He grew nervous as the others listened. These were very delicate issues, and he had to tread lightly.
“It is understandable that the less fortunate would set out to reach the few islands of relative tranquillity, such as ours, that remain. Now, if we turned them away, if we denied them the little cures and medicine we have at our disposal, would they just go elsewhere? Perhaps, yes. But I suspect some might refuse to simply leave. Over time, they’d grow bitter, and might team up with other sick and desperate souls arriving from the continent, and take with force what we refused to provide out of kindness. They would not only be a threat to our resources – as you perhaps see it, Ms. Brand – but also a threat to our safety.”
“Do you mean, Father, we should keep giving them what is ours for fear of reprisals?” asked Bill. He was visibly irritated. “In any case, that’s what the Guard is for. For protecting us. And if that means shooting gangs of violent meteorwraiths, home-grown or otherwise, that’s what we’ll do.”
“No, Bill,” intervened Catherine. “It’s not about that. It’s about providing a service to those in need.”
“Please, Major,” said Paul. “Don’t misunderstand us. The Guard, under your lead, has had to make tough decisions, and has always protected us wisely and bravely. But rather than having to confront scattered groups of vagrants and ‘wraiths, we’d have a growing number of embittered, desperate souls to deal with. And these souls never set out to come and harm us, as others do. They just want our help.”
Bill rubbed his chin, then squared his shoulders. He was often uncomfortable when involved in a debate. But, unlike Ms. Brand, he didn’t seem to consider the migrants a threat in themselves, but rather a danger for their resources. Which, Catherine had to admit to herself, was undeniable.
“Well,” said the former soldier drily. “I’m happy to comply with whatever decision the Council makes.” He appeared to have nothing else to add.
Ms. Brand wasn’t happy. “But even if we do continue to care for these… people, where are we going to get more medicine?”
“Perhaps I can help with that,” said a voice.
* * *
They all turned their heads and saw a man in his early forties, worn but good-looking, whose tired eyes peered at them through thick, black-rimmed glasses.
“But it isn’t going to be easy,” he added.
Paul recognised him immediately. He’d seen him at Mass with a young boy who appeared to be his son. They had stood out amongst the few, old faces he was so used to seeing at every function.
“Ah – sorry, I’d heard there was a meeting here, and I thought I’d pop round to take a look,” said the man in response to their surprised expressions.
“Of course, of course,” said Frank as they all stood up. “It’s just that we don’t usually have people turn up at the Monday meetings.”
“Please, come in,” said Paul.
The man grabbed a chair and joined the circle of adults. There was something intriguing about him, thought Catherine. Despite this being his first time among them, his movements were relaxed, self-confident. Once seated, he smiled at them. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Edward Moore. Me and my son, Mathew, arrived in Bately a couple of days ago.”
The others cordially expressed their welcomes.
“It’s great to have you here, Mr. Moore. Would you fancy a cup of tea?” said Ms. Brand, with a smile the likes of which Catherine had never seen her display before.
“Oh, yes please. That would be fantastic.”
As Ms. Brand rose, heading for the teapot in the corner of the classroom, Bill leaned forward, shifting his burly weight on the creaking chair. “You were saying you might be able to help with the meds, right?” There was a hint of distrust in his voice, but Moore seemed to ignore it, or accept it as understandable.
“Yes, I believe I might – ah, thank you, Ms.–?”
“Oh, please, call me Marge,” said Ms. Brand, handing him the tea.
“Okay then, thank you, Marge,” Moore drank a sip. He closed his eyes, and curled his lips in a smile. “Well, it’s been a while since I last enjoyed such a good cup of tea. Thank you.”
“You were saying?” said Bill.
“Ah, yes. Well, you see, Mathew and I have travelled here from Sevenoaks. The situation around London is awful, you know. We came on foot.”
Catherine and Paul exchanged a glance. Such a trip was a folly for a single, unarmed man and his son. Almost a guaranteed death sentence. Somehow, this composed, mild man had got through it unscathed, or so it seemed.
