To See the Light Return

by Sophie Galleymore Bird

  Will leaped towards his friend to protect him. Fred grabbed a fistful of Will’s hair, and he pushed the older man away, crying out as a clump of hair tore from his scalp.

  Scrabbling backwards and grabbing Mal by the upper arms, Will dragged him away from the fight.

  Once both boys were safely out of Fred’s range, the Major decided it was time to stop going easy and unsheathed his knife, restored to him from the cache found on the boat in Dartmouth. He held it in front of him and crouched, looking for an opening. He still didn’t want to kill Fred, but if he really had to, he would.

  *

  Some time had passed, without further speeches, to allow the wonder of the electric lights to be absorbed and the shock to wear off. The generator that had powered the spotlight and PA had been turned off and its stink had dispersed. The more technically minded in the crowd had looked for other, hidden, generators. Not finding them, they had to concede that the power was coming from a source they couldn’t see, by means of a cable plugged in to a socket hidden in a recess under the Civic Hall. They had read of such things in old textbooks. The less technical were behaving as if the lights were magic, touching the streetlights and speakers with awed reverence.

  A few small fires had started, the result of aged wiring shorting out, and been put out before they could spread. Merryn had sent out crews armed with extinguishers to look for signs of others.

  It was time for Stage Three, Part Two. Merryn remounted the steps and took the mic from Flora. As he did so, a throng of rainbow-hued and hooded activists came out from the doors of the Civic Hall and lined up to array themselves on the steps above him. The crowd backed away nervously. Clearly, they thought this was when the insurrectionists showed their true colours. Flora hoped they were right.

  ‘We have another gift for you, and another lie to expose. All those people you thought you lost to border skirmishes, over the years we’ve been carrying out our work, all the people Spight told you had died at our hands? Well some of them are here. We took them, yes. We told them the truth, we gave them a choice, trained those who took it … and now they’ve come back so they can help you reclaim your home.’

  At this, Spight raised his head, looking worried for the first time.

  As one, the hoods came off. Revealed were young faces, grinning nervously as they faced out across the crowd. Among them were Tom, Dick and Harriet.

  A long silence, then names were being called out as parents recognised children long thought dead or lost. A woman approached the foot of the steps, hands held out beseechingly as she called to her daughter, Martha. Harriet ran down to throw herself into a hug. Within moments, the steps were thronged with families coming together after years apart.

  *

  Primrose observed everything from shadows cast by the pillars holding up the angular, brutalist building that was Longmarsh’s Civic Hall. Her throat was tight as she watched the reunions taking place on the steps and spilling out across the square.

  She felt very left out. She could see Alise, who was enjoying being the centre of attention as she told her own tale, but Alise had never been self-conscious about anything, including being fat. She was comfortable in her own skin in a way that Primrose envied.

  Mrs Prendaghast was making her way towards her, overlooked by those she passed by. Did any of them know what a heroine this woman was? Did it matter? Why did Primrose feel so flat?

  ‘Well done Primrose, that must have been hard. I’m proud of you.’

  The rush of gratitude she felt brought her almost to tears. ‘Thank you. They don’t seem to think so.’ She waved at the people standing around them.

  ‘Of course not, you made them feel bad! But they’ll forgive you.’ Was Mrs P laughing at her? Again, did it matter? Her old life was over, and if she wanted she could make a new one, but it would be harder if she clung on to old feelings. She had to be brave, fight her own, old, poisonous thoughts. Feeling stronger, she took a deep breath and her heart lightened. Mrs Prendaghast squeezed her arm.

  She couldn’t see the landing from where she was standing but she heard the man called Merryn resume speaking, and saw everyone turning back towards him, reunited families with arms slung around each other. She and Mrs P craned to see from where they stood at the back.

  ‘Spight sold you a lie. He told you that you, as a community, as individuals and families, are on your own, facing the realities and the changes we all have to make in order to live in a way that permits our descendants to do the same. But you’re not alone. Well, except in the metaphysical sense that we’re all locked inside our own consciousness.’ He waited a beat for a laugh that didn’t come. Undaunted, he continued, ‘But beyond that, there’s a whole world waiting to help. Some of us are a bit further down the road, but we all started from the same place. Where you are now.’

  *

  Fred was weaving where he stood. Blood was pooling on the floor from the hole in his foot, but he wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t give the Major – Paul, for fuck’s sake – the satisfaction. Nothing had gone to plan, but there was no way he was going to live in the ghastly sort of future that was being painted for him. If he couldn’t be top dog, he’d rather die. It was what he had given his life to: the hope that he could be king of the heap. So what if it was a heap of shit, he’d still be at the top of it.

  There were other wounds that were bleeding, where Paul had met his lunges with his blade, cowardly little shit. Streams were running down Fred’s forearms, joining the spreading stain at his feet. He was becoming light-headed. He knew he was nearly finished. He slumped.

  Paul approached him warily. When Fred did nothing, he came a little closer. Which was when Fred threw himself forward in one last attempt to grab the knife and turn it on his enemy. But he was too slow. Paul saw him coming and stepped back. Fred’s good leg gave way and he staggered sideways, through the open doorway that led from the kitchen to the rendering room below. His foot came down on something and slipped, and he felt his balance going. The steep staircase yawned behind him and he knew beyond doubt he was going to fall.

