by Robin Crumby
“So pack your stuff, get some rest, because as of tomorrow, it’s time we start a revolution.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Heather was next in line to see the Doctor. She waited outside the Principal’s office where the draught from the front entrance howled down the corridor from time to time. In her lap she had open an old red-jacket hardback recommended to her from the school library. She had reread the same page several times now as her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking about her brother, wondering how he was coping without her.
In her peripheral vision she was paying attention to the group of soldiers down the hall, who were trying to look busy. She pointedly avoided eye contact with the taller one in particular, Jonny, they called him. Yesterday, he had accosted her in the passageway, forcefully grabbing her arm as he leaned in close. If she closed her eyes, she could recall every detail of their brief encounter. The booze on his breath, the mole on his cheek, the three-day stubble, the two stripes on the arm of his uniform, holding her firmly against the wall, towering over her. The approach of footsteps had made him look away and she had taken the opportunity to kick him in the shins and wriggle away from his grasp.
The scrape of a chair on the linoleum floor made her close her eyes and exhale quietly. She knew what was coming next, but kept her breathing steady, her muscles tensed. His large frame part-blocked the pale light from the window to her right. She folded the corner of her page to mark her place and closed her book.
“In trouble again are you, Heather? Come to see the Principal?”
Heather ignored his pathetic attempt to provoke her.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, pretending to be wounded by her indifference. “Hey, what are you reading?” he continued, noticing the book in her lap.
“Nothing you’d have heard of, Jonny.”
“Oh so you know my name, eh?” he smiled, emboldened by her familiarity. “Go on try me, I like a good read.”
He glanced over his shoulder and winked at his co-conspirators back down the corridor. They were watching his efforts with knowing smiles as if this was a game they played often. No doubt they had a bet on the outcome. They seemed to gamble on everything. She had seen them exchanging cigarettes, coins and jewellery, probably looted from the refugees they were tasked with protecting, in return for special treatment, whatever that meant.
Heather sighed and held up her book, revealing gold lettering with the words Pride and Prejudice on the cover.
“You wouldn’t like it. No pictures. Full of big words.”
She fixed him with a stare that would have sent most people packing, but not Jonny. He clenched his fists and leaned closer. Heather noticed his left eyelid twitching involuntarily.
“You know what? You kids should show us a bit more respect. We’re here to protect you. But you people don’t seem to realise or appreciate that. A little bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Protect us? The only thing we need protecting from are men like you.”
Jonny bristled with indignation, knowing his subordinates were watching his clumsy advances. He leaned over her, jabbing his finger in her face. He had just opened his mouth to vent, when the door to the Principal’s office opened and the Doctor stepped outside. He was dressed in military fatigues with an American flag on his sleeve. He seemed surprised to see Jonny there, leaning over his quarry.
“Corporal Aldrove, is it?” he said reading the name on his chest. “Your job is to guard these minors, not harass them. If you need something to do, then go and fetch those medicine crates stacked outside.”
Heather smiled sarcastically as Jonny acknowledged the Doctor’s instruction and sloped away, taking the other two men with him. She followed the Doctor in to the office and closed the door behind them.
“Right, take a seat. So,” he said, reading the handwritten sheet on a clipboard passed to him by one of the teachers who was assisting him, “Heather, if you can roll up your sleeve, what we’re going to do this morning is take some blood and give you your first flu shot. Have you given blood before?” his tone was professional but light-hearted.
Heather looked at the American suspiciously, wondering why they would need an American doctor to do this kind of stuff. Didn’t we even have our own doctors any more, she thought?
“I don’t remember. What do you need my blood for anyway?”
“It’s nothing to worry about. We’re taking blood from all the new arrivals at the school. We’re hoping that your blood can teach us more about the virus and how we can develop a vaccine,” he smiled, writing her name on the vial and preparing the sterilised needle.
She winced and looked away as he inserted the needle into the prominent vein on her left arm. “There we go, that didn’t hurt now, did it?”
She noticed the Doctor was staring at her and met his gaze. He looked away, realising he was making her feel awkward.
“You look awfully familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
“I don’t think so. I would remember you,” she said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
He seemed to find that funny and exchanged a look with the teacher. “You got any brothers or sisters? Maybe I’ve met one of them?”
Heather seemed to perk up suddenly. “I have a brother. His name is Connor. He’s nine years old. He was quarantined when we first arrived. He was sick but it wasn’t the virus, I’m sure of it.”
“Well then, he’ll be just fine. Listen, if he was really sick and got pneumonia or something, they’d have taken him to St. Mary’s Hospital. As soon as he gets the all-clear, he’ll likely be sent here. Maybe that’s why you look familiar. It’s possible I could have met him,” he said, but didn’t seem entirely sure.
He finished with the blood sample, securing the lid tight and placing it in a plastic grid with all the others. Once she had been given her flu shot, he stood up and patted her on the shoulder.
