by David Moody
“They will. They know what they’re doing.”
“But they should have done it already. They’ve shot all the others—”
Jayce blasts the horn.
“Does it matter? Stay here any longer and it’ll be you who’s dead.”
Chris turns and runs to the van and Matt follows. Franklin’s not far behind.
They’re delayed a minute longer waiting for Priest and the dog. Franklin watches for them, impatiently tapping the barrel of his rifle against the part-open window. A few seconds later and the dog, then Priest, arrive. The van’s already moving before Priest’s fully inside. The toes of his boots scrape the tarmac as they race away.
Matt presses his face against the rear window as they drive past the end of the road where the military were left mopping up the last Haters. Was this even the right street? He’s not sure anymore, but this must be the right place because there are numerous blood-soaked Hater corpses littering the far end of the road.
But there’s no sign of the CDF fighters he just saw here.
There’s no sign of their vehicle other than tire marks on the tarmac.
There’s no sign of the three Haters they were beating. Their bodies have gone.
19
Matt races quickly through the crowds to get home, fearful that someone will see the food he has crammed into the rucksack he’s carrying. The crew made a frantic stop at another reasonably stocked supermarket on their way back into the camp. At this rate when everyone else has run out of food, Estelle Bisseker and her troops will still be feasting.
There’s a tangible change in atmosphere at the house. Jen looks worried. “Jason’s not back,” she says before he’s even unloaded his stash.
“Well, I don’t know where he is,” Matt replies without thinking.
“But you were together, weren’t you? You left here together this morning, anyway.”
“We got split up in the crowds,” he answers, backpedaling. “It happens. I’m sure he’s okay. He can look after himself.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“You’ve seen what it’s like out there,” Matt says. “Anything could have happened.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”
“He’ll be fine. He managed perfectly well before I came home, didn’t he.”
“You should have stuck together.”
“I work better on my own.”
“He’s always back by now. Will you go out and look for him?”
“It’ll be getting dark soon. I’ll never find him out there.”
“You never should have left him. Please go and look for him. Do it for me.”
Matt knows he has no choice. He also knows that anything could have happened to Jason in this increasingly crowded and dangerous cesspit of a camp.
“Okay, okay, I’ll go. Keep the door locked and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
* * *
As soon as he’s out on the streets again Matt realizes this could be more serious than he originally thought. The amount of air traffic this evening is a dead giveaway. The skies are teeming with movement, crisscrossing spotlights bearing down through the dusk gloom toward one part of town in particular. He knows straightaway where they’re focused. It’s the City Arena.
As usual, the streets are heavily congested around the approaches to the last remaining food distribution center. It’s hard to make out anything through the swarming crowds and he knows he’ll have little chance of spotting Jason at ground level. There’s a tall office block over to his left, but there’s a glut of people blocking the only visible entrance. Matt instead climbs a mountainous pile of waste which has accumulated against the side of the building like a filthy snowdrift. It’s semisolid on the surface, with buried wheelie bins and the skeletal frame of an old outdoor smoking shelter providing some much needed rigidity beneath the mire. He scrambles up until he’s as high as a broken first-floor window, then squeezes through the gap. The view’s not much better from here. Sure, he can see over the heads of the crowds filling the streets, but he knows it’s not good enough and he starts to climb.
He’s entered the building near the bottom of an enclosed stairwell—a fire escape, he thinks—and though the light is murky and dim, he’s aware of people all around. They protest as he clambers over them to get higher, but the same principle applies inside as out: keep moving and keep climbing and don’t let the shit you’re wading through drag you down.
He uses the handrail to pull himself upward, catching occasional clearly defined glimpses of the overcrowded world here inside the block when searchlights slink through the windows, slicing through the dark. On some levels there are lamps and lights and campfires which have been lit on landings. Campfires indoors! It wouldn’t take much for this whole damn building to go up like a torch. The human cost of such a disaster would be literally incalculable because he doesn’t believe anyone has any idea how many people are packed in here. This building is close to the main gates. It’s probably been filling up with arrivals since day one. It reinforces Matt’s belief that the chances of him finding Jason out here are minimal. He could be searching all night.
The muscles in his legs are starting to burn, but he keeps climbing until the staircase runs out. Fortunately many, many other refugees have made this journey before him and the maintenance door leading out onto the roof of the office block is propped open. He finds that the outside is as crowded as inside and he picks his way through a chaotic maze of improvised shelters to get closer to the edge.
