by Paul Beatty
‘No one in the towers My Lord. No man yem long time. You see no one on this side ’til you get to gate. Follow me.’ Before Robert could react, I got up and in a crouching trot started to traverse the line of the lower bank. Robert and the rest followed.
Another quarter of an hour and the ground opened out, and a more definite path appeared. I stopped to let Robert catch me up.
‘Gate just round where bank turn left. You rush it from here,’ I whispered.
‘A frontal charge?’ Caution was not something I had expected from Robert. On the way up I had been disappointed not to see more unease in the him and the guards, as the moor became more open and the sky more impressive, but maybe this newfound restraint was the product of the corrosive effect of their fear of the open. Maybe they were getting used to it and wouldn’t panic; a grim thought.
‘Me no soldier,’ I replied.
Robert hesitated again and looked hard at me. ‘I think you may be playing games. Perhaps man and a woman on own provide distraction.’ He pulled on a rope I had not noticed before. It was attached to The Lady’s hands, which were bound. With it he hauled her up to where we were. ‘Take her with you but leave her hands bound.’ He drew his pistol and pushed the barrel under my chin. ‘I see you all way. I better shot with rifle.’
The Lady was freed from the rope but her hands were left bound. We moved off towards the path. When we were out of earshot I spoke to her.
‘Don’t look at me but listen to what I’m going to tell you. If you want to get away from him, do exactly what I say. About a hundred metres from here we come to the gate. It’s really a set of interlocking short banks. Just before we get there this path turns to the right and Robert will not be able to see both of us. At that point I’ll cut your ropes. Then run for it. There’s a clear path that goes straight downhill from the gate. Run as fast as you can until you reach the trees and then keep on downhill until you get back to the lagoon. You should be able to see the boat. Work your way back to it and wait for me.’
‘Why are you doing this? I betrayed you.’
‘You remind me of someone I once knew.’
I bent down, drew the hunting knife from its sheath on my leg and cut the ropes. Then as she started to run I turned and yelled to Robert. ‘Now! Now! The gate’s clear! Charge! Now’s your chance.’
Whether Robert believed me did not matter, the guards, rattled by their agoraphobia, just wanted some action. They charged up the path and through the deserted gates. Robert, far from leading his men like a hero, straggled at their rear.
I watched them race past me and then I sprinted back the way we had come. I was back on the single-track path before I heard the first shooting. I knew what they would see when they got to the top. The inner area of the fort was a ruin. The last time I had been here, only a few buildings were left; there would be fewer now. I had been surprised the watchtowers were still there.
There had been a community once but the moor had proved to be a windswept and difficult place to farm. The group had given up and moved on. Robert had no one to fight and nothing to conquer. The only satisfaction he would get was if he caught me. There was an idea to get the legs pumping.
The wood was in front of me; the trees offered some cover but not much. I was gambling that since they had come up by this path they would stick to what they knew and not take the quicker, direct path The Lady was on. As desperate as I was to be the first back to the boat I knew they would catch up with me before I could get underway.
I was within 300 metres of the lagoon when I heard shouting behind me. I crashed on as the first bullet hit a tree about thirty metres behind me; not far now, not far now! I could see the water beyond the trees and the reflection of the boat.
Where Angus came from I didn’t really understand but suddenly there he was blocking the path. He started to raise his rifle but he was too late – I crashed into him, knocking him unconscious.
The skiff was on the bank, I grabbed its prow and pulled it behind me into the water. Then I threw myself into it and rowed like a madman. I had just reached the boat when Robert arrived on the bank. Bullets peppered the water but I was able to shelter behind the hull and get aboard. By crawling across the deck I was able to tie the skiff to the transom rail and heave the main sail up. Bullets made small holes in the fabric and some hit the mast but the sail filled. The hunting knife made quick work of the forward anchor rope and the boat began to move further down the lagoon to the east, out of range of Robert and his men and towards where The Lady would have come down on her path, but away from the exit to the sea.
Where was she? I scanned the bank. Any minute now the red mist would leave Robert and he would realise that if two of his guards swam out and attacked, one on each side of the boat, then I was finished. Where was she?
Then he saw her break from the trees about twenty metres away. She threw off her coat as she ran and dived into the lagoon. The guards followed the line of the boat’s course and saw her. If I could get the bulk of the boat between them and her I could save her; I just needed to make five more metres. ‘Swim towards the boat!’ I yelled. ‘Swim to me!’
She was making good progress until her arms went up and I saw the water around her go red. She stopped moving and her body rolled onto its back. I got a last sight of her beautiful face before the weight of water in her clothes dragged her under. Helpless I put the tiller over and the boat came round. It hesitated for a moment when the rig went slack but I had enough momentum and the sail refilled on the new tack, heading for the sea channel.
The amount of firing diminished as the guards realised I was out of effective range. They also began to realise that they were stuck in the open on a strange shore, under the open sky, with limited ammunition; in his arrogance Robert had left the reserves of ammunition on the boat.
