Outside - a post-apocalyptic novel

by Shalini Boland

  ‘I’m so sorry about your parents,’ I said. ‘If there’s anything I can do …’

  ‘Thanks. I’m going home tomorrow morning, finally. I had to wait for my petrol ration. My brother and his wife are meeting me at mum and dad’s.’ He swallowed and took a breath to steady the wobble in his voice. ‘So, I should be okay for a while.’

  ‘That’s good. That you’ll have family there to look after you, I mean.’ I felt like I’d said the wrong thing.

  ‘Yeah.’ There was a long awkward pause and then Johnny surprised me. ‘I heard about what happened to Connor. I’m really sorry. I mean, I know you really liked him. I tried to find out what happened to him for you, but I haven’t got a contact number for Sam, and his parents don’t know when he’ll get leave.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do that.’ I couldn’t believe he’d tried to do such a nice thing for me. I certainly didn’t deserve his help. ‘I just want you to know, I’m really sorry, Johnny. About everything, how it all turned out … you and me. You must think I’m a horrible person, and now your parents …’ It was no good. I tried to stop them, but the tears just streamed down my face. Johnny’s Mum and Dad were dead. Connor was dead. The world was going to hell, and now he’d think I was a weak, self-centred bitch for crying all over him.

  ‘Don’t cry.’ He picked up his jacket and used the lining to dab my tears away.

  ‘Your lovely jacket …’

  ‘It’s not lovely. I don’t even like it. Sam persuaded me to buy it. Thought it made me look cool, but I think I look like a twat in it.’

  I giggled through my tears. ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘No? Okay, but I made you laugh though.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Look, Eleanor, I’ve got to go back to some pretty unpleasant stuff, and I don‘t know if, or when I‘ll be back. My uni course has been suspended indefinitely, so ...’ He shrugged. ‘I just wanted to come and say goodbye, and no hard feelings, and I hope everything goes well for you.’ He got up to go.

  ‘Thank you. Same to you. Okay, well take care of yourself.’

  ‘You too.’ We hugged and kissed on the cheek and then he left.

  But that wasn’t the last I would see of Johnny Culpepper.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Riley

  *

  There are four of them that I can see. Big looking guys dressed in khaki with black boots and berets. They’re standing around next to a rusty old caravan and a barrier with a sign. It looks like quite a hastily-put-together operation. Luc and I both peer through the windscreen to try to make out the word on the square sheet of warped plywood.

  ‘Toll,’ we say in unison.

  ‘I suppose that means we have to pay to get through,’ I say, dreading the thought of approaching the barrier.

  ‘Looks like it. I’ve been this way before and it wasn’t here then. They look like privateers.’

  Privateers are men who set themselves up as freelance guards. You pay them to escort you through dangerous areas. Some of them are the real thing, but usually it’s just a scam to extort money from scared travellers.

  ‘I don’t want to risk it,’ says Luc. ‘We’ll try our luck at the compound and maybe they’ll let us cut through. I’d rather pay the compound guards than a protection racket.’

  He does a u-turn and we head back to find the compound entrance. An ominous droning sound follows us and I look back to see two privateers on motorcycles coming up behind the AV and flanking us. They smile and motion for us to slow down.

  ‘Shockplates,’ I hiss through my teeth.

  ‘Done it,’ Luc replies, slowing our vehicle to a halt, but leaving the engine running.

  He opens the window a crack and one of the privateers draws up beside him and peers in. He doesn’t look much older than us.

  ‘Nice day,’ he says.

  ‘Mm,’ agrees Luc.

  ‘Where you headed? We’d be happy to escort you through to the other side of town. Lots of nasty folk about these days. Wouldn’t want you to run into any raiders, or the like.’

  ‘Thanks, but we’ve got business in the compound. We just had a few problems finding the entrance, but I remember the way now.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you can get access to the Compound from our strip. Follow me, I’ll show you how to get in.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Luc replies calmly. ‘As I said, I’ve remembered where the main entrance is. Thanks anyway, for your help.’

  He closes the window and starts driving, leaving the privateers behind. But, I knew it could never be as simple as that and, sure enough, they both start off in pursuit of us, firing rounds into the air and then, more alarmingly, at our vehicle, their two cohorts following on behind.

