‘Have you ever been in there?’ I ask.
‘A few times, but not on business. They use their own guards. Your Pa goes there a lot though.’
I can’t imagine Pa doing business there. I always picture him visiting a much smaller, less-intimidating compound where everyone treats him like royalty. But even my impressive Pa would get swallowed up in such a big space.
We carry on, driving around the outside walls towards the road. As we get further away from the main gates, we see hundreds of flimsy cardboard, cloth and corrugated metal huts all around the wall’s base - makeshift houses. They seem alright in this weather, but what happens when it rains? What about the winter months? People have cordoned off small rectangles of land to grow produce. Donkeys, ponies, goats and dogs are tethered to wooden posts. Children of all ages run around barefoot and dirty. Chickens scratch about in small wire pens.
Gypsy-looking men and women sit around on the baked mud earth, cooking whole skinned rabbits and unappetising-looking black flatbread over open fires. They’ve nearly all got shotguns or more primitive weapons on their laps, even the children. Some of the people are horribly maimed with limbs or eyes missing. A lot of them have awful scarring on their faces. Hardly anyone pays attention to our blacked-out AV. One or two people look up with disdain on their faces. No one tries to approach us.
Ron Chambers used to live in this towering compound. I wonder what his house is like. Does he have any friends inside these walls? Suddenly I know it’s vital we go and see where he lived. I need to go inside and see if it sheds any light on his whereabouts. I can’t believe our plans haven’t included a visit to his old place. I know the guards and the army checked it out and found nothing, but now I decide I have to see it for myself.
Luc tries to dissuade me from turning back to enter the compound. Not least because he’s worried about getting past Ringwood before nightfall.
‘Going in there won’t help us to find him. I promise you the guards will have turned his place inside out. And someone’ll recognise us and then we’ll get sent back to the Perimeter.’
‘No, we won’t. And we’ll bribe the guards to let us in. I’ll wear your baseball cap and you can just keep your head down. We’ll be fine.’
‘There’s no point, Riley? He won’t have left a map with an X marking his destination.’
‘Please. I really think we need to. Somebody might know where he’s gone. Aren‘t you even a bit curious?’
I know Luc’s just being rational and thinking of our safety, but he eventually capitulates and turns the AV around. We drive over the noisy metal ramp up to the now firmly closed main gates.
Our first destination was supposed to be the Century Barracks at Warminster. Luc’s parents know the soldiers there and Luc’s sure they’ll offer us hospitality. We’re going to try to find the two soldiers who saw Chambers and get as much information from them as we can. Then we’ll head across to the West Country, stopping at perimeters and compounds, asking people if they’ve seen a man of his description. Luc’s got a copy of the circulated picture of Chambers so we’ll show it to people we meet in the hope they recognise him. But Luc and I both agree that he’d probably have cut his hair and shaved his beard by now, which will make finding him that much harder.
I realise Luc’s speaking to me again, asking me if he should beep the horn to attract someone‘s attention. Before I have time to answer, a small metal door opens and a guard carrying a machine gun walks up to Luc’s window and knocks on the glass. Luc buzzes his window down. As he does so, we get a blast of uncomfortable heat, unexpected after the cool of the air-conditioning. But worse than the heat is an awful stomach-churning rotting smell. I almost gag. It must come from the compound itself, or from the people who dwell outside in its shadow. Luc doesn’t flinch, but palms the burly guard a couple of silver bits.
‘We're here to barter for produce,’ Luc tells the guard.
‘You’ll have to leave the vehicle here, Sir.’
‘Can I leave it inside the walls?’
‘No.’
‘We’ll only be about an hour,’ says Luc, passing him another couple of bits.
‘Wait here.’ He goes back inside and one of the gates creaks open. Another guard signals to us to park within the compound in a parking space off to the left.
Although we’re now inside the gates, we’re still outside the main walls. We’ve stopped in what appears to be a vast entrance area, a car park. I assume the other large set of gates opens up to the main town. Luc locks the AV and we look around to see where we should go.
‘What’s that gross smell?’ I ask.
