by David Moody
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
Stayt nodded. Michael walked across to Guest.
‘All right, Pete?’ he asked pointlessly.
Guest looked up with tears pouring down his tired face.
He shook his head and looked down again. In his hands Michael saw that he was holding a small toy. He couldn’t see exactly what it was. A car perhaps? Some kind of spinning top or model spaceship? Whatever it was Guest was staring at it as if it was suddenly the most important thing in the world. He wouldn’t put it down. He wouldn’t let it go.
It wasn’t until almost an hour later that Guest had regained his composure sufficiently to be able to talk to the other survivors again. Even now, as he sat next to Michael on the bonnet of the pickup truck and stared into the mass of burning bodies a short distance away, occasional tears still dribbled down his cheeks.
‘It’s like when you shake a bottle of beer, isn’t it?’ he said suddenly.
‘What is?’ Michael asked, confused.
‘How we’re feeling,’ he explained. ‘I know you feel the same, I can see it in your face. I can see it in everyone’s faces.’
‘Still don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the other man grumbled quietly.
‘I don’t know about you, but there are things that have happened to me that I haven’t been able to deal with. There are things I’ve seen and experienced that I haven’t been able to think about because they hurt too much. Things that are too painful. I’ve wanted to try and sort them out, but I haven’t been able to do it yet.’
‘So where does the bottle of beer come in?’
‘I feel like everything inside me’s been shaken up but my top’s been screwed down tight. Until you take the top off, nothing can get out. Being here today has been like a release. I wasn’t expecting it…’
‘So now you’re feeling…?’
‘Half-empty and flat,’ Guest smiled sadly.
Michael nodded thoughtfully as he considered the man’s unusual, but accurate, analogy. He was beginning to understand what he was saying.
‘What was the business with the toy?’ he asked. He could tell from the sudden change in Guest’s body language that his nerves were still raw.
‘This thing?’ he said, taking the toy from his pocket and staring at it again. Michael nodded. ‘On the first morning,’
he explained, his voice cracking with emotion, ‘I was supposed to go and see my lad Joe at school. It was his first class assembly…’ He stopped talking when the pain became too much. Although he’d thought about him constantly, he hadn’t said his son’s name out loud for more than eight weeks and to suddenly hear it again hurt badly…
‘What happened?’ Michael pressed, sensing that although painful, it would probably help him if he finished what he was saying. ‘Did everything kick off before you could get there?’
Guest shook his head.
‘I wish that was it,’ he sighed, clearing his throat. ‘I wasn’t anywhere near the school. I was on my way to work when it happened. There was a meeting I couldn’t get out of and if I’d missed it I would have…’
‘Would have what?’
‘Would have got the sack.’
‘Was that important?’
‘Obviously not, but I thought it was at the time. We’d been working for weeks to close a deal. My bonus and an almost guaranteed promotion hinged on getting the papers signed at that meeting. I would have lost a hell of a lot of cash if things hadn’t worked out.’
‘But looking back now, was that important? What good would your bonus have been to you now?’
Guest shuffled awkwardly. He knew the answers to Michael’s questions already but the admission was still not an easy one to make.
‘Are you trying to make me suffer here?’ he asked as he sniffed back another tear, his voice little more than a tired whisper. ‘I know now that none of it really mattered. The job, the money, the car, the house - none of it. I should have given the whole fucking lot up months earlier but I thought I was doing the right thing. Saddest thing is I’d probably have done it again too. My priorities were all screwed up. I should have been there when it happened. I should have been there with my wife and my boy when they…’
‘We’ve all got regrets,’ Michael said wistfully. ‘I bet everyone here could tell you at least a hundred things they wish they’d done differently. I don’t think we’ll ever get over it. I just hope that these feelings get easier to live with, that’s all.’
‘I loved Joe, you know. That kid was everything to me.
Just wish I’d told him.’
‘You’d only have embarrassed him,’ Michael smiled.
‘He wouldn’t have understood.’
Guest nodded and wiped his eyes.
‘Okay then, I just wish I’d been with him,’ he said, correcting himself. ‘I just wish I could have held him when it happened.’
The two men stared into the fire again, and for a while the cracking and popping of the flames was all that could be heard.
‘So what was with the toy?’ Michael asked again, remembering that his question hadn’t been properly answered.
‘Oh, that,’ Guest replied. ‘It’s silly really. Joe, Jenny and I went shopping on the Sunday afternoon before it happened. We were walking around town for hours and Joe was getting tired and fed up like kids tend to do. I told him that if he behaved himself and if everything worked out at the office over the next few days then I’d get him a present when we next went out, whatever he wanted. I asked him what he’d like, expecting him to go for the biggest and most expensive thing he could think of. Anyway, he dragged his mum and me into a shop and showed us that toy I found today. It wasn’t much and it wasn’t expensive, but all his mates had one and I was going to get it for him.
That was all he wanted. Fucking hell, Mike, I wish I could see him again. Just once more.’
32
Cooper
Progress.
This afternoon it finally feels like we’re starting to get somewhere. Things are finally beginning to move.