Only Robert and one or two others kept up firing, moving down the bank with the boat as it sailed down the lagoon. I made it to the point where the river turned round the last spit of the beach and looked back. Robert was standing with Angus and Leonard up to their knees in the water to get as good a shot as they could at the narrowest point of the turn. I had to hold on to the tiller and so as I made the turn they would have their best chance as the transom came round and they got the last clear view of me.
Which one shot me I couldn’t tell but before I heard the reports of the rifles a bullet took me and threw me across the deck. The pain was fierce and immediate, and I knew my right arm was broken just bellow the shoulder. I pulled myself up with my left arm and took the tiller again. As I did so I felt the boat rise to the swell of the open sea.
The Founder’s Diary II
Day 6
We had been walking for a few days. At first the children, Alison, Charlie and the rest, played together as we walked though never too far from our old horse that pulls the wagon with our food and gear. It was no more than a holiday for them. No more than playing round the same wagon when we had used it to take in the grain at harvest time. Now they were quiet and closer.
Away from the shelter of the moor land it was colder than we had expected. Frost rimed the trees in valleys and in some sheltered pockets there was still deep snow. The next surprise was how quiet it was. The few people we saw ran away, even if we greeted them.
We saw the village on the horizon, a small hamlet by a beck. The water flowed quickly over the stones and we could hear it gurgling as we got closer. The road curved down the hill towards a stone bridge. On the left was a public house; its brightly painted sign swung in the wind; a white swan and two cygnets.
We pulled up outside the pub. James, with a few others, went in. I waited with the cart, starting to take the horse out of its traces for a rest. The children were playing tag round me. Suddenly we heard the raised voices and then the shots.
The men tumbled out of the door. ‘Scatter,’ shouted James. ‘Take cover.’ I pulled Alison to me and hid behind a wall. Through the door came a man: withered, grey, gaunt. He had a shotgun he
was trying to reload. James had swung behind the wagon. As the man fumbled with the cartridges James rushed him. The horse shied and reared, knocking the man over. He and James struggled for the gun. Then it went off and only James stood up.
We buried the man and searched the buildings. He had been alone. In one house we found the body of a woman and two children in a bedroom. It seemed she had smothered them and then killed herself with a knife. I helped Naomi carry the children’s bodies to the graves we dug. They were a boy and a girl, not much younger than Alison and Charlie. I carried the girl. She was holding a teddy bear so tightly I could not break her grip so it went with her as I placed her in earth. We laid their mother next to them. Naomi and I wept over all three of them as our men pushed back the earth.
We stayed the night in the pub for the sake of some shelter and to give the horse a rest in a barn we found. There was no food in the village and the only way we could make a fire was by breaking up furniture from the pub for kindling. We had a Council before we left and decided to take the shotgun just in case of more trouble.
Day 11
Before we set off from Winter’s Hill we formulated a plan. We reasoned that if were to survive we must find a place where the climate is sheltered, protected from the worst of the cold. Somewhere wooded where there might be game to hunt, near the sea so that we could fish. ‘The last thing to die will be the sea,’ James said and I believe him. ‘Fish will survive the longest and if there is a recovery it may well start at the coasts.’ Since the coasts seem our best bet we have been heading towards a part of the coast remote from people.
The whole philosophy of Winter’s Hill was not just about surviving for a short time but to plant something permanent and lasting. So we carry seeds to plant in any new home and we have all our know-how of planting, husbandry and building. All we have learned about how to sustain ourselves. If we can find sheep where we are going we can produce a new herd. We will not give in until the last.
Day 13
Today has been difficult. We are coming near to a city we cannot entirely avoid no matter which way we go. The nearer we get the lower our spirits fall and the more anxious we get. All day, so we will attract as little attention as possible, we have tried to use green-lanes. Of course we do not have any direct evidence that this city or any city will be hostile. Except for the man in the pub, no one has threatened us. When I think it through most of our fear comes from our assumptions. Most of us fled the cities to Winter’s Hill to try to live outside the destruction of nature by humans. Now the consequences of the damage our kind has done are here we assume that it will be in the cities that the blow has fallen worst.
After the military took over the cities news became spasmodic. TV went first, requiring more technical knowledge and power to transmit, but radio lasted longer. City-based radio stations appeared, some of which were independent and under the control of local people. They did not paint an encouraging picture. Eventually, they closed down, we presumed due to difficulties of different sorts but there was always the thought that they were they were silenced by the authorities. There were only official radio stations after that and they were upbeat, with messages of things getting better. We listened but they seemed a bit too good to believe.
Day 19
We had a Council last evening to decide our route through the city. After some arguing we have decided to cut across the western side, between the main part of the city centre and a large, satellite town further out. This town shares some suburbs with the city. We hope this will reduce our time in the outskirts and that in the no-man’s-land of the suburbs it will be safe.
Day 20
Today we got our first good look at the city. The high buildings in the centre were clear. In fact the sky is clearer, less hazy with pollution than I remember. But in places thick smoke was rising in columns and it looked from where we stood that fires must be blazing in the denser parts of the houses. I wondered how long has this been going on?
