedroom opened, Alan saw Doc make another attempt to rise but he was quickly sent sprawling back across the covers by a shove from Richard who, with a bottle in his hand, laughed to himself.
“No need to get up, Doc,” he sneered. “You know we offer a delivery service.”
“Just leave the stuff and get out,” he said and Alan could hear the slight trembling in his voice. Being drunk would hide that, he thought.
“Oh we’ll go, don’t worry yourself about that,” he replied. “You make sure you drink this right up. Mr Stuart’s orders.”
“Why does he care what or how much I drink? He’s never cared before,” said Doc.
“He just sends his compliments, that’s all. This stuff is running out downstairs.” Saying this, he looked at the row of empties and examined each one, finding the dregs of a red wine bottle and necking its contents. “Expensive stuff now.”
“Expensive?”
“Yeah. New rules. People don’t work, they don’t eat or drink.”
“I wondered how long it would be before the power corrupted his already black heart.”
“You’re a fine one to speak about corruption,” he retorted, signalling to his partner that it was time to leave. He set the bottle he came with on the table and began to walk out.
“Wait,” called Doc. Richard paused in the doorway.
“Yes?” Alan held his breath. Doc looked to the en-suite, then back to Richard.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Then they were gone and walking away down the hall until he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore. He gave it a little bit longer before stepping back into the room. Doc had uncapped the bottle and was sniffing at the neck before pouring a tiny amount into a dirty glass and tasting it.
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