The Brink

by Pass, Martyn J.

  “Bah!” he cried, spitting it out. “The bastard!”

  “Poison?” said Alan.

  “Drain cleaner by the smell of it. He probably believed I’d be too far gone to notice. In fact, I wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the sobering effect of that animal.”

  He set the bottle down and stared at it, shaking his head from side to side in a slow, melancholy fashion.

  “He tried to kill me,” he whispered to himself.

  “I suspected he would,” said Alan.

  “Well your timing is beyond impeccable, I can assure you,” replied Doc, wiping his eyes with the bed covers. “Facing one’s own mortality has a remarkably sobering effect. I’m indebted to you.”

  Alan gave him a moment to collect himself before he spoke and by that time the old man was on his feet, unsteadily at first but eventually able to smarten himself up in the small mirror near the coffee table.

  “Your brother-”

  “Is a madman, I know,” he cut in. “I just never thought that...” He shook his head. “No point dwelling. What’s done is done. I’ve seen this crisis do strange things to people so I shouldn’t be surprised. Look at me - before all this I’d never touched a drop save the odd night cap of brandy or a hot toddy when I caught a cold. Seeing all this... grief, it breaks a man, it empties him of hope, makes him doubt his mind and retreat to some safe haven. The bottle. Drugs. Violence. At first I thought I could be strong, but in the end it felled me like an axe at a tree.”

  Doc put on his shoes which had been thrown across the room at some point and sat down to tie the laces.

  “You mentioned that you required my help?” he asked. Alan nodded.

  “We need to stop him.”

  “We need to stop all of them,” he said. “Richard, the other cronies, the whole sordid bunch of misfits my brother has gathered around himself and who happily played their part in the act you just witnessed. They’d have seen me dead, their only medical man and... friend, perhaps, a long time ago.”

  “I agree,” said Alan.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “I’m starting to form one but I’m open to advice.”

  Doc smiled, regaining some of his original, professional composure though it would take a lot longer to fully cleanse his system of the hard drinking he’d done.

  “You didn’t have to tell me the truth about my daughter, you could have pacified me with a lie, but you didn’t. That took some strength of character. I’ll never forget that.” Alan nodded. “For this reason, if you want my advice, it’s on a single condition.”

  “And that is?” The old man shook his head.

  “Afterwards. We’ll talk once this sorry business is concluded. Right now I’d like to leave this place and take up residence elsewhere. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “I think so. Where will you go?”

  “To the infirmary downstairs. If you’ll escort me, I’ll be safe once I’m surrounded by people. I can’t be sure now that this has happened,” he said, indicating the bottle. “But I believe even my brother wouldn’t be so stupid as to try to kill me in front of witnesses.”

  Alan moved towards the door and, looking into the hallway, led Doc out of the filth and into the fresher air of the third floor.

  “This way,” said the doctor, pointing to a different path from Alan’s original one. “This way is much more discreet.”

  “It’s a maze up here,” he replied. Doc nodded.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it? But filled with every kind of cancerous growth.”

  “You could say that.”

  “I can and I will. Get me back to the place where I belong and we’ll begin the surgery to remove this cancer before it becomes fatal.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “You shouldn’t,” laughed Doc.

  Leaving Doc in the hands of the nurse he’d spoken to earlier, Alan and Moll made their way out of the complex through the fire door but not before he damaged the lock sufficiently to stop it closing again. That way, he thought, he’d be able to come and go as he pleased knowing that the chances of anyone repairing the broken door were pretty slim.

  He crossed the park, heading towards the school. His next task was to warn Rachel and explain to her how bad things had become and how quickly they’d descended. He fought back the urge to think closely about his own involvement, to ponder his guilt, and instead he reminded himself that having a fratricidal maniac in charge of 300 people was worth any cost to have him removed.

  The familiar faced guard on the door eyed him as he approached, taking a look first at him and then Moll.

  “Henry,” said Alan, hoping for at least one ally amongst the militant guards.

  “Alan,” he replied. “Nice day for it.”

  “As nice as it’s getting.”

  They stared at each other for a moment and then, with a nod, Henry stepped aside and opened the door for him.

  “Thanks,” said Alan.

  “We’re not all Mr Stuart’s stooges,” he whispered. Alan put a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

  “I’m glad to hear it from you of all people, Henry.”

  “If anything might happen,” he whispered. “You can count me and a few others on your side.”

  “Thanks. I mean it.”

  “I’ve been friends with John since the beginning. He’s always done right be me and mine. He told me about the allotment and what you plan to do. I used to grow the best marrows in my village, back in the day.”

  “Henry - in the final count that skill is going to mean more than you realise. Things are happening sooner than even I anticipated and I have a favour to ask of you.”

  “Go on,” he replied.

  “Are you on duty until tonight?”

  “Aye.”

  “Look after Rachel and Tim for me.”

  “You think he’ll come for them?”

