by Frank Tayell
“I dunno,” Jay said sceptically.
“Well, we won’t know until we check for ourselves. Now, listen. This is important. It’s possible that we’re the only people left in town, but there might be others and there might be people out in the countryside who come looking for food. And there’s still the government. Perhaps they’ll have patrols roaming around to deter looters.”
“You think they might?”
“I don’t know. They’ll probably need everyone they can get to keep those enclaves in order. But it’s possible. So if we hear an engine, then we hide. If we get into any trouble, then we run. We definitely don’t try and fight. Understand?”
“You think we might have to?” He spoke with blithe unconcern, but she could see the worry in his eyes.
“Not yet. But we should be prepared for it.”
“Then we should take the sword Mr Baker left.”
“Really? And you know how to use it, do you?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s the pointy end first.”
“It’s not a joke, Jay. A sword’s like a gun. You have to know how to use it, and more than that, be prepared to stick it in someone’s gut, and turn and twist the blade, and—”
“Mum!”
“I’m serious. If you go around carrying a weapon like that, then you need to be ready to use it. Otherwise someone will take it from you and you’ll end up on the other end of it. So, we’ll leave the sword here, but…” She hesitated, then stood up and walked over to the small cupboard under the stairs. She opened it and took out two cricket bats. One new, the other well-worn, both mementos of Jay’s brief dalliance with the sport before she’d run out of money to pay the fees.
“These’ll do. No one will want to steal them, but should give someone pause. Now, get your shoes on. And don’t forget your scarf. It’s cold out.”
He grunted a pro-forma protest before pulling down the red and blue striped scarf from its peg.
The streets were empty, but they weren’t clear. The instructions on the emergency broadcast had been explicit. Bring clothes, a blanket and food. Beyond that, evacuees were allowed to bring whatever they could carry. Judging by the bric-a-brac of discarded electronics and clothing, prams and pushchairs, walking sticks and suitcases, people had left their homes carrying far more than they were able.
“What are you doing?” Nilda asked, when Jay dashed across the road and bent to pick something up.
Jay held up a smartphone, “Do you know how much this is worth?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s worth absolutely nothing. Try it. There’s no signal. No Internet. I doubt even the GPS will work.”
“I bet you’re wrong,” he said, flipping his fingers across the screen. “Oh,” he added with disappointment. “It’s locked.”
“The pinnacle of human civilisation,” she said. “More computing power in the palm of your hand than was used to land Neil Armstrong on the Moon, and it’s just worthless junk.”
“Yeah.” Jay made to throw it away, but stopped. Instead, with care, he laid it down on a garden wall. Nilda sighed.
They walked slowly, Nilda listening carefully for any vehicles. All she heard was a low susurrus drifting across the street as the damp morning breeze rustled the refugees’ discarded gear.
“Keep your eyes open,” Nilda said, softly. “Look out for twitching curtains, or tidy lawns, or anything that might suggest someone else has stayed in the town.”
They didn’t see any such sign until, a quarter of a mile away from Packard Street, Nilda grabbed her son’s arm.
“What?” he asked, affronted.
“Tell me what you see,” she said, pointing ahead of them.
“Nothing. Someone’s just cleared some of the road.”
“Right. Someone. People. So keep your ears and eyes open.”
Her heart sank with each step as she realised the cleared path led to directly to the camping shop. A few dozen yards further on, as the road curved, she saw two cars that had been parked in a V-shape to block the street. At a junction a few hundred yards further down she saw another similar barricade. She stopped. So did her son.
“What do we do now?” Jay asked.
“Now we go,” Nilda said. “Come on.”
Before they managed four steps, a man’s voice called out.
“What d’you want?”
As Nilda turned around she saw it wasn’t a man, not really. The speaker was only a few years older than Jay. Certainly he was far closer in age to him than to her.
“We were looking for supplies,” she called back. “For our stove. We thought the shops might be open.”
“Open?” he scoffed. “What? You think the shops would actually be open to sell stuff?”
“We just needed some fuel for our camping stove,” she replied, keeping her tone light and airy as if, despite all evidence to the contrary, it was just another ordinary day.
“Camping?” Now he sounded confused.
“Hence why we came to a camping shop,” she said, adding, “I’ve got cash.”
As they’d spoken the young man had stepped closer, and she was able to see him properly. He was tall and thin but neither wiry nor athletic, just skinny thanks to the fast metabolism of youth. He was dressed in a black leather jacket that looked suspiciously new, black jeans that she doubted had been washed since they’d been blasted with sand in some sweatshop, finished off with bright red trainers that hadn’t been designed for running.
“What’d I want with cash?” he asked, as he climbed up onto the roof of the nearest car. “The shops are closed.” First, he raised his arms above his head, then his voice to carry above the deserted streets. “The world’s ended. It’s all ours now. Ours!”
Nilda nodded slowly. She knew exactly which movie he’d copied that line from. It might even have been intimidating if he hadn’t tried to copy the accent too.
“This is yours, is it? Your territory? You’re claiming it?”
