The Camp

by Guy N Smith

  ‘Looks like a chapel,’ he muttered. ‘Come on, we’ve got to keep going.’

  ‘Billy?’

  ‘What?’ He clicked his tongue with impatience.

  ‘I’d like to … to go inside that chapel. Just for a minute or two.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Incredulity, staring in disbelief at her. ‘You ain’t bin in a chapel since the day we was married!’

  ‘I know,’ she was embarrassed but determined, ‘I’d like to now. It’d … make me feel easier, Billy.’

  He hesitated, sighed. ‘Oh, all right.’ What was a few minutes when they were already hours behind schedule? They might be days too late, there was no guarantee that they were even going to get off this bloody estate.

  The chapel door creaked open and they tiptoed inside. A single light was burning at the far end; silence and yet there was an atmosphere of disquiet where there should have been peace. They squinted in the brightness, made out the figure of a man standing, head bowed, before the altar steps. So painfully thin, Valerie thought, and so scantily clothed. He could not have weighed more than seven or eight stones at the most. A victim of the cold and starvation, doubtless, one who had got left behind in the rush for a warmer climate. Like themselves.

  She started. There was somebody else here, too, a woman in the front pew; not sitting, slumped, head lolled to one side. So still, she had to be ill or even …

  The man heard them, turned slowly round. A pinched face, eyes that saw and yet took time in comprehending. His lips moved but it was a few seconds before the words came. ‘Welcome to the House of God.’ He rubbed his bony hands together, was obviously agitated. ‘I am glad you have come, perhaps you would be kind enough to help me.’

  A nutter, Billy Evans thought, and we don’t have the time.

  ‘Of course,’ Valerie smiled. They had helped Ruth, now it was the turn of this man. ‘What can we do for you, Mr …’

  ‘Holman,’ he gestured towards the slumped figure in the pew. ‘My wife … I am afraid that God has called her …’

  Bloody hell, Billy took a step backwards, she’s dead!Let’s get out of here, I don’t like being shut in with a bloomin’ corpse.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Edward Holman took a faltering step towards them, ‘you could give me a hand to lift her. In view of the circumstances I think it would be both wise and reverent to lay her behind the altar. Out of sight and close to God, if you see what I mean.’

  Billy paled but Valerie was already walking forward. He shuffled behind her, his working boots scraping on the polished floor as though in protest. Valerie always got involved, that was her trouble. She had been the instigator in taking Ruth along with them, maybe that was why the police pulled them in, because of Ruth. They hadn’t released her, he was sure of that, otherwise she would have come back to them. They wanted her for something. Trust Valerie, and now she was at it again!

  Rigor mortis had not yet set in and the dead woman slumped when they began to move her. Billy jumped, almost dropped her. A heavy weight, he took her feet, Valerie and Holman the arms and shoulders. Staggering, grunting, straining as they negotiated the altar steps. Billy thought it would have been easier to drag her but he refrained from saying so. This fellow didn’t look particularly upset, was very philosophical about his bereavement.

  ‘That will do nicely.’ Holman straightened up, crossed himself. ‘May the Lord look after her.’

  There was a space behind the plain wooden altar, a kind of alcove, enough room for them to lay the body at full stretch, pull the arms down by her side, feet together. Billy looked around for something to cover her with but there was nothing.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Holman dropped to his knees in front of the altar, ‘it was most kind of you. Perhaps you would care to join me in a little prayer of thanksgiving for her life. She was a good woman and a faithful wife.’

  ‘Er … thanks, but we’d better be going.’ Billy had a firm hold on Valerie’s wrist, they weren’t stopping here a moment longer. ‘The snow’s getting deep.’

  ‘Oh? Yes, of course.’ A flicker of surprise on the other’s sharp features then it was gone. ‘Oh, Lord, we thank you for the life of Margaret, a good and faithful servant, now departed …’

  ‘Phew!’ Billy was sweating by the time they got outside. ‘That’s enough for me. Now, let’s think, if we leave the road here and cut across towards that fence, maybe we can get out that way.’

  It was beginning to get light, a cold grey dawn that had buildings and trees standing out starkly like forbidding sentries.