The view from up here takes his breath away. It’s remarkable. Down at street level the camp is a brutal, hellish place to live, but from this height it has an unexpected beauty, almost serene. The ground-level chaos dissipates into a fuzzy haze and all Matt can see is an ocean of black punctuated by countless pinprick lights. Not as many as there used to be, granted, but there are enough bonfires, candles, gas lamps, battery-powered flashlights, and generator-powered floodlights down there to combine to make a difference. It’s a wholly different kind of illumination to the light pollution he remembers from streetlamps and houses: softer and more muted, somehow warmer yet unsettling and unfamiliar because the lights are no longer rigidly regimented by street-lines and other boundaries. Other than the arena, the only landmark of any note he can make out is the Royal Midlands Hospital. The massive building itself remains largely unlit, its distinctive outline appearing as a shadow against the darkening sky. It’s somewhat illuminated from below by a densely packed mass of individual lights. Matt imagines there are thousands of patients, medical staff, and others gathered there …
But it’s the contrast between the camp and the rest of the world which surprises him most. The perimeter of the camp is clearly defined from up here, because beyond its border there’s nothing but black. Endless. Smothering. All consuming. As his eyes become accustomed he’s able to pick out some signs of movement way beyond No Man’s Land, but it’s fleeting: the occasional flashes of distant battles and the dancing light traces of vehicles racing across the wilderness. There are Haters out there. Thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of them. He thinks all that separates us from them tonight is a fragile strip of black void.
High overhead, the dancing lights in the sky are as hypnotizing as what’s happening below. Searchlights and taillights crisscross as aircraft race across the black. A low-flying Chinook refocuses Matt as it passes overhead en route to the City Arena, so low he thinks he could reach up and touch its belly. He pushes through the packed crowds to follow its flight. The roof of the cavernous, amphitheater-like building is open, and the Chinook begins a rapid descent into its bowels. He’s never been a military buff, never had anything more than a passing interest in that sort of thing, but he wonders why a huge, heavy helicopter like the Chinook is being used here? Surely there are lighter, faster aircraft? It’s hard to make out exactly what’s going on and when a couple of onlookers shift to one side, Matt seizes the opportunity to squeeze through and ta
ke their place. He then worms his way farther forward still, slipping between and around people until he’s reached the front edge.
The first thing he notices is the space around the arena. The wide concourse which, until now, has always been packed with people standing in the endless food queues, is empty. Some distance from the entrance to the hangar-like building, barricades have been erected to keep the population at bay. There’s a heavy military presence patrolling the area. Machine gunners man lookout posts on the top of the arena walls.
The arena’s numerous outer doors are closed. No one’s going in, and no one’s getting out. This doesn’t make sense, because as long as he’s been back in the city, this place has always been the hub. Pretty much everything seems to emanate from here: the food, information … There’s an older guy standing next to him, watching intently. “What’s going on?” Matt asks.
“Where you been all afternoon?”
“Somewhere else. Why? What happened?”
“All dried-up, mate.”
“What is?”
“The food. They’ve stopped dishing it out. I mean, we all knew it was coming, but how did they think people were gonna react? If you ask me, they should have stopped more folks coming into the city and just looked after those of us who were already here, but they didn’t. Just kept letting them through the gate.”
“But if there’s no food, there’s no food. What else can they do?”
“I never said there was no food, I said they’ve stopped giving it out to the likes of you, me, and everyone else. Rumor is they’re keeping what’s left for themselves. Reckon that’s what the helicopter’s for, to get their people and their supplies out of here. They’ve been in and out since nightfall.”
* * *
It takes Matt twice as long to get back down. The crowds bubble with an improbable mix of nervous panic and lethargy—he’s convinced almost everyone knows that something’s imminent here, but most see no point trying to do anything about it. All he’s focused on now is getting home. Jason can look after himself.
Once he’s outside, he skirts around the edge of the vast crowd being held back from the City Arena. The masses seem infinitely more fractious, but are they genuinely riled, or is it just because he’s down at ground level with them again? Whatever the reason, being here makes him feel increasingly uneasy. He keeps his head down and tries not to make eye contact with anyone, but he looks up frequently to make sure he’s moving in the right direction. He halfheartedly looks for Jason, but it’s a pointless exercise. Too many people, too many faces.
The lookouts have gone.
He notices the soldiers who’d been watching the crowds have stood down. The fact there are no longer armed guards here makes him keener than ever to get away but it feels like he’s swimming against the tide.
The Chinook is still audible, its powerful engines and double-rotor-blade noise being amplified and distorted by the bowl-like shape of the arena behind him. Matt notices the sound begin to change and he risks looking back as the aircraft climbs quickly, then banks away and disappears into the night. It leaves behind it a dark and empty place, the few remaining arena lights having been extinguished.
The helicopter noise quickly dies away, leaving an uncomfortable numb silence in its place. The quiet seems to last for several minutes, but in reality it’s only seconds. Long enough for the crowds to realize that the City Arena has been evacuated.
The first screams and shouts and howls of protest, derision, and anger start to come from the abandoned masses nearest to the arena. Those individual voices soon combine and, before long, the evening air is alive with noise. Matt keeps walking, fighting the urge to look back again until it’s safe. The light’s almost gone, but he sees enough to know what’s happening. The riled crowds break through the barricades which have been holding them back, no longer fearing retaliation because they know the military guarding the place have fled. They grab the wire mesh and rock it backward and forward repeatedly until the whole thing comes down in a chain reaction—falling in both directions at once. Hundreds of people trample over the collapsed metal barrier, racing toward the deserted building. They pour in through its now unguarded doors, desperate for food that isn’t there.
