Three Bullets

by Melvin Burgess

  ‘Hello, Jenny,’ he said. ‘Who’s this you’ve brought home?’

  ‘I found them hiding.’

  ‘Whereabouts, love?’

  ‘In the hedge. Plotting something, Norm.’

  ‘What are they plotting?’

  ‘You tell me,’ she said. The gun was shaking in her hand like it had the palsy. ‘You tell me. They haven’t said yet.’

  She was twitching away like a box of itching powder. I couldn’t take my eyes off that gun. If she pulled the trigger, if she started twitching just a little bit more, she’d blow all three of us to bits at that range. We stood there, holding our breaths, trying to look like good little non-terrorists. But it’s very hard to look good when you think someone’s on the very edge of shooting you.

  ‘Look at the baby,’ she said. ‘They’re not his mum, either of them. Where’d they get that baby from?’

  ‘He’s my brother,’ I said.

  ‘Wrong colour,’ she said, almost before I finished.

  Jesus. ‘He might be the wrong colour, but he’s still my brother,’ I told her. ‘Mixed race. See?’

  ‘And mine,’ said Maude, which was completely unnecessary. As if the murderous old dear wasn’t confused enough.

  The man stood up away from the Aga and very slowly walked towards her.

  ‘Well, we can find out now,’ he said. He stepped towards her and held out a hand. ‘You can give me the gun now, Jenny. I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘I found ’em hiding.’

  ‘You did. But let me deal with it now. OK, Jen? Give me the gun, please,’ he said, and he held out his hand carefully.

  You could see her eyes going like marbles in her head, from us to him, from him to us, not able to decide what to do.

  ‘They were plotting something.’

  ‘I’ll find out. Now then, Jenny – give me the gun, will you? The hens need doing,’ he added.

  She quivered, shook, clutched the gun till her knuckles went white. I was certain she was going to finish us off. But...

  ‘Take it quick, then,’ she said. ‘In case they charge us.’

  ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘On the count of three... one... two... three, now.’

  She shoved the gun at him, he took it and kept it pointing at us, but gently-like, at his waist. And there was no quivering. Me and Maude almost fell to our knees with relief, I can tell you. That woman was so scared, she could have done anything.

  ‘They need feeding by the looks of ’em,’ said the woman. ‘ ’Specially the baby.’ Then she turned and practically ran out of the door, slamming it behind her with the most almighty bang like a shotgun going off, which made us all jump about ten metres high. I tell you, I thought the gun had gone off for a moment there. We heard her running across the yard and... and then... peace.

  ‘Ah, Jenny, love. Sorry about that,’ said the old man. ‘She’s not so much herself. Our son joined the Blood’s Army, you know. And she thinks...’ he shrugged. ‘She thinks we’re targets.’

  ‘We’re just passing through,’ said Maude.

  ‘Get you to the table and sit down. Leave your bags there,’ he said. I hesitated a bit – well, you know what was in my bag – but the old guy didn’t look so dangerous, so I did as he asked, sat at the table, hands on top of it. He walked back to the Aga, and leaned the gun against the wall.

  ‘We’ve got nothing against the Bloods,’ lied Maude.

  He turned to look at us. ‘My Jenny’s a very pious woman, and it broke her heart when Larry went to join up. But I don’t blame you for thinking we’re Bloods. Everyone else does, even our neighbours who we’ve known for years. Now then.’ He nodded. ‘I were just getting some breakfast. Maybe you’d be wanting some.’

  Then Rowan burst into tears. ‘Don’ wanna shot,’ he howled. And everything went back to normal.

  The old man, Norm, set about making eggs and bacon – eggs and bacon! Imagine eggs and bacon! I don’t suppose you can, not like those eggs and bacon anyway, when you hadn’t eaten anything but grass for days and hadn’t had eggs and bacon for ages anyway. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. And toast and marmalade and stuff. It was like there was no war. And in fact, there hadn’t been in that part of the country, it had just been flying about overhead. It was on its way, though. It was right on their doorstep, in fact. Even while we ate, we could hear the warplanes above.

