by David Moody
Michael nodded and hoped that he did. Harry had given him the briefest instruction before they’d started out, but after all they’d been through to get here, he thought he’d probably forgotten most of it.
“I remember,” he said, sounding less than convincing.
Harry laid out the climbing rope, unspooling it carefully along the ground, then attached one end to his belt. “I’ll get up and over,” he explained, “get the rope fastened to something on the other side, then you two follow when you hear my signal, okay?”
“Okay,” Harte said. “What’s the signal?”
“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” Harry said. “If you hear anything out of the ordinary, take that as your cue to start climbing.”
“Got it,” Michael said. “Get going.”
Harry stood at the foot of the wall and looked up to find his first handholds. He reached up, dug his fingers into the narrow gaps between the huge, ancient stones, and lifted himself off the ground. Michael watched as he hauled himself up, impressed by his dexterity and speed. He’d climbed several meters in no time at all.
“I’ll never be able to do that,” Harte complained.
“You don’t have to. You’ll have the rope to help you, remember?”
Harte looked up at Harry, way above both of them now, scrambling up the sheer face of the wall at lizard-like speed and without a damn care. It had all sounded deceptively simple when they were back in Chadwick making plans—get across the dead by foot, scale the wall and get into the castle, round up everyone who wants to leave, find a vehicle big enough for them all, then get the fuck out of the castle before anyone notices. But plans like this always sound okay until you’re there, he said to himself. Crossing the dead had been a nightmare in itself, and as for climbing the wall … he honestly didn’t know if he could make it. If Harry slipped and fell … it didn’t bear thinking about. There’d be no way he could survive and no way they could help him. He remembered Steve Morecombe who’d died as a result of an accident he should have made a full recovery from.
Bloody hell, and this was the easy part of the plan. He was seriously doubting if they were going to make this.
* * *
Harry was more than two-thirds of the way up now. His arms ached—he hadn’t done anything like this for a while—but he was able to ignore the pain because he knew it wouldn’t last much longer. He felt for another handhold, and managed to find a narrow gap between two huge chunks of stone which had been carved and dropped into position hundreds of years ago. Now’s not the time to get distracted, he told himself as he thought about how many years these massive blocks had remained in place and all that had happened to the world around them in that time. Even if he made it through tonight and lasted another fifty years, his entire life would be little more than the blink of an eye in comparison to the centuries this place had been here.
He eventually reached the top of the wall, peering over at first, then pulling his legs over, keeping low so that he wouldn’t be spotted from inside. He lay flat on his stomach and looked down into the castle grounds. There was the cesspit Harte had told him about—he could smell it from up here—and near to it lay an unmistakable shape wrapped in a tarpaulin. It was a body, no question about it. He glanced back in the other direction and gave Michael and Harte a quick thumbs-up to let them know he was okay and he hadn’t been seen. Bloody hell, all that talk of James Bond … he was actually starting to feel like a spy. But spying was yet another redundant profession now there were so few people left alive.
Harry looked along the inside of the wall in both directions. Several trucks had been parked a short distance behind him. They’d make this immeasurably easier. As well as giving him something at a convenient height to lower himself onto, one of the trucks would also be a perfect anchor for him to tie the rope to. More than that, if he could get hold of the keys, any of the vehicles he could see would be perfect for getting people out of the castle compound. He looked back at Michael and Harte again, still standing in the same place, still waiting for his signal, then gestured in the direction in which he planned to move.
38
Between them, Harry and Michael helped Harte down onto the roof of the truck. The three of them lay flat, so as not to be seen. It was past eight, although the day had been long and tumultuous and it felt like the middle of the night. The moon was still out, but vast swathes of the camp inside the castle remained hidden in shadow, the tall encircling wall blocking out what little light there was. The only other illumination came from the windows of a couple of the caravans at the far end by the gatehouse, and from the glowing remains of a small, untended fire. Fortunately the bitter cold seemed to have kept everyone inside their shelters tonight, hiding away like hibernating animals.
“Do you know who wants out and can you make them known to us somehow?” Michael whispered. “Problem is, we don’t know who’s who.”
“I’ve got a good idea.”
“So where are they likely to be? In those caravans?”
“I guess so,” he replied. “There’s a classroom, a café, and a few other rooms over by the gatehouse, but I don’t see much activity up there. They must be in the vans. We need to be careful, though. Don’t want to find ourselves knocking on Jas’s door by mistake.”
“We should split up,” Harry suggested. “Go recce the place out, then meet back up over here and decide on a plan of action when we know where everyone is. Just stay out of sight and don’t get caught.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Harte mumbled. Did they think he was stupid?
The three men climbed down off the truck, lowering themselves as far as they could then dropping the last meter or so onto the gravel. Dressed in dark clothes, and with hats and scarves intentionally obscuring their faces, they moved off in different directions. Michael took the long way around to the various prefabricated rooms near to the gatehouse, but found no one there as Harte had suspected. He thought the place looked surprisingly well organized. If it hadn’t been for the wreck of the bus in the middle of the courtyard and the signs of fire damage to one of the caravans, all would have seemed well.
