I can’t Blinky. I’m dying.
NOT YET. HOLD THE LINE. HOLD. WE HOLD.
I can’t…I can’t breathe.
HOLD THE LINE. WE HOLD. WE DO NOT YIELD.
It’s okay, Blinky. I’m not afraid.
HAHA. INCOMING! I’m so fucking awesome.
What?
A surge. An impact and Paula rises up from the water to break the surface to breathe and gag and puke. Gripped by a pair of arms so big they lift her and the dog with ease by a man roaring out with one arm gripping the rope extending out to the house on the other side. ‘DON’T YOU DIE,’ Clarence bellows. His arm around her chest and his fist clenched on the scruff of Meredith’s neck, hoisting the limp dog up. ‘YOU HEAR ME…DON’T YOU DIE…’
The rope snags. Going rigid. The water pummelling Clarence’s head, slamming into his mouth and nose and those in the room holding the end scream out as they slide across the room, unable to hold Clarence’s great weight as he holds Paula and Meredith as all three are dragged by the power of the current and the small group cry out from the burn in their hands and arms. The reach the window, bracing feet against the wall but it’s still not enough. They have to let go. They’ll be pulled through.
A shout. A rush. Men and women drenched in blood and gore pouring into the room. Faces blazing. Eyes wild. Hands gripping the rope.
‘MOVE,’ Howie shouts, wrapping the end around his body. His team move in, pushing and shoving the people away to grip and heave. Danny and Tappy with veins bulging from heads and necks. Charlie, Maddox, Cookey, Nick, Blowers and Mo all gritting teeth to dig heels in and heave and pull. Heave and pull. Draw it in. Together now. Work together now.
‘ONE TWO PULL…’ Howie bellows. ‘ONE TWO PULL…ONE TWO PULL…’
Hand over hand. Mind over matter. Ignore the burning pain. Hand over hand. ‘ONE TWO PULL…’
Closer and closer. Clarence grimacing. Paula barely conscious. Meredith unmoving. Slowly they go through the waters, through the wind and rain as those inside work harder to pull them up from the waters through the air against the wall of the building and Nick is there, lifting Meredith in his arms to pull inside and Blowers is there lifting Paula in his arms to pull inside as the others grip and heave the huge man up to the windowsill and over to land hard and gasping on the floor, hands in agony, arms wrenched and shoulders burning.
Meredith lies still and unmoving. Her eyes closed. Nick rubs her sides and back, vigorous and hard, opening her mouth to let the waters pour over the floor. Paula gagging, still unable to breathe properly. Charlie and Tappy heaving her over from her back to her front as she pukes and heaves.
‘No…’ Nick mutters, rubbing the dog’s sides and back. ‘Come on…COME ON…’
Blowers at his side. Mo there with Cookey, all of them rubbing the dog, urging her to breathe as the waters pour from her mouth. Too much water. Hearts sink. Hope fades. Another one lost. Another one gone.
A blink. A wag. An eye opens. Soft and brown. Another wag and the tears flow as the dog’s chest moves to breathe.
‘Fuck me,’ Nick whispers, his head sinking to rest on Meredith’s as her tail starts beating a drum on the floor.
Clarence tries to rise then falls back to sit against the wall, his arms bleeding from the rope burns, his head cut. Paula’s face a mess of scratches. Her top torn and ripped. Blood flowing. Meredith tries to stand but wobbles and falls with Nick and Mo rushing in to help her up as the dog crawls to Paula, licking her face, whining softly and wagging her tail more as Paula’s arms wrap around her neck. ‘I heard Blinky,’ she whispers, her voice ragged and hoarse. ‘I heard her…she told me to hold on…’
They slump back and down, all of them sitting against the wall or lying flat while breathing hard. Minds racing. Adrenalin still pumping. Gasping for air with every inch of their bodies hurting.
‘You held on,’ Clarence says, wiping a bloodied hand across his face. ‘You all did,’ he adds, looking around. His eyes fall on Danny sitting close, covered in blood and sweat. His hands cut and bleeding. Clarence reaches out, pulling the lad into his side. ‘You did well, son…your dad would be proud…’
Danny squeezes his eyes closed, willing the tears not to fall.
