Reaper

by Jon Grahame

  ‘Charlie!’ he called. ‘Charlie Miller!’

  He waved the homemade flag. The lorry blockade, he saw, had been augmented with a car at one end and fridges and washing machines at the other.

  ‘Who wants him?’ The voice was male and gruff.

  ‘My name is Reaper. I’m from a community called Haven. We’re in the country, about twenty miles away.

  It’s a good community. Men, women, children. We’re farming the land.’

  ‘You don’t look like a farmer.’

  ‘Me and Sandra,’ he nodded to the car, ‘we look after them. Protection.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To make contact. Organise trade. There are groups in Scarborough and Bridlington.’

  ‘I know. We fish together.’

  ‘Then perhaps they mentioned us?’

  ‘Perhaps they did.’

  ‘Can we talk face to face?’ There was a long pause.

  At least the request was being considered. ‘I need to warn you about a group in Whitby.’

  ‘Warn us?’

  ‘They’re violent.’

  ‘We can be violent.’

  ‘And I want to ask you about Jason Houseman.’

  ‘Houseman?’ The anger spit from his voice. ‘You know Houseman?’

  ‘We took him in. But yesterday he assaulted a little girl. We banished him. We thought he might try to come back here.’

  ‘He won’t come back here.’ Another pause. ‘Walk forward. Keep your hands up.’

  Reaper did as he was told. Sandra stayed in the car.

  He walked slowly, his hands high, the flag still held in his right fist. One of the refrigerators was wheeled away to provide a gap in the barricade. Reaper had to bend from the waist to get through. The washing machine was on rollers and had been pulled aside by a young man with goldfish eyes that gave him a permanently surprised expression. A stocky middle-aged man pointed a shotgun at him. Reaper stood upright and lay his flag on top of the washing machine.

  Twenty yards away, the street turned right. A cafe faced up the street and, inside it, a group of people stared out at him. On top of the building, another figure pointed a rifle in his direction. He glanced to his right and saw another man on a lookout post behind the cab of the lorry, pointing a rifle down the street towards where Sandra waited.

  Reaper held out his right hand.

  ‘I’m Reaper,’ he said.

  ‘I’m Miller.’ The man didn’t take his hand but at least he lowered the shotgun so that he carried it at waist height, its barrel pointing at the ground. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘We’re in regular contact with the group at Scarborough Castle. Ferguson and Dr Malone?’

  Miller’s eyes showed interest.

  ‘Didn’t you know they had a doctor?’

  ‘No, we didn’t.’

  ‘And we trade with the group at Bridlington at the Royal Yorkshire Yacht Club. Bob Stainthorpe and Nagus Shipley.’

  ‘I know Nagus.’

  ‘Bob and Nagus gave us fish and chips.’

  Miller stared at him for a while longer and nodded.

  ‘Aye. Well, you’ll have to make do with coffee this time.’ He offered his own hand at last and they shook.

  ‘What about Sandra?’ Reaper said.

  ‘Invite the lass in.’

  Miller was a man of few words but Reaper had made the breakthrough. He went back to the gap and called Sandra to join him.

  They went to the cafe, which was clean, orderly and still operating. The coffee was brewed on a large camping stove and served at one of the tables by a young woman who introduced herself as Sharon and who also placed before them a plate of biscuits and sliced cake. She was blonde and in her early twenties, a pleasant girl who smiled at Reaper and Sandra as if delighted that her group had at last extended its horizons. The other men, women and children remained in a cluster near the counter and listened intently to Reaper as he explained what they were doing at Haven, and the progress that was being made at Scarborough and Bridlington.

  In return, Miller gave an outline of how they had come together.

  ‘I had a butcher’s shop. Lived above it. Me and my son. He died.’ He indicated the others with a tilt of the head. ‘Everybody lost people. Same as everywhere.