“Okay, Heather, that’s all for today. Can you send the next person in please?”
She thanked him and wandered outside to the corridor, avoiding eye contact with Jonny who was still standing in the lobby with his hands on his hips. She could hear the brakes of the school mini-bus screech to a halt by the main entrance and ran out excitedly, hopeful that her brother would be amongst the latest to arrive from the refugee camp. One by one, she watched the dirty faces and hunched shoulders of a dozen boys and girls of all ages, as they were sorted into two age groups. When the last of them had got down, Heather approached the driver, who shook his head.
“Sorry Heather. Not this time. I’m keeping an eye out for him. Don’t give up hope, will you?”
“Thanks Cyrus. I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later,” she said, feeling deflated.
The school bell was ringing inside which meant lessons were restarting after the morning break. Heather checked the hand-written schedule in her back pocket and ran inside to grab her text book and pencil from an otherwise empty locker. She was one of the last to arrive in the Principal’s classroom on the second floor. For some reason, she still found the layout of the school confusing.
“Good morning class. Today we’re going to be looking at the book of Genesis and the Old Testament story of Noah’s Ark and what it can teach us about our current predicament. I trust you have all done your homework and familiarised yourselves with the text,” she said looking round the room to note the nods from the thirty or so in the class. Heather remembered the Bible story well and her hand shot up to the scorn of those around her.
“Yes, Heather. What’s your question?”
“Miss, is it true that God sent the flood to punish mankind for his wickedness and cleanse the world so we could start again?”
“That’s certainly one theory, that the flood was a reversal of creation. But I’m more interested in hearing what the class thinks.”
Another hand shot up at the back, an older boy that Heather had never noticed before. “If God was angry at us, why didn’t he just kill all the bad peopl
e and let the good ones live? Surely the virus killed good people too. I don’t get it.”
“That’s a very good point. The virus kills indiscriminately, doesn’t it? It doesn’t sound very fair, but certainly consistent with the Old Testament which is full of stories of a vengeful God, full of wrath. You’ll notice it’s a very different God from the beneficent father figure of the New Testament. Does anyone remember the book of Exodus and the ten plagues that were unleashed on the people of Egypt?”
“Miss, why do we have to learn about the Bible? Some of us don’t even believe in God.”
“Thank you Thomas. We’ll be studying all religions, not just Christianity, to learn what religion, including atheism can teach us about the world around us,” she smiled.
“Miss,” said another girl about Heather’s age, sat near the front, “is it true that we’re all going to die, like in the great flood?”
The other children laughed at this and the girl flushed, shrinking into her chair. The teacher hushed them and answered her question with the seriousness she felt it deserved.
“I’m sure this is not the end. We’re here now on the island, aren’t we? We’re the lucky ones. I suppose if we were all just to give up, then perhaps you’re right, things would be different. Like Noah, we’ve all been given a fresh start, so we need to seize that opportunity with both hands. We are free to choose our own destiny.”
Heather was looking out the window, pondering the Principal’s words. It reminded her of the speech she had heard at the refugee camp when she’d first arrived. It was almost as if they were scripted to have consistent messaging, to inspire hope and purpose. She wondered what was really going on, behind the smokescreen and propaganda. Her father had taught her to be dispassionate, to scrutinise the evidence, to be skeptical in the absence of facts. It was a mantra that he said would serve her well in life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
From her raised position, Riley was watching the sun sink lower towards the horizon as it seemed to dip its toes in the ocean. She held on tight to the strap above her head, bracing herself against the violent lurches to left and right. Jack’s Land Rover Defender bumped along the narrow shingle roadway that ran along the top of the sea defences linking the castle to Milford village. He was driving her out towards the barricades to see for herself what was going on.
They stopped a couple of hundred meters away and studied the small group gathered around a camp fire, near a footbridge that crossed over the narrow ribbon of water that divided the shingle strip from the tidal road to Keyhaven. There were half a dozen men gathered here, weapons leaning against rocks, warming their hands against a cold wind. She could see one man wrestling to free one of the broken wooden slats from the bridge for firewood. Three cars were positioned on the shingle side of the roadway to block any vehicles from leaving Hurst castle. Back towards Milford itself, she could make out a second barricade of items dragged from nearby houses and cafes.
“I count six,” said Riley, squinting through Jack’s Zeiss binoculars.
“That sounds about right. There were two of them yesterday, then dozens more of them arrived and occupied the houses along the front.”
“Why stop here? Why not just carry on to Lymington or wherever they’re trying to get to?”
“Most of their group kept going, but these ones stayed put.”
“Why? Have you tried to talk to them?”
“Several times. They’re not very forthcoming.”
“So what makes you think the Sisters have something to do with this?”
“Oh it was something Sister Imelda said. She didn’t seem altogether surprised when I told her that the road had been barricaded, as if it was only a matter of time before Sister Theodora would come to ‘sort things out’.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“Well, she wanted to take Jean and Joe back to stand trial. She’d probably take you too if we let her. I offered to hold the trial here at Hurst as a compromise, but she refused. She’s been making quite a nuisance of herself since she arrived. Keeps calling us heathens and refers to the castle as a den of iniquity.”
