by Simon Clark
I was the only one who ever stood up to Slatter. Of course, once I nearly got my head busted, but I wasn’t afraid to argue with him. So that set me apart from the rest. They respected me.
As the days passed life went from bad to worse. Beatings were run of the mill events.
Curt developed a sadistic new sport called Carrying the Can. People guilty of misdemeanours would have a steel pipe, six inches long and as thick as a cucumber, handcuffed to their wrist. From the end of the pipe protruded a fuse.
The game was simple. At the top of the church tower in the village was a glass jar. In the jar a key.
Back at the hotel, the victim stood on the entrance steps while the fuse was lit.
It took ten minutes to reach the gunpowder in the pipe. And it took ten minutes for a fit person to reach the top of the church tower.
You run fast enough. Hey presto. You get to the top of the church tower in time, unlock the cuff and chuck the pipe away from you just in time to see it go up in a puff of smoke.
If you’re not fast enough (or for extra laughs they lock the gates to the drive) you’re running like billy-oh and – BOOM. You have flash burns on your hands and arms, scorched hair and you’re deaf as a post for a couple of days.
Dave pleaded with them to moderate their behaviour. They laughed, then stood on his hands whilst they stubbed cigarettes out on his face.
I saw nothing of Sarah, and when a chance came for me to bring back more fuel for the generators I volunteered fast.
Curt told me they couldn’t spare fuel for a car to take me to Ulverston, where a tanker full of fuel waited to be picked up (though they had all they needed for their mindless races), so I’d have to walk which would take me a full day.
Again, I didn’t really mind. Eskdale was getting claustrophobic. You hardly dared breathe in case one of the Crew took it as an insult. Then you, too, ended up Carrying The Can.
I headed south, seeing no Creosotes as I walked along the country lanes.
I still hoped that Curt and Jonathan would settle down. That they’d see the place would fall apart if they didn’t start people working for the benefit of the whole community, not just for the luxury of a lucky few.
Dave Middleton didn’t share my optimism. Even as I walked out of Eskdale on that cold October day he must have been planning what he’d say, and what he’d do when I returned.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Carrying the Can
Because of shit weather and deteriorating roads, it took me two days to get the tanker back to Eskdale.
After parking up, I was walking toward the hotel entrance when Simon ran toward me like he was on fire.
He was Carrying The Can. His eyes bled terror; he was sobbing as he ran down the drive in the direction of the church.
Nothing’s changed, I thought. But it had.
‘What’s wrong with Simon?’ I asked Trousers, who stood watching the youth run. ‘It’s only a spoonful of gunpowder. He’ll do himself more mischief running like that.’
Trousers looked at me, his face blazing with a mixture of terror and sheer heart-pumping excitement. ‘They’ve changed the rules. Curt’s stuffed the pipe with gelignite!’
‘Jesus Christ …’ I turned to watch. Dozens more leaned through the hotel windows to watch, too.
Simon belted through the gates at the bottom of the drive, followed the road down through the village to where it crossed the stream, then climbed steeply up to the church.
At this distance he was tiny, but there was something desperate in the way he moved, the silver pipe clutched in his hands.
The time. I looked at my watch. Seven minutes had gone by. He’d time to climb the stairs in the churchtower, pluck the key from the jar, then—
From the distance came a faint ripping crack that echoed from the outbuildings.
I looked across toward the church. A puff of smoke was drifting down-wind. Simon was no longer running.
Someone had shortened the fuse.
Above me I heard a cheer, then laughter. The sound suddenly went faraway. I walked down to the orchard. There I was sick, cursed God and wished I’d never returned to Eskdale.
On the last day of Dave Middleton’s life he asked me to go with him to repair the pump that pushed water from the spring to the hotel. During the ten-minute walk he talked about the usual subjects that troubled him.
‘Curt and Jonathan are out of control … They’re so unpredictable … It must be the pills they’re taking.’
‘I don’t see there’s much we can do,’ I said. ‘They’ve got their own army.’