‘Shh. Most places outside our Perimeter smell like this. It’s how people live. In squalor mainly.’
I get that feeling of inadequacy again. There are so many things about this trip I’m ill-prepared for. I half-wish I hadn’t suggested coming in here now. The smell of the place makes me think I’ve seen enough and the rows and rows of vehicles are a strange sight, making me feel dizzy. But I can’t change my mind after making such a fuss to come here in the first place.
We don’t see either of the guards, so we thread our way through the cars towards the other set of gates. Most of the parked vehicles are little more than rusted heaps that don’t look as if they’ll be going anywhere ever again.
Luc holds out his hand and I take it, feeling self-conscious. It feels cool and firm. There are several small entrances up ahead with more uniformed guards stationed at each one, but all I can think about is the feel of my hand in Luc’s.
‘I think this is going to be an expensive visit,’ he says, drawing half-a- dozen silver bits from his pocket to grease some more palms.
Finally we’re in.
Chapter Eleven
Riley
*
Once inside, the stench triples in awfulness and the place looks like nothing I’ve ever seen. The Compound’s inner entrance doors open up on to a long street, lined with busy shops and eateries. Above these, precarious looking flats jut out, all higgledy piggledy in various styles. No cars clog the roads, just pedestrians, horses and an imaginative array of non-motorised vehicles: push bikes with home-made trailers, wooden carts, covered wagons and people-powered rickshaws.
In front of the cosmopolitan shop facades, a vibrant street market is in full flow, packed with stall holders and shoppers. I don’t think I can recall ever seeing so much activity and so many people together in one place. I feel overwhelmed, and have to stop to take several deep breaths.
‘You okay?’ Luc asks, as I tug on his hand for him to stop.
‘I just need a few seconds.’
‘Here, sit down and put your head between your knees for a minute.’ He guides me over to the side of the road, behind a cake stall and squats down, patting the ground next to him. I comply gratefully and take a few swigs of water. After a minute or two, I feel slightly less giddy.
I realise Luc has his arm around my shoulders. It feels good. A blush of embarrassment reddens my face, followed by a blush of desire spreading across my throat and collar bones. I’m glad I’ve got my head bowed so he can’t see. Eventually, I compose myself and recover enough to stand up again. Luc’s so kind and patient. He doesn’t make me feel stupid or troublesome at all.
‘Take your time.’ He rubs my arm and smiles into my eyes. ‘You look a bit better. You’ve got some colour in your face. You were white as a ghost before.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s just the shock. The noise and heat; the smells. There are so many people. It’s amazing, but a bit frightening.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. I should have warned you what to expect. I didn’t even think. I’ve been visiting compounds for years so I’m used to it.’
‘You kind of just assume it will be the same as home. Our Perimeter is so peaceful and calm. This is exciting but it’s a bit intimidating, seeing all these people in the one place.’
Enthusiastic vendors shout at the top of their voices and buy
ers haggle over produce with pretended indifference. There are fruit and vegetables in varying stages of freshness, great mountains of autumn-coloured grain, unappetising fly-covered meat, sweets, cakes, biscuits, home-made and second-hand clothing, skittish livestock, toys and crockery. Fire-eaters, jugglers, dancers and fortune tellers jostle for space. Now I’m getting more used to my surroundings, I’m hypnotised by it all.
‘Is it like this all the time?’ I ask Luc.
‘Every Saturday, darlin',’ an elderly street vendor standing next to me replies. ‘Where you from then?’
‘Just visiting,’ says Luc, grabbing my elbow and propelling me forward into the throng.
‘I’ll mind me own business then shall I?’ He goes back to crying his wares.
The main Charminster Road has many smaller roads leading off it, which appear to be residential with a mixture of run-down houses and slightly larger apartment blocks. Some of the roads have been converted into small strips of farmland, with narrow paths running in front of the houses to allow access. There are penned animals, garden produce and crops, all patch-worked along into the distance.