“Anyway,” he continued, “we’d heard things were better, in some areas of the south-east. I tried to gather information, when things began deteriorating. All I wanted was for the three of us to get out of London–”
“The three of you?” asked Catherine. “It wasn’t just you and your son?”
Moore turned quiet, and looked at her. Catherine couldn’t help feeling both drawn and intimidated by his deep, penetrating gaze.
He shook his head, with a gesture that said, politely but conclusively: Not now. No one insisted.
“Someone mentioned Bately as a safe place. I can’t remember who it was. We met quite a few people, along the way. Most of them unpleasant. Some of them… monstrous.”
He took another sip from his cup. The others listened.
Chapter 8
Moore
“One night, we found a warehouse,” began Moore.
“We’d been walking for days. Mathew was tired, although he didn’t want to admit it. He’s a good boy. It’s strange – although the meteorites were utterly outside of my, or anyone’s, control, I can’t help feeling guilty. As if his having to go through all this were my fault. It’s silly, but there it is.”
After a pause, he continued, “I thought we’d be able to stay in Tonbridge. They’ve secured the place well. But when we got there, it was in lock-down. The garrison troops pointed their rifles at us. We tried to explain we were not sick, nor did we intend to cause any trouble. They fired a warning shot. It landed but a metre from Mathew, and left a tiny hole in the dirt. It hurts, for a man, for a father, to be vulnerable. To not be able to stand up for one’s self and family. I’m sure it’s similar for women, but I doubt it’s quite the same.
“There were others there, too. No one was being let in. It must have been there that I heard of Bately, and how you were doing decently well. Yes, I remember now. It was an old man. His shoes were in tatters, he could hardly walk. Mathew offered to give him his own. I wouldn’t have allowed it, but I felt proud. His offer was sincere. The old man was touched. He refused the shoes, and told me to ‘take your young lad down to Bately. They’re handling things all right, over there.’ Then, he simply walked off, dragging his feet in the dirt. He looked so frail.
“As we walked away, Mathew looked over his shoulder, back towards the old man. I noticed he had tears in his eyes. We didn’t talk about it. We rarely discuss this sort of thing.
“In any case, we left Tonbridge and headed south-east along the A21. We stayed away from the road itself. There’s nowhere to hide along it. We followed side roads and crossed fields. In different circumstances, it would have been a very pleasant trek.
“The second night, we found a small clearing amidst the cobnut trees, somewhere near Matfield. We lay our sleeping bags on the ground, and stared up at the sky. It looked like the shattered surface of some old mirror, criss-crossed by the trees’ branches. We slept better than we had in months.
“But when we woke up, most of our food was gone. I think it must’ve been a fox. Mathew was brave. ‘We’ll find something, Dad,’ he said. He’s 16, my son. Anyway, by the time we came across the warehouse – it was just outside of Ashford – we were starving. We’d heard bad stories about Ashford, but I hoped we might find some food. When we got there, it started pouring; it was that thick, muddy rain we get from time to time since the impact. It was quite miserable. Then we found the warehouse, Rensworth Auto Spares. It wa
s a large, rusty old thing. We made sure nobody was about, and crept inside,” Moore stopped, taking a shaky breath.
“The spares were gone, except for some random bits and bobs on the dusty floor. Along the side walls, tall, wide shelves reached all the way up to the ceiling. It was very quiet, in there. I told Mathew to wait, and I walked over to the opposite end of the warehouse. There was another, smaller entrance, here. I peeked outside. This door was hidden behind a small wall and heaps of rotting cardboard boxes. That was good. Having two exits, one of which concealed, can be handy if you have to make a run for it. Then, Mathew called out. There was something in his voice that made me shudder. I turned and ran towards him.
“‘L-look at this…’ he said, his voice shaking. I did. And I almost cried.
“In one of the boxes, on the shelves, was tin upon tin of canned food. Soups, beans, fruit salads, you name it. There it all was, each one of them like a little, glorious gift from God. We never even thought of asking ourselves why they might be there,” Moore said with a bitter smile.
