The time had come, General MacAllister decided, to start looking outward. There was enough grass on the river fields to support a sizeable flock of sheep and a small herd of cattle had been spotted in the hills of West Gloucestershire beyond the river Severn.
‘Bring them in,’ MacAllister ordered Colonel Allison. ‘I want those cattle here under government protection.’
That same evening Dwight re-entered Ophelia’s life. Just after they had returned from dinner in the dining hall he came bursting into their apartment. He was taller than she remembered, leaner and stronger, with raw blisters on the palms of his hands. He was obviously angry about something and did not speak to her or Erica.
‘Have you heard the latest?’ he asked Bill.
‘What in particular, Dwight?’
‘MacAllister’s requisitioning the outsiders’ cattle. Every last one of them, Wayne said. Pop received orders this afternoon. They’re loading them into the army trucks and transporting them back here.’
Erica slipped on her white laboratory overall.
Her eyes glittered behind her spectacles.
‘With fresh supplies of animal protein we can guarantee our survival,’ she said. ‘We’ll be able to increase the population of the bunker.’
‘What about the survival needs of the outsiders?’ Dwight asked angrily. ‘To hell with them, I suppose?’
‘They’re in our administrative district,’ Erica explained. ‘It’s no different from people paying taxes before the war, or tithes to the church. They may not like it but that’s how the system works.’
‘Then the system is immoral!’ Dwight said furiously. ‘It’s blasted serfdom! Class division! History repeating itself! What gives us the right to set ourselves up over them? Let them do all the donkey work and take what we want? Even Pop says it stinks!’
Erica tried to tell him. What belonged to the government belonged to all people. That way resources would be shared equally and not be enjoyed by just a few. That was not how it had been before the holocaust, Dwight argued. Equal sharing had never been a quality displayed by Western Civilization. Their whole society had revolved around personal greed, the amassing of goods and money by individuals and nations. Even within the rich industrial countries the poor, and the sick, and the unemployed had not gotten much of a share. And in the rest of the world millions were left to starve!
Erica shrugged. The requisitioning of supplies by the government was common practice during a national crisis, she said. For the sake of the nation individuals were expected to make personal sacrifices. And it was a fact of life, even among animal communities, that some were born to lead and others to follow. Dwight should be thankful he had been born to a privileged position inside the bunker, she said.
‘That’s crap!’ said Dwight. ‘The biggest load of autocratic hogwash I’ve ever heard! It’s just a bloody excuse! The concept of social superiority among people is a corruption of animal practices! And I’m not a baboon, even if you are!’
‘Cool it,’ said Bill. ‘That was uncalled for.’
Dwight rounded on him.
‘You were the one who taught me to think before I swallowed bullshit! And if that’s not bullshit I don’t know what is! You heard what she said! Tell her, for Christ’s sake! We can’t let MacAllister get away with this act of banditry!’
‘Just cool it,’ Bill repeated.
‘We’ve got to do something!’ Dwight said.
Bill held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
‘All right, I agree with you. Let’s concentrate on that, shall we? Let’s talk about what we can do, calmly and constructively. Firstly we need a general consensus of opinion on the issue. Then we need a joint decision on what action we are prepared to take . . . a withdrawal of labour maybe.’
‘I’m not listening to this!’ Erica snapped.
‘We need to discuss it,’ said Bill.
‘I want no part in it!’ Erica shouted. ‘You go ahead and discuss it, if that’s what you want, but leave me out of it! I’m going to the laboratory. I’ve been insulted enough for one evening!’
She stormed out and slammed the door.
In the room there was silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dwight. ‘I shouldn’t have called her a baboon.’
‘Take a seat,’ Bill said wearily.
Dwight flumped down on the vacant chair. Foam rubber stuffing oozed from a split in the red plastic covering and the air conditioning softly hummed. White words glowed on the small computer screen before Bill reached over and turned it off. Ophelia bit her finger nails and waited. She did not know whose side she was on, or if she agreed with Erica or Dwight.