Most plots have someone on guard, but it’s quite a laid-back affair. A man lounges on a garden chair, chatting to his neighbour, a rifle lying at his feet. The crop-carpeted roads give the overall impression of a quaint rural village and, from what I can see, most of the residents seem to be very cheerful and friendly. I could spend hours wandering the streets, sightseeing. It’s a huge and fascinating settlement, but the vastness of the place is going to make finding Chambers’ accommodation very difficult.
‘We’ll have to ask someone where he lived.’ I state the obvious.
‘I know. I’m just trying to work out how we should phrase it and who we should ask.’
I get a sudden surge of bravery. ‘Excuse me.’ I turn to a girl my age who strolls past, biting into a toffee apple. ‘Sorry, do you know where I might find Ron Chambers’ place?’
‘The electrician?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, not believing she actually knows who I’m talking about.
‘Haven’t you heard? He’s not here anymore. I think he was arrested. Not sure though. He used to live with the other trades people on Porchester Road, D’you know it?’
I shake my head.
‘It’s down there. Northumberland Mansions is the block of flats. They’ll definitely have reallocated his apartment by now though.’ She points back down the road, from where we’ve just come.
‘Thanks very much.’ I smile.
‘You’re welcome.’ She gives us a curious look before turning off down a side street and disappearing.
‘Cool, Riley.’ Luc punches my arm.
Northumberland Mansions is a large ugly brown block, reserved purely for skilled trades people and their families. It sits on a wide tree-lined road and is probably quite a prestigious place to live. Close enough to the main road and the main gates, but far enough away not to be disturbed by the excessive noise of the street market. Litter covers the pavement though and there’s dog shit everywhere.
Luc says I should speak on the intercom, as a girl’s voice is less intimidating. We stand in a urine and cabbage-smelling foyer and buzz a few numbers until someone answers. The woman on the other end confirms Chambers has left the compound, but that he used to live in apartment 26B. I duly press the bell for 26B and a man’s voice answers.
‘Hello,’ he says.
‘Hi, my name’s Riley. Can I speak to you for a few minutes?’
‘Who?’
‘Riley. I wonder if I could speak to you.’
‘Dunno any Riley. You need to go through the committee if you want an electrician. Bugger off.’ The intercom squeals and then goes dead.
‘Offer him some cigarettes,’ suggests Luc.
I press the bell again and put Luc’s offer to him.
‘Fifth floor. Come on up.’
We puff up the dim airless flights of stairs until we finally reach the fifth floor and push open an opaque glass door at the top of the stairs. I look at the flat numbers listed on the wall and Luc points to a short, dark corridor on our left. There at the end we see a man peering out from behind his door, with 26B in dull gold lettering on it. He has the chain across and eyes us suspiciously as we approach.
‘What do you want then?’
We briefly explain the reason for our visit, saying Chambers is wanted for murder and we’re here to see if he’s left anything behind that might give us a clue to his whereabouts.
‘Who are you then, the Munchkin Army? No offence, but you look a bit young to be playing detective.’
‘He killed my sister,’ I say quietly, starting to loathe this rude idiot.
He doesn’t reply for a while. Just looks at us, as if sizing us up.
‘Come on, Riley,’ says Luc. ‘We’re obviously wasting our time here. We should go.’ He turns, as if to make his way back to the staircase.
‘Hold on a minute,’ says the man. ‘Got those smokes you were talking about?’
Luc produces a packet of cigarettes from his rucksack and holds them out for the man to see.
‘Blimey, those look like the real thing? Where’d you get those? Better not ask eh?’ He closes the door and I hear the sound of the chain sliding across.
The door opens again, without the chain, and a middle-aged man stands before us wearing a pair of almost indecently threadbare red nylon football shorts and a matching vest. His large white hairy belly protrudes from a gap between the two items of clothing. He pats it.
‘Maybe I can start to lose some of this now I’m on the fifth floor with no bloody lift.’ Luc passes the cigarettes across and the man steps aside. ‘Okay, come through then, but no funny business. I’m watching the pair of you.’
We follow him in and stand awkwardly in his entrance hall. I ask if he’ll let us have a quick look around the apartment.
‘Got any more of those ciggies?’ he asks, eying Luc’s rucksack.
