‘Nah… later, maybe.’
Meg looked disappointed, but she didn’t argue. As she ran off, Peter looked down at Boy, then knelt to pet him and rough up his coat.
‘You’re a good dog… You liked Aunt Mary’s stew, didn’t you? You could’ve eaten a whole bowl on your own…’
He stopped, straightening up. He thought he’d heard something.
‘Boy,’ he whispered. ‘Stay. I’ll be back in a minute.’
While Boy did as he was told, Peter crossed the garden. He moved slowly, quietly. At the back door, which was partly open, he paused.
Mary was at the sink, her back to him. She was hunched forward, her head lowered. At first he thought he’d been mistaken, but then he saw how she was shaking and heard the noise again.
She was crying. She was standing there with her hands in the soapy water, sobbing her heart out.
Peter turned away. Something had to be wrong.
As he walked back, Boy came over, sensing his mood, nuzzling him, as if to somehow comfort him.
‘There’s my beauty,’ he said softly, bending down to pet him again. ‘There’s…’
The first few shots could have been anything. It could have been a hunter, out in the meadows. What followed, however, was anything but normal. It sounded more like a fireworks display. Not only that, but he could hear the distinctive sound of a semi-automatic, and he knew Dick Gifford had a semiautomatic. A .338 Browning.
Oh Christ…
They’d been ambushed. He was certain of it.
He ran across. ‘Aunt Mary! Quick! Something’s happening!’
She came out, wiping her eyes with her apron, then stood there looking north, listening intently. But it had died down now. Then, another brief flurry, before it all went silent again.
‘It’s them,’ he said. ‘It’s got to be.’
‘It hasn’t got to be…’
But he could see she thought otherwise.
‘Aunt Mary…?’
‘What?’
‘Just now… in the kitchen…’
The way she looked at him, he could see that she wasn’t going to answer.
‘Peter. You’d better run in to Corfe. Let them know that the men might have got into trouble on the road. Maybe they can get someone out there. Find out what’s been happening… And Peter… don’t say anything to the girls.’
He nodded, then ran off, Boy in hot pursuit.
Be okay, he thought, picturing his father clearly in his head. Just be okay.
It was difficult knowing what to do with Tom. If they’d been coming back from market it would have been okay. They could have laid him down in the back of one of the wagons and let him get some rest. As it was, he had to sit up on the bench seat, between Eddie Buckland and Jake, who had an arm about his old friend, making sure he didn’t topple off.
They had decided to stop at Wool. It wasn’t far, only a couple of miles on from where they’d been attacked, and it marked the halfway point of their journey. Usually they’d press on, all the way to Dorchester in the one day. It meant they’d have to set off early the next morning if they were to get to the market when it opened.
As they trundled along, Jake kept Tom talking. The morphine, aside from numbing the pain, was making him sleepy, but Jake didn’t want him to fall asleep before they arrived in Wool and got him in a proper bed. And so they talked about old times.
‘Back then they’d have seen to you properly,’ Jake said cheerily. ‘Given you an implant and grown new tissue within a week. And not even a scar. Like new.’
‘You think they’ve still got all that stuff, Jake? I mean, in America or somewhere like that?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose. And I guess once you’ve discovered all that stuff you can’t un-discover it. But I reckon it’ll be years before any of it comes back. When things fell apart, they really fell apart. I saw it, remember? When things come crashing down like that, it isn’t easy to reconstruct. It isn’t easy at all. I read somewhere… oh, a long time ago… that the United Kingdom could only feed ten million people from its own resources. All the rest had to be imported. Well… when things stopped… when we stopped shipping in food and other stuff… people died. Died in their millions. In their tens of millions.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I think it’s a wonder any of us survived.’
Tom smiled; a sickly, pained smile. ‘You know what, Jake?’
‘What?’
‘I find myself wondering sometimes just what’s going on elsewhere. You know… in America and Africa and Europe. Someone must be trying to put it all back together again, don’t you think? I mean… they can’t just let it stay as it is.’