  The old man leaned against the cooker, watching us eat with his gun at his feet – he didn’t trust us completely, but then who can you trust these days? Didn’t have any himself, so he wasn’t ‘just getting’ breakfast like he said, he cooked it just for us. He kept apologising about his wife.

  ‘She was never very strong with her nerves,’ he said. ‘And what’s happening now – well.’ He shook his head. ‘What Larry did, didn’t help.’

  He never did tell us what Larry did, except he’d joined the Bloods – the Army, as some people still called it, although it didn’t have much to do with the old British Army any more. Maybe he’d been killed, maybe he’d just become a monster, who knows. Enough to break his mother’s heart, and his father’s as well, I think.

  He was a really kind, nice old man. There was an awkward moment when Maude asked if he had any diarrhoea medicine for Rowan. He looked at us with his watery blue eyes. ‘Might be some Colostomel up in the bathroom,’ he said, obviously not sure how to get it down to us. In the end he let Maude go up.

  ‘Please don’t try anything silly,’ he said. ‘I’ve been nice to you, haven’t I?’

  ‘I swear it,’ said Maude. ‘You’ve been really kind, we really appreciate it.’ She went up and came down a moment later with the medicine and things were positively relaxed after that.

  Well, he fed us up, gave Rowan some meds and that’s not all he did. He found an old plastic bottle and filled it with milk, gave us a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread and some bags of dried fruit. He was such a kind old man, he really was, because he didn’t have to do any of that. He told us which footpaths to use to get us on our way, gave us a couple of good thick blankets as well and some plastic sheeting to get under if it rained. He wouldn’t let us have a shower, that was the only thing, which was a pity because we all stank like pigs.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’d like to. But I have to think of my wife. You saw how upset she was with strangers here.’

  He did give me some hot water for a shave, though, which was a huge relief. I badly needed some identity right then. And he lent me some disposable razors. Life always feels better when you have your face sprouts under control.

  Then he led us out into the yard to show us on our way. The wife, the one who caught us, was there, pushing a stiff brush up and down by one of the sheds on the other side of the yard. I saw her glance quickly at us from under her fringe and then get back to it, her back to us, sweeping away, like we didn’t exist.

  ‘I’m just seeing ’em off, Jenny,’ called the old man. ‘Turns out it’s all right after all.’

  She turned to look at us and you could see her whole face was wet with tears. It was surreal, the whole thing – like some movie. Half cosy farmhouse and half rural noir, if you know what I mean.

  ‘Goodbye, Jenny. I’m sorry everything is in such a mess. I’m sorry we’ve all come to this, I really am,’ I called. We were about to go, we were actually turning round to go when she put the broom carefully up against the wall and came over to us, wiping her eyes and her nose on her sleeve. Rowan immediately hid behind my legs. First thing you learn, isn’t it? When to be scared.

  She came right up to us and stood there, scowling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m... I expect Norm told you.’

  ‘It’s OK. It’s the war, isn’t it?’ said Maude.

  The woman nodded. Then she said, ‘The baby.’

  ‘Rowan,’ I said. I stroked his head. He peered out from behind my legs at her.

  ‘You shouldn’t be taking him cross country with
all this going on,’ she said. ‘It’s too dangerous. Leave him here, let us look after him. I promise.’

  It went tense – like, really tense in a moment.

  ‘We can feed him,’ she said. ‘We have food. It’s nice... growing up on a farm.’ She nodded around her – the big house, the barns, the chickens, the cows. Yeah. I expect it is nice growing up on a farm. Better than anything we could—

  ‘Better than anything you can give him,’ she said.

  ‘Our mum’d never forgive us,’ said Maude. ‘So we can’t.’

  ‘You might never get there. Nor might he,’ she said.

  ‘Jenny...’ said Norm gently.

  ‘You can come back and get him when all this is over.’

  I looked at Maude. She had that face on she gets when there’s nothing on earth will make her change her mind.

  ‘He has a mother,’ she said. ‘She’d never forgive us. It’s not up to us.’

