by Cole, Robert
Presently the door of the house opened and two men came out. Both were dressed similarly in grey, wet weather gear and large leather boots, which reached up to their shins. They were unarmed, but other men in the house covered their every step. They approached to within a few metres of Cliff and Roy, then stopped and looked them up and down. One of the men had a large, bristly beard and ruddy, inflamed features as though he had been standing in front of a fire for most of the day. His companion was rather smaller, more refined and delicate in appearance with a pointed face and a pair of steel rimmed spectacles resting on his nose.
‘And where would you be going?’ the bearded man opened the conversation.
‘We're travelling north,’ said Cliff, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Looking for some type of settlement we can join.’
The man smiled wryly at this. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘Bristol.’
‘All the way from Bristol,’ the man echoed, more thoughtfully. ‘What makes you think there's a community you can join here?’
‘It was a long shot,’ Cliff admitted. ‘But we know there's a mine here which the government took over in the last war. We thought they may have stored food up here.’
The man nodded. ‘We've had that story before,’ he said. ‘But you're the first for nearly a week now. The last people through here said anyone without the mark was being killed.’
Cliff frowned. ‘I don't understand,’ he said finally. ‘What mark are you talking about?’
‘Have you had any problems over the past few days?’ This was from the man with the spectacles, who had not previously spoken. He seemed to be examining their faces with a good deal of attention.
‘None to speak of,’ Cliff replied cautiously. ‘Although the last valley we travelled through looked like a huge graveyard.’
‘Graveyard?’
‘Bodies everywhere. Gangs of survivors, too, were still roaming around killing each other.’
‘But you managed to avoid them?’
‘We made sure we did,’ Cliff answered. ‘And we sighted no one once we reached the mountains again.’
‘These gangs you mentioned,’ the bearded man continued. ‘Did you notice anything peculiar about them?’
The question seemed to carry some weight or significance, which escaped Cliff. He thought back. ‘They looked thin and sick,’ he said slowly. Then he remembered. ‘Ah, the paint! They had what looked like dabs of white paint on their foreheads.’
‘And you have no idea why they had this paint on their foreheads?’ the man with the spectacles asked, in his rather irritating pedantic way.
‘No, none.’ Both Roy and Cliff answered almost together.
The two strangers glanced at each other quickly before continuing. ‘We marked their foreheads,’ the bearded man said bluntly. ‘They had been rejected from our community on health grounds. To stop them from re applying, we painted their foreheads with a special paint which cannot be removed by solvents.’
‘Won't they just rub it off anyway?’ Roy asked.
‘Eventually, yes, so we also branded the right hand of each one before we released them.’
Cliff resisted the urge instinctively to look down at his own hand, feeling that any such action might be misinterpreted.
The smaller man pushed his spectacles back up his nose. ‘The bottom line, gentlemen, is that if you wish to join our community, you have first to prove to us that you have not already been rejected.’
Cliff's gaze went from them to the riflemen mounting guard at the windows beyond, and back again. He shrugged and stretched out his arm. ‘The right hand, did you say?’ he said in his best sarcastic voice.
After Cliff and Roy had shown that their hands were unmarked the atmosphere changed entirely. Their questioners became pleasant and congenial, even friendly. It was the first time since the holocaust that anyone had treated them with any degree of warmth. They were taken into the house and placed in front of a large fire and given cups of coffee. When Cliff and Roy explained that they had been carpenters before the war, they were even more pleased. The community, it seemed, had any number of building projects they were contemplating, but starting was hampered by the scarcity of trained craftsmen. They had a glut of office workers, whose skills were no longer valuable, and who they had been obliged to retrain as tradesmen and the like.
Cliff took full advantage of their conviviality to fire off a lot of questions. The mine, it appeared, did exist and was indeed full of food and equipment. In fact there were enough supplies to feed and clothe a population of fifty thousand for up to a year. The military seemed to have been caught by surprise when the war broke out so suddenly, as they only had a company of men guarding the mine. In the immediate aftermath, the locals, who were well aware of the location and purpose of the mine, had crowded up to it asking for food. All their pleas, however, had been to no avail. Soon, refugees from much further afield, began arriving till thousands upon thousands of starving people were clamouring at their doors, but still they were not helped or admitted. The mine was too well defended to fall to an unarmed mob and the military couldn't be starved out, so it was a stalemate. Then the survivors heard rumours of several battalions of soldiers slowly butchering their way north towards the mine. The valley that Cliff and Roy had crossed the previous day had been where these reinforcements had fought their last battle. The disappointed refugees were roused to fury by the thought of these newcomers turning the mine into a fortress and they had attacked the column relentlessly, moving in human waves over their own dead. Eventually, after a dreadful slaughter, the spirit of the soldiers had been broken. Rather than continue a useless struggle, they had capitulated and agreed to lead an assault on the mine themselves. With their weapons and leadership, and the weight of so many civilians, the balance of power was altered and the three hundred men guarding the mine gave in after the entrance was blown.
