by Lulu Taylor
I nod. I can see that. Out in the grounds, young men and women are busy, clearing more undergrowth and digging what look like huge pits with the help of a noisy mechanical digger.
‘Septic tank,’ explains Archer, gesturing to one, ‘for when we’re off the mains.’ He points at another. ‘A heat reclamation system, using the earth’s stored heat to warm the house. No need for fossil fuels or the grid. Though we will burn wood if we can do so sustainably. And we’ll be generating a lot of our own power with a system of solar panels, wind turbines and so on. While the grid is still functioning, we’ll use that. But you can expect it to start failing any day now. Our techies are working on keeping all our equipment going with our own power sources.’
‘Really?’ I can’t believe it. It’s so hard to imagine a life where the simple act of switching on a light or plugging something in is not possible.
‘That’s right.’ He turns to look at me seriously again. ‘I’m telling you, Rachel, we’ve been closing our eyes to this disaster. The lights are going to start going out. It’s no lie; you can read about it in any academic journal on energy security. I’ve read them all.’
We stop at the border to the woods. ‘Is this part of your land?’ I ask, pushing my hands deep inside my pockets. Despite the warmth of the day, there’s still a chill breeze and my fingers are cold.
‘Yes. We won’t go in there. It’s a bit . . . I guess dangerous isn’t the word. Unpredictable.’
I raise my eyebrows at him.
‘At any one time, there’ll be half a dozen people in there learning survival skills. Not just laying fires and skinning rabbits and purifying water and digging toilets – though they are doing those things – but open-air combat skills too.’ He grins at me. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing too hard core. But we’re going to be ready for whatever happens. This place has been under siege before, you know. It might be again. I’ve got some top army boys helping me out on that one. They go in at unexpected times to test the guys. It’s all great fun.’
‘Do you use guns?’ I ask, thinking of army commandos with blacked faces and automatic rifles slung over their shoulders.
He shakes his head. ‘Knives and hand-to-hand out here. In case ammo runs out. We do gun skills at the local firing range – it’s just easier right now. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’
I have a feeling that gorgeous girls like Sophia and Agnes turning up at the firing range to practise their gun skills might draw some attention, but I say nothing. We turn and walk along the edge of the woods. I can see that he has it all worked out. He said he had a plan, and he does. He’s making this place self-sufficient, and equipping everyone with the ability to face any circumstances. From the sounds of it, the lights going out will be the least of our worries.
‘So, imagine,’ he goes on, ‘a population that has totally lost connection with the earth. It only knows how to exist in convenient, warm houses with plenty of fuel, and food available in abundance. All of that is taken away. What then?’
‘Riots?’ I guess. ‘Marches on Downing Street?’
He gives me a slightly pitying look. ‘In the early days, yes. Protests. But it won’t stay like that for long. Soon, as the shortages bite, people will start looting, stealing, fighting for what’s left. Can’t you imagine it? Once your family gets hungry, you’ll do anything to feed them. All the morality everyone prides themselves on will go out of the window. Grown men will raid hospital kitchens and take food from the sick for their children. They won’t care. It will become the survival of the fittest.’
I see it as he speaks. I think about our densely populated cities and what might happen if there’s no food, no sanitation, no order . . . ‘But the army and the police,’ I say. ‘They’ll enforce civil behaviour.’
‘Yeah, at first. And then a police state will be imposed. All stocks and supplies will go to the authorities to ensure the obedience of the armed forces. The government will turn on its anarchic and rioting people, and when the real violence breaks out, they’ll start firing.’
‘Oh my God.’ I turn to stare at him. ‘This is terrible!’
‘It’s more than terrible, Rachel. It’s the truth. It’s going to happen. But you don’t need to worry. Because you’re here with us.’
Our tour continues and I can’t help being impressed at everything he’s started in such a short time. Lots of land has been put aside for growing vegetables and raising animals. ‘We do eat meat,’ he says, ‘in moderation.’ He points out where the solar panels will go. ‘But they’re incredibly expensive and being handmade in Germany so they won’t be here for a bit.’
Wherever we go, we see industrious youngsters hard at work in various ways, all turning to smile and say hello as we pass. Inside, Rocky and Fisher are still toiling away putting up the shutters.
‘There’s going to be quite a bit of reinforcement,’ says Archer. ‘Once it becomes known that we have resources, we’re going to be inundated with people wanting either to take them or join us. We’ll need to be able to go into shutdown if necessary, while we deal with them.’
‘How will you deal with them?’
Archer has led me downstairs into the basement. I haven’t been here since Agnes found out I was taking food from the freezer. I go bright red as I remember that I haven’t replaced any of it. I haven’t been near a shop for weeks. There are now four freezers, and dozens of steel shelving units containing catering-size packets, boxes and cans of all kinds of food.
‘There’s a lot going on down here,’ Archer says. ‘Or there will be. Besides being our store cupboard, there’s going to be an industrial kitchen too. And come and see this.’
He leads me towards the stainless steel door, the one I became so afraid of when I was here alone. My fear seems ridiculous now. Of course there was no one living behind it. But I’m curious to see what was there.
