by Louise Moss
Someone pointed out the newcomers. “They’re trying to kill us!”
Gerald held up his hand. With an air of authority, he said, “Hagan must have fitted an anti theft device.”
“Who’s Hagan?”
“The head of the operation. He won’t interfere with us here, but he was quite clear that all possessions should be jointly owned.”
“It’s not up to him to decide that,” someone said and the crowd surged forward again.
“There’s not enough to go round,” a woman at the back shouted. “We all need a pushchair.”
Gerald refrained from saying that at one time, there had not been such things as pushchairs and said instead, “Just wait a few days. You will have everything you want.”
The crowd began to disperse, mumbling that it had better be true. Gerald sighed. Many things had disappeared over the years, but man’s greed wasn’t one of them.
“How are we going to unload it, then?” Emma said.
Before they could think what to do, the pod moved off. Emma ran after it but gave up after a few yards and watched it disappear into the woods.
Gerald caught her up. “Don’t worry, it’s going to a disused factory not far away. All the rest of the stuff’s there too.
“Hagan told you that?”
“No, but somehow I know. He must have put the thought in my head.”
That afternoon, Gerald and Emma made their way out of the town, through the wood and past the new swing that Pete had fixed to a tree, down the steep hillside until they came to the factory, a large warehouse type building without windows, as big as several aeroplane hangars. They circled the building but they could find no way door.
“What’s Hagan playing at?” Emma said angrily. “Why give us all this stuff and then lock it away where we can’t get it.”
“There is a way. “ Believe and it will be so.
A doorway formed in the blank wall. “Oh, he’s made it so only you can get in,” Emma said clapping her hands delightedly. “We can have first pickings.”
The items from the vault were placed in thirty rows across the factory and stretched for miles into the distance. Emma prised open the dusty lid of the nearest plastic box to reveal necklaces, brooches and bracelets of all kinds, glittering in the dim light.
“Oh, they’re lovely,” she said, slipping an imitation diamond ring on to her finger.
“Best put it back. We don’t want the others getting jealous.”
“There’s enough for everyone, nobody will mind.”
Gerald felt a cold blast of fear. In Emma’s innocent request were bound up all the evils of the past: greed, envy, stealing, violence, jealousy…. He shook his head. “It would lead to arguments,” he said.
“I suppose you’re right.”
They walked down aisles of electrical equipment: kettles, TVs, toasters, irons, food processors, vacuum cleaners, radios.
“This is a waste of time, isn’t it?” Emma said.
“Yes, we can’t use those at the moment.”
“Hagan would never tell me the source of the power,”
“Perhaps there is someone who knows how to make a generator. I know it starts with running water and a waterfall, something like that. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t look into it.”
Gerald did not really believe they could make electricity, but it would keep people occupied and stop them worrying about all the possessions stored in the factory.
After spending nearly two hours in the factory, they had only seen a fraction of what was there. In the distance, they could just make out a helicopter.
“We need bicycles,” Emma said. “Then we could get to the end.”
“Let’s go back now, we’ll look for them next time.”
Back at the dome, Christine told them about a man called William who used to be an engineer who lived by himself in one of the smaller houses.
“If we had the right stuff – magnets, generator, a turbine it might be possible,” he said. “Do you think these things are available?”
“I’d have to search, but it looks as if they kept at least one of everything.”
The next day Christine, Emma, Richard and Gerald set out to look for a waterfall. It made sense to follow the river in both directions. Christine and Emma rode North, and Richard and Gerald, South. Boys’ team and girls’ team, Emma joked.
The South route followed the edge of farm. It was looking the very image of English countryside in the twenty-first century with its herd of Jersey cows and its Leghorn chickens. Further on, the Nguni cattle with their strange black and white markings and large horns came into view and soon, they had a clear view of Hagan’s dome. Somewhere to the left was the town where Michael and Susan lived.
“Do you remember that time Michael went to look for the source of an underground river?” Gerald said. “He knows the area, let’s go and talk to him.”
They were unsure exactly where it was but turned the horses to the east. After a while, they saw the dome, but as they grew nearer, the horses came to a halt and refused to go any further. Gerald and Richard dismounted but found they could not get beyond an invisible barrier.
“Would you believe it,” Richard said. “He’s determined to isolate Michael.”
They turned the horses and headed North, their shadows growing longer as the sun moved across the sky. The landscape changed to steep crags and pinnacles and soon they came to a deserted town nestling at the foot of the limestone gorge. A number of goats were perched on the rocks high up, watching them.
“How can there be goats here?” Gerald said. “The only animals are the ones that came out of the vault.”
“We lost a lot of animals after the storm – they escaped and we never saw them again. Maybe they made their way over here, although it’s a long way to come.”
They dismounted and led the horses through the steep path through the gorge, dotted with pink flowers with ragged petals. “These only grow in one place,” Richard said. “At least, they did in my time.”
“Where was that?”
“Cheddar Gorge.”
