So she stood talking to this strange creature from another world for an hour somehow agreeing, against her better judgement, to pay him and a group of his people to take them into Devon over three days. From there they could return along the south of England to a port from which they could travel to France. The price was agreed with Karl and a payment made. Then the time of their departure was settled and Karl insisted that, as this was a deal, that they should all shake hands. Rei had to bite hard on her lip not to grin at the antiquated custom.
Then, before she knew it, they had left the camp and were back walking down the cold wet streets of the city. It had been surreal and Rei felt almost as if she’d dreamt the meeting. The rain eased a little and they heard the distant muffled sound of yelling, as a game of street football broke down into a brawl. The old stone buildings of the city seemed to stand in stark contrast to the newer constructions, like a scar across otherwise flawless skin.
Deon surprised her by suddenly announcing that it would be easier for him to take a separate route direct to Southampton, from where he could make arrangements for their passage across the channel. Rei would then have to arrange to get Mathew out of Europe, but this would be easier once they had left the country and were again able to travel in a relatively open manner, he had explained.
“I don’t know. I think we should try to keep together. You know these people, their ways and customs. It would be easier for you to stay with us.”
“Yeah, but I can be of more use here, you know, making plans and getting us booked on a ship. I can’t do that from a travelling camp; not easily anyhow. This way you get to journey with Mathew and keep an eye on him, then, when you get to Southampton everything’s done and we can start to decide what we’ll do when we reach the mainland. And, we’ll draw less attention to ourselves if there are fewer of us. You know it’ll be the sensible thing to do.”
“Deon, I have not done the sensible thing for several days now. But I do think you could have a point,” she said, thinking out loud as they hurried along the streets, trying to avoid the food stalls and market sellers. They turned off the main street into the small road of Victorian warehouses where Philip and Mathew were waiting. “However, I still think we should all stick together. The four of us can leave tomorrow as arranged rather than having to meet you in Southampton in five days, if everything goes according to plan.”
“Ok. I can’t see why things shouldn’t go to plan,” replied Deon cheerfully, pleased at his successful role in this scheme. He looked across at the pretty oriental girl by his side, and was about to smile at her when he felt a warm rush of air. He saw Rei’s hair fly in the wind and watched confused as she was blown backwards, then a split second later he heard the blast and felt himself being pushed by the force of it. He fell back and saw dust and debris fill the sky and begin to fall back towards him. Instinctively he covered his face with his hands as the fragments of glass landed on and around him, and he knew instantly that he’d been close to the centre of a bomb blast.
39
Mathew sat in puzzled quiet for a moment. The more time he spent in this new England the more it resembled nothing he could relate to. Philip had always reminded him of an east-end club doorman; the way he spoke, his build, even the L-shaped scar across his left cheek had all conspired to give that affect. Now he’d seen another side, and although this part of the man had scared him less, the history that he’d related had left Mathew reeling. He’d always clung desperately to the idea that there were remnants of his past that existed still, or existed in a manner close enough to those that he had known. Now he realised that everything he’d ever known, or loved, or even despised, was gone. When he’d made arrangements for his death he’d thought that there was no gamble. He’d said that. “What have I got to lose?” And now he knew. He’d gambled more than he’d ever thought of.
“I took my degree in modern history,” said Philip, uninvited. “If you’re wondering how I know all this. Which I guess you are. I wanted to be a teacher, but I ended up going into the forces instead. The money was better. With a decent degree you can join as an officer.” He spoke this more to himself, and Mathew wondered if he was actually talking to him or to the room in general. He watched Philip pour another exaggerated glass of Scotch and decided that was exactly what he needed at this point in time.
“May I?” he motioned to the bottle.
“Whatever pal. I’m not your doctor; you do what you like. But if it’s going to be a habit you can start buying your own.”
“So how come you’re a reporter now.”