Newly appeared next to the door is a keypad and a small display. Archer types in a code and puts his eye directly opposite the display. A blue light scans his eyeball, then the door opens.
‘There,’ he says. ‘Our ops room is in here. There are people like us all over the world and we are forming tentative alliances with them, so that we can share information when the time comes. There won’t be any air travel by then, though.’ He grins at me. ‘No aviation fuel.’
I look inside. There’s a room full of computers and screens and all manner of high-tech gizmos whose purpose I don’t understand. No wonder I could see flashing lights and hear clicks and chirrups. All this was powering away underneath me the whole time and I had no idea.
‘This is how we, the faithful, will keep in touch with each other,’ he says. ‘It’s already beginning. We’re not alone in our vision of the future.’
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘You really are getting prepared for this.’
‘Of course.’ Archer smiles. ‘We’ll go as far as we have to. But this is all you need to see for now. Just remember, whatever happens, we can never be as rotten as the world-governing cabal, who fund terrorists and repressive regimes. Believe me, those guys are the instruments of evil.’
I’m speechless, trying to take it all in. He’s so sure of himself. I’m filled with a desire to stay close to him, where I’ll be safe and protected, just as he promises. All the bad stuff will happen to other people, the ones who deserve it. The good ones will be okay.
‘We’ll see you tonight, won’t we?’ he asks with a smile.
‘Tonight?’
‘At the church.’
Of course. I’d forgotten about the spiritual element to all of this. ‘Yes . . . if you think I should come.’
‘I do. It’s going to be quite a party.’
Back in my room, I sit on my bed trying to take it all in. Around me, busy preparations are being made for apocalyptic events of the kind I always considered scare-mongering. Maybe it shows a lack of imagination but I’ve never been able to picture law and order breaking down, people fighting in the streets for food, fam
ilies starving and freezing in their own homes. Now I can, only too well.
But here is going to be a haven from that. They’re getting ready now so when it comes they’ll all be safe.
It’s a seductive vision: a self-contained, self-sufficient community, ready to ensure their survival when the worst happens.
Better to be in here than out there.
I think about the church service tonight. I’m curious: what religion can they be practising here? Archer is so keen on forming the world in his own vision, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were one he’s created himself. I recall the inside of the church and its lack of identifiable denomination, and remember Sissy’s vague description of what went on there.
How strange that she used to live here, and so did Archer’s family.
I frown. I don’t know how old the sisters are, but surely in their late sixties at least. So if they were born here, could they have known Archer’s great-aunt? He said his father was getting on when he had him, so it might be unlikely. The years might not work. If I see Matty and Sissy, I will ask them if they know anything about the Kendalls.
I get up and go to the mirror. I haven’t looked at myself properly for ages and the word ‘party’ has made me feel quite anxious. I might not be able to compete with the beautiful girls here but I still want to put on a good show if I can. Still, I can’t help gasping as I take in the reality of my appearance. My white hair has grown out so that I have a big stripe of dark roots, giving me the look of a badger, and it’s dry and crinkly from lack of proper conditioning. My face is dry too, and I’m gaunter than I’ve ever been. Is this really me? I can’t go anywhere looking like this.
Sophia knocks on the door and calls, ‘Rachel? Are you ready? It’s time to go.’
I open the door. She gapes at me.
‘Wow. You look great. What have you done to your hair?’
‘Just did my roots.’ I brought boxes of dye with me to keep up my new disguise, so I’ve spent the afternoon with plastic gloves on, smearing goo all over my scalp. I feel vaguely guilty about thinking of my appearance, but it’s also relaxing and restorative, so I let myself enjoy it too. I even got out some moisturiser and put on some mascara. It’s testament to how bad I must have looked if Sophia thinks I look great. I hardly pass muster right now.
She regards my clothes doubtfully. ‘You ought to wear white, really. Don’t you have something?’
I look down at my jeans and striped jumper. ‘There’s the stuff that was left in my room. The linen trousers.’
‘Yes. Put those on.’ Sophia watches unembarrassed as I take off my things and don the soft white trousers and white T-shirt.
‘Cool,’ she says, when I’m done. ‘Goes with the hair.’
‘What’s the service like?’ I ask as we walk through the house towards the front door.
‘This Friday is kind of special. Most of us are gathered now, so it’s a celebration of that. We’ll be reaffirming the group dynamic.’ She smiles at me. ‘It’s fun. Kind of crazy. Don’t be surprised.’
‘I’ll try not to be. No promises.’ I smile back. ‘Is Archer in charge?’
‘Oh yes. Always.’ Her expression softens at his name.
‘What brought you here, Sophia?’ I ask, curious.
‘Archer gives my life meaning,’ she says simply. ‘I was one of those people who seem to have it all, but I was completely hollow inside, yearning for something fundamental, trying to drown my unhappiness in drugs and partying. Then I met Archer. He understood me at once. He really . . . cared. You know?’ She gives me a sidelong glance from her green eyes. ‘He listened. And he showed me the way. This is my path now. He’s my – our – Beloved.’