  ‘Will it ever end?’ I ask, as shots ricochet off the boot, accompanied by showers of sparks and the electric crackle of the shock plates.

  As Luc drives, I scan the unbroken metal walls for any type of opening to escape into, but as yet I can see no entrance. Then, above the din, I hear faint shouts and see the bikers gesticulating to each other. The compound watchmen are shooting at the privateers from their towers, using powerful, mounted semi-automatic guns.

  ‘Hallelujah,’ says Luc, as two of the bikers drop their speed. Soon, all four finally cease their pursuit and turn back towards the shabby toll gate.

  Without warning, a concealed metal door in the wall slides open and we nearly drive straight past it without noticing. Luc slams on the brakes and reverses, so we’re now directly outside the yawning opening. I lean out of my window to get a better look inside.

  ‘Come on in quickly, for God’s sake! We don’t want you shot and we don’t want those scoundrels back in here.’ An elderly man in a royal blue frock coat and matching top hat stands just inside the door and motions wildly for us to enter. We don’t need asking twice and Luc backs up the AV, swings around and drives through the narrowing entrance, as the door slides shut.

  We find ourselves in a vast deserted field bordered on three sides by high green hedges. I glance back at the wall and can’t even see where the opening was. Then I turn back and look through the windscreen at the frowning, whiskered man who has ushered us into the compound. He’s tapping his foot and glancing down at his watch.

  ‘Come along, come along. Quickly now,’ he orders, like an impatient headmaster. ‘You know you’ve interrupted me from my judging and they shall all be wondering what’s keeping me.’

  He’s holding a walkie talkie that suddenly demands his attention.

  ‘Sir, do you require close range assistance? Over.’

  ‘No, no Luis, I told you I’m perfectly capable of welcoming our guests myself. Tell Marcia I shall be along momentarily. Oh, over. Yes. Over.’

  He stares upwards, and we follow his line of vision to one of the wall’s turrets, where I can make out the small figure of a guard holding a walkie talkie. The other guards have their gun sights trained on our AV which makes me recall one of Pa’s fond sayings about frying pans and fires. For some strange reason, I don’t feel at all scared. Maybe I’ve used up my quota of fear.

  As we get out of the AV, our strange host clips the receiver onto his coat and it dangles there, awkwardly.

  ‘Jolly useful device.’ He pats the walkie talkie. ‘I always like to personally greet any visitors we get to our little town. I’ve got a nose for riff raff and I can tell you’re not.’

  We walk around the vehicle to join the odd Dickensian man, who’s standing next to a small motorised golf cart. He climbs into the driver’s seat and motions to us to do the same. I stretch my arms and roll my neck which feels as though it’s got a thousand kinks in it. I hear a couple of clicks. Maybe Luc will rub my shoulders later.

  ‘Hello, Sir,’ says Luc, putting on an ultra-polite voice that makes me bite my lip to stop a smile escaping. ‘I’m Lucas Donovan and this is Riley Culpepper. We’re really grateful to you for helping us out back there. We’re on our way to Gloucestershire and we need to find a route through to
avoid the toll outside. If you could point us in the right direction ...’

  ‘Yes, very good, very good,’ the man replies absently. ‘The name’s Aubrey Rowbotham, Mayor of Chippenham. Welcome. But can we get a move on. I’m holding up proceedings. Jump in and we can talk on the way.’

  We don’t seem to have much of a choice and so I sit next to the Mayor, while Luc balances precariously on the back of the little golf cart.

  ‘Will our vehicle be okay here?’ Luc asks.

  ‘Have you locked it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Perfectly safe then.’

  We trundle across the vast field and, as we approach the hedge at the far end, I can make out the unmistakable murmur and hum of a large crowd of people.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ I ask. ‘I can hear voices, but I can’t see anyone.’

  ‘It’s a big day today,’ answers the Mayor. ‘You timed it just right for your visit. It’s our Autumn Harvest Fair. Everybody’s making their way over to Lowstone Castle Field. Been there since eight o’clock myself, being Mayor and all. I’m judging the livestock. Some damn fine beasts, let me tell you. Are you familiar with pigs?’