“I quit the forces after a couple of years, must be nearly ten years ago now. I bought myself out. You have to be a certain type, and I’m not really the sort of person that enjoys being told what to do all of the time. But I saw a bit of the planet that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. And it triggered an interest in what’s going on in the world. I was disillusioned by a lot of what I saw, and started writing about it. Maybe that way I can change the world a little bit. Just enough to matter anyhow.”
“A noble principle for a reporter.”
“Yeah, well, now and then I have them. Principles that is. When I can afford them.”
Mathew poured a large glass and downed half of it, feeling the liquid warm his throat and gradually numb his confused senses. He knew that there was only one chance of regaining anything of himself in this hostile world. He had to track his family down, if there was any part of it left. He finished his drink and started to walk to the window. Where the hell were Rei and Deon.
“Half an hour they said they’d be.”
“Well, I guess they’ve found it harder, or better, than they expected,” replied Philip. “Now sit down and keep away from the window, I don’t want you being seen. If anyone recognises you, who knows what they’ll do. And if they don’t they’ll probably think you’re a burglar or a looter, in which case I still don’t know what they’ll do. But it’ll be worse.” Philip got up held Mathew’s arm tightly, spinning him slowly but firmly away from the visible side of the building.
As they turned Mathew was aware of a flash outside, then in a split second he felt a hot wind, saw fragments of glass fly past him and heard a deafening roar behind him. He suddenly became aware of the fact that he was now lying on the ground with fragments of glass falling all around him. The small amount of light they’d had was now gone, as were the lights out in the street, and in the distance there was shouting and alarms sounded. His face was wet and he put his hand up to wipe the moisture. When he looked down he could make out the colour on his palm and realised his head was bleeding badly. He moved his hand across the floor and heard someone moving in the darkness. Through the darkness and smoke he could just make out the distinctive silhouette of Philip crawling near the door.
“You ok?”
“Don’t know,” said Mathew. “I think so. My head’s cut. What happened?”
“I think we’ve been bombed, pal. Keep down and don’t move there may be people coming in if it’s been set by looters. Stay away from the window. Where are you, anyway?”
“By the far wall from you.”
“I can’t see you. Can you move across to me?”
“I can move, but I think part of the floor’s given way. I can’t really see.”
“Look, get yourself tight up against the wall and stay put. I’m going to see if I can find a flashlight. Ok? If anyone you don’t recognise comes, just stay quiet. I’ll be back as quick as I can.” Then Philip sprang up and was gone, and Mathew laid his head in the debris and thought of nothing whatsoever.
As time passed Mathew began to wonder what he’d do if the no one returned. His options seemed limited: wait for someone, anyone, to show up; or go outside on his own and risk whatever the hell was out there. He’d seen enough of this part of the twenty-first century to know that it wasn’t always the best place to be, especially on your own, at night, and with people who had access to explosives in the vicinity. He tried to force himself to
think about happy, positive things, but that always took him back to Paula and Jessica, and that, of course, led him back to his present position. The very real threat of the ceiling collapsing had forced him to move after 5 minutes on his own. He’d carefully, and very quietly, picked himself from the floor and made his way to the side of the room. The dust was still not settled and the street lights failed when the blast occurred so he worked his way across by touch; holding tightly to anything that appeared to be solid. When he reached the wall he turned right, for no other reason than he was right handed, and moved across until he found a corner. For some reason he felt that a corner should be the safest place to be in a bombed building. He knelt down, wrapped his arms about him, and sat shaking.
He could hear people moving outside. Through the gloom he could make out shouting, crying, someone screaming, and the sound of an emergency vehicle. It wailed differently to the ones he knew from home, but it was unmistakably a vehicle siren. He could tell that it had travelled past him because the tone changed, and wondered why that happened and if he’d ever been told. He remembered the bells of the fire engines when he was a kid, and how strangely disappointed he’d been as slowly the emergency services adopted pseudo-American sounds in his adulthood. He wished he could hear one now, anything from his old life, just to remind him that it had really existed before the nightmare of illness had overtaken him like a dark shadow. That shadow had clouded his life and judgement. It’s always possible, he thought, that from the point I became ill I was never really sane. And that thought scared him more than the prospect of dying in a bombed out building.