Jake shrugged. ‘I guess not. But they’re taking their damned time about it, don’t you think? You’d think someone would have set up a radio station, you know, to get the news out to everyone. It’s been over twenty years, after all!’
‘Yeah, but what’s the point?’ Eddie chipped in. ‘Thar’s no ’lectric to run the sets.’
‘That’s true. But there’s those sets you can wind up. We’ve seen ’em at market from time to time.’
Tom gave a little moan. Jake looked to him at once.
‘You all right, Tom?’
Tom swallowed painfully. ‘It aches. And I think it’s weepin’.’
Jake had a cursory look. Tom was right. The bandage was wet with blood. He looked about him at the countryside. Wool was no more than a mile away.
‘Think you can hang on, Tom? It’ll be fifteen minutes at most.’
Tom closed his eyes and nodded. He looked drawn suddenly, his face grey.
‘Dick!’ Jake called, hailing the wagon in front of him. ‘Think you can up the pace a little?’
‘Right-oh!’ Dick called back, putting out an arm in acknowledgement. At once his ponies quickened their pace.
Jake looked to his friend. ‘We’ll get you there, don’t worry. Get you laid out in a nice comfy bed.’
Tom smiled weakly. ‘Thanks…’
Jake was silent a moment. ‘You know what I think, Tom? I think it’s going to take a hell of a lot to get it all back together again. As it is, well… it’s just too easy to stay as we are… lots of little kingdoms warring with each other. It’ll take a big man to get it all up and runnin’ again.’
‘Another Genghis Khan?’
‘Or a Hitler.’
‘You think?’ Tom shifted a little, trying to get comfortable.
‘I think. I mean, whoever’s going to do it, they aren’t going to be nice, are they? Where’s nice going to get them? No. People are harder now, more suspicious. They’re not going to sign on for anything they aren’t forced to sign on for. And there’ll be a lot of tin-pot kings and so-called “emperors” who’ll not be willing to hand over the reins of their little kingdoms, so I imagine there’ll be a lot of blood shed setting up our brave new world.’
‘And our kids’ll bear the brunt of it, is that what you’re thinking?’
Jake nodded. He hated to think of it, but it was true. Bad times were coming, and their darlings, their loved ones, would have to face them. All he and Tom could do was prepare them for it. ‘Take our own so-called King of Wessex, Josiah Branagh. You can’t imagine him giving up all his perks without a fight. Unless, of course, he’s allowed to keep it all, nominally. But that’d be no better. No… if someone wants to create something new, then they’re going to have to clear away all of the clutter and build it up from scratch, and who knows how long that will take!’
Tom nodded. His eyes were closed now, but he did seem to be listening.
‘You know what?’ Eddie said, giving the reins a tug. ‘I think it was a good thing it all came apart. I mean… look at the way things were headin’. Those were bad times, Jake, as you well know. An’ if we lost some’at, then we gained an awful lot too.’
Jake couldn’t disagree. Take his own life. He’d been doing well by the system. Very well indeed. The rewards for his job had been phenomenal. By any standard he had been obsc
enely rich. Only it was a world and a way of living that deserved to be destroyed. He looked back at it now and saw how greedy his kind had been, how wasteful and selfish. Even so, he couldn’t shake off the memory of how awful those first few years had been, immediately after the Collapse; the savagery and plain evil he had been witness to. He didn’t want to see that come again. Didn’t want his son – no, nor any of his friends’ children – to suffer all that again. Only maybe he didn’t have a choice. Maybe it was coming, whether he willed it or not.
They were climbing a slight gradient now. Wool was just up ahead.
‘Tom?’
But Tom was asleep finally, snoring, a look of peace on his face.
Eddie laughed. ‘He’s gonna be okay. He just needs some rest, is all. Just a little bit of rest.’
The landlord of the Wessex Arms was an old friend, Billy Haines. They’d helped him out many a time, and now he repaid the favour, preparing a room for Tom. As chance would have it, one of his customers had been a doctor back before the Collapse, a man named Padgett. He’d been retired a long while now, but he was sent for.