The survivors could hardly believe their good fortune; the place was like a small city. The workings themselves spanned twenty six levels and over sixty kilometres of tunnels. In the few years since the military had taken control, the top four of these levels had been completely remodelled. Fluorescent globes lined the tunnels, the walls had been reinforced with concrete, large conference rooms, offices and spacious dormitories had been carved out, complete with panelled walls and superior furnishings. Five thousand people could be fed and accommodated with ease. The whole place had power and heating, supplied by three huge generators deep within the interior of the mine. Every conceivable item to sustain a colony was also there from tea and coffee to agricultural equipment and vehicles. This final assault and occupation had taken place only three weeks previously, but already the mine had a membership of eleven thousand survivors.
When Cliff and Roy finished their coffee they were taken by Land Rover on a rapid tour. Both felt rather overwhelmed by all this, as though they had suddenly stepped back from chaos into civilisation. Cliff, however, had not forgotten their reason for coming all this way and he wasted no time in telling them about Alex and Tina. Their talk of returning into the wilderness caused some raised eyebrows it was considered an impracticable idea. Nevertheless, since they persisted in it, they were advised to seek permission from a man called Marcus Higgins. He had been a Major in the army until three weeks before when he had persuaded his men to stop the killing and join with the survivors against the mine. He was now in charge of maintaining security, and he supervised the screening of new community members.
The Land Rover had reached the bottom of a narrow valley, closed in on both sides by towering mountains. The driver shifted into second gear and started a steep ascent. But after only a few minutes he turned off to the left along a narrow gravel road. This quickly brought them into a wide plateau like place that had been carved directly into the side of the mountain. Here, over two hundred people were busily at work, erecting buildings, repairing cars, and cooking food in huge charred pots over blazing fires, while further off, small squ
ads were being trained in the use of rifles.
They drove further on and stopped at what must once have been the entrance to the mine. Now only a gaping hole remained with a narrow yellow glow in its centre, where the new entrance had been constructed. The driver hopped out here and went in search of the Major. A few minutes later he returned, accompanied by a large, powerfully built man with cropped grey hair and the beginnings of a thick, almost white beard. He must have been in his early fifties, Cliff estimated, which by post war standards, was extremely old.
He came up and shook hands with them both enthusiastically. ‘So, already you gentlemen want to leave us when you've only just arrived.’ He spoke in a good humoured, faintly amused manner.
‘We don't really want to leave,’ Roy said very seriously. ‘But we can't just abandon our friends.’
‘Hmm. And you want to take some of our medicines with you, I understand? Just how seriously ill are these friends of yours?’
‘Ah…it's only the girl that's sick,’ Cliff said quickly, afraid Roy would say something that would reveal the hopelessness of Tina's case. ‘And she's more weak than anything. But she does have a terrible cough and a sore throat. If you could see your way to letting us have some antibiotics and something to lower her temperature, we would be very grateful.’
Cliff felt Marcus's keen gaze fixed upon him as he said this and he had the impression that he didn't believe a word of it. But nothing was said and he turned his attention to Roy, whom he scrutinised in the same sceptical, analytical manner.
‘Of course, you do realise, don't you, that your friends and yourselves have to undergo a very rigorous screening procedure before you can be permitted to enter this community. Anyone suffering from a communicable disease, or so ill that they cannot recover, will not be admitted. Still,’ he continued more thoughtfully, ‘you both look healthy enough. After your examination we shall be in a better position to consider your request.’
‘Can we have this examination today?’ Cliff asked.
There was a slight pause at this. ‘Very well,’ Marcus said at length. ‘I imagine that could be arranged. But whatever the outcome, I still haven't decided whether I'll let you have any drugs.’
‘But we'll be back in a few days,’ Cliff protested.
‘Oh, I'm sure that would be your intention, but that's not the problem,’ Marcus replied stroking his beard reflectively. ‘The problem is that it's open season down south, especially on anyone who hasn't been exiled from the community. You're both very lucky to be alive, but I doubt you will have the same luck twice.’
‘Why not mark our foreheads, the same as you do the other exiles?’ Cliff asked.
‘Yes, that might be an idea,’ Marcus said, suddenly becoming thoughtful. ‘And there's something else we could do.’ He mumbled something to the driver, who immediately dived into the Land Rover and came back with a map of Wales.
‘Now, show us exactly where your friends are,’ Marcus said.
Cliff indicated the place.
‘Ah!’ Marcus leaned over the map. ‘I think you might be in luck,’ he said at length, looking up. ‘We actually control a lot more of the mountainous interior of Wales than we do the coast. Not because we have taken it by force, but because no one can live there anyway. We can probably drop you here.’ He pointed to a place inland and considerably further south than where Cliff and Roy had first encountered the community. ‘This would be less than two days' walk from where your friends are, and you could avoid travelling along the coast.’
‘Then you will let us have the supplies?’ Cliff asked eagerly.