  We both answer in the negative. I’m trying desperately not to giggle. Luc shoots me a warning glance and I bite my lip and look down.

  ‘Shame. Learn a lot from pigs, you know. Learn from most animals, but I do have a soft spot for our curly tailed friends.’

  ‘Who are those men outside your walls? Are they privateers?’ asks Luc. Are they genuinely charging a toll, or were they planning on robbing us?’

  ‘So many questions! Blasted nuisance, those ruffians. I’ve known them since they were potty trained and they’re still behaving like two year olds. It’s a bloody awful disgrace. Don’t get me started.’

  ‘You know them personally?’ I ask, surprised. ‘Are they from here then?’

  ‘They are. Unfortunately, one of the stupid nitwits is my great nephew, believe it or not. We tried locking them up for their numerous misdemeanours, but it didn’t do any good I’m afraid. They kept right on with their wicked ways, egging each other on, you know. I don’t think our gentle way of life suits them very much. Some of our less charitable citizens wanted to turn them over to the army, but we erred on the compassionate side and ended up expelling them. Broke their mothers’ hearts. But what could I do? I’ve got a whole town to take care of. Can’t expect everyone to put up with their shenanigans.

  ‘Now they’ve gone and set up their ridiculous Toll outside, they think they’ve got one over on old stick-in-the-mud Aubrey. Think I’m a silly old fool, but I’d like to see them try to do my job, they’d wet their pants at the responsibility. Sorry, sorry, do forgive me. You’re our guests. You don’t want to hear me wittering on about my problems. It’s a joyful occasion so let’s have some fun. Can you stay for the afternoon?’

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Riley

  *

  The Mayor brings the cart to an impressive stop at a jaunty angle by the hedge and we all climb out. By now the hubbub of voices is overwhelming and although I can’t yet see anyone it sounds as if we’ve landed in the middle of a huge crowd.

  We follow the Mayor through a small wooden gate and he leads us down a steep grassy slope. We find ourselves on a wide avenue of leafy horse chestnuts, thronged with people, all chattering excitedly and heading in the same direction. They nod deferentially to the Mayor as he passes by and he tips his tall hat in acknowledgement, greeting each person by name.

  Aubrey Rowbotham must be well into his seventies, but he walks like a much younger man, purposefully and upright, threading his way through the crowd. We have some difficulty keeping up with him, constantly distracted by all the sights and sounds, but we manage to keep sight of his peacock-blue hat bobbing along.

  Everyone is sporting vividly-coloured, homemade clothes and equally outlandish headwear - it appears, in this town, the Mayor‘s coat and top hat are not considered an eccentricity. I wonder whether they dress like this every day, or whether it’s just some kind of fancy dress for the fair. I feel drab and underdressed by comparison.

  Most people are carrying baskets or coarsely-woven picnic hampers and some have bright rugs slung over their arms. The heat of the day ensures a pervading smell of body odour, but this is offset by the scent of freshly cut grass - not too bad compared with the world-class stench of the Charminster Compound.

  I realise that all the townsfolk are staring curiously at us as we pass, gawking at our clothes and nudging each other, whispering or giggling in our wake. But they appear to be friendly enough and the girls especially, seem to be very taken with Luc. I feel a new sensation - a small spurt of green jealousy - as I see him smile at a particularly pretty blonde, who’s shamelessly eying him up. She’s pulled ahead by an older man who I’m guessing is her father. He says some cross words to her and she soon stops smiling.

  Up ahead, I see another unexpected sight - a wonderful creamy-coloured castle, perched on a low hill, with a solid dark grey wall around its base. The crowd suddenly comes to a stop and we finally manage to catch up with the Mayor. Without any warning, Mayor Aubrey Rowbotham takes hold of my arm and propels me forward, giving me barely enough time to grab hold of Luc’s hand, as the crowd parts to let us through. I see what’s caused our abrupt halt - a small red iron bridge that only allows for two abreast. As we cross, I look down at the almost stagnant dark green river below us, hiding beneath a mess of tangled reeds.

  We step off the bridge into a huge field where the fair is being held. The stalls, rides and events are all set up here, in the shadow of the large storybook castle.