Gerald had visited the caves as a child and could still remember the magnificent sight of stalagmites and stalactites reflected in a deep underground lake. The place had been heaving with visitors back then, the main street full of shops selling everything from Cheddar cheese and sheepskins to toys and sweets. “You could be right,” he said.
“It also tells me the plants haven’t sorted out the seasons yet. This flowers in summer, not late autumn.”
Christine and Emma followed the river for several miles to the North. At the place where it began to widen out, they stopped and let the horses drink. “I think I can hear something, a distant rumble,” Christine said, cupping her hand to her ear.
“It sounds like a waterfall,” Emma said. “I think we might have found it.”
When the horses had drunk their fill, they set off in the direction of the noise, riding through a wood of young trees, brambles catching in the horse’s coats. Smooth white field mushrooms grew among the leaf litter, along with Winter Chanterelle, easily identified by its long, spindly legs.
“It’s good to see everything growing,” Christine said, picking a few succulent purple blackberries that hung heavy from the branches as she rode past.
They rode on, following the sound of the waterfall until, without warning, the horses pricked up their ears and came to a sudden stop. Emma could see nothing and gave her horse a kick, but Christine was an experienced rider and knew that horses are never wrong.
“Turn the horse back,” she said, but before they had gathered in the slack reins, figures streamed out of the trees and surrounded them, grabbing at the harness. They struggled to turn the horses, as they danced sideways and backwards, trying to avoid the blows from knives and cudgels. One man came in close and stabbed at a flank with a knife. Emma’s horse reared.
“Tighten your reins,” Christine called urgently. Emma fought to control the horse as it
danced on its back legs, but she had only recently learnt to ride and could not stay on. She fell and landed awkwardly on the ground. Several hands took hold of the reins and stopped the horse from bolting.
Christine had managed to get her horse away. The men rushed to Emma’s animal, stabbing it in the chest and legs with their knives, bringing it down. It lay on the ground while the men continued hacking into it, carving large pieces of meat and stuffing the bleeding flesh into their mouths. The horse screamed, a high pitched ear-splitting shriek before letting out a deep, desperate groan. Horrified, Emma got out of the crush and ran to Christine who pulled her up onto the back of her mount. They rode away urgently, crashing through the undergrowth, branches tearing at their clothes and thorns digging into their hands and faces. She slowed only when they saw the town ahead. The horses were foaming at the mouth and the reins were slippery with their sweat.
Soon the whole town was buzzing with the news of the assault on the horse and the women’s escape from the bandits.
A meeting was called. People huddled together in the community hall with neighbours they had argued with only yesterday, forgetting about their petty squabbles, sticking together in their fight against the much bigger enemy ‘out there’. They even put to one side their desire for the possessions that were rumoured to lay in the nearby disused food factory, afraid the punishment for their greed was to be murdered in their beds.
The hall was packed. Some people talked loudly while others stared wildly round the room or waved their hands about. Richard called for silence and the meeting began. Emma and Christine described what had happened to them in trembling voices, keeping to themselves the part where the horse was eaten alive. When they had finished, pandemonium broke out.
“We need to kill them before they kill us,” someone shouted and the room erupted. “We need guns!” someone cried.
Bernard knew his chance had come. He was superior to these Primitives in every way and soon, they would recognise him as their leader. He stood on a chair in a commanding posture, straight-backed, confident. “These people are starving,” he said. “It is better that we give them food.”
Some of the crowd looked sheepish, ashamed of their call to violence, but others went on shouting.
“We should not go armed,” Bernard went on said, trying to make himself heard above the noise. “It will inflame the situation, put us in more danger.”
The discussion rose and fell and finally it was agreed that a group, led by Bernard, who knew the area well, would search the woods for the survivors, taking grain and vegetables with them. It was also agreed that Pete should strengthen the barns which held the food stocks, in case they ransacked the place, and that someone should guard the place twenty-four hours a day.
Bernard persuaded them to go unarmed. “They wanted food, they won’t attack us,” he said, “and if we’re armed, it will just send them into hiding – or worse.”
Pete went off to the barns to see how he could make them secure.
Bernard led the vigilantes past the area where mushrooms and blackberries grew and on to the place where Emma and Christine had been attacked, shivering at the sight of the ground scattered with the horse’s bones and the blood on the ground. They crept forward, peering into the wood, searching for figures in the trees. From nowhere, they suddenly appeared, fifty men, coming at them.
Some of the group ran but others stayed, believing that the men would take the food and leave them alone. It was a miscalculation that lost them their lives. While some of the gang dragged the sacks of food to safety, others captured the unarmed Primitives and dragged them away.
The survivors made their way back to the town, blaming themselves for those they had lost. Back at the town, a group armed themselves with sticks and set off, determined to find and kill the marauders.
Gerald and Richard went to check that Pete was all right but he was not in the barn. They searched the undergrowth surrounding the building and discovered him on the ground, barely conscious and covered with bruises.
“They attacked me then made off with the food.”
They helped him back to the dome and he slept for the rest of the day and night. It was not until the following morning that he was able to tell the story of how two men had approaching the barn looking exhausted, bent over with tiredness.
