by Louise Welsh
Stevie met the driver’s gaze. ‘Maybe I could tell you a few hair-curling tales of my own.’
Malcy’s skull was freckled beneath a short buzz cut, a brown egg ready for smashing.
‘I bet you could.’ His grin was hungry. ‘I’ve a nice bottle of malt hidden somewhere safe. We could swap war stories over a dram.’ Malcy glanced at Magnus. ‘If your man doesn’t mind.’
Magnus kept his expression closed. ‘We’re looking for our kids.’
Malcy snorted. ‘And you think seeing Mr Bream will help you find them?’
Stevie said, ‘You don’t?’
The shoulders inside the high-vis jacket shrugged. ‘There are folk who go to the top when they want to find something out and folk who start at the bottom. Starting at the top might seem like a good idea. These guys know a thing or two, right?’
Stevie kept her voice the not-quite-sunny-side of bright. ‘I’m guessing you think wrong?’
‘The boys at the top of the ladder may have some information, the names, facts or figures, but are they willing to share them? A working man on the other hand …’ The driver let his sentence tail teasingly away. ‘Let’s just say, sometimes you get a better view of the street when you’re closer to the ground.’
They were passing the entrance to a park. Wrought-iron gates slumped on rusting hinges. Trees reached beyond the railings, their branches casting leaves and shadows against the pavement, their roots crazing the concrete.
Magnus turned to look at Malcy. ‘You do realise we’re talking about children? A wee girl, less than two years old? A couple of fifteen-year-olds?’
‘You must be beside yourself,’ Malcy said with false solicitude.
Stevie gentled her voice. ‘They went off with a woman called Belle. She’s distinctive, long, blonde hair – good-looking, but her face is badly scarred.’
‘I might have seen her.’ Malcy’s eyes met hers in the mirror again. They were pouchy and soft-looking, like molluscs deprived of their shells. ‘Have a dram with me and I’ll tell you.’
Magnus said, ‘You’re fucking kidding me. We don’t have time for this.’
‘I’m talking to her, not you.’ Malcy looked at Stevie again. ‘What about it, love? I promise I won’t bite, not unless you want me to.’
Davy spoke for the first time. His accent was Glaswegian, diluted by travel or aspiration. ‘The Teuchter’s right. We don’t have time to muck about. If you know something, tell them. If you don’t hold your wheescht.’
Malcy’s laugh was forced. ‘Don’t you get it, Davy? The world’s over. All the rest is just marking time.’
Davy was the oldest of the pair by a good decade. He looked like he had been weathered in a windswept landscape. His hair was tangled, cheeks a mess of broken veins, large ears sticking out, as if caught from behind by a force-ten gale.
‘Cut it out, Malcy. I know what you’re at. It’s not on.’
Stevie said, ‘I’ll have a drink with him, if he can tell me something that’ll help us find the children.’
Davy had unstrapped his gun from his chest. It lay across his lap, the muzzle pointing towards the street.
‘I know you would, love. You’d let him fuck you up the arse if you thought it might get you your kids. I’d let him fuck me any which way too, if there was a ghost of a chance it’d bring my son back. But Malcy’s just winding me up and leading you on.’
They were climbing a steep street sandwiched between high office blocks, the sky a thin strip of grey above them. Buildings slumped beneath their neglect. Lintels were crumbling, window frames untrue, sills rotting, glass cracked. Rain had seeped into the structures’ fabric and water stains bloomed across their facades like Rorschach blots.
A couple of skinny horses, harnessed to a cart, waited patiently by the kerb, their eyes shielded by blinkers, their long faces obscured by nose sacks. They made Magnus think of his own horses, steady Straven and his pride and joy, Jock the Clydesdale. A rook landed by the cart and hopped towards fallen sprinklings of grain. One of the horses stamped a hoof. The rook cawed and bounced away, its button eyes still on the prize. Two men dressed in fluorescent vests stepped from one of the buildings carrying boxes loaded with wires and computer equipment. The rook took to the air.
Magnus followed the men with his eyes. Their loads recalled Rees’s stocks of obsolete technology. ‘Looters?’
Davy’s speech had left Malcy unruffled. He slowed the Humvee and looked at the laden men.
