Surviving The Evacuation (Book 6): Harvest

by Tayell, Frank

The idea was met with almost universal enthusiasm. When Nilda saw this, and that most people did want to stay in the Tower and try and create a functioning society, a small glimmer of trust was restored.

  After people had brought their few private supplies to the kitchen, and after Nilda had sent Stewart to get some sleep, they hid the drone with its camera facing the doorway. It couldn’t be left in the storeroom itself since there was no light in there. There was usually none in the kitchen at night, save that from the dying embers of the fire. They left a solitary lantern on an empty table that would, they hoped, give enough illumination to make the face of the thief visible on the recording.

  They then retreated up to the second storey above the dining hall to wait. Jay sat with the laptop on his knees. Chester, Nilda, and Styles peered over his shoulder. Tuck looked relaxed, leaning against a wall, only the hand occasionally dropping to the hilt of her bayonet betraying any tension.

  “I think,” Jay said, “that the battery might last for another four hours. What do we do if no one comes?”

  “Whatever happens, I’m leaving with the morning tide,” Chester said. “If it wasn’t for the children, I’d say you should all come with me.”

  “But the children are here,” Styles said.

  “And we can’t leave them,” Nilda added. “If we don’t catch someone, we’ll say it was a stock keeping error and keep the food under lock, key, and guard.”

  Tuck’s hands moved.

  “What’s that?” Styles asked.

  “If no one comes tonight, then we find more cameras,” Jay said. “We keep watch every night because this won’t just stop.”

  After that, they sat quietly, watching the small screen.

  25th September

  It was nearing two when a shadow appeared.

  Nilda nudged Chester.

  “I saw it,” he whispered. “Everyone remember their role? Then let’s get this done.”

  “Make sure it keeps recording,” Nilda whispered, glad that the camera gave her son a task that would keep him away from what had to be done next. She was equally grateful that the drone’s software didn’t allow it to transmit sound.

  She was at the bottom of the stairs and at the rear of the small group when they saw a figure coming out of the kitchens. Nilda saw Tuck move, but Chester moved faster. He leaped over a table, one hand reaching out to grab the figure’s throat, the other punching out in a low jab. The figure dropped, supported only by Chester’s hand around their neck. It was then that the enormity of what they were doing and what would come next swept over Nilda. Before she could yell at Chester to let the figure go, he released his hand, and the suspected thief fell to the floor.

  “A bit of light would be nice,” Chester hissed.

  Nilda turned on the flashlight and shone it down. It was Graham.

  With Chester pinning the man to the floor, Tuck moved over and began a quick but thorough search, checking him for weapons. He didn’t have any. Chester glanced up at Nilda. He was waiting for her to speak, but her mouth was dry, and the words wouldn’t come.

  “You have any handcuffs on you, Inspector?” Chester growled, pressing a knee further into Graham’s back.

  “Sorry, no,” Styles said. “I left them back at the mansion. Not much call for them these past few months.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Chester continued after a glance at Nilda. He gave Graham’s arm another twist. “Talk about bad luck, mate. The one adult left in Kent turns out to be one of Scotland Yard’s finest. And just when we discover we’ve a thief in our midst.”

  “It’s more than luck,” Styles said, sticking to his part perfectly. “It’s serendipity. Fingerprints, that was your undoing. We lifted a set from everyone at dinner and compared them to the boxes. We knew it was you. They wanted to confront you in front of everyone.” He knelt down next to the man. “But I said wait, because as a dog returneth to his vomit, a criminal always returns to the scene.”

  Styles glanced at Nilda. They’d talked about it earlier, planned what each was going to say and when, and in what order so as best to elicit a confession. During those dying hours of daylight it had seemed so simple. Now, as she looked down, it seemed so false, so fake, so far from anything that approached justice that the very idea of the charade made her sick.

  “Check that bag,” Nilda said. Graham had come out of the storeroom carrying a small holdall.

