“Really?” said Alan, unable to suppress a laugh. “Hardly your best ‘bad cop’ routine, is it? What’ll you do next? Pull the blankets off my bed? Knock over the sugar pot? Please, stop, I’ll talk.”
“Oh you won’t be laughing in a minute,” he sneered, looking down the hallway as the caravan was quickly being taken apart bit by bit. After a minute or two, Richard began to look quite unnerved.
“What’s wrong?” asked Alan. “Not found anything yet?”
Slowly and with timid faces, the others returned to the living room with empty hands.
“Well?” demanded Richard. “Well?”
“Nothing, boss.”
“Nothing? Nothing at all?”
“No.”
He spun round, staring hard at Alan who was still grinning, unable to hide his laughter any longer. As he broke out into another fit, Richard shook his head and, pushing past his team, left the caravan.
Alan followed him to the door and stared intently at the faces of the others who filed out past him. The smile had gone and he looked with such intensity that they couldn’t meet his gaze for more than a second or two before dropping their heads and walking down the road. He watched them go until another caravan blocked his view and then he went back inside, sitting down once more, looking at the clock.
The kettle boiled. The lamp continued to flicker and the minute hand ticked nervously round until it hit the hour. Then Alan rose and, putting on his long overcoat and bag, went out into the night in darkness. The cells had failed right on cue.
By morning the camp was in uproar. The call had gone out at the break of dawn; cries from the other side of camp nearest the fence woke those around them until far off another wailing was heard. And another. And another until the rest were drowned in a sea of mutters and shouts and screams and a rushing of feet to the complex.
The guard on duty couldn’t hold them back and the terrified masses crowded into the gymnasium, begging for protection and justice from a disorientated Sam Stuart who, having been woken by the racket had quickly changed into his suit to ask what was happening.
“We don’t know, sir,” said the guard as he’d stepped into the crowded arcade. “They just started screaming and rushing through the door, saying there’s been a murder!”
“A murder? Who?” said Sam Stuart.
“I don’t know, sir, but Richard is trying to find out - he’s in the gym.”
“Try and calm them down, for pity’s sake.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam Stuart marched back into his office to take another path towards the gym just as those in the crowd began to notice him. He didn’t see Alan there, didn’t notice that he was watching the whole proceedings from the other side of the arcade with a mug of coffee in his hand and a smile on his face. When he vanished behind the door, Alan followed the ebb and flow of the people and made his way inside.
Here the crowd packed themselves into the gym that was big enough to hold half that number and more were still arriving, standing where they could, and pressing themselves together. There was comfort here, thought Alan as a natural path seemed to clear for his bulk; comfort in being so close to other human beings in a crisis. He found a spot near the wall where his height wouldn’t block the view of the persons behind him and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. Sam Stuart hadn’t wasted any time in getting there and onto the stage he came, holding his hands openly in the air, calling for calm so that he could speak. It took a further ten minutes to reduce the noise to a point where people could actually hear him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried. “Please - calm down, all of you, and let’s try and resolve this situation!”
The crowd wailed again, drowning out the last part of his sentence and Sam Stuart was forced to repeat it a further four times before he could get a reasonable amount of calm to speak in. In the meantime, Richard was whispering in his ear, trying to explain what had been discovered and in fact continued to be discovered as the riot continued.
“Please, ladies and gentlemen, give me a moment to-” he called but a man near to the front pushed the last few inches forward and raised his fist.
“They’re dead! They’re all dead, murdered in their bloody sleep!” he cried. “What the hell are you going to do about it?”
“I’m trying to-”
“My husband was murdered!” screamed another.
“Who was on guard?”
“Why did this happen?”
“What’s going to happen to them?”
Visibly shocked and struggling to keep control, Sam Stuart waved his arms, fanning the flames as if that would calm the raging inferno before him. The words were flowing into his ears, Alan could see Richard’s lips, see them working, saw the sweat collecting on his brow.
“Mills. Taylor. Frankie-” Alan knew them. Knew all of them. He’d seen them in his caravan. He’d stared at each one as they’d left, memorising their faces so that he’d be able to see them in the dark.
Sam Stuart turned, scanned the room with wide, bloodshot eyes that eventually fell upon him, realising the cold, horrible truth. Alan, stern faced, raised his cup in salute.
“What do we do?” he asked his subordinate but Richard was backing away, looking for an exit, anywhere he could escape to now that he was aware that Alan was in the gymnasium.
“Calm down, please!” he called over the rising noise. “Go back to your homes whilst we search for the killer. Go back to-”
“We’re staying here until you find him,” cried another of the terrified people now dangerously packed into the stiflingly hot gymnasium. “We’re staying here until it’s safe.”
“You can’t,” called Sam Stuart. “Please, at least move out into the complex before someone is hurt!”
“People are dead!” roared another.
“We’re next!”