  ‘I must dash off to resume my judgely duties,’ says the Mayor. ‘I’ll meet you in the tea tent at four pm for afternoon tea. Enjoy yourselves. Any problems, find Marcia in the VIP tent by the show jumping arena. She knows you’re here.’

  And with that, he strides off into the crowd, until all we can see is the iridescent tip of his top hat.

  To our left is a fenced-off shooting range, but instead of guns, the competitors are wielding huge crossbows. The bright cloth targets are wrapped around large wooden discs propped up on stands, under five tall sycamore trees. Luc smiles at me and we wander over to watch, in something of a daze.

  As far as I can tell, each competitor hands over some kind of token - a piece of fruit, a small cake, or the like - as their entrance stake which goes into a large basket. Then the person is handed a crossbow and half-a-dozen or so arrows, with which they have to try and hit the red inner ring. If they manage it, they go through to the next round, if not, they’re out of the competition. Most of the entrants hit the blue or white outer rings, prompting good-natured jeers from the onlookers. I guess the overall competition winner will receive the basket of goodies. A young boy, who’s helping his father man the stall, notices Luc and me and tries to get Luc to enter.

  ‘Afraid of embarrassing yourself in front of the young lady,’ says the boy’s father.

  ‘Something like that,’ replies Luc.

  ‘Come on in, I’ll show you how it’s done. Let you have a few practice goes.’

  Luc climbs over the fence amidst a few rowdy cheers. He takes a silver bit out of his pocket and passes it to the man.

  ‘Very generous. That’ll get you a few goes.’

  His first practice shots go wildly out and strike the grass in front of the target, but as he gets a feel for the crossbow, he starts hitting the cloth. He looks disappointed that he hasn’t hit the inner ring and his last shot lands just a millimetre from the red. Everyone ‘oohs’ in sympathy and Luc clambers back over to join me.

  ‘That’s harder than it looks. It’s good fun though. Do you want a go?’

  ‘Maybe later.’ Normally it’s the sort of thing I’d love to do, but we haven’t had any lunch and I’m hungry. I just want to wander around and relax, after our adrenaline-filled morning of madness.

  ‘Have you got any silver left?’ I ask. ‘I’m starving.’
/>
  ‘Me too.’ He pulls a handful of silver bits out of his pocket. ‘We’re loaded,’ he grins.

  ‘Brilliant. Let’s go and find some food.’

  He puts his arm around me and we head towards an impressive striped marquee. There are wooden tables and chairs outside the tent, with a spit roast, a barbeque, a salad bar and a covered stall piled high with various wrapped sandwiches, cakes and fruit. Inside the marquee, are more tables and chairs but there isn’t a spare seat to be had. In the corner, a long curved bar sells alcohol, juices and smoothies. In the opposite corner, an Irish fiddle band is pumping out energetic tunes and loads of people are dancing.

  ‘Luc, if you want a few beers, go ahead. I’ll drive later if you like.’

  ‘Riley, do you know what I’m thinking? What if we spend the whole day here. Maybe even see if we can stay the night somewhere. I think we need a break before we head back on the road. What do you think?’

  ‘That would be amazing.’ I smile at the thought of being able to really enjoy Luc’s company and not at having to venture outside straightaway. It’s so exhausting and unpredictable out there. It would be good to not have to worry for a while. The only niggle of concern is that our parents will still be worrying about us, but I push it selfishly to the back of my mind. ‘Shall we go and find that Marcia woman and see if she knows if there’s somewhere we can stay?’

  ‘Yeah, let’s go now then we can come back, eat and relax.’

  We head off to find the show jumping arena, caught up in the festive mood and excited at the thought of an indulgent, relaxing afternoon, free from the worries of the road. We pass Shetland pony rides, craft stalls and a beautiful red and white striped helter skelter slide that I decide to have a go on later.

  We stop for a few moments to watch the birds of prey and their handlers. There are falcons, hawks, buzzards and a magnificent eagle owl. They are fascinating, beautiful creatures and we both agree we could easily watch them all day, with their intelligent yellow eyes and haughty expressions. Finally, we spy the VIP tent with a couple of burly bouncers outside.