Pete had stopped hammering and asked if they needed help. The men had sprung up to their full height, pulled large clubs from behind their backs and attacked. Pete had gone down straight away and the two men filled their sacks with food.
The people wanted guns for protection and went to the warehouse to look for them. When they could find no way in, some grew angry. Others grew more fearful.
Gerald knew it was up to him to lead the people, as he always had done. This was his destiny, the reason he had been brought out of the vault, the reason he was saved when everyone but he and Emma were killed in the riot. He had carried out his mission well from the very start, negotiating the difficult relationship with Hagan, managing Michael and now he must navigate his way through this latest difficult.
Telling only Emma where he was going, he took the one remaining horse and rode back to the cottages to talk to Hagan, praying that he did not meet the bandits on the way.
***
Wendy felt cold, a coldness that began with her bone marrow, and extended out to her fingers. The coldness pressed down on her, as if great blocks of ice covered her body. She tried to lift her arm, but the muscles would not work. A small bright light on the far wall seeped across the darkness, revealing a blurred huddle floating above her, body curved as if in defence, a grown-up foetus curled in its mother’s womb. A warm mist descended from the ceiling, unwrapping her coldness as it swirled around her arms, her breasts, her legs, before curling downwards to embrace the floor.
She felt herself falling slowly, eyes shut, head buzzing. Unable to see, unable to move, it stirred a memory. A stroke! She’d had a stroke. Now she understood. She was in hospital. Perhaps they had found a cure …. But who was that odd man at the end of the bed and what was he doing?
***
Hagan left Wendy and made his way to the dome. Gerald was coming. He went and stood outside the powerful barrier he had created that even Baestel could not penetrate. Soon, one of them would be dead.
“We need protection,” Gerald said.
Hagan cared nothing about the Primitives’ problems. Soon they would all be dead anyway, but he was alarmed to hear about “the man who looked like you.” Baestel was living in the town. He must be removed as quickly as possible.
“You will have no more problems,” he said. “Go back and do not come here again.”
“You’re sure – I can tell the people they’re safe? I’m not sure they will believe me.”
“There will be no further trouble.”
Gerald rode back slowly, wondering what he was going to tell the people. Hagan had not said enough to keep their fear at bay.
It looked as if most of the people had gathered outside the dome. Across the bleak landscape came a loud cheer as he approached. In front of the dome was what looked like a large bundle of clothes, but when he got nearer, he could make out individual bodies. It was the band of marauders.
Pete stepped forward and held the horse while Gerald dismounted. “There’s no mark on them, but they’re dead all right,” he said.
“Hagan told me it would be all right. He’s acted quickly. Three cheers for Hagan!”
Baestel was angry. He had had the idea to go out and kill the enemy. It would make him a leader among these fools, but Hagan had got there first. By the time Baestel arrived, everyone was dead. He knew Hagan was trying to kill him, but Baestel was too strong.
Gerald was a hero, and was voted in to be the Town Leader. He distributed possessions from the warehouse, ensuring everyone had the same. For months, everything went smoothly. Babies were born, a teacher was found for Aurora, the garden flourished and the machines looked after the farm, providin
g food for everyone. There seemed no reason why things should not go on like this for ever.
Richard found a new partner, Lucy, and June went to live with Donald, a chemist. Together they ran the pharmacy, mainly supplying painkillers for women during labour. There had been nineteen births since Gerald had arrived at the town, and there were another fifty women in various stages of pregnancy.
The town flourished. Lucy commandeered one of the houses for a library, organising all the books into sections. With no radio or television, reading was a popular pastime. The town band could be heard rehearsing once a week and they gave concerts from time to time. Some of the musicians played for weekly dance classes.
There were snooker and darts in the community room and a workshop for juggling and stonemasonry. Pete now had two apprentices to help him and they were kept busy making spinning wheels and rocking horses as well as mending fences.
The nights were drawing in. On the day they nominated as Christmas Day, the townspeople exchanged home-made gifts with their friends and neighbours and the town band held a carol concert in the community hall in the afternoon. There was no reason to believe anything would change.
28
Barry, a milkman in his previous life, had been put in charge of milk distribution. The milk was left outside the dome by the milking machines each day. He would load it into the wooden cart built by Pete and take it to various points around the town.
One day, he reported to the town council that the usual supply of milk had been reduced. That morning, there had been half the usual numbers of containers outside the dome.
The next day, Gerald and Richard went out early, and watched the cows being milked. Usually just one container went off to Hagan but today, more than half was sent off in the direction of Hagan’s home.
“Why would they need so much milk all of a sudden?” Gerald asked.
“Let’s follow them and see where they go,” Richard said.
Baestel had been biding his moment. He had become a model citizen – at least on the outside. People trusted him, even though he didn’t look like them. When he heard that the milk supply was being diverted, he thought he knew why. After all, he and Hagan were as one body, split in two. It was time to claim his rightful position as leader, the one Hagan had taken away from him. He followed the two Primitives. It was time for the showdown.