  Tuck picked it up, and slowly emptied it onto the table. It was a mix of items that had gone into the store that afternoon. What struck Nilda, however, was how small a selection it was. Chester and Styles were waiting, she knew. The line she was meant to use, the one Chester had said would work but which she had thought sounded trite even then, now seemed nothing but perverse.

  “Do you have anything to say?” she asked instead.

  Graham gasped something.

  “Let him up,” Nilda said, pulling out a chair. “Let him sit down.”

  Chester pulled the man to his feet and pushed him into the chair.

  “Well, what about it? You were caught literally stealing from the mouths of children,” he said, extemporising on the theme Nilda was meant to have followed. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  Graham raised a hand to rub at his neck. He looked around and finally met Nilda’s eyes. There was no fear in the gaze.

  “Is this it?” he asked. “This is how it’s going to be? You accuse me, and that counts as justice. What about a trial and a jury of my peers?”

  “What would be the point?” Styles asked. “We’ve caught you red-handed. Do you have anything you want to say in your defence?”

  “Defence?” Graham snapped. “What the hell is this? You haven’t told me what I’ve done.”

  Nilda had been meant to. That had been one of her lines. Lines, she thought, as if this was some kind of play, but if it was they should have given more thought to how this act was going to end.

  “But yeah, okay,” Graham continued. “I’ve got something I want to say. I want to know what everyone else thinks about this. What about Hana? I see she’s not here.”

  “She doesn’t need to be,” Chester said.

  “No,” Nilda said. “He’s right. We should get her. I’ll send Jay.” And she turned around and saw her son standing by the staircase. In that moment, she knew that it was the right decision, and possibly the first correct one she’d made since discovering the theft.

  When Jay returned, Hana was with him. So was McInery.

  “Evening, Mac,” Chester said. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Who can sleep on nights like these?” she replied.

  “Jay told me that Graham was stealing food,” Hana said. “And that you caught him in the act. Is that true?”

  Nilda wasn’t sure to whom the question was addressed, but when Graham didn’t reply, decided that she should. “We have video of him entering the storeroom and filling that bag, there,” she said. “It’s not the first time he’s done it. The stores are mostly empty. Gone. Stolen. The boxes left, their contents taken.”

  “Well, that’s…” Hana stumbled, clearly uncertain what to say. “Gone?”

  “We’ve enough for two days, maybe three. No more,” she said.

  “I… see. Well, Graham, what do you have to say?”

  “That food belongs to everyone. I was just taking my share.”

  “What? All the food we had, you think that’s your fair share?” Chester asked.

  “No, but that bag there is,” Graham said calmly. Too calmly, Nilda thought.

  “Why?” Hana asked.

  “Because I’m leaving. That’s enough to keep me going for a week, and I reckon that’ll be long enough.”

  “You’re leaving? To go where?” Hana asked.

  “Away from here,” Graham said. “I was going to leave months ago. I should have. Now, with all those kids, and all this talk of Anglesey. Well, it’s nothing but talk, isn’t it?”

  “But you have proof that the stores were tak
en by him?” Hana asked.

  Before Nilda could reply, Styles answered. “We’ve got fingerprints,” he said.

  “Ah,” Hana brightened. “Of course. Yes. Detective Inspector Styles, Fingerprints. That’s good. That’s proof.”

  “And I’d like to see them, too,” Graham replied. Nilda wondered if there was a trace of a smile lurking under that angry facade. “If you’re going to accuse me, then I want a trial in front of everyone. Present your evidence. Let everyone judge me.”

  Nilda could feel the house of cards shaking and understood what Chester had meant when he said that it had to be dealt with quickly and quietly.

  “That’s a bad idea,” McInery said.

  Nilda looked at her and then back at Graham. McInery’s expression was as unreadable as ever.

  “Then tomorrow morning I—” Hana began.

  “I think we need to talk,” Nilda cut in.

  Leaving Tuck and Jay to stand guard over Graham, they went into the kitchen.

  “A trial would be best,” Hana said. “We present the evidence and let everyone see that justice is done.”