  ‘I think I can hear somebody coming!’ Valerie caught her husband’s arm, pulled him back. ‘Look, over there, a crowd of people!’ Alarmed as she remembered their last attempt, how the crowd had closed in on them, shouted and jeered.

  ‘Ignore them.’ Billy walked on, dragging her with him. ‘Looks like a bunch of kids to me. Probably scavenging for food, looting the deserted houses. Don’t look at ’em.’

  She couldn’t see them properly, a blur of outlines, bunching; threatening. ‘I don’t like the look of them, Billy. I’m frightened.’

  He felt a tightness in his chest, a pounding. The others were approaching, fanning out into a semicircle. Youths, close-cropped heads; skinheads. Jeans and braces, oversize boots. Like the ones who caused trouble at the Wolves and the Albion, fighting running battles, clashing with shoppers before and after matches. It was time they brought the birch back, conscription too, it would put a stop to all this. Jesus, these yobs had to be thick, everybody fighting for survival and they were intent on causing trouble.

  ‘Just look at these creeps!’ The one who appeared to be the leader was barring the Evans’s path. ‘Got their winter woollies on to keep out the cold. Got your long johns on, Grandpa?’ Guffaws, jeers. ‘Let’s ’ave a look, then.’

  ‘Let us through, please!’ Billy tried to sound firm, it came out shaky. He pushed himself in front of Valerie. It was no good telling her to run because there was nowhere to run to. They had to bluff it out, defuse the situation.

  ‘You ain’t goin’ nowhere,’ the youth drew himself up to his full height. ‘Like I said, we want to see your long johns. And your wide-legged knickers, missus!’

  They laughed again, closed in another yard.

  ‘And we got sommat to show you, ain’t we, fellers?’

  A rustling and clinking as hands delved into pockets, came out again and held up an array of weaponry; spiked knuckle-dusters, bicycle chains, hobby knives with the blades protruding, a ball with nails sticking out of it, empty beer bottles held by the necks.

  Valerie felt herself go weak. A gang on the rampage who meant them harm. Where were those police, the ones in grey uniforms? Even they would be welcome right now.

  ‘Get yer things off and let’s ’ave a look at this fancy underwear!’ A husky voice that grated menacingly ‘Both of you, jump to it!’

  ‘We’ll have to do as he says, Billy,’ Valerie whispered. ‘Not that either of us have got what they think. Perhaps if we show them they’ll go away.’

  Billy Evans began unbuttoning his coat, fumbled with his belt. Old fashioned fly-buttons, he did not believe in new-fangled zips, they were always jamming. He felt his trousers slacken, let them go, sliding all the way down to his ankles. Icy wind gusted up his pants, flapped the legs.

  Laughter, vicious and humourless, faces pushed forward to view the underwear. ‘E’s with-it.’ The tall youth pointed with the blade of his knife. ‘Long-legged ’uns but they ain’t long johns! Hold it right there, mister, and now let’s ’ave a butcher at yer missus, see what she’s wearing down under.’

  Valerie opened her topcoat, pulled up her dress. There, look at that, you dirty buggers! Panties like teenage girls wear. Satisfied?

  They weren’t. ‘Drop ’em, missus. You, too, Grandpa!’

  Oh, God, she wanted to faint, didn’t care if she dropped dead this very minute. Clutching at the elastic of her underwear. I’m not going to show you that!

  Billy had
dropped his pants. His shirt flapped up in the breeze, heads were thrust forward, the onlookers hustling one another for a view. A mocking gasp in unison, somebody said, ‘Jeez, look at that, just like a bleedin’ donkey’s!’

  Billy’s hands were clasped over his crotch in embarrassment. You bastards!

  ‘Now, missus, drop ’em!’

  Valerie backed away, edged behind her husband. ‘No, I won’t. I’ll … scream.’

  Three of the skinheads came forward, stood there, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the cowering couple. The big one held out a length of chain, let it swing, a pendulum that everybody was suddenly watching; fascinated, almost hypnotised. It gained momentum, a half-circle, now a full one. Faster, going still faster until it was a blur that flashed ominously in the dawn light. A rush of air. A threat.