‘Pop’s leaving at first light,’ said Dwight.
‘Which doesn’t give us much time,’ said Bill.
‘Suppose we warned them?’
‘MacAllister and his cronies are hardly likely to listen.’
‘No,’ said Dwight. ‘Suppose we warn the outsiders.’
‘That would mean stealing an army truck,’ said Bill.
‘And I can’t drive,’ said Dwight.
‘But I can!’ said Bill.
‘Are you with me?’
‘Do you know where these cattle are?’
‘Bernard Sowerby can photocopy a map. I think it’s a place called Dean, in West Gloucestershire.’
‘I know it,’ said Bill.
‘Daddy used to live there,’ said Ophelia.
For the first time since he had entered the room Dwight actually looked at her, noticed she was there.
‘We’re going to have to leave before morning,’ he said. ‘Can you nick us some travel rations from the canteen kitchen?’
Ophelia made up her mind.
If Dwight and her father were leaving then so was she, and it had nothing to do with right or wrong, or who she believed. It was not a decision. It was instinct.
‘I’ll get the rations,’ Ophelia said. ‘And you can get the protective suits. Daddy’s size twenty, and I’m a size fourteen.’
‘You’re not coming!’ said Dwight.
‘You’re not leaving me here!’
‘This isn’t a blasted joy ride!’
‘I’m coming,’ Ophelia said stubbornly. ‘And you can’t stop me . . . unless you want me to go and tell General MacAllister what you’re about to do? I’m not staying here anyway, not without Daddy. Something might happen and nobody knows what outsiders are like. So I’m coming with you. Tell him, Daddy!’
‘I guess she’s coming with us, Dwight,’ said Bill.
*
Like many others, Colonel Allison believed that the leadership of every bunker should be democratically elected, that General MacAllister had hung on to his position for long enough. But unlike Dwight, he was no revolutionary. Orders were orders, he said, and if he did not carry them out then someone else would. Dwight and Bill must do what they thought to be right, and so must he.
‘You won’t report them, Jeff?’ Mrs Allison said anxiously.
‘The whole thing is distasteful enough without that,’ said Colonel Allison. ‘If those cattle are gone by the time I get there then I’m not answerable for it. Whatever you choose to do, Harnden, I know nothing about it.’
‘We need a truck,’ said Dwight.
‘The keys are in the ammunition room,’ said Colonel Allison. ‘And the trucks are all tanked up. Best take a rifle whilst you’re about it. Those wild dogs are not only savage, they’re rabid. The key to the ammunition room is in the top drawer of my desk. Think I’ll stroll on down to the recreation room for a game of pool.’
The door closed behind him.
And Dwight took the key.
‘I’ve got to do it, Mom,’ he said.
Mrs Allison smiled sadly.
Then looked at Ophelia and Bill.
‘What about Erica?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure I can tell her,’ said Bill.
‘If you do,’ said Dwight, ‘we’ll get no further than the main tunnel. She
wants those cattle brought here.’
Mrs Allison frowned.
‘You two can go,’ she said to Dwight and Ophelia. ‘I have a few things to say to Bill, in private.’
Dwight and Ophelia went to the armoury. They stole the ignition keys for the lead truck parked in the tunnel, plus a sub-machine gun and ammunition belt. They stole food and water bottles from the canteen and returned to wait in the apartment. They were already dressed in their white protective suits when Bill arrived. He too dressed in a white protective suit as Dwight shouldered the back pack, and Ophelia carried the gun. It was twenty to midnight by the apartment clock.
‘We should have a clear eight-hour start,’ said Dwight.
‘You go ahead,’ said Bill.
‘What do you mean?’ Ophelia asked in alarm.
‘I mean: wait for me in the truck. I’ll be along in a minute,’ said Bill.
‘What’s the hold-up?’ Dwight asked suspiciously.