‘Fuck me,’ Tappy gasps, flat on her back gasping for air. ‘Is it always like this?’
‘Pretty much,’ Blowers whispers.
‘I’m not racist,’ Howie whispers, swallowing as he looks at Maddox.
‘It was a joke,’ Maddox says, waving an exhausted hand at Howie.
‘Awesome…now how the fuck are we getting Clarence back across?’
*
Maddox stands on the windowsill staring down at the raging waters below. The wind howling past his body. The rain pelting his skin and face. His hands above his head looped through a cut off section of rope greased up and hooked over another thicker rope stretching taut and rigid from a rafter in the ceiling of the top floor of the house over the river to the Saxon on the other side. He eyes the landing pad. A pile of mattresses dragged out from houses and dumped on the ground.
‘Ready?’ Nick asks, holding the back of Maddox’s belt.
‘No,’ Maddox says honestly.
‘Ah be fine,’ Tappy says, also holding his belt. ‘Big push…one…two…’
‘Wait! Why am I going first again?’ Maddox asks, trying to peer back at them.
‘Cos you’re a fatty,’ Tappy says with a grin.
‘I’m not fat,’ he says.
‘Joking! You’re a big boy and it’s all muscle,’ she says, patting his leg with a wink.
‘We need someone heavy to test it…’ Nick says.
‘Right.’ Maddox says. ‘You’re heavier than me,’ he adds, twisting to look down at Nick.
‘Ah but you’re strong,’ Tappy calls up. ‘And we need Nick to fix it if it breaks…ready? GO!’
‘ARGH YOU’S FUCKERS…’ he flies out from the push, sliding along the rope with a gathering speed down towards the mattresses on the other side. The river below now wider and more violent. The storm increasing and those mattresses coming towards him far too fast. Then he hits and lands in a world of soft wet springy foam, absorbing in with a gasp then rolls over to look up at the grinning face of Marcy.
Nick and Roy spent five minutes discussing pulleys, winches, sliding tackles and counter-weights to try and find a solution to get the survivors, and Clarence, back across the river.
‘Just zipwire it,’ Tappy said, invoking a surprised look from Nick. ‘Get another rope over, cut the old one to use as hand-hold grippy things and zipwire back across. Easy peasy lemon squeezy…’
Nick told Roy on the radio who did what Nick did and went silent for a few seconds.
‘Yeah we should just do that,’ Roy said.
Another rope fired over through a top floor window as Tappy beat the ceiling down so the rope could be tied to the corner joist of a roof-rafter.
‘Needs a strong knot,’ Nick said from below, looking up.
‘Yep,’ she said, securing it to the rafter.
‘Seriously, it’s got to hold Clarence…’
‘Yeah cos women can’t do knots, can they? How about a taut line clove hitch half hitch with a double timber hitch?’ she asked then grinned down at the silence coming back. ‘That shut you up didn’t it, Nicholas.’
‘Your knot held,’ Nick says, watching Maddox stand up on the far side.
‘Yeah, I only did a granny knot in the end…’ she replies then frowns when he doesn’t reply. ‘Did you bloody check it?’
‘Nah…well, I might have had a quick look while I was up there…’
‘That’s out of order,’ she says. ‘Nope, not talking to you now…’ she adds when he goes to speak. ‘Bellend.’
‘You are…Mr Howie? We’re all ready.’
Survivors first. Terrified. Weeping. Wailing. Children wrapped in blankets tied to adults.
‘I’m not doing it!’ a woman screams the words in the room. Heavyset and terrified the rope
will break or her arms won’t hold her weight. ‘I WON’T. I WONT I WON’T I WON’T…’ she screeches louder, stamping her feet, flailing her arms.
‘Come on, you’ll be fine,’ Paula says calmly, her face raw from scratches, her clothing ripped, her voice still rough from vomiting so hard. ‘Few seconds and it’s done…’
‘I WON’T I WON’T I WON’T…’ a screech, high pitched and awful. Driving into ears and making heads pull back from the volume. ‘YOU CAN’T MAKE ME…’
‘We’re not fucking making anyone do anything,’ Howie says, exasperated and starting to bite.