“I set about preparing our sleeping area while Mathew opened the tins. I lay the sleeping bags out on one of the lower shelves, and placed boxes all around them, in what I thought would appear like a random layout, to ensure we wouldn’t be visible from either entrance.
“We sat there, crossed legged on our sleeping bags, like children on a camping holiday, the treasured tins resting on our heels, as we scooped up their contents with our bare hands. We laughed as we ate. It’s strange, what satisfying your basic instincts can do to you. Couldn’t stop giggling.
“It was food I’d never even have considered buying at the supermarket before the impact. Rubbish. But I’ve never enjoyed a meal as much as that one.
“Then we heard the voices. All we had time to do was stare at one another, suddenly alerted. Before we could react, the door creaked open.
“I think it was about ten, perhaps twelve of them. Meteorwraiths. Bad ones, not like the one I saw in your church, the other day, Father.
“They were noisy. I think they might have been drunk. Or perhaps high on drugs, not sure. There were shouts and howls and grotesque laughter. Mathew and I froze and ducked down beneath the edges of the boxes around us. We hardly dared breathe. My son stared at me, and I saw fear fill his eyes. I lay a hand against him, and had him lie down on the sleeping bag. I slowly leaned forwards to peek through a tear in the boxes.
“Most of them were men. Only three or so were women. They carried bags and old suitcases, containing the goods they’d manage to salvage or steal.
“‘Shit place you found us, Kev,’ cried one of them, and they all laughed. Their laughter made something inside my chest tremble. Outside, the rain was pelting against the tin roof. They started arranging things on the ground, close to the main entrance – about twenty feet from us – and, as they shuffled around, I noticed one of them was in the terminal stages of the disease. He looked horrid. I suppose you’ve seen them too. It’s difficult to regard them as merely sick, isn’t it? The Affliction is so harsh on its victims, on their body, that one is compelled to look away.
“The others mocked him. ‘Just die, will you, Mark! You look fucking disgusting, mate.’ And they all laughed again. All but one. She was a woman, in her fifties – although it’s hard to tell, with the ‘wraiths. I think it might have been his mother. She ignored the others, and sat beside him, dabbing his feverish forehead with a damp cloth.
“At one point, a thin, mean-looking man got up and walked over to the sick one, Mark. He stood there for an instant, then kicked him, hard, in the ribs. I don’t think he even noticed, but the woman, she stood up and lashed out at the thin one. She was fierce enough that he retreated, going back to the others.
“In the meantime, and this is why I’m telling you this story, they’d been carrying all sorts of bags and boxes in. Most of them contained food. But two of them, I am sure of it, were packed full of medicine. They were large blue containers, plastic ones. The ‘wraiths must have got lucky and found one of the few pharmacies that still contained anything. The woman went straight for them, rummaging through their contents, and drawing out tablets for her son.
“It’s odd. I can recall the details now, but at the time I wasn’t actually concentrating on what I saw. All I could think of, or rather sense, was their distance from us, the likelihood of being overheard or seen. A constant, hysterical reconnaissance of our surroundings.
“Again, I was incapable of protecting my son. All I could do was try and keep us hidden as long as possible. Have you ever felt anything like it? That crippling feeling of powerlessness when realising you’re failing to adhere to that primordial instinct of protecting your offspring. I hope not, for your sake.
“I glanced down, towards my son, and he suddenly appeared so young… so innocent. He too was staring at the meteorwraiths through a slit in the cardboard. I could see his dark hair, his shoulders, a thin strip of his delicate neck. I had to press the palm of my hand against my lips, hard, to stop myself from crying.
“They sat down in a circle with that Mark and his mother a little to the side. They started drinking. I’m not sure for how long they went on for, chatting and boozing, because I sort of lost the notion of time. Every instant was now, and nothing else.
“At some point, most of them fell asleep. I looked down, and Mathew too was sleeping. I ran my fingers through his hair, delicately. Something dark inside of me thought – If they are to kill us, it’s best that they do it in his sleep. I quickly shoved that thought aside, and went back to eyeing those people.