Day 21
We have found a small building about a mile from the motorway that circled the city. It seems once to have been a garage or a haulier’s. In any case it was a place where lorries ran from; there were three wrecks in the yard. Whilst the women and the children hide, James and a few others have gone on reconnaissance. They will be back in a few days. The children are restless. We must not let them out to play for fear they will be seen, so to pass the time we repair clothes and tend to the horse. We had the good luck to turn up some oats and hay for him in one of the out buildings.
Day 23
The scouting party came back in the afternoon and a Council was called. James said that the suburbs were very quiet. In places fires are burning but they seem to have started accidentally, at least there is no evidence of them having being started deliberately. But despite the quiet there is evidence that people are active. The scouts had come across a large number of tyre tracks and it was clear that lorries and other vehicles were still running about.
They had traced some of these tracks back to a large mill which had a guarded compound with army vehicles going in and out, driven by soldiers. In some of the lorries they had seen groups of what looked like civilians. The party suspected that this was not the only ‘fort’ in the area since they’d seen other sets of tracks that led in different directions. ‘But this may not be bad for us,’ said James. ‘I think there will be spaces between the forts with few people. We will be able to travel through those spaces without problem.’
Day 24
We began at break of day. Three men scouted well out in front of us and another group scouted behind. They took turns to circle the rest of us, who stayed close to the wagon on which the children ride. Two of the oldest were put high up on the load to use the advantage of being high up to act as extra eyes and ears.
We crossed under the motorway and went towards where the first fort had been found. We avoided the main roads where possible, though we still had to cross them from time to time. On some of them the tyre tracks, coming and going, were clear. Once or twice we heard the faint sounds of engines in the distance. Once the sounds were loud and three lorries passed close enough for us to have to pull into a garden behind a big three-storey house to hide.
Day 25
This was our second day in the city and, partly due to the rain, our progress was slower than we had hoped. The weather was bad and it drizzled as we trudged on getting wetter and wetter. We are so nervous that we hide at the slightest sound.
To our relief we have found an empty dry building to sleep in tonight. At Council we discussed moving at night but decided that it would be difficult for us to find our way. Besides we do not know what sorts of groups might come out at night. It seemed to me as the discussion went on, that there might be far worse than the fort people lurking in the dark.
Just as we stopped for the night we heard shooting in the distance. We passed the furthest point the scouting team got today, so tomorrow we will be in unknown territory.
Day 29
I have to write this very quickly. It is the first chance I have in three days. What we feared happened. They took us on a road that had high buildings on both sides. We were going along as we had done for the previous two days, then suddenly there were men in battle fatigues armed with rifles dropping from the buildings. They blocked our way front and back using a pickup with a machine-gun mounted on its tailgate and a lorry. We were surrounded. Shots were fired mostly into the air but my man, the father of my children, had the shotgun and he pointed it at one of the soldiers. The soldier shot him and I screamed as I saw his body fall from the wagon. He is dead, Alison and Charlie have no father and I am alone. They did not let me bury him. They did not even let me go to him. The last I saw of his body, it was being kicked into the gutter with blood smeared across his beautiful face.
Chapter 9
You are terrified. The wind roars in the thatch and a fine dust is falling onto your face. The roof seems far away but its beams groan and chafe again
st the fixings as the gale tears at the outside. Something bangs into the wall behind you: is it a branch or a stone? Again and again there are impacts with the walls. There’s another one. It’s coming for you. You wince and shiver, and scream for help. Part of the roof gives way, revealing a lightning bolt. How far the sky is away; how small you are.
‘Come on, come on…’ A kind face looms over you. ‘Get up quickly. Take my hand.’ You swing your legs over the side of the bed. The door slams open and rain, spiced with salt, curtains in as the door flaps about in an icy wind: bang, bang, bang.
You throw your weight at it, pumping with your legs, hands spread out on the leading edge, arms stiff, forcing it shut with all you have. As you get it back into place you feel a great hand pushing you backwards. A strong man is forcing the door, trying to get in. You feel him through the wood. You compete with him. Now there are two people behind the door, forcing you aside, then three as the typhoon monster rises to contain you, to trap you, to kill you.
Anya’s face shimmers within swirling gobbets of water that howl and dance through the door-crack, while wind and lightning tear at the hole in the roof. She is screaming at you, ‘Come back, come back,’ but you are not taken in. Jonathan is running after you, down the slippery length of the bridge that swings and skitters in the gale. ‘Come back, come back.’ But you run harder. You have escaped them.
There’s a hand in yours. ‘This way, this way…’ Someone is pulling you along, as the water sucks at your knees and you wade through it, salt-tears of fear mix with the sea-salt in the wind and fill your mouth; you are drowning.
The wind scrabbles at your thin sleeping-dress, pummelling your body, assaulting you as you run. ‘Come back,’ their voices join with the wind’s scream through the bridge cables but you can hear them laughing as well and run harder though you seem to be getting slower and you think it must be the water that is slowing you down. They are coming but you are free, you will act, and you will not go back. Impossible, impossible but you know.