So it was that an hour after they’d arrived, Tom was being looked at with an expert eye, sat up in bed while the doctor slowly removed the bandage.
The shoulder looked swollen, badly bruised, but the wound itself looked clean. The bullet, it seemed, had gone straight through, missing the bone.
‘You were lucky,’ Padgett said, sitting back. ‘If the bone had been splintered it might have been different, but as it is I’d say you have a perfect chance of it healing by itself. I’ll clean it and re-bandage it, then you can get some rest. I’m sure Billy here will be happy to look after you while your friends are gone.’
‘No chance!’ Tom said. ‘I’m goin’ with them. I can get a bed when I’m there. They can dose me up if they like, but I’m not missin’ it. There’s things I need.’
‘I could get them,’ Jake said, but Tom gave him a warning look. Jake shrugged and turned away.
‘Well, my advice would be to stay here,’ Padgett said, clicking his medical bag shut. ‘After a shock like yours has had, the body needs to rest. And it would be good if I were here to check on it every few hours. Make sure there’s no infection.’
‘There’s doctors in Dorchester,’ Tom said, insistent now. ‘It’s kind of you, Doc, and you, Billy, but I need to go. If I’d wanted to stay at home, I’d have stayed. I won’t exert myself, I promise. But I have to go.’
‘Then I won’t stop you. But be careful. It looks fine to my eyes, but get it checked out again when you get to Dorchester. And get it looked at once more before you start back. You don’t want to get blood poisoning. You do, and there’s nothing we can do for you, understand? It’s not the old days. Even in Dorchester…’
Tom raised a hand wearily. ‘I know. And I’ll be careful. Only I’ve got to go. No argument.’
Afterwards, alone with Tom, Jake asked him what was going on.
‘What’s this about you having to go? Since when was it imperative? I could get you what you need. Just give me a list.’
Tom looked away, avoiding his eyes. ‘There’s people I’ve got to see. Urgent business. I can’t explain, Jake. Just trust me, eh?’
‘Trust you? Trust you about what? Since when did we two have secrets between us?’
‘I can’t say… I… I promised Mary.’
That made Jake frown. What the fuck was going on? But Tom wasn’t going to say. Jake could see that.
‘It’d better be good.’
‘What?’ It was said tetchily, but Jake could see how tired Tom was and relented.
‘Never mind… I’ll go along. I always do.’
Tom smiled. ‘Thanks. But now I need you to fuck off. I need to sleep.’
‘Here… let me help you.’
Tom let Jake lay him down again, wincing as Jake put the slightest pressure on his shoulder. Doc Padgett had given him some tablets – painkillers and sedatives – but their effect was limited. Tom was still hurting.
‘I’ll leave you now, okay? But I’ll check in again in about an hour. Make sure you’re fine.’
‘Thanks… Oh, and Jake?’
‘Yes?’
‘This… it’s okay. We got off light. We always have, eh?’
Chapter 3
DISTANT SHADOWS
In the clear, bright light of early morning the party made its way along the road. On their left, the green swell of the Downs obscured their view of the sea to the south as they made their way past the sleeping village of Owermoigne.
It was just after six, and, providing there were no delays, they would be at market in plenty of time, half an hour before it opened.
They had rented a cart from the landlord at Wool, hooking it on to the rear of the first wagon. As they trundled along, Jake walked alongside, keeping an eye on Tom, who lay there on a straw palliasse, wrapped in blankets to keep him snug against the crisp morning air.
This stretch of the A352, which ran in a great loop from Wool to Dorchester, was kept clear most of the year by Branagh’s patrols, its broken tarmac surface swept free of vegetation. This close to the county capital, those same patrols made it their business to stop and search anyone they didn’t recognize, or who couldn’t produce proper identification. While that could mean trouble, usually they knew better than to pick on genuine traders. If word got back to Branagh it meant trouble for them, so generally they did their job, keeping an eye out for bandits and thieves and leaving genuine citizens alone.
It could have been worse. Corrupt as many of Branagh’s officials were, there was a limit to their greed. They knew precisely what they could get away with, and with whom.