“She should get out more. Compared to the rest of the places I’ve seen, this is a model community. At least we’re not raping and pillaging. What does she expect?”
“Beats me. She disapproves of our so-called ‘abominable standards of immorality’. Mixed dormitories, relationships outside of wedlock, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds about right. Listen, why don’t we go and just talk to these guys? See if we can reason with them. If it’s only the two of us, then maybe they’ll listen.”
“It’s worth a try,” said Jack, shrugging his shoulders. “They got a bit jumpy last time when the soldiers started brandishing their guns. Maybe it’ll be different with you here.”
They parked the Land Rover, leaving the beam of their headlights switched on to illuminate their path and to announce their presence to the group on the beach. They set off at a brisk pace towards the camp fire which they could see flaring in the dying light. They were still a hundred meters away when the men turned and noticed them. One of the men stood quickly, grabbing his rifle, and took aim at Jack’s chest.
They froze, holding their hands in the air to let the defenders know they were unarmed, they resumed their approach.
“I’m telling you Riley,” whispered Jack between gritted teeth, affecting his most disarming smile, “they’re not friendly. You sure you want to do this?”
“Come on Jack, what are you afraid of?”
They took another few steps before a warning shot rang out above their heads. They stopped again as the man silhouetted by the flames took aim at Jack’s head.
“That’s far enough, Riley. You want to go any further, you’re on your own.”
“Come on, I just want to talk to them.”
“I know, but people like them only respect force. We’ll try again in the morning with an armed escort.”
They retraced their steps towards the Land Rover in the dying light. Their shadows stretched out in front of them across the shingle as they walked. Riley’s arms and legs looked elongated, almost alien. The sun sank below a band of cloud as darkness fell abruptly, closing in around them. Riley felt a shiver pass down her spine. It was a coldness and sense of foreboding she had not felt for some time.
Upon reaching the relative warmth of the vehicle’s cabin, Jack decided to reverse up the roadway. It was too narrow to make the turn. It meant Riley could keep an eye on the group round the camp fire and make sure they were not stupid enough to follow them. Jack was parking near the main gate when Sergeant Flynn came running out to meet them.
“What happened? I heard the shot.”
“Oh it was nothing, just a warning. We got a bit too close to their camp fire and they didn’t like it.”
“They’re just kids. I wouldn’t go exciting them. Sooner or later, they’ll get bored and move on. There’s nothing here for them.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sergeant. Will seems convinced that they are here to stay. He thinks they’re scouts or an advance guard.”
“I doubt that. They’ll know full well that this whole place is under military control. They’re only here so long as we tolerate their presence. If we wanted to, we could smash our way through, no problem. No, I don’t believe they’ll try anything stupid.”
“I hope you’re right, Sergeant,” sighed Jack. “In my experience, it pays to be careful.”
They followed Jack through the main gate to the castle. Inside, there was already a palpable sense of unease. The sound of heavy boots running towards them revealed two soldiers carrying a heavy load between them. Riley watched them struggle towards the walls at the western end where they were keeping watch on the camp fire.
“What’s going on Corporal?” shouted Sergeant Flynn.
“We just heard on the radio that they’ve been picking up a lot of activity today on the New Milton and Pennington approach roads t
o Lymington. We had reports of a huge convoy of vehicles heading along this way and now one of the lookouts says he can see lights in the distance.”
“Sergeant,” said Jack, grabbing Flynn’s sleeve, “it could be the Sisters. We shouldn’t take any chances.”
“Very well,” said Flynn raising his eyebrows, “sound the general alarm and get everyone to their posts. Like you say Jack, we can’t be too careful.”
***
Jack and Tommy passed the binoculars between them, straining to see the camp fire and line of vehicles beyond. The reports had been correct. Every time he checked, the headlights seemed to have got a little closer to the spit, advancing at walking pace along the coastal road that ran alongside Milford beach. Beside them, on the castle’s ramparts, a pair of guards crouched behind a stack of sandbags, shivering against the cold. They were responsible for a tripod-mounted machine gun set up to have a wide arc of fire over the castle approaches.
There was a commotion in the courtyard behind them as Sergeant Flynn and Corporal Ballard shouted instructions, making their final preparations. They had posted men to the fortified positions around the castle walls, covering the roadway leading to the front gate. Flynn and Ballard were arguing about something, gesticulating wildly.
“What’s going on, Tommy?” asked Jack, leaning in closer, keeping his voice low. The two civilians were spectators only and their offers of help had been refused by Flynn. They had been told the military would handle this, whatever that meant.
“Oh, Flynn and Ballard are all in a flap. They can’t get hold of command and need to know what their rules of engagement are. They are only authorised to monitor the situation and report back.”