Luc looks at me and I reluctantly nod. He produces another packet and hands them to the man.
‘You beauty.’ He grins at Luc and claps him on the shoulder. ‘Mi casa es tu casa’ he says cheerily, in bad Italian. ‘But I’ll come round with you, don’t want you rooting through me underwear drawer do I?’ He raises his eyes at me, as if to suggest I’d enjoy doing such a disgusting thing.
I shudder inwardly.
‘Just moved in last week. Bloody lovely place. Clean white walls, wood floors. Can’t believe my luck. Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary though. Can’t believe you’re telling me the bloke’s a murderer; that’s a bit creepy. I’m a sparky, new to the area. Ever need anything electrical doing, just talk to the committee and I’ll give you a good deal.’
We follow him around the flat. There’s a large lounge, two double bedrooms, an adequate kitchen and a shower room. It’s a lovely, airy apartment, simple and clean with high ceilings and, best of all, no horrible smell.
‘This is hopeless,’ I say. ‘We’re not going to find anything.’
‘You done now?’ asks the man, as we follow him back into the hallway. He looks as though he’s about to say something, but then he closes his mouth again and gives a tight-lipped smile. ‘Well, cheers for the smokes.’
We leave his apartment and make our way back down the five flights of stairs. We’re about half way down when we hear an echoing voice.
‘Oi, you two!’
I look up to see the man’s round face peering down at us. We turn around and head back up the stairs. When we reach the top, he’s got a strange look on his face and he’s chewing his lower lip.
‘There was this one thing,’ he says.
Luc and I glance at each other and then look back at the man, waiting expectantly. I feel a surge of hope.
Chapter Twelve
Riley
*
I wonder what this man’s going to tell us. Could it be something that will lead us to Chambers?
‘Yeah,’ he say
s. ‘There was this one thing I found.’
‘What thing?’ Luc asks.
‘I found it down the side of the sofa.’
I look sideways at Luc. He raises his eyes enquiringly at the man.
‘A lighter. I found a lighter,’ the man says.
Something stirs in my memory, but I can’t quite remember. ‘Can I see it?’ I ask.
‘Umm.’ He looks reluctant, but finally concedes and pulls a silver lighter out of his pocket.
I stare at it, puzzled. ‘That’s Pa’s lighter.’
‘Your old man’s? Yeah right.’
‘Look on the bottom,’ I say confidently. ‘And you’ll see the initials JRC. My father’s initials.’ I wait.
He looks at me and frowns. Then he peers at the underside of the lighter and his frown deepens. ‘Shoulda kept my mouth shut shouldn’t I. That’s a nice lighter that is.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, reaching out for it.
‘So.’ He smiles at me, showing yellow teeth. ‘What’s it worth?’ He makes no move to hand it over.
‘What?’ I splutter. Luc puts a warning hand on my arm and I look at him in annoyed disbelief.
‘I’m sure you’ve got plenty of goodies in that bag of yours,’ the man says. ‘You can’t blame me. I’d be a prat to pass up an opportunity like this. Those smokes will sort me out big time. So come on, don’t be tight. A couple more packets an’ we’ll all be happy.’
We do the deal and I finally have Pa’s lighter, feeling its warm weight in my hand.
‘Cheers,’ says the man, as he walks back into his apartment and closes the door without saying goodbye.
What on earth was Pa’s lighter doing on Chambers’ sofa? It doesn’t make any sense. Unless of course he stole it. We leave the apartment block and step out onto the street.
‘Maybe Chambers was a thief,’ Luc muses, as we head back up Porchester Road towards the street market.
‘Must have been,’ I answer. ‘Otherwise, how else do you explain the lighter?’ It feels solid and reassuring in my hand, as if I have a piece of Pa. I imagine the lighter feeling pleased to have been returned to its family. Pa doesn’t smoke, but a lighter is a handy thing to have. I remember last month, Pa asking me if I’d seen it, but I didn’t pay much attention. Funny to think of it all the way over here. I click it, but it just sparks impotently.
Outside - a post-apocalyptic novel Page 6