‘There has to be a solution … I’m too exhausted to carry on. It’s down to me that the generators keep turning and that there’s fresh water in the tanks, and the toilets work. Look at that.’
His bare arms were stained brown. ‘At six this morning I was digging human excrement out of the sewers. When there was no gas to cook their majesties’ breakfast they did this … there, on my eye lid … There’s more on the back of my neck. See? Cigarette burns.’
‘You could just walk away from it all.’
‘We’ve got children as young as six weeks old here. You think I’m going to leave them? It’s called responsibility, Nick. You can’t shrug your shoulders and walk away into the sunset.’
I pulled open the door of the pumphouse. ‘Right, what’s wrong with it?’
Dave shrugged. ‘You’re the expert.’
‘There’s still plenty of fuel.’
‘You remember what was said in the orchard the day after Boxer was murdered.’
‘Yeah, the revolution. You might as well sit on a pig and hope it sprouts bacon wings to fly you to paradise.’
‘Curt and Jonathan can be deposed. With a little forward planning.’
‘And with a truckload of guns with people willing and able to use them … Hey, there’s nothing wrong with the pump. Someone’s just switched off the motor.’ I fired it into life, then looked up at Dave. He was trembling.
‘I wanted to bring you down here so we could talk privately.’ Dave held out a plastic carrier bag. ‘Take this.’
‘Dave. What’re you playing at? If Curt finds out you’ve been messing with the water supply you’ll end up Carrying The Can. Jesus Christ … Where did you get this?’
Lying in the bottom of the carrier bag like it was a tin of baked beans was a handgun.
‘It’s loaded,’ said Dave. ‘I found it under the seat of the Mercedes Boxer used to drive.’
Dave looked weird now. Like he’d begun a dangerous sequence of events that he knew would soon be out of his hands. He wiped at the sweat running down his face.
‘Dave. I don’t want this. Get rid of it.’
‘You’ll need it.’
‘I’ll need it! For crying out loud, why?’
‘If you’re courageous enough to face up to Tug Slatter you’re courageous enough to ask Curt and Jonathan to step down as leaders.’
‘What are you talking about? Step down? You make it sound as though they’re in charge of the local chamber of commerce. Those thugs can’t be politely requested to step down.’ I pulled out the gun. ‘You have to take this, blow out their brains, take control, and not be afraid to use this again and again to keep it. Being a leader is a lump of damn rock tied round your neck.’ Dave’s eyes burned at me as I talked. ‘If you’re leader and there’s not enough to eat and people go hungry it’s your fault. If people get sick and there are no drugs to cure them, then it’s your fault. If the Creosotes attack and someone gets killed it’s your fault. There are a thousand things to think about, it’d be like keeping a thousand plates spinning on poles – and all the time you are looking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s creeping up to stab you in the back.’
Dave said, ‘In a situation like this a leader would have perks. Best room in the hotel. Food, drink. Creature comforts. I’ll admit times have changed; the new leader could have a dozen wives and no one would mind.’
‘I don�
��t want a dozen wives, I want Sarah. I—’
The clever bastard had tricked me. He never even had to tell me I should be leader; I’d said it myself.
‘Oh, no way, Middleton. Not me.’
‘Nick, you’re the natural choice … No, listen to me. Don’t walk away. I’ve asked Sarah, Kitty, Martin who they think should be leader – I never mentioned any names – but they all gave me your name. You’re the only one who can do it.’
‘Why me? I failed every exam at school. I’m not bright. I—’
‘You are bright. No, not in Martin Del-Coffey’s way. You’re no scholar. But you are intuitive. When you want to, you have this chameleon quality of being like the person you talk to. I can’t. People only see me as the toffee-nosed church boy. I admit it. I am.’
‘So …’ I shook my head. ‘I’m a man of the people.’
‘Yes.’
‘No way. Even if I could get rid of those two tyrants, being boss is too big a job for me.’