  As the shock of this flooded his consciousness, for a long moment that stretched time, he thought through the consequences of that fall, and the futility of what he had been trying to do struck him as hard as would that concrete floor, any moment now.

  He would take it all back if he could just regain his balance.

  Life was precious and his own rage had thrown it into jeopardy.

  His eyes met those of the boy with Paul, wide-eyed with horror as he, too, saw what was going to happen.

  Life was precious.

  Fred took that new knowledge with him as he fell.

  Stone steps met him and stars exploded in his head. Pain shot through his shoulder, and agony ripped through his wounded foot where it struck the wall. His momentum kept him moving downwards, and when he came to rest, it was because his head had struck the steel rim of the table to which he had tied the boy, such a short time ago. His undamaged leg had become entangled with strips of plastic from the makeshift curtain and was pulled straight.

  The table scraped across the cellar, colliding with the rendering vat where it lay in the middle of the floor with a dull clang.

  White light shot across his vision and he lost consciousness, descending swiftly into darkness.

  a light of understanding

  The Major’s heart sank as he climbed down the steep stone stairs, careful not to step on any of the glistening spots of fat that could send him flying. Fred lay crumpled at the bottom, his face turned towards the ceiling, his body twisted round to one side. He wasn’t moving, and his limbs were bent at unnatural angles. It looked as though, despite his best efforts, he had killed the man after all.

  Will had followed closely behind, after making sure Mal was lying as comfortably as possible on the kitchen floor, tea towels pillowed beneath his head.

  ‘Is he …?’ Will whispered.

  ‘Certainly looks that way,’ the Major responded with
a sigh.

  When they reached him the Major stepped over Fred’s body so he could crouch and feel for a pulse. It was there, faint and thready. Blood was flowing freely from a gash in Fred’s temple. The stench of rendered fat was making the Major feel ill. Fred had ripped through a fly-curtain made up of plastic strips and many of them lay over him, draped like seaweed after a high tide.

  The Major stood, groaning as he felt all the effects of the fight. ‘He’s still alive, just.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I’m not sure. We can’t move him.’ He took his phone out of his pocket. There was no signal, here underground. He handed it to Will. ‘Go up and call Merryn, see if he can get a medic team over from Cornwall. It’s going to take more than Flora’s first-aid kit, they’ll have to send a helicopter.’

  Perhaps it was the sound of his wife’s name, but Fred stirred. The Major crouched back down by his side as Will returned to the kitchen to find a signal.

  ‘Fred, don’t move or you could do yourself more damage. I’ll get you help.’

  Fred’s body shook. The Major thought he was in shock; it took him a moment to realise the other man was laughing.

  ‘There’s no help for me. It’s not so bad, I can’t feel a thing.’ One of his hands, fingers splayed across a cold stone step, twitched. Moved by an impulse, the Major placed his own hand over it. It was icy.

  ‘You’re a tough bastard Fred, it’s going to take more than a little tumble to take you out.’

  ‘How about a shot in the foot?’ His breath was thready and his voice weak.

  ‘Just a scratch. Will,’ he shouted, ‘bring him some water when you’re done.’

  ‘Trying to drown me now?’

  The Major squeezed the hand he was holding. There was no response.

  ‘I’m sorry Fred, I really didn’t mean it to come to this.’

  ‘Wuss.’ There was the Fred he knew, though it was said wryly and without rancour. Without its customary clutch of anger and disappointment, Fred’s face was almost peaceful.

  *

  Merryn’s voice was growing hoarse and he stopped for a gulp of water from his flask before continuing: ‘By far the biggest lie you’ve been told, is that the only way to keep yourselves safe is to be brutal, tough and selfish. That a harsh world demands harsh choices. But who does that really serve? You? Or Spight?’ He looked the people in the front rows directly in the eyes, and was encouraged that not every gaze slid away from his. There were some in the crowd who were nodding in agreement.

  ‘The only way we’re going to move out of the ecological crisis that still threatens to engulf us is by working together and trusting each other. But we can’t force it on you. We’re giving you a choice. We’re not going to make you do anything. If you want, we’ll back off over the borders and leave you alone, offering asylum to anyone who wants to leave. We won’t tolerate the sale of human beings, so any further export shipments will be boarded in international waters, and any unwilling guests given safe passage to other parts of the country. Or, you can lower your defences, withdraw the militia and be part of something bigger again. Either way, we’ll keep the power on.’

  *

  Fred hadn’t lied. He really couldn’t feel a thing. He knew that was bad, as things were measured in his old life, pre-stumble and fall. His present life would likely be very short, measured in minutes or hours rather than days, but he found he didn’t care. It was life, and he would live it as long as breath came into his body. So he practised that – breathing. If he did that, the fear that was nibbling at the edges of his mind, the fear that had driven and dictated to him for most of his life, was kept at bay.

  He knew Paul had taken hold of his hand. He didn’t even mind that. He really must be dying and Hell had frozen over.