‘If you pass your medical and you are both carpenters, as you say you are, then I'll consider it.’ He gave a brief smile and turned back towards the mine.
‘When will you let us know?’ Cliff called after him.
‘If your medical report is good, you'll hear by tomorrow morning,’ he called back before disappearing from view.
The medical lasted for nearly two hours. Both men had to strip off and submit to scrupulous external examinations. Every bruise, abrasion or lump of any kind was carefully recorded. Samples of their blood, their faeces and their urine were taken away for analysis, and their throats were swabbed. While the results of these tests were being assessed, they were asked about their movements since the holocaust. How close had they been to a bomb zone? How long did they stay under cover? Were they ever sick? What did they eat? Where did they find their food? The questions flowed past them in an endless stream, and when they were complete, they were required to sign their names to their statements.
Then, at last, they were free to go and were led to a large kitchen on the second floor of the mine, where they were invited to eat as much as they liked. In front of them were pots of steaming noodles, mixed with canned meat and vegetables, freshly baked bread, thick vegetable broth and a pot of hot coffee. The sight of so much food was enough to make them giddy, but they did not constrain themselves. Finally, almost dead on their feet, their bellies full and bloated, they were conducted to the dormitories and given beds for the night. Despite their precarious circumstances, neither man could remember even laying his head on the pillow.
Early the next morning a tall, nervous looking youth woke them and introduced himself, in a pronounced cockney accent, as Rashi. He had a note for them from Marcus, which read:
Congratulations, you have both passed your medicals with flying colours. The arrangements for your trip have been made. Rashi will issue you with all the medical supplies you will need and drive you as far south as is safe to do so.
Best wishes and a safe journey,
Marcus.
Rashi had already organised a week's supply of food for them, and enough medical supplies to cover just about any contingency. He took them straight to a Land Rover and marked both their foreheads with white paint. They were given special passes to show to the border guards on their return, and an extra two for Tina and Alex.
By late morning they had reached the most southerly point of the community, a small outpost manned by half a dozen men. Neither Cliff nor Roy had said much during the trip. The indulgences of the night before were already forgotten under the urgency they both felt. In the Land Rover they had spoken of trying to reach Alex and Tina by late the next day. Rashi had doubted this was possible, but even one night's delay seemed criminal when they had the medicines to cure Tina’s sickness in their hands. Leaving Rashi and the men at the outpost, after a brief farewell, they set off almost at a jog.
Three days later, exhausted and desperate after spending a day and a night lost amongst the hills, they burst into the house. There was no one there and no explanation as to why not. Ten minutes later, while searching the surroundings, Roy came on a wooden cross planted over a freshly dug mound of earth. The words scratched on the wood read:
TINA HARTLEY
20 years of age
a brave soul,
much loved and missed
They widened their search at once, and after several hours they found Alex perched on a boulder overlooking a frozen stream. His jumper and his gloves were missing, his hands soiled, his nails split and bloody. In spite of repeated attempts to make him talk, he did not respond. Finally, Roy took off his jumper and they wrapped him in it and urged him back to the house.
The following day, Cliff and Roy led the forlorn and silent figure of Alex back towards the mine.
Three years later
CHAPTER 7
Since its inception the community had grown enormously. As the word spread, refugees had flooded in from all corners of England and Wales. By the end of the first year its numbers had swelled to nearly twenty thousand; by the second year they had reached thirty thousand, until by the end of the third year there were over thirty five thousand members. At the same time its influence had extended to the east and south, until it controlled territory from Porthmadog on the coast, across the Welsh highlands as far as the Welsh border and north to Colwyn Bay. All the land to the west, inc
luding the island of Anglesey, was under its command.
But for each new member who was accepted, many more were rejected and expelled into the wilderness. These exiles formed roaming bands on the borders of the community who constantly threatened the security of its inhabitants. Therefore new members were required to undertake defence training. This included military drill, hand to hand combat and small arms practice for all ages, except the very young. Children were given basic schooling and adults received lessons in farming and building skills. When this stage was complete, the peacetime occupation of each person was examined and he or she was placed in the position which would be most beneficial to the community. Free choice, personal fulfilment, democracy, in fact all the terms and phrases held dear before the war, meant nothing here. In the eyes of the community, the individual no longer existed, except as one more cog or workhorse to be used creatively for the general good. The colonists were told when they could sleep, when they could eat, what job they could do, where they could do it and for how long. No facet of one's life was left open for individual decision.
Laws were formulated and passed by a committee of twelve men and women. Their authority was absolute and the principle on which they worked was that the well-being of the community overrode all other considerations. If someone was pronounced diseased, or was insubordinate, or refused to work, he or she was given a week's supply of food and expelled. Only exceptionally gifted or invaluable members such as doctors, nurses, engineers or agricultural advisers could hope for a reprieve. Even in their cases, however, they were certain to be removed as soon as a suitable replacement could be found. Such a person didn't last long in the wild, the food they carried being more attractive to the other exiles than any skills they might happen to possess.