Harry went in the opposite direction, checking out the area around the cesspit. He noticed there were two bodies—the one wrapped in cloth he’d seen from the top of the wall, and another buried in a shallow grave with a rudimentary wooden cross hammered into the ground at one end. So despite everything I’ve heard, Harry thought, these people aren’t total savages. He ducked out of sight when he thought he heard someone coming, hiding behind a wall where a trench urinal had been dug, the smell so strong it made his eyes water. Satisfied no one was there, he crept back out into the open and worked his way back around to the trucks where he’d first come in.
Harte made a quick dash across a patch of open space and slipped between two of the caravans. Inside one he could hear voices—it sounded like Kieran and several others, but he couldn’t be sure. He turned his attention to the van next door and stood up on tiptoes. Through a crack in the curtains he could see Lorna curled up on a narrow bed, but this wasn’t the van she usually slept in. And there was Zoe, sitting in a corner with her back against the wall. There was Sue, and Driver too. Bingo. This was what he was after. He turned and ran back to find the others.
Harte found Harry hiding in the back of one of the trucks. Michael returned seconds later.
“Well?” Harry asked.
“They’re in the caravans like we thought,” Harte explained.
“Easy to get to?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“So once we’ve got them,” Michael said, “how do we get them out of here.”
Harry tapped the side of the truck and dangled a set of keys in front of him. “They were left in the ignition,” he explained. “Very convenient.”
“So what’s the plan? Just get everyone we can loaded into this truck and drive out of here?”
“It’ll work as long as they don’t start shooting this time.”
“Shooting?” Harry said. “What kind of weapons have they got.”
“A couple of hunting rifles,” Harte explained. “Nothing too serious.”
“Nothing too serious? Jesus.”
“All right,” Michael said, “there’s nothing we can do about it, just be on the lookout. So assuming we get everyone together, how do we get out of this place? I didn’t want to get too close to the gate. I thought they’d have guards there.”
“There probably is someone watching,” Harte agreed. “Up in the gatehouse, I expect. We should leave it till the last minute. There’s no lock or anything like that, just a wooden crossbeam. Get rid of that, then you just pull the two sides of the gate open.”
“Cool,” Harry said. “Sounds straightforward. Are we ready then?”
Harte immediately began to backpedal. “What, now?”
“Yes, now,” Michael sighed. “What did you think we were going to do? Wait for the sun to come up so we can see what we’re doing? Bloody hell, Harte.”
“Okay, okay…”
“You and I will go and see if we can get these people out. Harry, you get in the front of the truck and wait for us.”
Harry nodded.
Michael pushed Harte back out of the truck, then followed him along the castle wall until they were level with the back of the caravan where he’d seen Lorna.
“This the one?”
“Yep, in here,” Harte said. He gestured for Michael to stay back in the shadows, then crept across and lightly tapped on the window next to where Lorna was lying. At first she didn’t respond. He wrapped his knuckles on the glass a little harder, cringing at the noise, and after a couple of seconds she sat up and looked around. She moved with more urgency when she saw his face at the window. He gestured for her to come outside.
“Wait there,” she mouthed. She disappeared, and Harte could hear her talking to someone inside. After a delay, the caravan door opened. He could hear her voice more clearly now, telling someone she needed to go for a piss. The other person—it sounded like Mark Ainsworth, he thought—gave her permission but told her to be quick. If he was supposed to be acting as a guard, then he was a pretty ineffectual one. Lorna shut the door behind her then ran around to the back of the caravan and dragged Harte over into the shadows behind the remains of another crumbled interior castle wall. Michael followed.
“Bloody hell,” she said, “did you parachute back in here, Harte? I thought you’d run out on us again.”
“Just taking a leaf out of Driver’s book. Best to slip away and wait until it’s safe to come back.”
“It’s hardly safe now.”
“I know that, but this was the right time to do this.”
“That’s not what you said earlier,” Michael interrupted. “He’s been whinging like an old woman. I’m Michael, by the way.”
“Lorna,” she said. “Hey, are you the one with the baby?”
“Hopefully.”
“Save the small talk,” Harte said, his stomach still churning with nerves. “We need to get everybody out of here.”
“And how exactly are we going to do that?”
“Our man Harry’s waiting in a truck over the way,” Michael explained. “We’ll get everyone who wants to leave loaded into the back of it, then get the gates open and get the hell out of here, hopefully before anyone else has realized what’s going on.”
“Simple as that?”
“Hopefully.”
“Are you all in this caravan?” Harte asked.
“Mostly,” Lorna replied, “there are a few more next door. But there’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Guard dogs. At least one in each caravan.”
Harte looked at Michael anxiously. “Do we take them out?”
Michael looked equally unsure. Dealing with dead bodies was one thing, but fighting a fellow survivor was a different matter altogether.
“Stay back here and give me a couple of minutes,” Lorna said. “I’ve got an idea.”