“I stared at them all night. I never slept.
“When my son awoke with a gasp, remembering where he was, I covered his mouth with my hand. He nodded, and turned quiet. It was early in the morning.
“The creatures were leaving. We didn’t dare look now, because they were moving about, some relieving themselves in various corners of the warehouse, and it was hard to figure out how close they were to us. All we could do was listen. I prayed they wouldn’t spot us.
“After who knows how long, the entrance creaked open once again, and the place turned silent. We could still hear them, outside, but no one appeared to have stayed behind. I peeked, but couldn’t see anything – someone had placed a pile of their things not far from where we were, blocking out the view. Mathew gestured to me that we should wait, to make sure they’d all gone. That’s what we did.
“Then, we decided it was time to try and make a run for it. We quickly gathered our things, trying to be as silent as humanly possible, and crept out of our corner.
“The woman was there, staring straight at us.
“Behind her, we noticed the body – whether dead or not I could not tell – of the sick man. And, just at that moment, one of the others called in, from outside – ‘You stayin’ in, luv?’ someone asked her. She opened her mouth, turning slightly towards the entrance, but without taking her eyes off us. I could see them, her swollen eyeballs shifting from Mathew to me, and back. We froze.
“‘Carol? Hello? You stayin’ ‘ere then?’ called the voice, except now it was closer. Whoever was calling had now poked his head inside the warehouse. It was just by sheer luck that the shelves made it impossible for him to see us, and us him. All it would take was a slight step forward. Or, of course, for the woman to reveal our presence.
“Before she spoke, I noticed her gaze had stopped on Mathew. She kept it there for a lifetime.
“Then, amazingly, she said: ‘Yes… yes, I’m staying ‘ere with Mark. See you later.’
“And we stood there – my son, me, the woman. A few feet away, the sick man. Outside, the sound of the ‘wraiths faded out as they left.
“Without any sort of expression I could recognise, she raised her chin towards the back entrance. Go. It was a quick, cold movement, but one I will forever be grateful for.
“‘Thank you’, I said to her. Or at least I think I did. We scuttled out, carrying our things along with us.
> “Before we left, we turned around, and saw the woman had sat down next to the young man. She was running her fingers through his hair, quite like I’d done with my own son, the night before.
“Outside, it had stopped raining.”
Chapter 9
Back to the Council Meeting
Edward Moore took a sip from his cup of tea. Telling the story had been more taxing than he’d expected.
A strange atmosphere had descended upon them. It was dark outside and the storm had stopped, giving way to an eerie silence.
There’s something interesting about this man, thought Paul, but he also has a slightly unsettling air about him. He casually turned towards Catherine, and noticed her eyes were fixed on Moore. Her expression suggested more than mere interest in his story. To his surprise, he felt a slight sting of jealousy somewhere in his chest. Of course, his admiration for this woman was nothing other than platonic. And yet…
He then noticed that Sean too was observing Catherine. The young man’s eyes darted from her to Moore and back. His lips were twisted and compressed, as if he’d just taken a big bite out of a lemon.
“You’re suggesting we send a party over to Ashford, and collect the meds?” asked Bill, breaking the silence.
Moore nodded confidently, “Yes.”
Ms. Brand was concerned. “Sounds awfully dangerous,” she said, her fingers tapping on the side of her teacup. “Couldn’t we try elsewhere, first?”
“We have, haven’t we Cathy?” asked Frank.
It took Cathy an instant too long to reply. Sean seemed to be almost incapable of tolerating her hesitation. He shuffled around in his seat and cleared his throat. Catherine blinked and shook her head slightly before replying. “Err, yes, Ms. Brand. Yes, we have. Anywhere that was half safe. We’ve looked and found nothing.”
“I’d rather not put my men in danger any more, sending them off to look for meds and pharmacies without even knowing what they’re going to find,” added Bill.
“It would be great to get hold of those medicines,” said Cathy. “If the ‘wraiths had them, they might be exactly what we need to treat the local afflicted.”
IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series Page 4