A noise to the side of the room pulled his attention back to the present. In the smoke and darkness a door opened, although it could have been several floors beneath him from, he was unable to tell. Then there was the sound of something heavy being pushed, and then the noise of someone trying to whisper loudly.
“Lyal. Lyal, you there pal?”
He struggled to his feet and called back to Philip, and although he didn’t know why they were trying to keep quiet, he followed suit.
“Yeah. I’m ok, but I can’t see shit. What’s happened?”
“Not sure really. It’s not this building, it’s the one opposite that’s been bombed. There’s a lot of people there, and police. This isn’t the time for you to make any public appearances, right? So, quiet as possible, I need you to make your way to my voice, there’s a staircase here and we can get out the back, but I’d stay away from the centre of the room; part of it’s given way. Ok? I’ve got the others with me, they were nearly back when it happened.”
“They ok?”
“Rei’s had a knock. She blacked out for a bit, but she’ll be alright. Now go slowly along the wall towards my voice. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. Can you see if it’s clear near you?”
“No. I can’t see anything either, so just work your way to me. Steady, slow and quiet.”
Mathew moved in the direction of Philip’s voice. He kept one hand against the wall and shuffled forward as slowly as he could. The dust was still clouding the blackness and choking the air and the sounds of the services outside made him anxious. He could hear the building creaking and could feel spots of rain against his face. Every now and then a shaft of dust was illuminated from a torch across the road, or caught in the beams of light that occasionally penetrated the thick air. He heard something fall on the other side of the room. It crashed, heavy and deadly, on the floor below, and from that came the sound of another fall. Each noise marked another and the warehouse seemed like a house of cards, precariously balanced and impermanent. He moved a step forward and his foot stuck under something. He tugged gently but whatever it was it wouldn’t budge. He tried to move his foot backwards, but proved futile too. He pulled his foot up as hard as he could and suddenly it loosened, sending a floor beam plummeting down. It crashed through the floor below, which in turn collapsed onto the street level. Mathew froze as the floor he was on creaked and fell away.
“What happened?”
“I was stuck. Something fell. I think the floor’s given way here. I’m on a kind of ledge, I think.”
“Well keep it quiet, but try to work your way round to us,” whispered Philip as loud as he dared.
Mathew dared not even breathe. He tried to put his foot down but couldn’t find the floor, he moved about trying to locate something solid to stand on, eventually detecting a joist. He tested it first, resting his foot gently on it and gradually exerting more pressure. It held. He stepped up over it and the wood collapsed under foot, falling away with a large part of the floor attached. Two floors down the sound of the timber smashing to the floor resounded through the warehouse and the noise of several windows breaking echoed upwards.
“Lyal? You still there?”
Mathew clung to a joist floor that protruded from the wall, scraping his feet on the wall, trying to find a foothold. He’d slipped but managed to catch hold of something in the darkness. He could feel his arms ache and the pain in his chest as he tried to pull himself up. Sweat was pouring from his forehead and into his eyes. He swung his legs, desperate to find something to haul himself up, but he found nothing.
“Lyal?”
“I’m stuck. Phil I can’t hold on. Phil!”
He clung on, aware of his grip easing. He tried to move his arm, but each time he tried he felt himself slip slightly. He could hear something moving in the blackness. Then suddenly there was a voice directly over him.
“Mathew, it’s Deon. Hold on, I’m nearly there. Hold on.” Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ok, I’ve got hold. Now relax your body and pull with your arms, I’ll haul you up from here.”
“I can’t move.”
“Yes you can. Don’t panic, you’re ok. Just have a little faith and move yourself up. That’s it. You’re moving, ok. Now, keep your legs still and heave your body up. Just concentrate on my voice. Nothing else.”