  ‘Do you think I’ll go to Hell?’ he asked in a whisper. He had never been a religious man, but here, at the end of everything, the fear fought for a way in, telling him he would be punished for all the pain he had caused.

  ‘I think we make Hell right here,’ Paul replied.

  ‘Pussy,’ Fred whispered. Breathe.

  *

  Will brought a pitcher of water, a glass and a straw he had found, alongside the kind of sippy cups he remembered from childhood. They couldn’t move Fred to help him drink, and Will really didn’t want to drown him. But he didn’t think the man, even as things were, would appreciate a sippy cup. He placed the glass of water in the Major’s hand and watched as it was offered. Fred took a couple of sips from the straw but found it difficult to swallow. When it was offered again he closed his mouth tightly, refusing more.

  ‘It’s strange,’ Fred mumbled.

  ‘What is?’ The Major’s head was bent close to his old enemy’s, his posture protective, intimate. If he hadn’t been there, Will would never have known the two men had been fighting minutes before. His scalp, still throbbing from where the clump of his hair had been torn out, testified otherwise. He thought he should be angry with Fred, but just felt sad. What a waste, to have been so angry for so long.

  ‘I’m scared, but it’s OK. Dying, I mean. You spend your life avoiding it, and it ain’t so bad. Kind of quiet inside, mostly.’ Fred tried to cough but choked instead. A thin trickle of blood dribbled out of his mouth. ‘OK,’ he said a moment later when he could speak again, ‘that wasn’t so good.’

  Will waited for the Major to tell Fred he wasn’t dying, but he said nothing, just held the man’s hand.

  ‘I’m ready.’ Just before his neck relaxed and his eyes glazed, something lit him up from within, and Fred smiled as if he knew something beautiful. A moment later and he was gone.

  *

  Knots of people were clustered around the square talking, for the most part in low voices. In one or two groups the voices were louder, argumentative, as people disputed all they had been told, and in particular Merryn’s promise and offer. There were no signs of people leaving.

  Flora wandered among them, listening, keeping out of the pools of light where possible, but still people recognised and approached her, asking anxiously if they would be punished if they opened up the borders. And, more often, asking where her father was; they wanted to ask him what he and Fred and everyone had been doing, they wanted to visit their anger on him. They wanted her to believe they had known nothing, done nothing, that they were innocent.

  Spight had been taken back to the car and locked securely inside, for his own safety, while everyone’s attention was diverted by the family reunions. Flora told them they would have a chance to hear from him, but not today while emotions were running high.

  Eventually, exhausted, she went to find Merryn. He was sitting on the landing on the Hall steps, observing the people below. From here the buzz of conversation was muted by distance.

  ‘It’s a no brainer,’ she said as she sat beside him. ‘You know they don’t believe that we’ll keep the power on regardless, and they’ll vote accordingly. Is that democracy? Or bribery?’

  ‘We’re still in a climate crisis, Flora, even if things are starting to improve and level out. We can’t afford to have renegades pumping out methane and carbon as if there’s no tomorrow worth protecting.’

  ‘Just saying, Merryn.’

  ‘In the long run, even if they’re insincere in their choice, I believe we’ll win them around to our way of thinking. After all, we’ll be appealing to their finer natures, and I have to believe they will always win through given half a chance. Humans are cooperative animals. The Spights of this world can take advantage of that, corrupt the need to belong and make it inward-looking and tribal, but it’s a perversion of who we really are.’

  The last of his words were drowned out by a clatter of rotors overhead. A searchlight came stabbing down from the skies, sweeping the square with its harsh glare. People looked up and wailed with fright as the helicopter flew over them, heading west towards Bodingleigh, the whine of its electric motors deafeningly shrill.

  ‘Did you call them in?’ she s
houted over the noise as she watched it move away. The downdraft blew her hair around her face.

  ‘Yes. Will called. I’m sorry to have to tell you, Fred had an accident. Will wanted you to know Paul did everything in his power to bring about a different outcome. The medics were for him and the boy they went to save.’

  Below them, people were still staring after the helicopter. If they had needed further proof of the technological might of the world beyond their friable borders, they had it now. She wondered briefly if Merryn had orchestrated that display deliberately, telling the pilot to go out of his way to fly over the town, before turning to the matter of Fred and her disintegrated family.

  She felt sorrow for her husband, but it was dispassionate. For a time after their marriage she had almost thought it might work between them. He had loved her, as far as he could love anyone, but that had never been a great distance. There was a gaping void inside him that nothing could fill, and as her activities for the resistance took her away more often, and necessitated greater levels of secrecy for her own safety and that of other agents – she was under no illusions about what her father would do if he found out what she was up to – she had withdrawn from all of them. And now Hector Jr was missing. No one had seen him since he had run away from Paul at the dockside, and she had sent out word to all the activists she could reach, that they should keep an eye out. She wasn’t afraid for her son’s physical safety, but sure that he was confused and angry and hated her. What a mess. All around her there was hope for a new and more equitable world, a world she had striven for these last ten years, and her own was falling apart.