‘Don’t talk to her like that, she’s just bloody scared,’ someone else says.
‘Are you taking the fucking piss?’ Howie asks, the darkness flashing in his eyes, understanding their fears and worries, but feeling that same conflicting thing inside of doing everything to save them while not wanting to be anywhere near them.
‘Out,’ Paula says to Howie. ‘Go for a smoke…’
‘Seriously, don’t go if you don’t want to,’ Howie snaps at the screeching woman. ‘But fuck off and let someone else…’
‘Charlie, take Mr Howie outside please,’ Paula orders.
‘Mr Howie,’ Charlie says, ushering Howie through. ‘No no,’ she says softly as he goes to say something else and trying to think what Marcy does to calm him when he gets like this then remembering what Marcy does when he gets like this and thinking it would be highly inappropriate to do what Marcy does when he gets like this. Besides, she doesn’t actually blame him for saying that to the woman. She wanted to say it herself.
The woman does cross the river, but only after several very long and very trying minutes of soft talking and constant reassurance, and even then she goes screeching across to land still screeching on the other side.
‘Shut up,’ Marcy tells her bluntly, snapping her screams off. ‘Good. Now piss off out of the way.’
The rest follow over, then the team with Meredith wrapped in a blanket tied to Nick who zooms across with a huge grin to land on his feet and look back to stick a finger up at Tappy and the others in the window. Clarence goes last. Everyone wincing at the rope sagging in the middle and exhaling in relief when he crashes into the mattresses.
Into the church. Chairs broken. Fires lit. Jess brought in to eat oats and shit on the once clean floor while the survivors huddle together at one end and watch the heavily armed people laugh and joke quietly amongst themselves at the other end, moving with purpose to clean weapons and go deeper into the shadows to wash and change into dry clothes. The doors barricaded with heavy pews. The wind howling through the eaves and corners. Thunder booming. Lightning flashing.
‘Then that one with the fake tits told me to shut up…she was like so rude and…and aggressive,’ the heavyset woman’s voice floating through the great hall of the church. ‘And that prick with the scraggly hair too…Mister Fucking Howie or whatever his name is…’
‘Stop right there,’ Paula tells Blowers, Charlie and Marcy rising to their feet with angry expressions. ‘It’s fine. She’s allowed an opinion…’
‘Not about my tits she ain’t,’ Marcy retorts. ‘Pert love, not fake,’ she shouts. ‘Big difference…’
‘Jesus, pack it in,’ Paula whispers.
‘Pert my arse,’ the woman mutters.
‘Trust me, your arse is not pert,’ Marcy fires back.
‘HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!’
‘Just eat less.’
‘WHAT DID SHE SAY?’
‘Enough!’ Paula snaps. ‘Marcy, not another word…and you…whoever you are…one more word and you’ll be outside for the night…’
‘You can’t talk to me like that…I’ve got anxiety and depression…’ she states in a tone that suggests she just scored a victory.
Paula goes to speak then just stops and blows air from her cheeks and sinks to sit and stare at the fire.
‘Doctor told me…that’s why I never worked. Gave me pills and said it wasn’t my fault…’
Paula picks a tin up, blinking at the label as the others fall to silence and eat their cold rations.
‘So people can’t tell me what to do or say mean things cos I got anxiety and depression…doc said people have got to be nice and not be like cunts or anything. Said I shouldn’t take it from people…’
‘Good girl,’ Nick whispers to the dog, spooning more tuna into a bowl.
‘I said to him I did. I said I want my weed on prescription as everyone knows cannabis helps and I was like why the fuck am I paying for it when some wankers get like heart attack pills on script…’
A look from Maddox to Mo who snorts a laugh and covers his mouth quickly while Tappy smiles at her tinned food.
‘I said I’d bring my dealer into the surgery and the doc could meet him and pay for it like in bulk? but my dealer was like fuck that and I told him I had anxiety and depression and he can’t talk to me like that and he was like I’m a fucking drug dealer…’
Stifled giggles and laughs, suppressed snorts. Even the people with the woman turn away to laugh quietly.