  “And then what?” McInery asked. “If you stand up and say that this man was caught stealing food and then present the evidence and ask for people to decide on his innocence, you know that they will find him guilty. Then what do you do? Lock him up? That would mean he was fed but didn’t have to work. That’s hardly the precedent you want to set. Or would you sentence him to hard labour? Except isn’t that what we’re all doing every day? Or would you prefer something more permanent? There’s an executioner’s axe in one of the exhibits in the Keep. Shall I fetch it?”

  “Crimes should be dealt with in the light of day,” Hana said. “Not swept away under cover of darkness. We present the proof and do so trusting in the sound judgement of our fellows.”

  “We can’t prove it,” Nilda said. “That fingerprints thing was a ruse. All we’ve got on him is that he came out of the storeroom with a bag.”

  “And that isn’t a crime,” McInery said.

  “He did it,” Chester stated. “I can tell. He’s guilty as sin. As Mac says, a trial’s pointless, declaring suspicion is as good as a statement of guilt. So why don’t you all go back to bed, and I’ll take care of this. Tomorrow we’ll say that he stole the food and ran away. We chased him, and he was ripped apart by the undead. Once word of that gets around, there won’t be any more thefts whether someone else was involved or not.”

  “You mean you’re going to kill him?” Hana asked, shocked. “He’s a person, Chester, not one of the undead. And what if he’s telling the truth? What if he’s innocent? No. I forbid it. At the very least, we should have a trial. We should be open and honest with one another, especially when it comes to matters of dishonesty such as this.”

  Nilda wanted to yell at the woman for her naivety. But she couldn’t, because in her heart she wasn’t convinced Hana was wrong.

  “Then exile him,” Nilda said. “He said he was leaving, so let him go. Right now, tonight. We can tell everyone that he ran. But we won’t kill him. He gets what he wants, and we’ve dealt with a thief. The matter will end.”

  “And what about the food he’s squirrelled away somewhere outside,” Chester asked.

  “There’s a limit to how much he can carry. We’ll look for it tomorrow. We’ll find it. There can’t be many places it’s hidden.”

  “Are you all agreed on that?” Chester asked. “I see. This is a mistake, but it’s your mistake, and if I’m leaving tomorrow, you’re the ones who’ll have to deal with it. Good night.” He left.

  “I agree,” Styles said. “It is a mistake. One I hope I don’t regret you making. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and check on the children.”

  Nilda pulled the last of the bolts and opened the thick wooden gate.

  “Go. And if you value your life, go far,” she said.

  Graham ignored her and pushed past. Nilda slammed the door closed, perhaps a little louder than she needed to.

  “That’s over,” she said. “It’s over,” she said again, looking this time at McInery.

  “Is it?” McInery asked. “I hope so.”

  “Why would he want to come back?” Hana asked.

  “Revenge is a strange beast, more potent than fear,” McInery said. “But that wasn’t what I meant. When we tell everyone what he did, there will be a shift in attitudes. Some may want to go after him, others will just want to leave, but there’s a risk that many will never want to leave here again.”

  “Do we have to tell them?” Hana asked. “That he did it, I mean.”

  Tuck nodded, her hands moved.

  “She says that the truth of his guilt is now immaterial,” McInery translated. “It is better that people have someone to blame. I agree. The matter is over. We need to draw a line under it.”

  “And we’ll tell everyone tomorrow morning, and that will be that,” Hana said. “Yes. It was a grim business, but there’s more than enough to worry about without fretting over the past.”

  “Indeed,” McInery said. “And so here we are, the soldier, the mother, the idealist, and the… other. It is poetic, don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s late,” Nilda said. “Good night.”

  Nilda woke to the sound of rain beating against the window. When she opened her eyes, there was so little light she assumed it was still night. She closed them again and tried to escape back into that half-dreamed fantasy of being back in Penrith, and where Jay would soon need to be prodded out of bed for school.