Lawrence has made it back with the helicopter and, even more importantly, we’ve managed to get somewhere with the plane. We’re not airborne yet, but at least Keele’s starting to cooperate. I didn’t have to say much to him myself, but I heard that there were a few others who threatened him if he refused to fly them out of here.
We’ve started to move the people and our equipment out of the observation tower. It’ll all have to come down eventually so it makes sense to start shifting it now. We’re using the small office block nearest to the hangar. There are only a few rooms and it’s less comfortable and protected than the tower, but it will do. We should only need to use it for a couple of days, perhaps a week at most.
Keele’s finally managed to get the plane out of the hangar now. Actually getting him behind the controls was the biggest step as far as I’m concerned. Now we know that the plane’s engine still runs and by moving it to the end of the runway he’s got everyone off his back for a while. I can see him sitting in the cockpit from out here. He’s looking round like a little kid lost. I know he’s not had much experience at flying anything like this before but he has to try. We don’t have any choice. As vulnerable and exposed as it leaves us, we’re depending on him. I told him that all he has to do is get the plane in the air, get us over there and then land the damn thing. Doesn’t matter if it’s a complete write-off once we’ve all made it over to Cormansey. He just has to get us there safely. A couple of crossings, three at the most, is all it will probably take. After that he’ll never have to fly again if he doesn’t want to. We won’t ever be coming back here.
The atmosphere here is still surprisingly positive, if a little muted and more apprehensive than before. The appearance of the plane has generated a lot of anticipation and nervous expectation today. People want to get away from here, but they’re not looking forward to dealing with the trauma and uncertainty of leaving. We’ve been doing some calculations, t
rying to work out how long it’s going to take us to get to the island and how many flights we’re going to have to make. Lawrence is happy to keep shuttling between here and Cormansey until everyone and everything’s over there. If he can make enough crossings then we can limit Keele to only having to make two flights, although he probably will need to do three. We’ve got more than enough fuel so time is the only issue. There are fifty of us here now, including the two pilots. The helicopter can carry three - four at a push - passengers at a time. If things go our way we could be out of here in a couple of days but I’m under no illusions. It’s been a long time since anything has gone our way.
Baxter said something earlier that’s been troubling me.
He’s been watching the bodies with Croft and they think their behaviour is beginning to change again. The pair of them have been walking up and down the runway because Croft’s been trying to exercise his leg. He told me that at one point they just kept walking and didn’t realise how far they’d gone until they were close to the perimeter fence.
Some of the bodies, he said, continued to react like they always had done, fighting and ripping at each other. Some of them pushed themselves against the fence and tried to get closer to them. It’s the others that really concern me. He told me that some of them were just standing there looking at him. He said he felt like he was being watched. A few minutes ago Richard Lawrence told me that they’d seen something similar happening on Cormansey. Apparently there some of the bodies have been keeping their distance from our people, almost hiding from them. There’s nowhere for them to go here. They’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with hundreds more of the bloody things behind them, pushing them closer.
I don’t know what this means.
Are the bodies finally about to give up and drop, or is this the beginning of something worse?
We’ve drawn lots to decide who goes first.
The plane and the helicopter will leave here early tomorrow morning.
The sooner we get away from this place the better.
33
In the frustratingly low light of early evening Jackie Soames was trying unsuccessfully to coordinate the emptying of the observation tower and the movement of anything useful down into the office building below.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Emma asked, returning to the observation tower from outside. She’d watched Keele move the plane from the hangar to the runway earlier and, despite the damp conditions and low temperature, had stayed out there, enjoying the relative freedom and the fresh air. The activity over the last few hours seemed to suggest that things were finally about to start happening and she had assumed that there would be work to be done inside. She could see a few people moving around the room with an apparent purpose, but she could also see many, many more sitting still and staring into space as they always did. Much as she understood their continuing pain and could sympathise with them to an extent, she questioned how long their malaise would last? No matter how bleak or desperate things seemed, they all had to try and face up to what was left of reality sooner or later, didn’t they?
‘There is no plan,’ Jackie replied dejectedly. ‘I just thought it would be sensible to get as much stuff out of here as we could before morning.’
‘So what exactly do we need to take? Do you know what’s already on the island?’
‘Not sure.’
‘Didn’t someone say there used to be about five hundred people living there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then there’s going to be plenty of clothing and beds and houses and the like, isn’t there?’
‘Suppose so.’
‘So all we really need to take with us from here is any food we’ve got and any specialist stuff that we know we won’t find over there. I don’t think there’s going to be very much.’
Jackie nodded.
‘I know,’ she admitted. She looked at Emma and managed half a smile. ‘You’re right. I suppose I’m just trying to keep myself occupied, that’s all. I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand all this bloody waiting around.
It’s really starting to get to me. I just want to get on, get things done and get out of here now.’
Emma agreed.
‘We’ve all done more than enough waiting around,’ she sighed.
Realising that it was pointless trying to motivate herself or anyone else at the end of the dying day, Jackie sat down heavily. Emma pulled up a chair and sat down next to her.