‘Oh gosh I want to know what happens now,’ Reginald says into the weird silence that follows, prompting more laughs. ‘Did the doctor prescribe the cannabis?’
‘Did he fuck! He was like no chance that’s highly illegal and I was like you can’t talk to me like that cos I got anxiety and depression…’
‘A most egregious situation,’ Reginald says.
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Nefarious.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Deplorable,’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Heinous.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Dear god…is it too late to be bitten?’ Reginald remarks to snorts of laughter breaking out from both ends of the church.
‘Ere, are you taking the piss out of me? I got anxiety and depression…’
Fifteen
Day Seventeen.
The Range Rover slows to a stop a short distance from the farmhouse. A long single road behind them and nothing but rolling fields in every direction. Hills in the distance. Forests and thickets but not for miles.
‘Are you being serious?’ Cassie asks, looking from the windscreen to Gregori in the driver’s seat. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere again…’
He doesn’t reply but pushes the door open and drops out to stand and listen, every sense heightened. Listening and looking. Smelling and feeling. Gregori trusts his senses. They’ve kept him alive many a time when by rights he should be dead, often giving him only a split-second warning of something coming but enough to turn or duck, to lift and aim to shoot back or to throw a knife or break a neck.
At least he finally has a holster now with kit, equipment and weapons taken from the Albanians in the hotel a few nights ago.
Gregori gave the boy thirty seconds to make every one of the things leave before he killed them. Cassie protested, angrily yelling at Gregori that it was only the bloody things that had saved them but Gregori wouldn’t budge then and he won’t budge now.
The boy will be a boy, not a killer or a Krye or a little devil that rules the world.
He turns back to the car, leaning in to pull an assault rifle out. Looping the strap about his arm. ‘Come, we go.’
She tuts noisily, shaking her head as she wrenches the door open to get out. A pistol holstered on her hip. They spent the day after the storm in the hotel again because the fog was too thick to move out. It was then that Gregori taught her to fire the pistols and assault rifles.
‘Come on,’ she says with a sigh, holding her hand out for the boy as he jumps down from the back of the car. Red shorts, a yellow t-shirt and his angelic face all happy and carefree. ‘Another night in a boring nowhereville house,’ she mutters darkly, staring around at the pretty meadows and fields. At the flowers blooming and the sky so blue and deep. Scents in the air. Fragrant and delicate. Everything so twee and nice and boring as shit. ‘Boring a
s shit,’ she mumbles, making the boy laugh. ‘Don’t repeat that!’
‘Boring as shit,’ the boy sings the words before she finishes her warning, prompting Gregori to stop and turn with a glare.
‘Well it is,’ she tells him.
‘Is things here?’
‘No, Gregoreee.’
‘Why would they be here?’ Cassie asks. ‘For what? To pick daisies? Roll in the meadows? Chase butterflies? Maybe plan for next years harvest or… don’t walk off when I’m nagging you…’ she huffs again, following Gregori as he completes his first security scan. Walking around the outside of the house and looking in each window to see a neat and tidy interior looking all spick and span and boring as shit.
‘Boring as shit,’ the boy sings, hearing Cassie mumbling again.
‘Boy!’ Gregori snaps.
‘Mr Howie put his penis inside Lani’s vagina in the old armoury to make a baby in her belly but he knew she wasn’t Lani but she was a little bit Lani but she was holding a bomb and then dropped it and Mr Howie ran out and there was a big fire and Lani is deaded…’
‘Right,’ Cassie says, both her and Gregori staring down at the boy at the latest episode of Howie and the Fort. ‘This in the fort again is it?’
The boy nods.
‘I thought Lani turned back,’ Cassie says. ‘You said Marcy bit Lani but Lani got better…’
The boy picks his nose, staring around with mild interest.
‘Don’t pick your nose,’ Cassie tells him, guiding his hand down.
The infection stares at Cassie as she pushes the boy’s hand down. A grasp of the question asked. An understanding but it’s still hard to navigate the boy’s brain. Human beings have extraordinary brains, but they use so little of them and the infection studies the unused synapses as it tries to understand the entirety of life and everything all at the same time. Trying to know everything in context instantly. Trying to be everything and everywhere instantly.
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