39
“You took your time,” Ainsworth said as Lorna returned to the caravan. He sounded half asleep. Maybe if she’d waited a little longer he’d have drifted off completely and they might have all been able to walk out unchallenged, she thought, regretting her clumsy entrance. Her heart was pounding and the palms of her hands were clammy. She didn’t know if she could go through with this.
“Sorry,” she said, slipping back into character. “I didn’t mean to take so long. I was just thinking…”
“What about?”
“About you, actually. I was thinking about how rude I’ve been to you recently. How rude I was in the kitchen earlier. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he said, sounding shocked and yet surprisingly honest. “It was me. I can be a real dick at times. I kind of forget myself sometimes, you know, especially with all this shit going on around us.”
“I know.”
“So you don’t need to apologize. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She watched him watching her. Poor dumb bugger didn’t have a clue what to say next. He could talk the talk when it mattered, boring everyone senseless with stories about his irrelevant fifteen minutes (more like fifteen seconds) of fame on TV last year, but he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box by any means. Lorna knew that Ainsworth wanted her—she’d known it for ages. She also knew that he’d never expected to be having a conversation like this with her in a hundred years.
“Look,” she said, “I feel really bad. I want to make it up to you, but there are too many people in here. Do you think we could go somewhere else and talk?”
“Sure.”
“I think I got the wrong impression earlier.”
“I think I gave you the wrong impression.”
“It’s just that it’s hard to know what to do for the best these days, isn’t it? And like you say, with everything that’s happened here today, everyone’s on a knife edge. The stakes are so much higher now, you know? You put a foot out of place or say the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time and…”
“I know,” Mark said. “I feel the same. Especially with Jas. It’s like I’m treading on eggshells all the time. Don’t say anything, but I’m starting to think he’s losing the plot.”
“He’s struggling, just like the rest of us,” Lorna agreed. “Hey, I kept a bottle of wine hidden away in the kitchen. It won’t help against the cold, but if you fancy a glass…?”
“Or two?”
“Or three?”
He moved toward her and she started back down the steps. She led him quickly across the courtyard, both of them frantically looking from side to side, checking no one else was around like a pair of kids sneaking out after being grounded by their parents. They stopped outside the café door.
“Have you still got the keys?” she asked. He rummaged in his trouser pockets and pulled out a bunch of keys. He started looking through them, holding up one at a time until he found the one which fitted the lock. Hands trembling with nervous excitement, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, then did the same with the door into the kitchen.
They’d barely got inside before she was on him. She shut the door behind her, then wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard. Dumbstruck, for a moment he forgot how to react. It had been so long since he’d had any physical contact like this. The kiss took Lorna by surprise too, and for a few seconds she forgot herself. The warmth of holding another person close … the softness of their lips … the moisture and heat which passed between them … Basic pleasures had all but been completely neglected since the day everyone had died. How long had it been since either of them had felt anything like this?
“Bloody hell, Lorna,” he said in a momentary gap between her frantic kisses, barely able to control himself.
“Put something up at the window,” she told him. “We don’t want anyone looking in on us.”
He kissed her again, then reluctan
tly pulled away and did as she asked. He was hard and he adjusted himself, struggling to think straight, his belly burning with desire. He managed to block the narrow strip windows with dish cloths, chopping boards and empty boxes, doing all he could to cover up the gaps as quickly as possible.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” he said as he worked, suddenly feeling incredibly emotional but doing all he could not to show it. “I didn’t think you felt this way…”
“Funny how things work out,” she replied, leaning up against a stainless steel work unit and watching him. He looked back over his shoulder as she undid the zip on the heavy winter coat she seemed to be permanently wearing these days. With no real heating anywhere in the castle other than the classroom, everyone wore as many layers of clothing as they could comfortably get on. She took off her coat and a sweatshirt, already struggling with the cold, then slowly started to undo the buttons on her shirt. Ainsworth couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Are you ready for that drink now?” she asked.
“Sure … thanks…”
Lorna moved forward and kissed him again, a gentle peck on his unshaven cheek this time. He felt her breasts brush against him and he thought he might be about to pass out from the sudden strength of the previously supressed emotions which washed over him. She turned her back on him and bent over. Was she being deliberately provocative for his benefit? He studied the curves of her body, buried for so long under all those layers. She reached down into a narrow gap between two work units where she and Caron had stashed several bottles of drink earlier in the week.
“Hope you like red,” she said.
“I’m not bothered,” Ainsworth replied quickly, a definite and unexpected vulnerability evident in his voice. Lorna wrapped the fingers of her outstretched hand around the neck of the closest bottle and gripped it tight.
Moving with sudden, unexpected speed, she stood up, swung around, and smacked him across the face. Ainsworth fell at her feet. She looked down at him sprawled out over the floor, and nudged him with her foot. Nothing. Whether she’d just knocked him out or killed him, she didn’t have time to care. She took his keys, locked him in the kitchen, then disappeared back out into the shadows.