  The woman stood there a moment longer, then without a word she turned around and marched off. Then we walked away, and I never saw either of them again. I wonder what happened to them and their son, and if they’re still alive today. It’s a thing, isn’t it, when the world you’re living in gets so, that even complete sweethearts are prepared to kill you. We were one twitch of her finger away that day, and we’d have been dog meat.

  That was a good day, I guess, apart from almost getting murdered. We spent the night in a rundown old barn belonging to a neighbour of the old man, who he said had bailed out and left, ‘What with the troubles and all.’ The farmhouse was nearby, standing empty, and we could have got into that, but it was the sort of place anyone would want – the Bloods or the WBA, for instance, so we didn’t fancy it. But the barn was fine – under cover, hay to lie on, with the blankets the farmer gave us. It was cosy. We had food to eat. Full tummies. What more could you ask?

  We always slept with me on one side, Maude on the other, and Rowan snuggled up in between, but it was a warm night for May and in the barn he got too hot and went to flop a little away from us, so it was just me and Maude. I snuggled up. Even though it was warm, I snuggled up to her. I was feeling lonesome, I suppose she was too. I had her bum up against me and one hand tucked away on the top of one of her big blowsy bosoms and I thought... Well, I didn’t think, actually. I just...

  I’m not a lesbian. But I was lonesome, and I was eighteen years old and I was still a virgin, and I stood a pretty good chance of getting killed over the next few days. And, OK – I got wood. You know. So I thought... weeeellll... and I gave her a little nudge with it. And then another...

  She didn’t move and I thought she was asleep, but suddenly she leaned up on her elbow and said, ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  I said, ‘No,’ at once without thinking. Then I said, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I thought you were into boys.’

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘But you know me – any port in a storm.’

  She lay there a bit, propped up on her elbow, looking away from me, having a think about it.

  ‘That’s not the best chat-up line I’ve ever heard,’ she said.

  ‘I know, I know!’ I said. I was so embarrassed! So, so embarrassed.

  Maude sighed. ‘Anyway, sorry, Marti. I’m into boys, too.’

  ‘We could pretend,’ I said, and we both laughed.

  ‘I can’t think of you like that,’ she said. ‘I love you, Marti. But you’re, like, my sister.’

  I said OK. She leaned back down. I felt awful! I didn’t know what was worse, the embarrassment, the rejection, whatever. She turned to face me a moment later and kissed me on the cheek. ‘I wish I could, but it’d be wrong. And I think your first time should be right.’

  I almost said (but didn’t), ‘If I get a bloody first time.’

  That was a hook I did just then. You see? Is Marti going to get a shag or not? Read on and see.

  21

  We walked all the next day, and the next. And the next. And the next. And the next. Amsterdam never seemed so far away. At least we were all going together, but it was so slow! Carrying Rowan half the time, avoiding villages and main roads, cutting through the fields. That food the farmer gave us soon ran out. We begged in one village, stole from the next. Braved it out and bought ourselves some new phones in one place, so I could download my tunes and my numbers and stuff. The warplanes and drones were always overhead but none of them bothered us. We got used to them, like we’d got used to snipers in Manchester.

  It was plod, plod, plod. We’d found out roughly where we were more or less – on little roads somewhere between Leicester and Nottingham. From what we could gather from people we met on the road, Nottingham was still under attack and there was a lot of fighting going on in the towns and cities along the way. Best thing for us to do was to stick to the little roads, out of the way of trouble – and head north as fast as our little leggies could carry us.

  So, that was us, north, north, north, until one day, we were walking along this little country road that seemed to be going up and up and up for ever. Maude was ahead, I was behind carrying Rowan, who was being really whiny that day. He had the exploding bottom again and I was dreading that he was going to fall asleep and poo all over me – he’d done that before. He was getting weak and pale and worst of all, not holding down any water. It just went straight through him.

  He needed antibiotics. We were thinking we might have to risk going into a town and find someone who could treat him properly. Then Maude, who’d got ahead by quite a way, called out, ‘Hey – take a look at this.’

