The Death of Grass

by John Christopher

  For he could no longer believe that there would be any last-minute reprieve for mankind. First China, and then the rest of Asia, and now Europe. The others would fall in their turn, incredulous, it might be, to the end. Nature was wiping a cloth across the slate of human history, leaving it empty for the pathetic scrawls of those few who, here and there over the face of the globe, would survive.

  He heard a sound from the other side of the railway line, and moved warily across to investigate. As he reached the edge of the embankment, he saw that a slim figure was climbing the last few feet towards him. It was Millicent. She put a hand up to him and he grasped it.

  He said: ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  She said: ‘Ssh – you’ll wake everyone up.’

  She looked down at the sleeping group below, and then moved across towards the sentry post. John followed her. He was reasonably certain what the visit promised. The calm effrontery of it made him angry.

  ‘You’re not on duty for another couple of hours,’ he said. ‘You want to go back and get some sleep. We’ve got a long day in front of us.’

  She asked him: ‘Cigarette?’ He took one from his case and gave it to her. ‘Mind lighting it?’

  He said: ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to show lights. Keep it under, and cover it with your hands when you inhale.’

  ‘You know everything, don’t you?’

  She bent down to his cupped hands to take the lighter’s flame. Her black hair gleamed in the moonlight. He was not, he realized, handling the situation very well. It had been a mistake to give her the cigarette she asked for; he should have sent her back to bed. She straightened up again, the cigarette now tucked behind her curled fingers.

  ‘I can do without sleep,’ she said. ‘I remember one week-end I didn’t have three hours sleep between Friday and Monday. Fresh as a daisy after it, too.’

  ‘You don’t have to boast. It’s stamped all over you.’

  ‘Is it?’ There was a pause. ‘What’s the matter with Ann?’

  He said coldly: ‘You know as much as I do. I suppose it wouldn’t have affected you – either what happened or what she did afterwards.’

  Complacently, she said: ‘There’s one thing about not having very high standards – you’re not likely to go off your rocker when you hit something nasty – either from other people or yourself.’

  John drew on his cigarette. ‘I don’t want to talk about Ann. And I don’t want an affaire with you – do you understand that? I should think you would see that, quite apart from anything else, this isn’t the time for that sort of thing.’

  ‘When you want a thing is the time to have it.’

  ‘You’ve made a mistake. I don’t want it.’

  She laughed; her voice was lower when she did so, and rather hoarse.

  ‘Let’s be grown up,’ she said. ‘I may make mistakes, but not about that kind of thing.’

  ‘You know my mind better than I do?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ll tell you this much, Big Chief. If it had been Olivia who had paid you this little visit, you would have sent her back straight away, and no back-answers. And why are you talking in whispers, anyway? In case we make anyone wake up?’

  He had not realized that he had dropped his voice. He spoke more loudly: ‘I think you’d better get back now, Millicent.’

  She laughed again. ‘What would be so unreasonable about not wanting to wake people up? I don’t suppose they’re all as good at doing without sleep as I am. You rise too easily.’

  ‘All right. I’m not going to argue with you. Just go back to bed, and forget all about it.’

  She said obediently: ‘O.K.’ She dropped her cigarette, half smoked, and trod it into the ground. ‘I’ll just try the spark test, and if you don’t fire, I’ll go right down like a good little girl.’

  She came towards him. He said: ‘Don’t be silly, Millicent.’ She paused just short of him. ‘Nothing wrong with a goodnight kiss, is there?’ She put herself in his arms. He had to hold her or let her fall, and he held her. She was very warm, and softer to hold than he would have expected. She wriggled slightly against him.

  ‘Spark test satisfactory, I think,’ she said.

  They both turned at the sound of small stones falling. A figure rose above the embankment’s edge and stood facing them.

  Pirrie tapped his rifle, which he held under his arm. He said reprovingly: ‘Even carrying this, I very nearly surprised you. You are not as alert as a good sentry should be, Custance.’