The guards began ushering people into the hallway, diverting them this way and that, trying to herd the raging pack out of the confines of that small chamber. Alan moved with them, weaving his way between the tightly packed groups and out of the complex entirely.
Walking down the road, he made his way to the school where Henry stood on the door, paler than usual, but smiling as he saw him approach.
“Mr Harding,” he said.
“Henry.”
“Some dreadful news, eh?”
“If you say so,” he replied. “How are they?”
Henry shrugged. “I don’t quite know.”
“Why?”
“That hound of yours won’t let me through the door. The last I knew they were all safe and sound though.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Alan made for the door but Henry cleared his throat.
“Do I have anything to fear?” he muttered in a trembling voice.
“Not if you avoid turning over my caravan at three in the morning you don’t.”
“Ah. I see.”
Alan nodded and, opening the door, went inside.
True enough, within the classroom sat Moll, staring at the him as he entered and no sooner had her keen senses detected the aroma of her master than she was upright, wagging her tail and running over to greet him.
“She’s scary when she’s mad,” said Tim, coming out of the office with Rachel not far behind him. She looked drawn and tired and she yawned as she approached.
“Are you both okay?” asked Alan.
“We’re fine. A bit tired but we’re okay,” she replied. “What’s going on? We heard the noise.”
“I was turned over early this morning, as I predicted. Richard and his goons.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “What did you do?”
“I let them search the place, of course. They found nothing.”
“I’m glad. So what’s going on now?”
Alan said nothing. A moment or two passed before she clasped her mouth with her hand and looked away.
“They left me no choice,” he said softly.
The lo
ok of disgust on her face said otherwise and it cut him deeply. She put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and he saw the gesture and understood the meaning behind it, even though it was involuntary. It was at that moment that he realised what the future held for him and for anyone like him. If at any point he’d been unsure about the path before him then that simple movement of the hand, that solitary touch on the young boy’s shoulder had clarified it beyond any reasonable doubt. His eyes moved away from them both and looked to a distant point, something unseen by them, some far off place only he and Moll would ever find. The future. Long and far away from them both, stretching out before them, empty and alone.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“Without his supporters you’ll be able to overpower Sam and take control,” he replied. “You must talk to Doc as soon as you can, make plans for when it all happens.”
She nodded. He looked at Tim.
“How are you, little man?”
“I’m okay, thanks,” he said. “When do I get to go home?”
Alan’s eyes stung but he was determined to see it through; driven to let no harm come to his little charge at any cost, even his own heart.
“Soon, mate. Soon this will be home for all of you. I promise.”
The boy reached out and hugged him, burying his face into his coat and letting go of a sorrowful sob. Alan found his vision clouding with tears as he returned the embrace and kissed the top of his head, trying to hold on to something that he knew would never be his and which he had to let go of if he’d ever stand a chance of saving them.
“Why?” she asked. “Was there no other way?”
He shook his head.
“They’ll come for me,” he said. “But you’ll be able to run this place properly once I’m gone, give these people a fighting chance.”
“You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you? You can’t save the world, Alan, you-”
“It’s done. Just do your part and I’ll do mine.”
Then, letting the boy go, Alan Harding turned and, calling Moll to him, walked out of the room, never to see them again.
19
The complex was in uproar. The noise of shouting and wailing could be heard across the camp and everyone had turned out to either spectate on the chaos or take their part in demanding the justice they felt they deserved. Faces that had once been downcast, pale and lifeless had transformed into grimacing visages of fury, flushed red hot and twisted in expressions of anger and horror, fear and vengeance. It was as if a host of demons had risen up from the ground and possessed each and every one of them, called by the blood of the murdered guards, bringing retribution with them.
Alan weaved his way through the crowds, most of which parted at the sight of the giant and his hound and that now looked upon him with a suspicious aspect. Rumours were being spread; words whispered in the smaller groups, spreading here and there, bringing the accusations to the feet of the stranger who came from nowhere and who now walked among them. None of this had happened before he came. They were safe until he came. No one was ever found murdered in his bed until he came.
Alan heard and felt every one of these arrows as they were launched at him but none of them stopped him, not one slowed his pace at all as he made his way towards the infirmary, perhaps the only quiet place the crowd hadn’t gathered in and, finding Doc tending to the dying, waited in his office until he was free.
“Alan,” he cried, seeing him. “I’ll be with you shortly. Boil the kettle.”
He did as he was told, setting two cups on the desk and adding the coffee and the sugar as Doc did his rounds with a gentle smile on his face; a different man from the haggard creature he’d met the previous day. A lot had happened in that short time, he thought as he rummaged in his bag. So much in such a brief period. People had defied his expectations, grown, become new people in the new world and the hope he’d been able to give them had been repaid in full. Now that things were reaching their conclusion he realised that he still had so much to do before the end but at least whatever didn’t get done would be taken up by people like John and Rachel and Doc and he had every conviction that they’d do well, regardless.