  I trudged up the hill towards her. Up there on the crest of the hill, there was a view over the land below. There was a big road, the M1 motorway. Great, long straight thing, cutting across the fields like it had been drawn with a ruler, which maybe it had in a way. We’d seen it before once or twice on the way, but avoided it so far. It had been bombed and strafed and wasn’t in such good condition any more so there were never all that many vehicles on it, but this time it was different. This time it was full of people, a great river of them – refugees, like us.

  ‘Fancy joining a convoy?’ said Maude.

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Too many people and not enough food,’ I said.

  ‘I think they’ve got charities down there. And meds.’

  She was right. Alongside the road, you could see them. A Red Cross tent. Save the Children. Various soup wagons and kitchens. People queuing.

  So we set off down the hill towards them.

  So many people! It was a city on the move, a city of refugees, all headed north. South Asians, South-East Asians. Black folk, queer folk. White folk, too. Anyone who wasn’t a Christian or who was even the wrong kind of Christian was there. The Bloods were ferocious against the kind of Christian sinner who disagreed with them. It was an insult to them, and what was an insult to them was an insult to the Lord.

  And women – a lot of women. Funny thing about women, we’re the only group I know who are minority when we’re not a minority.

  The refugees were in all sorts of a state. Some of them had been on the march for weeks. There were sick people, old people, babies, toddlers, middle-aged men, poor old biddies pushing all their possessions along in a pram or a pushchair or a supermarket trolley. One woman, not so young herself, was pushing her ancient father along, his skinny old legs dangling over the sides, draped in a sheet of plastic with only his head poking through. Shitty babies, dirty people. They slept by the roadside wrapped in anoraks and bin bags and plastic sheeting and tarps, all looking out for where their next meal was coming from.

  It took us two hours to get to them, but even before we were halfway there, we could smell it: unwashed people and food. Charities, see? Save the Children was there, Médecins Sans Frontières was there. The UN was there, all sorts of people were there, doing their bit of good. There were lorries turning up doling out sacks of rice, loaves of bread, tins
of beans etc. Soup kitchens, doling out soup and stew and porridge and other slop. It wasn’t exactly the land of plenty cos you had to queue for hours to get anything and there wasn’t a lot of it when you got it. But it was food and it was there.

  Of course the Bloods knew all about that column of walkers – and they were letting us know about it. Warplanes and helicopters shooting past. The sound of high-flying drones buzzing about in the clouds, twenty-four-seven. Every now and then, one of the planes decided to have fun and came down low as if they were going to attack, just to see everyone scatter – not that there was anywhere to hide. They didn’t open fire – not yet. Perhaps because there were so many eyes around the column of marchers – NGOs, witnesses for Amnesty, journalists from all over the world, all there, all watching. A few times they dropped leaflets. Everyone rushed about like chickens shouting, ‘Gas! Gas!’ Or whatever they thought it was. But it was just paper, floating down from the sky, and no one was harmed, unless they got trampled in the stampede.

  The leaflets themselves were terrifying enough. Stuff like:

  JUDGMENT DAY!

  THE HORSEMEN ARE COMING!

  APOCALYPSE NOW! REPENT LEST YE BE JUDGED!

  PRAISE BE TO THE BLESSED MARA.

  Mara was the poor cow Tariq had been on about, the one the Bloods kidnapped because they thought she was going to be the new Mother Mary. Yep, Jesus was coming back. I almost wished it was true.

  We started freeloading as soon as we got there: curry from some Sikh guys who’d come down from Leicester to help; Médecins Sans Frontières gave us some antibios for Rowan. We stayed there, close to the medics, in case Rowan needed help.

  Amsterdam, Amsterdam, where art thou? All I knew was, it was soooo nice not to be walking. We were both exhausted, Rowan was sick. We were stuck in the middle of the longest, smelliest queue on the planet. It was our best hope yet.

  We spent a couple of days sitting around the medic place. We got coverage, so I tried to ring my dad and my brothers. No luck with any of them. Called some mates. Apparently the dairy products in Ireland were still first class, but despite my change of heart, I still wasn’t enthused for cheese. Had a few other chats. I was happy enough, but Maude was too restless to stay still and she kept going off on her own – going one way then the other, looking for... whatever, I suppose. Some kind of an idea of what to do next.