  Millicent had disengaged herself. She said: ‘What do you think you’re doing, wandering around in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Would it be altogether inappropriate,’ Pirrie asked, ‘to put a similar question to you?’

  She said scornfully: ‘I thought the eyeful you got the last time you spied on me had put you off. Or is that the way you get your kick now?’

  Pirrie said: ‘The last several times, I have borne with the situation as the lesser evil. I will grant that you have been discreet. Any action I might have taken could only have made my cuckoldry conspicuous, and I was always anxious to avoid that.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Millicent said. ‘I’ll go on being discreet.’

  John said: ‘Pirrie! Nothing has happened between your wife and me. Nothing is going to. The only thing I am concerned with is getting us all safely to Blind Gill.’

  In a musing tone, Pirrie said: ‘My natural inclination always was to kill her. But in normal society, murder is much too great a risk. I went so far as to make plans, and rather good ones, too, but I would never have carried them out.’

  Millicent said: ‘Henry! Don’t start being silly.’

  In the moonlight, John saw Pirrie lift his right hand, and rub the fingers along the side of his nose. He said sharply:

  ‘That’s enough of that!’

  Deliberately, Pirrie released the safety catch on the rifle. John raised his shot-gun.

  ‘No,’ Pirrie said calmly. ‘Put that gun down. You are very well aware that I could shoot a good deal more quickly than you. Put it down. I should not care to be provoked into a rash act.’

  John lowered the shot-gun. In any case it had been ridiculous, he thought, to envisage Pirrie as a figure out of an Elizabethan tragedy.

  He said: ‘Things must be getting me down. It was a silly thought, wasn’t it? If you’d really wanted to dish Millicent, there was nothing to stop you leaving her in London.’

  ‘A good point,’ Pirrie said, ‘but invalid. You must remember that although I joined your party I did so with reservations as to the truth of the story Buckley asked me to believe. I was willing to engage with you in breaking out of the police cordon because I am extremely devoted to my liberty of action. That was all.’

  Millicent said: ‘You two can continue the chat. I’m going back to bed.’

  ‘No,’ Pirrie said softly, ‘stay where you are. Stay exactly where you are.’ He touched the barrel of his rifle, and she halted the movement she had just begun. ‘I may say that I gave serious, if brief, consideration to the idea of leaving Millicent behind in London. One reason for rejecting it was my assurance that, if nothing worse occurred than civil break-down, Millicent would manage very well by dint of offering her erotic services to the local gang-leader. I did not care for the idea of abandoning her to what might prove an extremely successful career.’

  ‘Would it have mattered?’ John asked.

  ‘I am not,’ said Pirrie, ‘a person on whom humiliation sits lightly. There is a strain in my make-up that some might describe as primitive. Tell me, Custance – we are agreed that the process of law no longer exists in this country?’

  ‘If it does, we’ll all hang.’

  ‘Exactly. Now, if State law fails, what remains?’

  John said carefully: ‘The law of the group – for its own protection.’

  ‘And of the family?’

  ‘Within the group. The needs of the group come first.’

  ‘A
nd the head of the family?’ Millicent began to laugh, a nervous almost hysterical laugh. ‘Amuse yourself, my dear,’ Pirrie continued. ‘I like to see you happy. Well, Custance. The man is the proper head of his family group – are we still agreed?’

  There was only one direction in which the insane relentless logic could be heading. John said:

  ‘Yes. Within the group.’ He hesitated. ‘I am in charge here. The final say is mine.’

  He thought Pirrie smiled, but in the dim light it was difficult to be sure. Pirrie said:

  ‘The final say is here.’ He tapped the rifle. ‘I can, if I wish, destroy the group. I am a wronged husband, Custance – a jealous one, perhaps, or a proud one. I am determined to have my rights. I hope you will not gainsay me, for I should not like to have to oppose you.’

  ‘You know the way to Blind Gill now,’ John said. ‘But you might have difficulty getting entry without me.’

  ‘I have a good weapon, and I can use it. I believe I should find employment quite readily.’