‘Salvage crew. Bream and the corporation keep us busy.’
Stevie leaned forward. She whispered into Malcy’s ear. ‘Do you know something about our kids?’
The driver turned to look at her. ‘Have a drink with me and I’ll tell you.’ His voice was half tease, half threat. ‘You look like a girl who knows how to cut loose.’
‘Ach, Malcy lad, I fucking warned you.’
Davy grasped Stevie’s shoulder and pushed her gently but firmly back into her seat. There was a click clack of metal, the unmistakable sound of a mechanism setting and he stuck the barrel of his gun against Malcy’s skull, just below his left ear. The interior of the Humvee shrank.
Malcy batted at the muzzle with his hand. ‘For Christ’s sake, Davy. That’s not a toy you’re playing with.’
Davy jabbed the gun against the driver’s skull. ‘This is me cutting loose. How do you like it? One squeeze of the trigger, you’ll stop marking time and start marking the car seats.’
Malcy batted at the gun again. ‘You’re not funny.’
‘I’m not trying to be fucking funny.’
Malcy slowed the Humvee to a halt outside an abandoned Italian restaurant. ‘What’s this about, Davy? It can’t just be because I chatted up some lass.’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Davy’s face held the calm expression of a maniac dispensing logic. ‘Do you remember the History Channel? All those programmes about the Nazis? I’d watch them of a night with a beer in my hand and think about how we were on the right side of history. Looking back, I think I might have been a tad smug.’ A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Davy’s face. He blinked, but did not loosen his grip on his gun to wipe it away. ‘Recently, I’ve not been feeling so sure about things. I’ve not felt like I’m necessarily on the right side of history. Do you get my drift? Working for Bream and the New Corporation doesn’t give me a warm fuzzy feeling.’ He set the gun on his knees. ‘If you know something about where their kids are, tell them.’
Stevie felt the interior of the Humvee shrink a little further. She could detect the scent of the men’s individual sweat. She touched her face. Her hand came away wet and she realised that she was sweating too. She said, ‘You’d remember Belle. She’s tall and slim with lots of blonde hair. One of her eyes is injured and she has a long scar down her face but like I said she’s still beautiful.’
Stevie recalled Belle as she had last seen her, the wind lifting strands of her hair as she perched on the ruined walls of Cubbie Roo’s Castle.
Malcy let out a long sigh. ‘I saw her yesterday. I recognised her, from way back.’
Surprise lightened Magnus’s voice. ‘From before the Sweats?’
‘Afterwards.’ Malcy gave him a quick sideways glance then turned his attention to the broken shopfront, the weed-choked pavement. ‘Everyone I knew from before is lost and gone.’
Davy’s gun was still resting on his lap. He stroked its handle as if fascinated by the texture of its patina.
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘I’m just trying to explain how things were. The Sweats hit me hard.’
‘The Sweats hit everyone hard, you narcissistic twat.’
‘I didn’t even notice it was the end of the world at first. I worked in a warehouse, a fucking hundred aircraft hangars long. They were automating our asses. Demanding one-hour delivery times. Fucking drones buzzing through the warehouse carrying impulse buys. We knew there were going to be layoffs, so when less people started turning up at work, I
put it down to that. It wasn’t until the orders packed in that I realised something was wrong.’
Davy booted the back of the chair. ‘They’re not interested in your life story. Tell them where you saw the woman.’
‘I need to get it straight in my head, Davy,’ Malcy said. ‘Stuff from back then gets jumbled. I hated my job, but the weird thing was, I kept going in, even when I was the only one left. I didn’t know what else to do. After a while I stopped going home. The streets were too quiet. I’m not a soft touch, you know that Davy, but being outside scared me. I made myself a nest in a corner of the warehouse. Everything I needed was there. Food … drink …’ He paused, as if trying to remember other things necessary for survival. ‘There was a TV in the staffroom. When it stopped working I hooked up a DVD player. There were centuries of films in stock. All the box sets you could want.’ His voice grew wistful, the way another man’s might remembering lost family. ‘I even built myself a nice big bed. No one to share it with, but that didn’t matter. First time I got in it I slept for three days straight. Didn’t even get up to piss.’