  Valerie shook violently, stepped aside from Billy and with quivering fingers began to push her underwear downwards. The garment caught on her knees, she tugged at it, kicked so that it slid down where it became caught on the rim of her green wellingtons. She closed her eyes as she flapped her coat wide, held up the hem of her dress to waist height. Legs apart, eyes closed. Oh, the degradation, it would haunt her for the rest of her days. I’m not going to watch. Just look and get it over with.

  She was aware of them crowding in on her, exaggerated intakes of breath, low whistles, mutterings. One of them grunted. ‘It’s like the mat we used to have outside the back door until my mum threw it out!’ Laughter. Another voice, ‘You can’t see the lawn for grass!’

  ‘What we gonna do wiv ’em, Stink?’

  A long pause during which Valerie kept her eyes tightly closed. A dreadful moment of waiting, a prisoner in the dock holding his breath, the judge taking his time over announcing the sentence. Fearing the worst. Billy, do something!

  ‘I reckon they’d better get them winter clothes off before they suffocate themselves,’ the leader announced at last. ‘You hear me? Strip!’

  Valerie’s mind spun. No, not naked! ‘We’ll freeze to death. Worse than that, we’ll …’

  ‘You goin’ to get your togs off or do we ’ave to cut ’em off n you?’ A clicking noise, it was the blade of the hobby knife being flicked in and out of its shield.

  ‘We’d better do as they say.’ She sensed Billy starting to unfasten his shirt buttons. Nobody spoke, the audience at this early morning striptease were awaiting the finale.

  Valerie turned her head away, still kept her eyes shut. She shrugged out of her coat, dropped it on the ground, began tugging her sweater over her head. Her blouse next, perhaps they would allow her to leave her bra on. Her wellingtons were a problem, she nearly overbalanced. So bitterly cold, she would die of pneumonia. Suddenly death did not seem such a dreadful prospect. Oblivion, the end of a struggle to survive, no more humiliation.

  She shivered, that was the lot. And pray God they don’t touch me.

  ‘Your bra!’

  She nodded, had difficulty in unclasping it. It fell away, lay on the ground. Peeping from beneath lowered eyelids, seeing a ring of leering faces, looking to Billy. Oh, God, he looked a sight, even here she wanted to laugh. His pot belly sticking out, flabby bottom quivering.

  ‘Good.’ The one called Stink nodded to the youth next to him. ‘Pick up all them clothes.’

  ‘I don’t ’ave no gloves, Stink!’

  ‘You can disinfect your ’ands later.’ Shrieks of laughter.

  The other began picking up the fallen garments, stood there with an armful, asked, ‘What we goin’ to do wiv ’em?’

  ‘We’ll find somewhere to dump ’em.’

  ‘These creeps, I mean. Can’t say I fancy ‘er, saggin’ tits and a wrinkled belly.’

  Valerie’s temples were pounding wildly. Insult me all you like but please don’t touch me. I’m glad you don’t fancy me.

  ‘Aw, let ’em go, they’re ’armless. Give the campers a laugh, if any of the lazy fuckers are up yet.’

  Sheer relief, she almost fainted. The judge had pronounced his findings. Not guilty, you’re free to go.

  There were just the two of them standing there, herself and Billy, shivering and trying not to look at each other. There was no sign of the youths, not so much as a receding footfall. They had gone.

  ‘Billy, whatever are we going to do now?’ Strangely the tears did not come, just utter despair. I’ve given up.

  ‘We’d better go back.’ He turned away dejectedly, left her to follow him if she wanted. He didn’t care if she stayed. They were beaten, nothing else mattered.

  Padding aimlessly along concrete pathways, so tired that she had difficulty keeping up with him. She could not remember where their house was, didn’t care. They were only going back there to die, better to end it all out here. She envied that woman in the chapel, for her it was all over.

  ‘Billy?’

  ‘What?’ He did not slow his shuffling pace, did not turn his head.

  ‘Can you remember the way back to the chapel?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought it might be a nice place to go to die.’

  Billy did not reply, kept on going.

  ‘Billy?’ She stopped, listened.

  ‘What is it now?’

  ‘I can hear somebody coming.’

  Approaching footsteps from behind that had them cowering, afraid to turn and look. The gang had followed them, played with them as a cat tortures a mouse for hours on end; you’re free, no you’re not, I’ve changed my mind. We want you after all, missus, even with your sagging tits and your wrinkled belly.