Erica opened the door. She had returned early from the laboratory and Ophelia’s heart sank. They did not need to tell her their intention. It was obvious they were leaving, going outside. But Erica’s reaction was not what Ophelia expected, no scathing remarks, no blazing anger, no recriminations or blame, just a broken desperate glance at her only daughter before she crossed the room, rested her head on Bill’s shoulder and started to cry.
Dwight hustled Ophelia from the room.
‘That’s no place for us,’ he said.
‘But what’s the matter with her?’ Ophelia asked.
‘Use your imagination!’ Dwight said.
Chewing her lip Ophelia followed him along the corridor. The lighting was dimmed at night to conserve energy and there was no one about. Apartment doors were closed and most people slept. And it had never been necessary to guard the bunker at night because the outer doors could be opened only from the inside. Dwight entered the console room and pulled the release lever, then led Ophelia on past the dining hall and storage depot, along the pavement of the main tunnel until they reached the leading army truck. She watched him stow the gun and kit-bag in the back with two drums of petrol, then climbed into the cab and sat beside him to wait. It was eerie and quiet. Moonlight shone at the end of the tunnel and his fingers drummed restlessly on the steering wheel.
‘What’s taking Daddy so long?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes,’ said Dwight, ‘you’re so thick I can hardly believe it.’
‘If you’re so damned clever why don’t you tell me?’
‘What the hell do you think they’re doing?’ said Dwight. ‘How would you feel if the man you had lived with and loved for twenty years suddenly decided he was leaving? We won’t be coming back, you know.’
Ophelia looked at him in alarm.
‘What do you mean? Of course we’ll be coming back!’
Dwight switched on the ignition. His face showed green by the dashboard lights and it had never occurred to Ophelia that Erica might care, or that they might be leaving for ever. ‘What do you mean about not coming back?’ she repeated. And Dwight had to spell it out for her. He said they were burning their boats as far as General MacAllister was concerned, defecting to the other side, political traitors and enemies of the State. He said that unless MacAllister were ousted by liberal sympathizers they would have to seek political asylum among the outsiders. Traitors, said Dwight, were either imprisoned, executed, or excommunicated.
Ophelia had not thought of that. She had not thought of anything much. It was emotion that had driven her, a need to be with her father because he was the only person who had ever really loved her. Maybe she had wanted to be with Dwight, and that was emotional too. Doubts beseiged her. She did not really want to leave the bunker and she certainly did not want to spend the rest of her life among outsiders. Maybe she ought to stay with Erica? Maybe other things were more important than her need to be loved? Maybe it was not too late to change her mind? But her father climbed into the cab and the engine roared into life. Sick fear gripped her as the truck emerged into the vast abandoned darknesses of earth and sky, headed towards an unimaginable future below unknown stars.
‘Is Erica okay?’ Dwight asked.
‘She won’t tell, if that’s what you mean,’ said Bill.
‘No,’ said Dwight. ‘That’s not what I meant. I mean is she all right?’
Bill raised his voice above the roar of the engine.
‘The conflict between personal loyalty and public duty is something she’s never had to cope with before. I left her with your mother.’
‘Good old Mom,’ Dwight said bleakly. ‘She’ll stand by anyone, even me.’
‘We are doing the right thing,’ Bill assured him.
‘Are we?’ said Dwight. ‘Right for us and right for the outsiders, maybe. But not right by MacAllister according to Central Government policy.’
‘To thine own self be true,’ said Bill.
‘In spite of the majority?’
‘Once upon a time,’ said Bill, ‘the majority believed the world was flat. They crucified Christ and allowed the nuclear war to happen. Individuals give rise to new majorities, Dwight.’
Dwight laughed.
‘These last six months spent spreading shit I actually thought it was me who was crazy. I reckoned that if guys like MacAllister were sane then I had got to be mad. Nice to know I’m not the only nut-case, Bill.’
‘It seems there are three of us,’ Bill replied.
Am I? thought Ophelia.
And physically she was with them.
But in her mind she was totally alone.