‘Nick, there’s no denying it will be a burden. It’s going to be painful at times, but you don’t quit. That’s called responsibility.’
‘I’m not accepting. Here, take this.’
I pushed the gun back into his hand. ‘And I’d advise you to hide that very carefully, Dave, or they’ll have your hide.’
‘You know your trouble, Nick? You are yitten. That’s the new phrase they use these days, isn’t it? Yitten. It means you’re frightened. Scared to death. No, not by those thugs. Basically you’re a child, Nick. You just like to play the loveable rebel. You take personal risks, there’s no doubting that, the way you stand up to Slatter. What you’re afraid of is people relying on you. You are afraid of making a wrong decision and letting them down. You are afraid of that thing called RESPONSIBILITY.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘So …’ Dave pointed the gun at me. His face ran with sweat. ‘You are going to do what I say. You are going to oust that gang of sadists up there, then you are going to become our leader.’
‘Do you think you could force me to do that at the point of a gun? Dave, you need a long, long rest.’
‘Nick. I have done a lot of thinking and a lot of praying. And I believe God has shown me a way.’
‘Put the gun back into the bag, Dave.’
‘I knew I couldn’t point the gun at you and force you to become leader. But what if I point the gun at my own head … Look.’
‘Stop it, Dave … Take your finger off the trigger.’
‘I couldn’t shoot you. But I find it easy to put the gun to my head, here, then pull the trigger. Very, very easy. In fact – desirable.’
His eyes had turned strangely shiny. He shook like something was about to erupt from his body.
‘Dave … Put away the gun and rest. You don’t want to kill yourself.’
‘Why not? I know in a couple of days they’ll force me to Carry The Can. I’ve been upsetting our new leaders by questioning their behaviour. I’m too exhausted to run. I’d never make it to the key at the top of the church tower.’
I shook my head. ‘Well, you’ve certainly picked a weird way to blackmail me. “Become leader, Nick, or I’ll blow a hole in my skull.”’
‘That’s what I’m saying, Nick.’
‘And I’m saying NO WAY. I’ll see you later.’
I turned and began to walk away across the pumphouse floor.
‘Nick … If it’s the last thing I do on God’s Earth, it’s this. I’ll force you to remember what I’m going to say now: I believe you will make a good leader. You see solutions to problems that I can’t solve. You have the guts to follow them through. Remember that obstruction on the bridge over the motorway? You busted right through it. Apply that ability to leading this community and give everyone here, all those children, the only chance they’ll have of surviving. They need you, Nick. Without you they’re already dead.’
His voice had changed. I felt cold.
‘And remember this, Nick Aten, my spirit will watch what you do forever and ever. Our Father, which art in Heaven. Hallowed be Thy name …’
I thought for a second if I kept walking he wouldn’t go through with it. But I had to turn round.
He stood there, reciting the prayer; his eyes fixed on me.
His finger tightened around the trigger.
I don’t remember the bang, but I remember the way his brains left his head.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Life Is Grotesque
Life goes on. Or in some cases it is death that marches on.
When Dave’s body was found I was ordered to see Curt in his suite. After being frisked for weapons I was escorted inside.
Curt sat behind a desk, his loose lips sucking a cigar. ‘You killed Middleton, didn’t you?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Nick. You can tell me … Jesus, it’s not as though I’m going to grass you to the cops, is it, now?’
Curt had made up his mind on the matter – and in a way I was responsible for Dave’s death.
I nodded.
Curt laughed. ‘Good for you, pal. I never could stand the shitter anyway. Have a cigar … Go on, take two.’
I took them.
‘You know, Nick, we ought to knock around more – we had some good laughs this summer.’
I made a matey smile. ‘Yeah … Sure.’
‘Have you seen anything of Slatter lately?’
‘No. With any luck the stupid twat will have fallen down a hole somewhere.’
That was a deliberate gamble on my part. No one dared say anything insulting about Slatter, even behind his back. Curt and his crew believed that Slatter could somehow supernaturally hear everything they said.