I nod. I’ve noticed the way Archer seems to connect with everyone he meets, man or woman. At least, he does in here. Perhaps in the outside world he’d put some backs up, with his complete self-confidence and certainty in his vision.
‘It seems wacky at times,’ Sophia says, as we go out to the drive, lit by torches flaming at regular intervals, ‘but if you open your mind and heart to it, you’ll receive the message. And once you have . . . it’s irresistible.’
I’m apprehensive as we walk along the path to the church, where the stained-glass windows are dazzlingly illuminated by all the candles lit within. Around us are other people making their way to the church, all dressed in white. Some of the women wear snaky long dresses that hang off their shoulders, or tight white shorts and artfully ripped T-shirts. The men are in anything from robes that look like nightshirts to white jeans and shirts. All look in their twenties or early thirties, and they are of many different nationalities. Lots of the men have beards and long hair as Archer does, some with ponytails or plaits or dreadlocks. I envy the way they seem so modern, at ease with their individual choices, happy to find an identity that suits them beyond their cultures.
In the church, I follow Sophia into a row, not quite at the front but near enough to see everything with ease. There’s music but not from the organ, which is left untouched. A pair of young men are playing guitars together at the front, a beautiful classical duet that engenders a sense of untrammelled calm.
‘What do I do?’ I ask. There don’t seem to be any prayer books or orders of service.
‘Just follow what everyone else does, or go with it. Just do what feels right.’
I’m awkward without clear instruction. I hope I’m not expected to enter transports or speak in tongues, or whatever happens in this kind of place. ‘Who are we praying to?’ I ask.
‘You know . . . the spirit,’ Sophia says enigmatically. ‘The will. You’ll understand soon. Honestly. The Beloved will explain.’
I stop asking questions, as I don’t think I’m going to get anything clear from her. It’s all so vague and airy-fairy. I wonder how this can possibly tally with Archer’s razor-sharp vision of the future and what he needs to do to ensure survival.
Then, without warning, the guitar music stops and the men get up and wander off with their instruments. The buzz of talking gradually subsides. I glance behind me and see that there are about thirty or forty people in the church. I spot Agnes further back, and Kaia and the Chinese girl. There are Rocky and Fisher too.
Then Archer is walking up the aisle towards the altar, where the beautifully embroidered cloth now hangs, and he’s dressed in a baggy white robe, open at the neck to show an expanse of chest. As he walks, the congregation burst into noisy applause, whooping and cheering. He acknowledges them with nods, smiles and outstretched arms, turning in every direction as he goes, shaking hands when he can. At the top, he stops and turns and faces the gathering.
‘Welcome. Tonight is amazingly special. Here we are. Not all of us, of course. We’ve got brothers and sisters in our other locations, and they may join us in time. But right now, the core of us is assembled. The heart of us is right here! The unbreakables. We’re all together.’
Loud cheers, whistles and whoops greet this announcement.
‘Guys, the rules here are no different from anywhere else. We are a community. What we do is for the communal good. We all give freely of our labour and our possessions, into the communal pot from which we are all protected and nourished. Right?’
Calls of agreement and support echo around.
Okay, I get it. It’s a new agrarian communism. For those who can afford to buy a huge estate. I remember the room full of up-to-the-minute technology in the cellar and wonder how much all this costs. Surely millions. But what’s the religious aspect?
Archer begins to talk. It is impossible not to watch him, his magnetically attractive figure walking back and forth at the front of the church, his voice so passionate, so articulate. Every sentence makes the clearest sense, leading inexorably on to the next, and on, until I cannot help but agree with every conclusion he comes to. He talks of the need for a spiritual life to complement their physical labour and to give meaning to their lives and relationships. He says that there is a second, even greater battle to be won in t
his world, beyond the struggle for survival in the coming firestorm. It will be the battle of good against evil, the battle of love against hate, and the battle of life over death.
‘We will ride into that battle, white-clad, shining, with the power of love and the power of life!’ he shouts.
They call their agreement in response.
‘We will win this great and final battle because we have the spiritual weapons in our hands. And the greatest weapon of all is love!’
This draws wild shouts of joy from the congregation. Beside me, Sophia applauds and shouts, her eyes shining.
Archer’s voice drops to a mesmeric tone, and he says, ‘Tonight we affirm our love for each other. We love without favour! We love equally, no matter race, gender, nationality or culture. All are worthy of love and all will be loved. We share, as we share all things, right? No favouritism for us. No shackles of law and state and hidebound, dead churches! We all love each other, and in that we find our strength and our freedom.’
They whoop and cheer again. The atmosphere is now alive, electric with excitement and anticipation.
‘So now, we do the ceremony – our own affirmation of our communal love for each other, and our commitment to complete equality of relationships.’
They roar in agreement and delight. There’s a powerful, animal force in the room, which I feel must come from youth whipped up into an emotional and physical frenzy.
What the hell is going to happen now?
I’m standing outside the church, shaky and breathless. I don’t know how I feel about it but I have the overwhelming sensation that it’s something I shouldn’t witness. The people inside the church have no shame, no embarrassment, but I’m not like that. When Fisher came over and took me by the hand, I whipped it away and shook my head. He shrugged, smiled and went to find someone else.