For the last mile or so Tom had dozed off again, and Jake had been left to his thoughts. He had been musing about what Tom had said the previous day. About how they had ‘got off light’. It wasn’t true. Frank Goodman wasn’t the only one who had lost a brother. There was barely a family who had not lost sons or brothers, or who had had wives or daughters raped or beaten. Added to which there had been deaths from disease and accident and all manner of misfortunes. All in all, it had been a hard life these past twenty-odd years. Harder than he could ever have imagined. And yet rewarding, too, compared to the life he’d had.
Jake sighed. As ever, he shied away from thinking about all that. It was better to think about the present. Better to live life in the now.
They had stayed up late last night, talking to the locals. Wool itself had been attacked twice in recent months, the last time only a week or so ago. From the sound of it, it was the same bunch of rogues they had encountered in the woods, but that news was far from good. The party they’d dealt with was, it seemed, part of a much larger, marauding band, some forty or fifty in number. It was only because Wool’s defences were so good that they’d not been overrun. That and the fact that, like their friends from Corfe, they had the better weapons.
He wasn’t expecting the raiders to try again just yet. The two who’d got away would have told the others just what they might expect, and he’d have been surprised if they’d come back for more. Not only that, but this part of the county was well patrolled.
If they were going to try again it would be on the way home, tomorrow.
Unless…
Unless they’ve gone to try their luck against Corfe itself.
The thought had formed in his mind last night and, concerned that he might just be right, he had paid the landlord a crown to send one of his boys back to Corfe that very evening, to warn them to take care, and to give them the news about Tom.
He had written a note to Mary, for the boy to deliver, telling her not to worry; that Tom’s injury was a scratch and that they were taking good care of him, signing it simply, ‘From your good friend, Jake’, nothing more.
Tom himself had had a reasonably good night. Thanks to the tablets and the earlier dose of morphine he had slept like a log and woken refreshed, with a far better colour. The doctor had come just before th
ey’d left to check the wound and bind it again for the journey, expressing his satisfaction with the way it was healing. But Jake was still worried. He couldn’t help it. He had seen it too many times: how a simple wound could kill a man in days from gangrene or blood poisoning. It was one of the big disadvantages of living in a post-technological age. That said, there was a hospital in Dorchester, and a good one at that, and Jake was determined to get Tom looked at just as soon as he could. Doc Padgett was a good man, but he was no expert.
Another mile had fallen behind them. The tiny hamlet of Warmwell was to their right now. Ahead, about a mile and a half further on, was Broadmayne, where the first of the watchtowers that encircled Dorchester stood. A couple of miles beyond that, was the town itself.
It was as they passed the village of Conygar, where the ancient pylons lay, fallen and rusting in the fields to either side, that they met their first patrol. Six men on horseback, led by their ‘boss’, a big, muscular man by the name of Hewitt, who had been their guest at Church Knowle many a time.
Ted Gifford slowed the ponies and brought them to a stop. Seeing who it was, Hewitt gave the signal to his men to wait, then climbed down and came across.
‘Hey up there, me lads… how’s things?’
They gathered about Hewitt, letting Jake do their talking.
Noticing Tom, Hewitt asked Jake what had happened.
‘We ran into a raiding party. Sixteen strong. We killed fourteen of them. Built a pyre of their bodies back on the roadside near West Holme. Tom got hit late. We thought we’d got them all, but three of them was hiding further back.’
‘I saw to one of those buggers,’ Frank Goodman said, and laughed.
Hewitt was grinning. ‘Fuckin’ good news, lads. Fourteen dead, eh?’
Jake nodded. ‘Yeah. Only they were part of a much larger group that attacked Wool a week or so back. The villagers fought them off – gave them what for, by all accounts – but there’s still thirty or more unaccounted for.’
Hewitt’s smile had gone. ‘Thirty, eh? And well armed?’
Jake shook his head. ‘They’re just kids. Teenagers. Shanty-dwellers, by the look of it. Though what they’re doing this far west this late in the year I don’t know.’
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