Davy said, ‘I clocked you for a lazy bastard the first time I saw you. What does all this have to do with the female they’re looking for?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She was with a gang that broke into the warehouse. I say gang, but they were more like a party.’
Stevie sounded bemused. ‘A political party?’
‘No, a party, party. Balloons, jelly and ice cream, pass the parcel … except instead of all that they had drink, drugs, sex and music. They called themselves the Kinfolk.’
Davy was still examining his gun. He looked up. ‘Sounds like the Sweats did you a good turn, Malcolm.’
Malcy closed his eyes. An expression that might have been grief or perhaps fear fluttered briefly across his face, like rain smeared across a windowpane.
‘I was glad to see them, if that’s what you mean. It was beginning to hit me, everything that had happened. I was having dark thoughts. I’d started to wonder if I was the only one left. I stayed with them for a few weeks. We travelled and partied and picked up a few more survivors along the way. There must have been a dozen of us by the end. I tried to get with Belle a few times, but she didn’t want to know.’
Magnus said, ‘Sounds like a good set-up. Why did you leave?’
Malcy shook his head. ‘We ran into the wrong people, somewhere not far from Birmingham. At first they were friendly. We thought they were up for a party, like us. They broke out a decent stash and we got stuck in.’
Stevie said, ‘A stash?’
‘Weed, cannabis, hash, shit – whatever you want to call it. Later I realised we did most of the smoking. I guess that was their plan. When everything kicked off, we were too out of it to fight back.’
Stevie knew what was coming next, but she let Malcy go on.
‘Other men arrived when it got dark. They were strangers to us, but they knew our new pals all right. They were after our women. One guy, a fellow called Richie, a good guitarist, stood up to them. He’d been playing most of the night, so maybe he hadn’t smoked as much as the rest of us. He laid into the raiders with his guitar, trying to give the girls a chance to get away. They caught him, slit his throat and kicked him into the fire. I didn’t wait to find out what happened next. I legged it into the woods. I never saw any of the Kinfolk again, until yesterday when I saw Belle.’
Stevie said, ‘Where was she?’
Malcy’s voice wavered. ‘At the corpo offices. I don’t think she recognised me and I didn’t say hello. I didn’t spot any teenagers, but she had a toddler bundled up in a papoose in the front of her jacket. I thought maybe it was the kid she was due to have when I knew her, but then I realised, it would be older by now.’
Stevie took a quick intake of breath. ‘Was the toddler okay?’
Malcy’s voice was vague. ‘I guess so. I’m not interested in babies. I didn’t really pay attention.’
Magnus blinked. ‘Belle was pregnant when you knew her?’
Stevie wondered if there was a chance the child might be his. She asked, ‘How old would it be now?’
Malcy gave a small shrug. ‘How long is it since the Sweats? Five years?’
‘Seven.’ Davy shook his head. ‘How can you not know that?’
‘Time passes. I don’t count the days.’
Stevie repeated. ‘So the child would be how old?’
‘I don’t know. Time changes when you’re on your own. Maybe I met the Kinfolk six months after the first Sweats, maybe it was a year. It felt like a long time. After I met the gang, time speeded up. It felt like I was only with them for a few weeks, but maybe it was longer. Then the raid happened. I was back on my own and time slowed down again.’
Magnus said, ‘How did Belle look?’
Malcy shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Scared … excited. The way everyone looks when they first arrive. I was holed up in a cottage somewhere outside Newcastle when I heard the broadcast. It took me a week to get here. I was so keyed up, I sang all the way.’
Stevie and Magnus said, ‘What broadcast?’ in not-quite unison.
Davy gave a small laugh. ‘I guess the signal doesn’t reach as far as Teuchterland. Turn on the radio, Malcolm.’
Malcy did as he was told and a female voice sounded faintly through crackling airwaves, like a ghost reaching out from the past.