  Nobody knew what to do at first but this is a close community. The wagon blocking the street was left there a day or two before it all went bad and no one bothered to move it. Afterwards, I came here, to this cafe. I always used to come here. It was easier than cooking. Me and my lad, we lived alone. Anyway, others drifted in and we sort of waited for someone to come and rescue us. Like a lot did, I suppose. Then we realised no one was coming and so we got organised. We cleared the houses of bodies down this end of town. We gave them a burial at sea. Said the words, did it respectful. And we never did bother to move the wagon. Glad we didn’t when the low-life came.’

  ‘They were smashing windows and looking for trouble. We heard a woman screaming one night and then they came here, for us. But we were ready and they got more than they bargained for. We beat them off. Killed one, hurt a couple. They went away and they haven’t been back. So we made the barricade better, front and sides. And we still have access to the sea. There’s another lot starting over at the golf club down at the south end of town. But I suppose we’ve been a bit wary of leaving the barricades. Maybe it’s time to take them down. Maybe it’s time to trade.’

  ‘How many of you?’ asked Reaper.

  ‘Twenty seven.’

  ‘How many at the golf club?’

  ‘Thirty, forty.’ He grunted and almost smiled. ‘I think I might have put some off from joining us. I’m told I have a forceful personality.’

  Reaper grinned. ‘Forceful personalities can be useful.’

  ‘In their time and place. But it sounds as if people are getting back on their feet, or trying to. Maybe it’s time to take down the barricades.’

  ‘Maybe not. There’s a bloke in Whitby who is building an army. “Muldane’s Army”. Have you heard of him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We ran into four of them the other day. They had come down to Scarborough on a scouting expedition.

  One of them got away.’

  Miller caught his eye. ‘Meaning three of them didn’t?’

  ‘That’s right. But this Muldane has as many as forty armed men. They seem to take other groups prisoner and make them work for them.’ He glanced at the people straining to catch every word and lowered his voice. ‘The young women are used for recreation.’

  Miller sat up straighter and stiffened his shoulders.

  He nodded his understanding.

  ‘It’s always been the same, hasn’t it?’ Miller said.

  ‘Throughout history. The beast is always lying fallow in man. Remove the rules and certain men allow the devil to rise. The beast is now risen and will not be denied.’

  Reaper thought Miller a little poetic but he had the right idea.

  Miller continued. ‘Before the plague we were living in Sodom and Gomorrah. I was not surprised when we suffered the apocalypse. And now, it seems, the Lamb will have to face the Beast in Armageddon.’

  Seeing Reaper’s expression at this outburt, Miller smiled for the first time, almost self-consciously. ‘I was a part-time preacher as well as a butcher.’

  Reaper could not think of anything to add to that summation, so drank his coffee. After a couple of minutes, Sandra broke the silence, ‘Great cake!’

  Sandra joined the group at the counter and left the two men to talk about trade. Miller’s group had three fishermen among them who were training others in the way of the sea, and their catches were plentiful.

  They had hens and a couple of pigs and had also planted allotments, but were not growing fruit and vegetables on anything like the grand scale as Haven.

  They agreed that trade and the interaction of the groups would be of benefit and, perhaps, in the future, they might devise a mutual defence treaty in cas
e Muldane and his army decided to sweep down from Whitby and conquer new people.

  Miller said, ‘You mentioned Houseman. What did he do?’

  Reaper said, ‘The day we first came here, we stopped to eat on The Crescent. Houseman came out of The White Lodge Hotel with another bloke. Milo Montague?’ Miller shook his head to say he didn’t know him. ‘They came with us to Haven. Montague has fitted in well. He’s a good worker and is well-liked. But Houseman? I never did like blokes who smiled that much.’

  ‘He’ll never smile again if I get my hands on him.’

  ‘We kicked him out yesterday. He was found assaulting a seven-year-old. Thank God he was found in time, but the intent was clear enough.’

  ‘You kicked him out?’ he said, as if slightly incredulous.