  ‘Hold it!’ The voice was commanding, the hand that seized her arm was not lusting for her flesh. Frightening in a different way; she gave a cry.

  ‘Jeez, it’s them two again!’

  Valerie stared at the grey uniformed men, both with visors pulled down, visibly taken aback. Her stomach heaved; oh, no, not that awful room again being held down whilst the doctor injected them.

  ‘Well, they certainly believe in extremes,’ the second man laughed. ‘First it’s winter woollies, now it’s romping round in the all-together!’

  ‘We were … mugged,’ Billy said.

  ‘Mugged! You don’t look like you’ve been roughed up to me. What’d they take … your clothes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Valerie knew they would not believe her wished that her hands were free so that she could clasp them over her breasts. These two were as bad as that other lot, looking where they had no right to look. Voyeurism in its most seedy form.

  ‘I see.’ One of them was holding her, the other had Billy’s arm twisted behind his back. ‘All right, well you’d better come with us and then you can make your complaint and we’ll see what we can do about finding these guys. We can’t have that sort of thing going on in the camp, can we? Neither can we have a couple walking about in the nude, some folks might complain. We’ll find you some clothes and maybe some breakfast as well.’

  Condescending, talking to us like a couple of naughty children, Valerie made no attempt to struggle. If these men had made up their minds to take Billy and herself back to that awful cell-like room then there was nothing they could do about it. Her head dropped on to her chest and she let the tears come.

  ‘Jeez, Mike,’ the taller of the two security men spoke in a low voice to his companion, ‘the chiefs in for a bloody shock and I wouldn’t like to be the one to tell him. This pair should be just about coming out of it by now, forgotten all about what happened. Instead, they’ve gone bleedin’ screwier than they were before! The fucking antidote doesn’t work!’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Ann was astounded to find Professor Morton standing in the hallway of her chalet; she had not heard him knock, either she had left the door unlocked or else he had used a staff master key. Her stomach churned, the floor seemed to tilt, came up at her. She waited until it steadied.

  ‘Tony!’ Shocked surprise.

  ‘I have to talk to you, Ann.’

  There was definitely something amiss. No longer was h
e the suave silver-haired professor who delegated, had his staff looking to him with respect and underlying fear. Gone was the expensive suit beneath the white coat, the commanding manner. His hair was awry as though he had suddenly been summoned from his bed, tie hastily knotted and slewed to one side; a woollen waistcoat, unbuttoned, and a pair of creased grey slacks. More pallid than she had ever known him, his expression one of urgency, even anguish.

  ‘Go ahead, then, I’m listening.’ No deals, this is my place and I’m off duty. A servant of the Department is never off duty. Say what you have to and go.

  ‘We have to get away from here, Ann. You and I. Now!’ He was chewing on the stem of an unlit pipe, grinding his teeth on the nylon mouthpiece.

  ‘I thought we were forbidden to leave the camp?’

  ‘Everything’s gone wrong!’ He spread his hands. ‘The whole experiment is out of control. They’re …’ he looked behind him as if to check that the front door was properly closed, ‘they’re murdering innocent people and it’s my fault.’

  ‘Who have they murdered?’ Her breathing was suddenly too fast, her tongue had gone dry. ‘They shot Jane the girl, McNee; he got what he deserved. Who else?’

  ‘They’ve killed the Maces!’ A whispered scream his features contorted. ‘They sent them out in their car on to the roads. They might as well have put a drunk behind the wheel. It’s in the papers, on the television news. Tong, because he started asking questions, and three innocent holidaymakers with him just because they happened to be riding on the same chairlift. Get rid of ’em, destroy the evidence. I’m to blame, I formulated the drug. And there is no antidote!’

  ‘But you said …’

  ‘Sure, I lied. It might have worked, it did on the animals and I was convinced it would on the human brain, but there was no way I could try it until I had to and I prayed that that occasion would never arise. C-551 should have worn off after a few days, anyway, but it hasn’t! I checked on the Evanses whilst they were unconscious, took blood tests. I knew then that it was a failure. Oh, God, what’s going to happen to everybody? I’ll tell you, there’ll be “accident” after “accident”, that fiend Muliman turned loose to do what he loves doing most of all – legalised murder!’