  “You can bet you rations on it, pal. I might not be here when he does though. He seems to be using Richard to do all his dirty work and until I make a move they’re all a threat to us.”

  “They won’t get past me,” he said with boldness. “Nor my mate who’s here after me.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  “You just do what you’ve got to do. For what it’s worth, me and the missus think you’re the best thing that’s happened to us. When Mr Stuart is out on his arse we really believe we might have a chance of living through this mess.”

  “You can count on it,” said Alan. “We’ll give it our best shot anyway.”

  “That’s all any of us ask.”

  Henry smiled and nodded his head before turning away, back to his duty. Alan felt his heart beat a little bit faster as the odds began to turn in his favour.

  “Alan!” cried Rachel as he stepped into the chaotic school room, narrowly avoiding crushing a young girl’s hand under his boot as it shot out in front of him to catch a ball. “John told me what happened. Is he really going to be this churlish?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked. She paled a little before indicating that he should follow her to a small office just off to one side of the room where Tim was playing with his cars and two other younger boys.

  “Hi Tim!” he said. “How are you today?”

  “Alan Harding!” he cried. “We’re playing Fire Brigade today. Tommy is the Police and Freddy is the people and I’m the Fireman!”

  “That’s great.”

  “Is it time to go home?” he asked, a little downcast at the thought of his fun being over for the day.

  “No, Tim,” said Rachel. “Not yet. Alan has just come to talk with me.”

  “Oh! That’s great!” he said, brightening before dropping back to the mat and resuming control of his shiny red fire truck as it sped to the scene of a 12 car pileup outside a two-dimensional church.

  “Bless him,” muttered Rachel as they continued. When they were all inside the office, Alan closed the door and took one of the
wooden stools, turning it to face the door side-on. Rachel took the chair on the other side of the desk.

  “So? Where are we up to?” she asked.

  “He tried to kill Doc,” said Alan. Rachel gasped.

  “Surely you don’t mean Sam Stuart.”

  “I do. He mixed drain cleaner with his booze, I got there just as he was about to drink the bloody stuff. I nearly got caught in the process but I’m telling you, it was a close call.”

  “Oh my god,” she said. “That’s terrible. I didn’t think he’d be capable of anything like that.”

  He explained the rest to her, what happened at the allotment, the closing of the gates and the reinstatement of Richard, eventually coming to how Doc was almost murdered by his own brother. By the end of the tale Rachel was trembling with anger, shaking her head and doing her best to deny the obvious conclusions.

  “I just can’t believe it,” she said. “I know you’re telling the truth but it just seems so... strange, so much more like a work of fiction than reality.”

  “It’s the truth I’m afraid,” he replied.

  “And where’s Doc now?”

  “In the infirmary. He feels safer there, with people around him. I don’t think he’ll be drinking again for a long time.”

  “What are we going to do, Alan?” she said, burying her head in her hands. “I didn’t think things could get worse after the disaster and the storm but they did. And so quickly too.”

  “You’re telling me. The thing to do now is to be ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Sam Stuart is only just starting,” he said. “He’s going to lock this place down so tight we won’t be able to breathe and I’m expecting him to strike back at me soon.”

  “Don’t say that,” she moaned. “Is there nothing you can do?”

  “I’m working on it; I just need a little more time. In the meanwhile I need you to keep a close eye on Tim. I’ve had a word with Henry and he and a few of the other guards are with us. They’ll watch this place and let me know if anything happens.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “I think we need a little fear. It’ll give us the edge that we so desperately need because if I’m right it’s going to get a whole lot worse soon.”

  “By god, he wouldn’t harm the children would he?”

  “Who knows?” he replied. “Did you think he’d try to murder his brother?”

  Rachel held back a sob and Alan put his hand on top of hers, smiling.

  “It’s not over yet,” he said. “We’ll win in the end.”

  “At what cost?”

  “Whatever it is, we can’t afford not to pay it. 300 people are depending on us.”

  Alan returned to his caravan and, finding his clothes in a neat clean pile, changed back into them before carrying out a thorough search of the place, turning over every surface, every cupboard, every nook, looking for signs that someone had been there. Towards the front of the caravan, near Tim’s bedroom, he found a partial footprint where someone had crouched down, forcing mud out of the waffle of their boots and subsequently stepped in it. Here, in the corner, was a panel with four screws holding it in place behind which he found several bags of medicine from the infirmary and a dozen jars of coffee.

  Placing the items into his ammunition bag, he replaced the panel, cleared away the footprint and continued his search, finding nothing more. The stolen items would’ve been enough though and the fact that it was in the place where Tim slept meant that Sam Stuart would’ve been able to accuse them both. What would happen then? Did he plan to throw them out or lock them up? Or worse?

  Alan left the caravan, taking the planted items with him back to the fire exit entrance he’d made and went straight to Doc who was in his office, drinking coffee from the same mug he’d once drunk his booze from the previous day.