Come to Glasgow … help us make a new society … Come to Glasgow … together we can make a new and better world … Come to Glasgow … if you are old, lend us your experience … if you are young give us your strength … Come to Glasgow … the Sweats are over and we are rebuilding the city … Come to Glasgow … there is work to be done … Come to Glasgow … help us rebuild the city … Come to Glasgow … help us make a new society … Come to Glasgow … together we can make a new and better world … Come to Glasgow … if you are old, lend us your experience … if you are young give us your strength … Come to Glasgow … the Sweats are over and …
‘Turn it off, please,’ Stevie said.
Malcy leaned forward and pressed the off button. The voice died in mid-sentence.
‘Gives you the willies, does it?’ Davy nodded. ‘It gets some people like that, but it’s beginning to work. For good or for bad, people are starting to drib drab back.’ He sank into his seat. His posture suggested a man about to grab forty winks, but his eyes were bright. ‘We’re meant to take you to the City Chambers, but if we do, I guarantee you won’t find your kids. Maureen might buy all this guff about making a new society, but things are going the same way they always did. One rule for the rich, another for the poor.’ He looked from Stevie to Magnus and back. ‘You two are late to the party. You might be president of some island, but you’re in the big city now. The prime spots have all been bagged. You’ll be assigned to a work party. They’ll tell you you’re doing your bit for the New Tomorrow, but when you try to leave there’ll be someone like Malcy or me with a gun to your back. Your kids’ll be long gone.’
Magnus said, ‘We’ll take our chances.’
Davy grinned. ‘You’re not listening, are you? You have no chances.’
Magnus turned round so he could look Davy straight in the face.
‘The female guard seemed to think everything was okay.’
Davy sighed. The manic gleam in his eyes had dulled. His eyelids looked bruised and heavy.
‘Maureen’s a nice woman. She hasn’t woken up to the fact that the world is still a shithole. She suspects it, but she won’t give in.’
Stevie said, ‘What changed Maureen’s mind? She was all for helping us, then she checked the registration documents and it was as if someone had blown out a light.’
Davy sighed. ‘There are two lists. The first list is professions that Bream is keen to recruit: doctors, nurses, engineers and the like. That’s the good list – the useful list – the list you want to be on. The second list is a record of names of people who he wants brought to him for other reason
s. That one’s a bit hit or miss. Sometimes it’s famous folk he’s heard a rumour survived, but mostly its people who have blotted their copybook in some way. Generally speaking, you don’t want to be on that list. I’m guessing your girl Belle’s name was there.’
Malcy started the engine and swung the Humvee out into the empty road. ‘We need to get going or there’ll be hell to pay. City Chambers?’
Davy shook his head. ‘I think not, Malcolm.’
Stevie saw Malcy’s eyes glancing at his companion in the rear-view mirror.
Davy grinned. ‘I’m out of here. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. I reckon this could be the incentive I need.’ He put his hand on the driver’s shoulder. ‘Remember I told you about my scrapyard? Fifteen happy years I ran it for. It was my own wee kingdom, a little goldmine. I didn’t survive a plague to become a lackey. You might be happy running errands for Bream, but I’m losing my religion.’
Malcy glanced at him in the rear-view. ‘What does God have to do with it?’
‘I don’t mean God. God’s neither here nor there. I’m losing faith in the system.’ They were driving along a wide street lined either side by Victorian office buildings decorated with carved figures and curlicues. A bearded St Andrew hefted his cross above a doorway to a bank, buxom Patience and Justice loitered in clinging robes on the facade of an insurance office, their expressions implacable. Davy said, ‘How long do you think we have? Three years? Five? Ten? The Sweats are still out there and precious few scientists survived to find a cure. I’d like to sign off on the right side of history.’
Magnus saw a sign for George Square. The City Chambers were nearby. ‘Drop us here. We’ll take our chances.’
Malcy glanced towards the back seat, looking for Davy’s approval.
The older man shook his head. ‘Turn right and head towards the river.’
Magnus tried the car door, but it refused to open. ‘I told you, we want out.’
Stevie remembered the men who had attacked her at Dounthrapple. Panic lit her voice. ‘Where are you taking us?’
They turned into a dank road, below a section of motorway. Concrete pillars thrust upwards, supporting the freeway above. Stevie saw something move in the shadows. She thought at first it was a person, then a black dog ran into the open with something limp dangling from its jaws.