“That’s right,” he said, pulling out a skinny black-papered roll-up from his shirt pocket. “It’s all ours.” He lit the cigarette.
Nilda nodded again, looking around. She’d thought he was too confident to be on his own.
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said, breaking the silence a few seconds after it had become uncomfortable. “My name’s Nilda.”
“What?” he asked, the fake accent slipping.
“Nilda. That’s my name.”
“Yeah? I thought you didn’t look like you came from around here,” he drawled in a tone she’d heard many times before, though usually from someone much older.
“What’s your name?” she asked, keeping her tone friendly despite her growing unease.
“Why’d you want to know?”
“I’m just being polite since it seems we’re going to be neighbours.”
“Neighbours?” And again he sounded confused.
“Well, as you say, this is your territory. You’ve claimed it first. We’ve claimed everything west of the railway line. That’s ours.”
“Yours? Just the two of you?”
“Oh no. There’s a lot more of us than that. I could go and get them, if you like.”
The man eyed her for a moment, then half turned around.
“Oy! You lot! Get out here!” he yelled.
Five figures slouched out of a doorway behind him. They all seemed a similar age; all were male, strutting with that testosterone-fuelled invulnerability of the naive-young, and all were armed with a variety of blades that looked like they’d come from the butcher’s shop down the road.
“Is there trouble, Rob?” asked one who was twice the width and at least a third taller than the rest.
“No,” Nilda said. Looking at the men - though youths would be a better description - she guessed they’d been in the same class at school, or had dropped out of it together. “There’s no trouble. We’ll be seeing you, Rob.”
She turned, nodded to Jay, and they walked away.
&
nbsp; “That was seriously dangerous, Mum,” Jay said, when they were two blocks away.
“No, not really,” she said. “It would have been dangerous if we did that next week, maybe even tomorrow, but today they still remember the world before. They saw a mother with her son. Give it a few days and they’ll see us as rivals.”
“Is that why you said there were more of us?”
“Basically, yes. Disinformation. When you’re weak, pretend you’re strong.”
“And when he comes looking for us?”
“He’ll be looking over by the railway lines. But he won’t come looking for a while. Not as long as they’ve got food. No, I’ve seen dangerous kids before. Believe me. You were too young. You don’t remember what it was like on the estate back in London. Those kids, or men I suppose, they’re not dangerous. Not yet. They’ll stay safe behind their little barricade, probably stay there until the foods run out. Then they’ll be a problem. For now, none of them want to get hurt.”
“And what happens next week or next month?”
“That,” she sighed, “is a good question. If you have any ideas let me know.”
“Huh,” he grunted. “So, what do we do now? Go home?”
“No. Not yet. It’s a beautiful day and I’ve had another idea. We’ll have to forget those stoves. When the power is cut, we’ll go old-school and cook over a fire. But I don’t want to leave any food lying around for that lot to steal. And I think I know somewhere they won’t have thought of. Not yet. Not until they’re really hungry.”
“Where, Mum?”
“You’ll see.”
They kept walking, heading almost, but not quite, towards their house.
“There.” Nilda pointed at a row of shops.
“The fish and chip shop?” Jay asked, peering at the signs.
“We can have a look in there, but I was thinking more of the veterinarian’s.”
“What for?”
“Oh, Jay,” she sighed. “There’ll be no more ambulances, no more doctors. If we get hurt, we’ve no one else to turn to. It’s just us to take care of each other.”
“So why don’t we go try one of the pharmacies if we want medicine?” he asked, confused.
“Because we need food, too. Come on.”
A window at the back had already been broken. Inside, they found that someone had come in and selectively emptied the pharmaceutical cabinet. Whoever had done it had known exactly what they were looking for. Nilda scanned through the remaining vials, packets, and jars. She didn’t recognise any of the names, so she left them be. The looters, however, had only been interested in the drugs. Inside a store cupboard, just behind the reception desk, was row upon row of pet food.
“Here.” She opened her pack and pulled out a dozen of the drawstring bags. “You fill each of these.”
“What with?”
“Pet food,” she said.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Start with… this.” She pulled a packet from the shelf. “Bird food. Nuts and seeds compressed into lard. It’s high calorie.”
“No way!”
“Calories are calories. And fat and nuts and seeds can be baked into a cake. Start filling up the bags. I’ll see what else we might need.”
She found sutures, needles and sterile bandages, scalpels and a dozen other assorted instruments, most of which she only recognised as the kind of props they had in late night horror films. There was an eye-wateringly large pair of forceps, the world’s largest syringe, and what looked like a miniature pizza cutter. She took the ones she could think of a use for.
“Do you want me to fill all these bags?” Jay asked. “I mean there’s a lot here.”
“This is food, Jay. We’re not leaving it,” she said. “Pack it all. We’ll make as many trips as it takes.”
“But still, it’s a lot to carry.”
“You keep packing, I’ll worry about that.”
She went out into the street. It didn’t take her long to find two pushchairs. She brought them back and showed him how to balance the bags on the handles, with more on the seat.