He set the thick notebook down and flicked through the handwritten pages, checking some last minute details he thought he might’ve missed but, finding that it was all there, he sat down with the cup in his hands and sighed.
“Well you certainly know how to kick up a storm, don’t you?” said Doc as he came into the office. “I’ve never seen such a crowd baying for blood before.”
“It’s the most active I’ve ever seen them be,” he replied, grinning.
“Yes, that’s true. I don’t think my brother knows what to do with them just yet. I’m guessing you’ve heard what they’re saying?” He nodded. “It was probably Richard who started to say it.”
“It’s true, I suppose.”
“Yes but it won’t save either of them. The message you gave was clear and it won’t be forgotten in a hurry. Samuel’s days are numbered now, his power base has gone and now that Richard has fled-”
“Fled? When?”
“About half an hour ago. One of the guards told me. He’ll have probably run back to his scavenger friends.”
Alan’s face clouded for a moment as he realised what it meant. How had he not seen this? He thought, rubbing his eyes.
“Is something wrong?” asked Doc.
“Of course. Now would be a perfect time,” said Alan to himself.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s gone to get the Scavs. He’s going to attack the camp whilst it’s defenceless.”
Alan stood and pointed to the notebook.
“That’s for John, it’s everything I could remember about planting crops, watering, preservation, as much as I could think of. Make sure he gets it.”
“You’re not going, are you?” protested Doc.
“I need to meet them before they reach the camp. This place won’t stand a chance against them right now and Richard knows it. I have to go.”
His mind was frantically running round, trying to cover everything all at once before it was too late.
“There’s a letter in there for John. After this is over, you and Rachel must take control, deal with your brother somehow, get the crops growing as soon as you can-”
“Alan, wait, don’t do this. We need you here.”
“I can’t stay,” he replied. “Not now.”
He was about to leave when he stopped in the doorway and turned.
“What was the condition?”
“I’m sorry?” said Doc.
“You said there’d be a condition if you helped me. What was it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Really, I just said it because-”
“What was it?”
Doc sighed and shook his head. “I wanted you to find my daughter. Even if she was dead, maybe find a way to confirm it, so I’d have closure. But it doesn’t matter, it was unfair of me, I’ve seen what you’ve done for these people and that’s payment enough. The least I can do is carry on and help them.”
Alan nodded very slowly and smiled.
“You could’ve killed them all, couldn’t you?” said Doc after a pause.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Thank you.”
“Can you forgive him?” asked Alan.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But I’ve been looking after him all our lives so why should I let a little thing like attempted murder come between us?”
He smiled but it was hollow and empty.
“You take care, Doc,” he said.
“And you.” They shook hands. “You’re a good lad, Alan. It’s a harsh world out there but please don’t let it change you, if you can help it.”
“I won’t.”
And with that final comment, he smiled and left, leaving Doc alone in his office to examine the notebook.
20
The rifle was heavier than anything he’d used before. He wore it on one
shoulder using the strap Henry had been able to get for him but it still felt like a useless burden to him. He had no choice though - what he’d planned required it and going out into the wastes with just his walking stick and a machete might have been ill advised at the best of times.
Alan had walked through the crowds without incident but when he’d collected the last of his belongings, put on his ammunition bag and took his walking pole in his hands, those gathered near the complex took it as an admission of his guilt and quickly spread the word. By the time he reached the gate, the number behind him had risen to over 200 and they hurled their insults at him as well as any stones or rocks they could find. Moll took the first direct hit to her head, cutting a deep gash across her soft fur that only an hour earlier had been comfort to a young boy. She turned and snarled but was soon showered in further assaults, tucking her tail between her legs and limping beside her master.
Alan walked on without responding, feeling the insults wound deeper than any of the stones that smashed into his head and caused the blood to make his vision swim. He tried his best to reach the gates with some dignity, but by the time they swung open he was reeling from the pain and leaning heavily on his staff, almost in fear that he’d fall before he could pass through to the other side.
The guards that remained made little or no effort to stop the crowd. Instead they added their insults to the others, piling scorn upon him, but no one tried to stop him. No one attempted to grab him or detain him in any way. Was it fear? He wondered as he saw the blurred exit ahead. Was it just an outlet for their own frustrations? It didn’t matter, he realised as another stone slammed into his shoulder.
Then they were through and the blows ceased to rain down upon them. The gates swung shut and the chains rattled into place. The camp was now closed to them and as they walked on beyond the decaying buildings and the pitted roads, Alan’s tears mingled with the drying blood until he had neither left to give.
The two wanderers rested in the entrance to an underground railway as the rain began to fall, looking out on the cursed land as their wounds healed and their flesh regenerated before their eyes. The damage had been superficial but that didn’t matter anymore. There were deeper wounds, thought Alan as he wiped off the dirt and blood with a rag. There was no medicine in the world that would heal those.
The Brink Page 27