It was five o’clock on a summer’s morning and they had been travelling all night, northward along the line of the motorway with endless detours around the rubble of its bridges. Bright stars had shone on an alien landscape where the wind whipped up clouds of dust, and the noise of the engine, the smell of petrol, and the shuddering vibrations of the truck, were making Ophelia feel sick. Now the low sun dazzled her eyes and she lowered the tinted visor of her helmet, and the road dissolved among the blackened vitrified remains of factories, and housing estates, and flattened miles of wreckage.
‘Gloucester,’ said her father.
Dwight studied the map.
‘We’ll have to go around it,’ he said.
‘Can’t we stop for a while?’ Ophelia begged.
‘We’ll stop when we reach the river,’ said Bill.
The truck drove on towards barren hills, lurched and jolted over tussocks of grass, fallen masonry, and crumbling concrete. Horizons swayed and tilted, and dust grimed the windscreen. They were searching for the tracks of the convoy trucks that had travelled this way to Milford Haven, but weeks of weather had erased all traces. Sunlight shimmered over the ruins of the city and over the black deserts surrounding it, and the sky was so blue it hurt to see. Time passed and heat built up inside the cab.
‘I’ve got to get out!’ Ophelia said desperately.
‘Not yet,’ said Dwight.
‘I’m going to be sick!’
He leaned across her and wound down the window.
‘Do it out there,’ he said.
Neither he nor her father seemed to care how sick she was, they only cared about reaching the outsiders before Colonel Allison. Ophelia heaved up bile along a stretch of moving asphalt. Dust blew in her eyes and the landscape turned watery, a black molten desert where fence posts trailing wire marked the boundaries of what had once been fields. A rusting yellow road sign, twisted and broken, said that the road they were on was the Golden Valley by-pass.
‘We’re too far north!’ shouted Dwight.
Bill reversed the truck in a scream of tyres on dust. In mid heave Ophelia fell backward and was sick on the floor of the cab. Dwight was furious. ‘I couldn’t help it!’ Ophelia wept. And still her father drove on, heading back towards Gloucester.
It seemed like hours before they reached the river. Noise in the silence screamed in Ophelia’s head. The stink stayed in her nostrils and her legs fel
t like jelly as Bill led her down the bank. Dwight was already filling a container with muddy water to clean out the cab, and if looks could have killed Ophelia would have been dead. But she was past caring. She lay among damp earth and rushes, stripped off her white protective suit. The arched shadows of Telford’s bridge kept off the blistering effects of the sun’s rays and the river swirled by her, leaving its traces on her ungloved hands.
She sluiced her face, sat with her head on her knees and waited. Long slow minutes trickled away but finally the echoes of the engine noise faded and other sounds took over. She could hear her father talking and Dwight pumping air into the front tyres, yet they were lost among the silences and the soft running music of the river. The queasy churning of her stomach was gone into the stillness where lace-winged flies danced among the sunlight and fish bubbles broke the surface. Brown water whirled and eddied with trails of green weed. A dragonfly flashed turquoise and insects sang, and a small flower crushed by her fingers gave off a sweet elusive scent. The flowers were everywhere under her, a spreading purple mat of sheer fragrance.
Ophelia gazed in a kind of wonderment. Sense impressions which she had never dreamed of, never imagined, stirred and awoke, and were overwhelmed. This was the world that had been destroyed, the world her father talked of . . . scents and sights, colours and sounds, the sweet fresh air and the green glory of grass. It was a little strip of paradise beside an English river where life was beginning again. A brown bird warbled on a branch of springing willow, and the dragonflies danced.
‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.’
Those were the words her father had taught her and she had never understood what they meant until now. Back at the bunker there was no beauty like this. Here there was a wallflower growing from the old stones of the bridge, living petals, yellow streaked with scarlet, and the flies above the water were like winged jewels. Ophelia wished she could stay there for ever, but the shadow of Dwight fell darkly on the grass beside her.
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