  There was a pause. In the silence there came a sudden bubbling lift of bird song; with a shock John recognized it as a nightingale.

  ‘Well,’ Pirrie said, ‘do you concede me my rights?’

  Millicent cried: ‘No! John, stop him. He can’t behave like this – it isn’t human. Henry, I promise…’

  ‘To cease upon the midnight,’ Pirrie said, ‘with no pain. Even I can recognize the appositeness of verse occasionally. Custance! Do I have my rights?’

  Moonlight silvered the barrel as it swung to cover John again. Suddenly he was afraid – not only for himself, but for Ann and the children also. There was no doubt about Pirrie’s implacability; the only doubt was as to where, with provocation, it might lead him.

  ‘Take your rights,’ he said.

  In a voice shocked and unfamiliar, Millicent said: ‘No! Not here…’

  She ran towards Pirrie, stumbling awkwardly over the railway lines. He waited until she was almost on him before he fired. Her body spun backwards with the force of the bullet, and lay across one of the lines. From the hills, the echoes of the shot cracked back.

  John walked across the lines, passing close by the body. Pirrie had put down his rifle. John stood beside him and looked down the embankment. They had all awakened with the sound of the shot.

  He called down: ‘It’s all right. Everybody go to sleep again. Nothing to worry about.’

  Roger shouted up: ‘That wasn’t the shot-gun. Is Pirrie up there?’

  ‘Yes,’ John said. ‘You can turn in. Everything’s under control.’ Pirrie turned and looked at him. ‘I think I will turn in, too.’ John said sharply: ‘You can give me a hand with this first. We can’t leave it here for the women to brood over while they’re on watch.’

  Pirrie nodded. ‘The river?’

  ‘Too shallow. It would probably stick. And I don’t think it’s a good idea to pollute water supplies anyway. Down the embankment, on the other side of the river. I should think that will do.’

  They carried the body along the line to a point about two hundred yards west. It was light, but the going was difficult. John was relieved when the time came to throw it down the embankment. There were bushes at the foot; it landed among them. It was possible to see Millicent’s white blouse but, in the moonlight, nothing more.

  John and Pirrie walked back together in silence. When they reached the sentry point, John said:

  ‘You can go down now. But I shall tell Olivia to wake you for what would have been your wife’s shift. No objections, I take it?’

  Pirrie said mildly: ‘Of course. Whatever you say.’ He tucked his rifle under his arm. ‘Good night, Custance.’

  ‘Good night,’ John said.

  He watched Pirrie slithering his way down the slope towards the others. He could have been mistaken, of course. It might have been possible to save Millicent’s life.

  He was surprised to find that the thought did not worry him.

  9

  In the morning, a subdued air was evident. John had told them that Pirrie had shot Millicent, but had let the children think it was an accident. He gave a full account to Roger, who shook his head.

  ‘Cool, isn’t he? We certainly picked up something when we adopted him.’

  ‘Yes,’ John said, ‘we did.’

  ‘Are you going to have trouble, do you think?’

  ‘Not as long as I let him have his own way,’ John said. ‘Fortunately, his needs seem fairly modest. He felt he had a right to kill his own wife.’

  Ann came down to him later, when he was washing in the river. She stood beside him, and looked at the tumbling waters. The sun was shining the length of the valley, but there were clouds directly above them, large and close-pressed.

  ‘Where did you put the body?’ she asked him. ‘Before I send the children down to wash.’

  ‘Well away from here. You can send them down.’

  She looked at him without expression. ‘You might as well tell me what happened. Pirrie isn’t the sort to have accidents with a rifle, or to kill without a reason.’

  He told her, making no attempt to hide anything.

  She said: ‘And if Pirrie had not appeared just at that moment?’

  He shrugged. ‘I would have sent her back down, I think. What else can I say?’

  ‘Nothing, I suppose. It doesn’t matter now.’ She shot the question at him suddenly: ‘Why didn’t you save her?’

  ‘I couldn’t. Pirrie had made up his mind. I would only have got myself shot as well.’