* * *
Against the odds, Matt finds Jason on the way home. The other man looks visibly shaken and is walking along the middle of the crowded street, zombielike, detached from his surroundings.
Matt stops him. “Christ, Jason, I’ve been looking all over the place for you.”
Jason’s numb, slow to react. Matt’s directly in front of him now with his hands on his shoulders, preventing him from moving. Jason just stares at him.
“We need to get back to the house.”
“I thought I was gonna die,” Jason says, his mind still back at the arena. “We were queueing for hours, packed in tight, then they just shut the doors on us and forced us back … The crowd started to turn and I thought I was going to die…”
“Yeah, well you didn’t. Now pull yourself together and let’s get back home.”
Matt tries to speed him along but it’s like Jason’s feet have been nailed to the ground. “But you weren’t there … you didn’t see what it was like. There were people begging for mercy and they weren’t listening. They cleared the square and…”
“And what you saw today was nothing. Par for the course. Get used to it. That kind of shit’s going to get a lot more regular.”
“Nothing? How can you say it was nothing? You could hear them screaming. People fighting. Attacking each other just to get away. I fucking hid. I just kept my head down and hid…”
Jason’s noise and mounting nervousness is making Matt feel uneasy. “We’ll talk about it back at the house,” he tells him. “Not here. Not now.”
“But you didn’t see how they—”
“Not now,” Matt yells at him, loud enough to make a sizable chunk of the nearby population stop and look. He regrets his outburst and pulls Jason away, virtually dragging him down the street.
20
They’re in the bathroom together, brushing their teeth. The water in the basin comes from a jug and the light is from a candle, not electric, yet it feels deceptively normal, even after the events of the day just ending. It’s easy to slip back into routine. When it’s just the two of them, it’s easy to forget. Jen nudges up against Matt, and he nudges back against her. She grimaces in the mirror, and he crosses his eyes and pulls a face. They finish brushing, then rinse, then kiss, then kiss again. For a moment there’s a shared feeling that this might develop into something more, one of those beautiful moments of spontaneous lovemaking which used to creep up and take them both by surprise at the least opportune moment.
The lovers stop when a helicopter thunders overhead, the noise so loud that it makes the bathroom mirror rattle in its frame. The intrusive glare of a sweeping searchlight flooding through the window seems almost to put the two of them on show like criminals caught in the act. In a world fueled by hate, their tenderness feels bizarrely taboo. They separate and climb into bed on their respective sides.
“Are we going to be okay?” she asks him after a while. Matt can’t bring himself to tell Jen the truth, and so just gives her what she wants to hear.
“I told you. I’ll make sure we’re okay.”
“But everything you and Jason said about what happened tonight…”
“Sure, things are shitty. Worse than I thought, if I’m honest, but we’ll be all right.”
“You’re just saying that.”
She’s got him banged to rights, but what’s the alternative? “No, love, I’m not. We’re in a better position than most, remember. We’ve got a little space and some privacy here, and I know where to get food. Don’t you believe me?”
“I want to … it’s difficult, that’s all. I haven’t seen as much of it as you, remember.”
“That’s probably a good thing.” Matt thinks about her words. There’s a question he’s avoided asking becaus
e he knows how much it upsets her. “How long has it been since you left the house, Jen?”
“I can’t help it. You know I can’t.”
“I know, but I thought you were getting better.”
“I was, but all this knocked me right back, and since Jason and Mrs. Walker got here I haven’t needed to go out. I can’t help it. It’s my nerves, you know it is.”
“I know, love, I know … I’m just trying to understand. So answer my question: how long has it been since you left the house?”
She’s crying. Reluctant to answer.
“It was the day before you left to go to that island with work. When we went to that pub for dinner. Remember?”
Matt’s mind floods with memories put on hold for months: a Thursday evening meal in a quiet pub not far from here. An evening tempered with unease because he knew he was leaving her next morning to travel to Skek. Nice food, subdued company. But moments later those thoughts are filed back under no longer relevant, no longer me, and he’s back in his fucked-up reality again. “You’ve not left the house in all that time? Three months?”
“You know how hard I find it.”
“But the therapist said—”
“The therapist’s gone, Matt, and everything’s changed. Todd didn’t help me prepare for the end of the world.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just there’s going to come a time when—”
“—when I don’t have any choice and we have to leave here. I realize that. And I will do it when I have to. It’s not so bad when I’m with you. I know you’re there for me, Matt. I know you’ll keep me safe. I know you won’t let anything bad happen.”
He keeps his mouth shut, wishing he could share her confidence.
21
Jason knows which side his bread’s buttered on (not that there’s either bread or butter at the moment). When Matt gets up to leave next morning, he doesn’t react. “Keep things under control here while I’m gone,” Matt tells him. “Keep the door locked and don’t let anyone in but me, got it?”