It paid off. Curt raised his eyebrows, impressed. ‘Come on. Let’s have a drink. You’re wasted just dossing around here. It’s time we discussed your … prospects, yeah, ha, ha … Your career prospects. You made a spectacular mess of Middleton’s brains, you know. How close were you when you pulled the trigger?’
We spent a couple of hours joking, laughing.
At lunchtime topless girls served us with steaks and champagne.
‘Where’s Jonathan?’ I asked as Curt swigged from a bottle.
‘Remember that Asian girl … wassername … Kitty? He’s got her in his room. He’s breaking her in for Del-Coffey.’
We laughed hard, then Curt said, ‘Look … You can see the Church tower from here.’ He opened the veranda window and stepped out onto the patio.
‘Right you are, Sam.’ He called down. ‘Light the fuse, but remember to stand well back.’
Lunch rested in my stomach like a bowling ball.
‘There’s some binoculars on the table … You know, with those you can actually see the expressions on their faces when … boom!’
TV villains are supposed to laugh off their sadism in a cold way. Curt was hot, sweaty, even scared.
I watched a heavily built girl with ginger hair Carry The Can. She ran barefoot, clutching the silver pipe to her chest like it was a puppy. I didn’t use the binoculars, and I didn’t want to see her face. But I laughed when Curt laughed and jeered when Curt jeered.
The girl ran along the drive, through the gates, and then down the road into the village, her bare feet cracking against the stones. I knew she didn’t feel it. All her concentration was focused on reaching the top of the churchtower and the key in the jar.
Normally she wouldn’t have made it to the bottom of the drive before stopping to pant the air back into her lungs.
With the pipe fizzing in her hands, she ran like her feet had sprouted wings.
‘Bet she doesn’t make it,’ panted Curt, his lips dripping spit.
‘Bet you she does.’
‘Right … The stake is … your girl Sarah for … the Chinese girl who brought in the champagne. Yeah, I saw you eyeing her up. Shake?’
Mouth dry, I smiled. ‘Shake.’ We shook on it. Then we turned to watch the redhead run. My head began to buzz and my smiling face began t
o feel like a wooden mask.
As we stood side by side on the balcony, I pretended to drink from a bottle of champagne. Champagne’s not something I like, but it was the heaviest bottle.
The seconds ticked by – the redhead was running for her life; frantically she raced across the bridge and began hacking up the hill at the other side to the church. I stood there hardly breathing, and weighed up my chances.
If the girl exploded I decided I would bring the bottle down as hard as I could across the back of Curt’s head. However, a couple of Curt’s Crew watched from the room … Well, maybe I could take care of them too before they reached their guns.
Up, up, up, she ran. I glanced at the clock. Eight minutes had gone.
I turned back to watch; the tick of the clock felt like a rod slowly tapping the side of my head.
‘Any second now …’ Curt laughed. ‘Then have Sarah Hayes washed and brought to my tent.’
The three were jumping with excitement now like punters at a racetrack.
‘There she goes … There she goes …’
‘Any second now.’
The redhead disappeared into the church. She’d be climbing the spiral stairs now. I stood there, expecting to see the puff of smoke.
‘There she is.’
A tuft of red appeared to frantically bob and duck on top of the tower as she ripped the key from the jar. I imagined her trying to jab the key into the cuff, hand shaking, expecting any second to be with the lord of hosts, and the singing frigging heavenly choir.
‘Shit … No!’
A speck of silver curved away from the tower to bounce down into the cemetery. Smoke burst out amongst the headstones.
‘Correction. Have …’ Curt had to breathe deeply three times before completing the sentence. ‘Have the Chinese girl washed and sent to Nick’s tent.’
I used the champagne to wet my dry throat. ‘Bit of a laugh, eh?’ The redhead was already walking unsteadily back toward the hotel.
Curt laughed, then he said to one of his Crew, ‘Find out who set that fuse. Then break his fingers.’
‘Sarah.’ I caught up with her as she walked briskly through the deserted village.