  There was the sound of small feet splashing through a puddle, followed by a high-pitched yelp, and a child laughing. She sighed and pulled the covers up higher.

  There was a cold chill emanating from the old stones that promised a hard winter to come. It reminded her of those months when she couldn’t afford to turn the boiler on and had to rely on the second-hand heat from their neighbours to keep the pipes from freezing. Those had been hard times, tough times. Harder on her than on Jay, as he’d not known of her secret shame at being glad the teenager’s aversion to water meant he skipped a few showers.

  There was another laugh from outside, louder this time, and quickly followed by an even louder “Shh!”

  Reluctant to let the fantasy fade, she darted a hand out from under the covers, rummaging around for the old pine chair she used as a night table. She found the watch, though it was ornate enough to be classified as jewellery and heavy enough to be called a paperweight. She wrenched her hand back into the relative warmth, dropping the watch onto the mattress a safe distance from her body. How long did it take gold to warm up? It was a good conductor, wasn’t it?

  The watch was one of many that had come from a jeweller’s near Monument. There was no price tag, and the name wasn’t the one brand that she recognised, but Chester had assured her that it was worth something in the five-figure range. That reminded her that he was leaving today. She sighed, reached down, picked up the still-cold metal, and raised it to her face. It was almost eight according to their local time. She pulled herself out of bed with genuine regret.

  As she dressed, she wondered what time it was on Anglesey and whether they might adopt some new, or old, standard when communication was established. Fogerty was the only one who’d managed to keep a clock going almost since before the outbreak. For everyone else, they were objects easily broken in a life of violent labour. The old warder’s clock had been carved out of a solid oak timber that the tide had brought floating up to The Traitor’s Gate almost a century before. A prisoner had carved a series of scenes into the wood. If interpreted clockwise, they showed a sequence of crime, punishment, and repentance. If you read the scenes counter clockwise, they told the story of a man unfairly punished. At least, that’s what Nilda thought, and she wondered if that had been the secret intent of this now forgotten prisoner.

  The carving was inexpert, and the mechanism matched. It needed winding once every twenty-three hours, and Fogerty had freely admitted he’d forgot
ten on more than one occasion. When it had to be reset, he’d used the overhead sun as an indication of noon. Daylight savings was finally a thing of the past. They could switch to Tower Mean Time. It made as much sense as Greenwich had.

  Thinking of the images carved on that clock reminded her of what had transpired the previous night. She gave one last deeper sigh and left the room, knowing that the real work of the day would be in ensuring that the Tower’s fragile community was not destroyed by the news of the theft.

  The announcement, made by Hana, was met with far less drama than Nilda had expected. In fact, it was met almost with silence. That was doubly unsettling. Not just because it suggested that the real reaction would come later, but also because she was nearly convinced Graham hadn’t acted alone. She watched everyone closely, ready to pounce on the merest hint of suspicious behaviour. She only stopped when she asked herself exactly what kind of behaviour she was expecting anyone to exhibit, and what precisely she’d do if she spotted it.

  It was wishful thinking, she supposed. That a confession from someone else would mean McInery wasn’t involved. Why she would want to take their supplies, Nilda couldn’t fathom. But then, she could see no reason why anyone would, beyond the obvious. Chester was absent from the dining hall. Half expecting that he’d already left, and uncertain whether she would prefer that, she went looking for him. She found him standing in the doorway to the Keep, his eyes fixed on the courtyard and its growing puddles.

  “You can’t go today,” she said.

  “Not yet, but maybe later. Rain like this will blow itself out,” he said. “Give it an hour or so.”

  “Sure,” she said, and tried to think of something to say. “What about Styles? What do you think he used to do?”

  “Maybe he was an actor. Or just someone who liked watching crime shows a bit too much. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I asked Jay. He said that when he went to fetch Hana, McInery was wandering around the castle,” Nilda said.

  “What’s odd about that?”

  “Well, nothing I suppose, but she would have known the detectives at Scotland Yard, wouldn’t she?”