She thought the large, red-faced woman looked unusually troubled. Perhaps it was just tiredness.
‘What’s on your mind?’ she asked.
Jackie shrugged her shoulders and lit a cigarette. She only had a couple left in the box she carried with her. The one she’d just put in her mouth had already been half-smoked.
‘This just about sums it up,’ she said as she blew out a match.
‘What does?’
‘These bloody cigarettes.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I ran a pub,’ Jackie explained, taking a deep, tired breath. ‘I used to smoke like a bloody chimney. I used to like having a good time first then worrying about it afterwards. Now I’m down to my last box of cigarettes and I’m hoping there’s going to be some on this bloody island when I get there because the last thing I want to do now is give up. I can think of at least another four or five smokers in here and my guess is that none of them want to give up either. Bloody hell, I want to smoke more than ever now.’
‘What point are you making?’
Jackie didn’t give Emma a direct answer. She knew she wasn’t making much sense but she didn’t care.
‘And drinking,’ she continued. ‘I never used to get a hangover because I’d never stop drinking. I used to drink every day but there’s hardly a drop of alcohol left here now. Christ, I’ve practically been going through cold turkey for the last couple of weeks and I’ve bloody well had enough of it.’
‘I still don’t understand.’
Jackie laughed sadly to herself, shook her head and looked down. She flicked ash from the end of her cigarette and watched as it fluttered down onto the tiled floor.
‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I really have to think hard to try and find a reason for why we’re bothering to do all of this.
You and Michael have got each other and you’re bloody lucky because that’s more than the rest of us have got.
From now on everything we ever want or need we’re going to have to fight for. And okay, the bodies might eventually disappear, but we’re still going to be out on our own, aren’t we? We’re still going to have to become self-sufficient for Christ’s sake! Bloody hell, I’ve never been self-sufficient in my life! I’ve never had anything handed to me on a plate, but I’ve always been able to go out and get what I want, just about whenever I’ve wanted it. It’s all different now. I’m never going to be able to nip down to the shops to get myself a packet of cigarettes or a bottle of gin again, am I?’
‘No.’
Emma looked deep into Jackie’s tired face but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was right, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. Jackie sensed her unease.
‘Sorry, Emma,’ she mumbled apologetically, ‘I didn’t mean to go off on one like that.’
‘That’s okay,’ she insisted. ‘Really, I understand how you’re feeling but…’
‘Thing is,’ she interrupted, ‘I know how lucky I am to still be here and to still be in one piece, but sometimes that’s not enough. I can handle this most of the time, but now and then I just want my life back.’
34
Wrapped up in a thick winter coat to protect him from the cold and wearing a baseball cap to keep off the intermittent rain, Michael sat on a low stone wall in the darkness and stared into the distance. He was alone, and at that moment that was just how he wanted to be. The only person he wanted to share his company with tonight was miles away.
He’d left the eight other survivors celebrating their day�
�s work and drinking themselves stupid in the dank, dusty and shadow-filled lounge of The Fox, Cormansey’s only public house.
The sound of the ocean filled the evening air. It was still refreshingly different to actually be able to hear something instead of the heavy, enforced silence he’d endured during pretty much all of the last eight weeks. The constant crashing of the waves on the beach just ahead of him was a welcome and relaxing sound.
He felt safe being out on his own tonight. Last night he wouldn’t have risked being out in the open like this but today the group had worked hard to clear the village and a large number of bodies had been slaughtered and accounted for. From where he was sitting he could still see the bright glow of the huge pyre they’d lit just outside the main part of Danvers Lye. If there were any other bodies nearby tonight (and he guessed that there probably would be) then he knew they would most likely be few and far between and he’d be able to deal with them quickly and easily. In readiness his trusty crowbar remained slung at his side.
Keen to escape from the dead village, Michael had chosen to walk down the twisting coastal road which led back towards the other end of the island. Getting cold, he jumped up from the stone wall where he’d been sitting for the last ten minutes and ambled down towards the sea, his feet grinding noisily into the shingle shore as he neared the ocean. The crashing waves were soon loud enough to drown out the sound of his heavy footsteps.
He’d been busy and preoccupied all day but, now that he’d finally stopped working, he’d again found himself plagued by dark and painful thoughts. Most prevalent in his mind was Emma and the sudden physical gulf which remained between the two of them. Why the hell had he left her on the mainland? Couldn’t she have come over to Cormansey with him? She would have been more use than bloody Danny Talbot. Michael had nothing against Talbot but he was young and immature and he’d been of very little help when the group had been clearing the village earlier.
Emma, on the other hand, was far more experienced. She had guts and she had strength and when it came to the crunch she wasn’t afraid to do whatever she had to do to survive. Looking back now and thinking about some of the survivors sitting in the pub down the road, he decided that some of them seemed to have been chosen to come to the island just because they fitted the stereotypical impression of the kind of person who should have been prepared to fight and clear the land; young, fit and male. A tragic shame, thought Michael, that even now after all that had happened, he and his fellow survivors seemed content to measure themselves and each other according to standards which were once given importance in a society that was long gone.