  She said bitterly: ‘You’re the leader. Are you going to stand by and let people murder each other?’

  He looked at her. His voice was cold. ‘I thought my life was worth more to you and the children than Millicent’s. I still think so, whether you agree or not.’

  For a moment they faced each other in silence; then Ann came a step towards him, and he caught her. He heard her whisper:

  ‘Darling, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that. But it’s so terrible, and it goes on getting worse. To kill his wife, like that… What kind of a life is it going to be for us?’

  ‘When we get to Blind Gill…’

  ‘We shall still have Pirrie with us, shan’t we? Oh, John, must we? Can’t we – lose him somehow?’

  He said gently: ‘You’re worrying too much. Pirrie is law-abiding enough. I think he had hated Millicent for years. There’s been a lot of bloodshed recently, and I suppose it went to his head. It will be different in the valley. We shall have our own law and order. Pirrie will conform.’

  ‘Will he?’

  He stroked her arms. ‘You,’ he said. ‘How is it now? Not quite so bad?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not quite so bad. I suppose one gets used to everything, even memories.’

  By seven o’clock they were all together, and ready to set out. The clouds which had come over the sky still showed gaps of blue, but they had spread far enough to the east to hide the sun.

  ‘Weather less promising,’ Roger said.

  ‘We don’t want it too hot,’ John said. ‘We have a climb in front of us. Everything ready?’

  Pirrie said: ‘I should like Jane to walk with me.’

  They stared at him. The request was so odd as to be meaningless in itself. John had not thought it necessary to have the party walk in any particular order, with the result that they straggled along in whatever way they chose. Jane had automatically taken up her position alongside Olivia again.

  John said: ‘Why?’

  Pirrie gazed round the little circle with untroubled eyes. ‘Perhaps I should put it another way. I have decided that I should like to marry Jane – insofar as the expression has any meaning now.’

  Olivia said, with a sharpness quite out of keeping with her usual manner: ‘Don’t be ridiculous. There can’t be any question of that.’

  Pirrie said mildly: ‘I see no bar. Jane is an unmarried girl, and I am a widower.’

  Jane, John saw, was looking at Pirrie with wide
and intent eyes; it was impossible to read her expression.

  Ann said: ‘Mr Pirrie, you killed Millicent last night. Isn’t that enough bar?’

  The boys were watching the scene in fascination; Mary turned her head away. It had been silly, John thought wearily, to imagine this world was a world in which any kind of innocence could be preserved.

  ‘No,’ Pirrie said, ‘I don’t regard it as a bar.’

  Roger said: ‘You also killed Jane’s father.’

  Pirrie nodded. ‘An unfortunate necessity. I’m sure Jane has resigned herself to that.’

  John said: ‘I suggest we leave things over for now, Pirrie. Jane knows your mind. She can think about it for the next day or two.’

  ‘No.’ Pirrie put out his hand. ‘Come here, Jane.’

  Jane stood, still gazing at him. Olivia said:

  ‘Leave her alone. You’re not to touch her. You’ve done enough, without adding this.’

  Pirrie ignored her. He repeated: ‘Come here, Jane. I am not a young man, nor a particularly handsome one. But I can look after you, which is more than many young men could do in the present circumstances.’

  Ann said: ‘Look after her – or murder her?’

  ‘Millicent,’ Pirrie said, ‘had been unfaithful to me a number of times, and was attempting to be so again. That is the only reason for her being dead.’

  Incredulously, Ann said: ‘You speak as though women were another kind of creature – less than human.’

  Pirrie said courteously: ‘I’m sorry if you think so. Jane! Come with me.’

  They watched in silence as, slowly, Jane went over to where Pirrie waited for her. Pirrie took her hands in his. He said: ‘I think we shall get on very well together.’

  Olivia said: ‘No, Jane – you mustn’t!’

  ‘And now,’ said Pirrie, ‘I think we can move off.’

  ‘Roger, John,’ Olivia said. ‘Stop him!’

  Roger looked at John. John said: ‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with the rest of us.’