Mathew focused on the soothing tones of Deon’s instructions. He pulled up as hard as he could, and just as he thought he could do no more he felt Deon’s hands on both of his shoulders pulling him up. He scrambled onto the remains of the floor and exhaled, unaware that he hadn’t taken a breath.
“Give me your hand.” Mathew flailed in the unlit void until he discovered Deon’s hand. “Right, now stand, that’s good, and move with me, one hand on the wall, quickly, that’s it, come on, almost there.”
Suddenly Mathew found himself on the stairwell, with Philip bundling him down the cast iron stairs to the ground floor. Half-dragged by the two larger men he reached the ground, was pushed through a doorway, and came out into an alley. Deon put his arm around Mathew’s back and almost carried him down the path and into an open yard. There he saw Rei, covered in ash and blood, but upright. Deon sat Mathew on a wall next to her, and gasped in the air. Mathew took a look around at his three companions, and then vomited.
“Take this,” said Deon handing him a piece of cloth, which Mathew wiped his mouth with.
“Thanks,” he managed through the heavy breaths.
“It’s not your time yet,” replied Deon. “You have things to do first, you just have to believe.”
“Ok, ok,” interrupted Philip. “We can’t stay here, not at all. Can you two walk?” Mathew and Rei exchanged glances and nodded reluctantly. “Good, ’cos we need to move out now.” And with that Philip hurried them through a doorway onto a street and led them away from the screams and cries of the people trapped and dying across the road from their hiding place.
40
Deon’s apartment was not the safest place to be, but in their present circumstances they had little choice, and even the usually cautious Philip has conceded that this may be the only place they could use with any degree of safety. Mathew still had blood covering his face and could still feel his leg trembling slightly by the time they’d arrived there. They had to take something the others called a taxi, but to Mathew it seemed more like a cross between a three-wheeled rick
shaw and a mechanical lawn mower. Added to this was the problem that no one wanted to get the taxi all the way to the apartment, resulting in a three kilometre hike. The walk to the apartment took them through a gloomy alley where groups of youths hung around in the darkened corners, the hoods of their jackets pulled down over their faces and scarves covering their mouths. They spoke to Deon as he passed them, although Mathew couldn’t understand what was said. He kept his head down and hurried past. It seemed that the sooner he was out of London the safer he would feel. He was relieved when they settled into the one-room that Deon lived in and managed to get a few hours rest. He had expected to lie awake following the trauma, but was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.
Mathew was woken by the sound of Philip stomping about. He examined his surroundings, the third place he’d slept in, in this brave new world. The apartment that Deon used was small, dark and cold, although Mathew was increasingly aware that he was always cold. Maybe that was a side effect of being near absolute zero for several decades. There was a smell of damp about it and Mathew was rather surprised that this was where Deon actually lived, as it had an abandoned feeling to it. It reminded him of a squat he’d visited in Kingston occasionally when he was at college. He could imagine Bob Marley playing on the stereo and CND or Peace posters adorning the walls. He even vaguely felt that there was a smell of marijuana in the air.
“What are you thinking?” enquired Rei.
“Nothing, it’s just that this place reminds me of a flat I used to visit when I was about 18.”
Phil gave the place a look of disdain. “If the twentieth century was like this, pal, you should be glad you’ve left it behind. Have you really been living like this Deon? It stinks in here.”
“Well, I have had other things to do, you know.” Deon slipped open the door and escorted a plump grey cat out with his foot. “Go away Rameses, you’re not allowed in here. Sorry, I don’t know how it gets in. It pisses everywhere and brings in dead mice.” Everyone made a mental note to check before sitting anywhere. “Anyway, I think of this as my base, not my home. People waste much of their time and effort worrying about the appearance of their houses, you know, when it’s their souls that need maintenance.”
The Relic Keeper Page 20