“It’s why I always had to make sure you were strapped in when I went shopping,” she said, “otherwise you were liable to jump out every time you saw a bird, then the pushchair would topple, and the shopping would end up scattered across the street.” He grunted an embarrassed indifference.
At Jay’s insistence they went inside the fish and chip shop. It was empty, but not looted. Everything from fat to potatoes to flour had gone. The freezers were unplugged and defrosted. Even the fridge by the cash register had been emptied of soft drinks.
“Satisfied?” she asked her son. He reluctantly agreed, and they headed home. Ten minutes later, they’d unloaded their bags. Before Jay had a chance to sit down, Nilda pushed him back out the door. They’d emptied the vet’s by lunchtime.
“Alright,” Jay said, collapsing into a kitchen chair. “That’s the vet’s emptied. We’ve enough food now, right?”
“Enough?” She picked up a can. “This says rabbit in gravy. With extra marrow-bone jelly. It sounds nice.”
“Huh!” Jay grunted.
“One of these,” Nilda went on, ignoring her son’s muted protest, “plus one of the tins of tomatoes, and some pasta, and we’ve got ourselves a meal.”
Jay took the can, suspiciously. “I dunno. Maybe. But is it going to be enough?”
“Work it out,” Nilda said. “One tin of rabbit, one tin of tomatoes. Forget the pasta for a moment and that’s two tins per meal. Since we want at least two meals each day, we need four cans per day, or one hundred and twenty per month. That’s fourteen hundred until we hit spring.”
Jay turned to look at the pile of cans on the living room floor. “I suppose we’ve got about… two hundred?”
“And counting what we’ve got in the cupboards, I’d say it was close to five hundred. We need at least three times that. At least. That’s just going to be the bare minimum for survival. And we want to do more than just survive. I think we should aim for three thousand.”
“You can’t be serious! Where are we going to put it all?”
“Sebastian’s house. Now come on, there’s a couple of hours left until dark. We’ll go to the garden centre down near the railway station. They sell pet food.”
9th March
“Come on. Get up.”
“It’s still dark.
“And it’s started to rain. But if you want to be eating more than bark and leaves in the winter, we need to go out and find more food. Today. Tomorrow and every day from now on.”
He groaned. She pulled the duvet off him. After he dressed, they went out. They came back, and they went out again. And again.
11th March
“It’s not a bad haul, Mum,” Jay said, loyally. It was mid-afternoon, their living room, kitchen, and hall were filled with cans and boxes. There were some packets of pasta, rice, and sugar and other more familiarly human food, but most of what they had found was intended for pets.
“It’s not enough,” she said.
“It’ll get us through until December, won’t it?”
“Ye-es,” she said slowly, as she turned the pages in the notebook. Every tin and packet they had found was listed, the inventory annotated with each item’s relative nutritional value, calorie content and any vitamins or minerals with which it had been fortified. “Probably into January. It’s what happens afterwards that worries me.” She sighed. “I just wish we’d gone to that pub yesterday.”
When she’d thought to go there earlier that afternoon, they’d found Rob and his gang ensconced outside. Nilda had heard them long before they were in sight. She and Jay had broken into a house and watched the group through a gap in a garden fence. Four of them, including Rob, sat at one of the tables outside the front door. They had a barrel lying on the table, dozens of broken glasses littering the ground at their feet, and a fug of smoke above their heads.
“Of all the pubs in town,” she said, bitterly,
“why did they have to choose that one?”
It wasn’t the beer Nilda was after, nor what little might have been left in the kitchens. The pub had its own microbrewery. They specialised in a barley beer, and she knew for a fact that the barley was stored in a building at the back.
“We could try tomorrow. Or later tonight?” Jay suggested.
“No. They looked like they were settling in.”
“Well, what if we went back to Packard Street and see if we can get that fuel for the stoves.”
“They weren’t all at the pub. No, it’s too much of a risk. They’ll probably leave when the beer runs out. And I can’t see them touching the barley. We’ll go back in a week.” And hope Rob didn’t set fire to the place in the meantime.
It was frustrating. During their search for supplies, they had come across quite a few places that had been looted. Those Rob had been to were easy enough to spot, even if it hadn’t been for the ubiquitous black-papered roll-ups he’d left behind. Jay said it was Rob’s calling card. Nilda thought it was more like a dog marking its territory. Those places had been turned over and trashed; windows broken, furniture slashed, electronics taken or smashed. But there had been other houses, ones she was sure had been looted by someone else, someone who knew what to look for. There the food and some other supplies would be missing but only from one or two select properties on a street. Who that was, she didn’t know. Not that she wanted company, but she’d seen no women at the barricade nor at the pub. She knew with someone like Rob, it wouldn’t be long before he decided to come looking for her.
She had planned on going to the pub first thing that morning. Had she done so they would have been there when he and his lot arrived. That probably wouldn’t have ended well. Instead, on Jay’s insistence, they had taken a trip to the two nearest farms. He’d been the one to realise that without anyone to take care of them, any livestock left behind after the evacuation would be dead in a few days’ time. The animals had gone. So had the farmers, and they had managed to take every scrap of food with them. All that remained was one half of a formal requisition order.