  ‘We have a clergyman among us. He does not have your fire and brimstone. He . . . means well. And he tries to act as our conscience.’ Reaper hesitated. ‘Well, maybe my conscience. I would have removed Houseman permanently but our cleric demanded banishment. I went along with it and waited at the front gate. I was still going to remove him, but the vicar let him go by the back door.’

  ‘He is slime of the worst kind,’ Miller said, in a low but angry voice. ‘A child molester, a paedophile, a beast who has already sold his soul to the devil. He committed a similar crime here. A ten-year-old girl.

  And then he ran before God’s justice could be imposed.’

  ‘You would have shot him?’

  ‘I would have burned him alive to give him a fore-taste of the fires of hell.’

  Reaper believed him.

  When they left Charlie Miller’s enclave, the girl, Sharon, went with them to introduce them to the Golf Club settlement.

  ‘Do you reckon it’s like this all over the country?’

  she asked, as they drove along the empty and deserted West Avenue.

  ‘I think it must be,’ said Sandra. ‘People getting together in groups, like you and Mr Miller and us at Haven.’

  ‘Haven sounds better than this,’ she said.

  ‘Haven is hard work,’ Reaper said. ‘We’re agricultural. Every settlement will be different. The grass isn’t always greener.’

  He could foresee a problem if some of Charlie Miller’s lot suddenly decided they wanted to move to Haven.

  Miller might not take kindly to a sudden shift in population or a loss of congregation; Reaper felt sure he held services every Sunday. The former butcher was someone he would rather have as a friend and ally, than an enemy. Eventually, it would be inevitable that people would move about from one new village to another, to find a role more suited to their skills or because of relationships. He just didn’t want Sharon to start a trend quite so soon.

  They drove straight up to the front of Filey Golf Club. There was no guard, no one keeping a lookout.

  Sharon led them into the foyer of the clubhouse and shouted ‘Hello’. A man and woman emerged from a room and looked at them in surprise.

  Sharon said, ‘Barry, Veronica. There was no one on the door so we came straight in.’

  Barry was a small elderly man in corduroy trousers, a V-neck red jumper and a bow tie. He wore glasses on a cord around his neck. Veronica was about fifty, wearing a twinset and pearls. They could have stepped out of the wings from a middle England stage comedy.

  Reaper had to restrain himself from enquiring, anyone for tennis? He wondered, did they even know there had been a pandemic?

  ‘That’s all right, Sharon,’ Barry said. ‘We were working on the rotas.’

  The two of them viewed their guests with slight alarm, probably at the sight of the guns they wore. Thank God they had left their carbines locked in the boot.

  ‘This is Reaper and Sandra,’ Sharon said. ‘They’re from an inland settlement. Haven.’

  ‘We’ve heard of you,’ said Barry, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Barry Upson and this is Veronica Glass.’

  They all shook hands. ‘We do the admin. Veronica, because she’s bloody good at it and me, because I’m bloody useless at anything else.’

  ‘Everybody else is out at the moment,’ said Veronica.

  ‘We’re turning part of the course into allotments.

  Greenhouses and everything.’

  ‘The greenhouses are essential because of the coastal winds,’ said Barry.

  ‘We’re digging, planting, erecting,’ said Veronica. ‘It’s all go.’

  ‘The children are at school, we have two boats out fishing and teams out on requisition work,’ said Barry.

  ‘That’s a polite way of saying looting.’ He smiled. ‘I used to work at the Town Hall. We had a euphemism for everything.’

  ‘Don’t you have anybody on guard?’ Sandra asked.

  ‘What’s the point?’ said Barry. ‘We have no guns and don’t want any. We would hope that if anyone turns up, we can help them, or we can help each other.

  If someone wants to cause trouble we can only hope our numbers might deter them. We have thirty eight on the roll: eighteen men, thirteen women and seven children under the age of sixteen. Four boys and three girls.’

  Reaper acknowledged that Barry was definitely an ex-civil servant.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Veronica. ‘We’re forgetting our manners. How about a nice cup of tea?’