  “Alan!” he said, taking his feet from off the corner of his desk. “Is everything okay?”

  Alan produced the medicine bag and held it up for him to see. “So he’s trying that first, eh?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “And some stolen coffee too.”

  “Do you expect the search tonight?”

  “Yes. I’m going to make sure Tim is with Rachel though - I don’t want him seeing it. You should keep a close eye on your stuff in case he tries the same.”

  “I already did,” he said, grinning.

  “And?”

  “Nothing - for now. I saw Richard come past earlier, just after I arrived here and the look on his face was priceless.”

  “We’ll have shaken up their plans,” said Alan with a smile. “They’ll be getting nervous soon.”

  “Dangerous thing, my brother being nervous. He was never really any good under pressure even when we were younger. I think that’s why his business failed.”

  “He had a business? Doing what?”

  “He was a franchise holder for the Ibromavich vaccine but they dropped him like a hot brick when he was accused of tampering with the product.”

  “Tampering?”

  “Oh my, no, not in that way,” said Doc suddenly. “Only the packaging, to try and pass it off cheaper so that people would buy from him. I think he found undercutting major pharmaceutical companies too much to handle. I’m almost glad that the disaster happened.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if it hadn’t my brother would’ve been facing a very long life in jail.”

  “What do you think he’s facing now?” asked Alan. Doc shrugged.

  “At least he had a chance. Sadly, he’s blown it.”

  Doc looked up at him with a sorrowful expression on his face and turned away almost as quickly. “Answer me this - is it going to come to that in the end?”

  “Come to what?”

  “Dealing with my brother, once and for all.”

  Alan wanted to reassure him that it wouldn’t, that he’d probably back down eventually and live a happy, healthy life in the camp. He could help Doc with the running of the Infirmary, handle the stocks of equipment or something, but he couldn’t.

  He nodded his head.

  “I thought so,” said Doc. “I thought so. He won’t stop. No matter what we do, he won’t stop.”

  “No.”

  “Still,” he replied, trying to hold a smile to his lips. “We gave him every chance, didn’t we?”

  “We did, Doc. He took none of them.”

  “Shame. A real shame.”

  It was a shame, he thought, realising that events had been set in motion that were beyond his control now. He’d seen the next 24 hours in his mind and he knew what he would have to do and what it would cost him. With a heavy heart he looked at the path that snaked away into his future and made a decision which turn to take, which losses were ultimately his and where he would go from there.

  He left Doc’s office and headed towards the people he’d have to visit, the equipment he’d need and the conclusion of that brief but vicious series of events that had brought him straight to this point.

  18

  When the evening came and the lights around camp were dimmed, Alan sat in the living room of the caravan, facing the door with only a small lamp to light the words he was writing in a thick, plastic bound, hardback notebook.

  There’d been rumours of Sam Stuart demanding that all electricity be cut off after nightfall in order to preserve power, but having been reminded that the power was provided by the sun and therefore a pretty renewable resource, he compromised by having them dimmed instead.

  As he sat there with the lamp flickering, Alan realised that perhaps he’d had the right idea. The fluctuations in the equipment was a direct result of the battery cells degrading and without some precision maintenance they’d eventually stop holding enough of a charge to power the camp’s devices.

  Still, he continued to write, stopping only to boil some water on the hob and make himself a cup of coffee from the supplies he’d purchased that evening. Even under this new regime, the woman handing out
rations had quickly turned her allegiance to him as soon as she’d been shown what was possible without it. Trading for a jar of instant espresso had been easy after that. Wherever he went, Alan gathered support for himself, explaining, where his reputation hadn’t quite reached, what was possible if the allotment was put to its full potential and the camp began turning their grassy patches into useable farmland.

  When the clock on the wall read 3am, he heard movement outside the caravan. It was a slow, shuffling sound and it moved towards the door and reached the gravelled path very quickly. From here it gently crunched closer until it was just outside and then it paused.

  Alan checked the last page he’d written and closed the book. Then, reclining in his chair, he waited.

  A great crash suddenly broke through the silence of the night as the caravan door swung violently inwards, tearing itself off its hinges, falling to the floor. Three men burst into the hallway whilst another ran towards Tim’s bedroom and a fifth stood waiting outside.

  “Right, get up!” cried Richard who’d led the charge. “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” said Alan, calmly rising to his feet.

  “We know you’ve stolen rationed items - where are they?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.

  Richard turned to the others and said, “Search the place. Top to bottom.”

  They did as they were told and Richard, grinning, looked around the living room with disgust etched upon his face.

  “I don’t think the boss was happy that you interfered with us helping the Doc out of his predicament,” he said. “I reckon he’s going to make an example out of you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” repeated Alan.

  “You will, soon enough.”

  Richard eyed the rest of the caravan, saw a book and laughed. “Reading?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Didn’t think an inbred like you could read or write.” Saying this, he opened the pages, glanced at the writing and let the book fall to the floor. “Oops.”