  They exchanged experiences over a cup of tea and laid the foundations for future cooperation. Barry was wistful about the way they were digging up the nine-hole academy golf course. He had been a senior member at the club and had many happy memories of games played, stories swapped in the bar, and the time he almost got a hole in one.

  ‘But everything has changed,’ he said. ‘’I’m lucky. I was a widower. But some have had a bloody awful time.’ He shrugged. ‘So what if we dig up the academy course? If it works, in a year or two, we may dig up the rest. In the meantime, I still go out on a Sunday for a few holes.’

  After leaving, they dropped Sharon back at Miller’s blockade and set off to return to Haven.

  ‘The Golf Club seems well organised,’ Reaper said.

  ‘They should do well.’

  ‘If no armed gang turns up to eat their food and take their women,’ Sandra said.

  ‘We are at the rebirth of a nation,’ Reaper said.

  ‘Hell, the rebirth of a brave new world. We can hope people like Barry and Veronica make it . . . but I have a feeling that only the strong will survive.’

  ‘So we’d better be strong,’ said Sandra.

  *

  Reaper asked for volunteers for a defence corps; a militia that would be called upon in the event of attack.

  The Reverend Nick was not in support of the idea, but neither did he oppose it. Haven had eight armed personnel, including Reaper and Sandra, but Reaper thought it better if they had more, as well as a plan of defence. The community was now run by a committee that included Nick, Pete, Jamie, Ashley and Judith, the elegant vet. They called a general meeting and Reaper made his pleas for volunteers. Ten agreed to join, including Ashley.

  ‘Times change,’ he said. ‘Needs must.’

  Reaper and Sandra trained the other recruits in the basics with handguns and carbines, for an hour a day for the next week. He put Ashley in charge of the new force and the quiet man reluctantly accepted. The militia’s weapons would be stored in the manor house armoury and they would only collect them when it was deemed necessary.

  Henceforth, Haven would have a permanent guard in the mobile home in the trees above the front gate of the estate, and another in a cottage at the rear entrance near Inglewood Farm. If a large group of strangers approached, they could warn the village and a reception committee could be prepared, with armed personnel discreetly positioned out of sight. If a threat or attack was perceived, the alert would send everyone within the area into the manor house, which would become their main defensive position. Guns would be issued to those trained in their use, and Asps, pepper gas and Tazer guns would be available for those who felt able to use them. The house had interior wooden shutt
ers on the ground floor, which were reinforced under the supervision of Ashley and Gavin Price. Gun slots were added so that defenders could return fire, although the main defensive position would be on the upper floors.

  ‘I don’t think this will ever be needed,’ Nick told Reaper, on the last day of training.

  ‘I sincerely hope it will not,’ he replied. ‘But we have a good thing here. We all know that and so will any intruders. Other communities are growing in other parts of the county, probably all over the country. But there will still be those who don’t want to work. Who will be content to live off supermarkets until they’re fed up with tinned food. Then we will look a very attractive proposition. Someone just might decide to march in here with an armed gang and take over. Take the produce, the fruits of our work, and the women.’

  ‘You don’t know that, Reaper.’

  ‘I know that men can behave far worse than animals, Reverend. I’ve seen it, you’ve seen the results of it.

  These people deserve better than that.’

  ‘There are bound to be shifts in power, you know, as the communities grow?’ Nick said. ‘Alliances?

  Maybe regional governments.’

  ‘If you’re suggesting I may be worried about losing whatever power I have here, you’re wrong. I don’t want any kind of power.’

  ‘Apart from that of life and death?’

  ‘As I said, I don’t want any kind of power. But I do want to protect the people here and make sure that, if Haven comes under threat, at least we will have a chance of holding our own and persuading any attacker that it might be better to move on and find easier prey.’

  ‘I believe you, Reaper,’ Nick said earnestly, ‘I just hope you’re wrong about the dangers. After all that’s happened, I would like to think that man might try to make a fresh start without the violence.’