Aftermath: The complete collection

by John Wilkinson

  ‘I’m just passing through, I’m hungry and tired, just hoping I can get some food.’

  ‘Have you got any weapons?’

  ‘No sir, I’m not a threat, I just need some food and water.’ The two men looked at each other, before the one on the left signalled to the other to search me.

  ‘Put your arms in the air’ he said, as he started to pat down my torso. He focused on each arm, before kneeling down and patting my legs, from my crotch to my boots. ‘He’s clean’ he said, standing up and moving back to his post. They let me pass and I walked into the main hall, that was buzzing with people. The room was set out with long wooden tables, like a jumble sale, with each table displaying something different, tins of food, bottles of water. A queue of people had formed at each one, with Dumfries townsfolk waiting in line impeccably for their turn. They looked unhealthy and dirty, but I guess I do too. There were inquisitive looks from all sides of the room, a stranger in their community, I could feel their eyes on me as I past them. At the far end of the room was a queue for the hot food, being distributed like school dinners. I could hear what sounded like music coming from somewhere in the hall, so I walked further in, trying to identify the source. The further I got into the building, the more pronounced it became, I walked past the hot food counter to a set of double doors at the far right of the hall, and opened them. The music came flooding out, so I walked through following it, past a small kitchen full with busy noises. There was an open door on my left, from where the music was emanating. I walked in, just as an old bearded man started to sing, accompanied by a guitar, violin and piano. The room had around twenty men inside, I must have been the youngest by some thirty years. I sat down at a wooden table and listened to the music for some time, having heard none for months. It was achingly beautiful, I was mesmerized, unable to take my eyes away from these men, putting their heart and soul into every note. I was sure I had heard the song before, the words seemed very familiar to me. I listened to the whole piece before thanking them, and asking them what it was. The man on the organ, turned around on his stool and told me the name of the song was ‘The last hymn.’ At that point my memory recalled where I had heard it, my grandma and then my mother had both sung the song to me when I was a young boy. I recalled vague memories, wrapped up in bed, probably ill with a cup of hot cocoa, while my mum sang the whole thing to me, all fifteen or sixteen verses. I hadn’t heard the hymn for close to thirty years, it got me thinking about my mum, and then Jane, and how important I have become to Emma. I thanked the gentlemen again and headed back through the double doors into the main hall, the room was still buzzing, but reserved. Quiet, nervous conversations were taking place between worried neighbours. The smell of paint greeted me as I continued further into the room, a couple of men were busy painting the wall. I walked past them towards the main doors, looking at all the faces and necks, trying to find a clerical collar, but I couldn’t find one. I stopped next to a man sweeping the floor with a dirty wooden broom, gathering up all the ash that had been walked in by feet. He looked up from his task, and saw me searching for something. ‘You okay my friend, are you looking for someone?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m looking for Father Wilson, you know where I might find him?’

  ‘He’ll probably be in the church now, doing the confessions.’ I thanked him for his help and headed back through the main doors and out into the cold, the blustery wind snapped at my face. It had started to rain, a slow deliberate shower. I walked briskly back around the side of the church to the front, as I came around the corner I walked straight into someone. I gathered myself and looked up to find it was a priest, ‘Oh sorry,’ I stammered, ‘Are you Father Wilson?’

  ‘Yes’ he replied. I would guess he was around sixty, tall and slim. He had fully accepted his baldness, with no attempt to cover it up, his receding brown wavy hair surrounded his shiny cranium. I quickly looked around for anyone who could eavesdrop on our conversation, with one guard walking in our direction but still a few metres away, I whispered, ‘I have a problem Father. I’ve been told it’s the kind of problem you can help with.’

  ‘Do we need somewhere private to talk?’ He said, pausing for a moment while the guard walked out of earshot.

  ‘Yeah, that might be a good idea.’

  ‘Follow me’ he said, turning around and heading back in the direction he had been walking. We climbed up the stone steps to the huge wooden doors for the church, where the two men guarding it came forward to meet us. ‘This man is not allowed any further’ said one, pointing his rifle at me.

  ‘Everyone is welcome in the Lord’s house’ replied Father Wilson.

  ‘We have our orders’ said the other guard, stepping in front of us. ‘And I have mine, the catechism of the Catholic Church states one must confess any mortal sin. This man has committed a mortal sin and wishes to confess, neither you nor I have the authority to stop him from doing that.’

  ‘We were given specific orders that every person who meets with you must be identified.’

  ‘I’m just passing through’ I interrupted, ‘Just thought I would take the opportunity to get a few things off my chest.’

  ‘If you want to go to confession’ said the second guard, ‘You will have to do it with one of us in the room with you.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous’ said Father Wilson. ‘You cannot fit two people in the confession booth, what’s your name guard? I’m going to have to speak to Mr. Torriero again about this, you are stopping me doing my work and that’s not acceptable, he promised me anyone obstructing my work would be dealt with severely. That was part of the agreement, my work would not be interfered with, tell me your name?’

  The two guards looked at each other before stepping back to their positions, ‘You’ve got ten minutes’ said the first. We walked through the doors into the hallway, where there was a wall straight ahead of us with a font of holy water fastened to it, which Father Wilson dipped his finger into and performed the sign of the cross. I did the same, conscious I might be watched. To our left and right was a set of old dark wooden stairs climbing up to the balcony, that overlooked the congregation. We followed the passageway to the left, past the stairs and around into the body of the church. It was a modest building, with two rows of eight pews, in a dark brown wood. The confession booth was in the far left corner of the room, opposite the altar. The walls had been freshly painted, candles flickered all around the church. Inside the building were five other men, two knelt praying, and three standing by the candles, maybe lighting them for a loved one. I followed Father Wilson up the aisle towards the booth, he opened the far door and walked in, as I went through the first door shutting it behind me. I knelt down on the form as he slid the wooden slat open revealing the lattice, and I peered through at him. He put his finger up to his lips, a signal for me to shh, and then pointed to his ear and then outside the booth. I hadn’t been to confession for such a long time, but interestingly it came back to me as soon as I knelt down. ‘Bless me father for I have sinned, it has been over ten years since my last confession. I have always believed, that if I lead a good honest life, it would be enough, whether I still truly believed in God or not. But just lately, I have had to commit several mortal sins. Not things I wanted to do, actions I have been forced in to.’

  ‘What mortal sins have you committed?’

  ‘I have killed people, while trying to protect my child.’

  ‘How many people have you killed?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, six, seven. No more than that, maybe more than ten.’

  ‘How many people had you killed before this new world?’

  ‘I hadn’t killed anyone.’

  ‘Did you believe you and your child were in mortal danger when you committed these sins?’

  ‘I know we were, I only killed because I had to, I have no regrets about doing what I did. Actually, I do regret one, one I wish I hadn�
�t needed to committee, but there’s no point regretting it now, at the time I believed he had put me and more importantly my child in danger, for his own selfish reasons.’

  ‘There is a point regretting it, because it shows me you have thought about what happened, it’s not a decision you’ve taken lightly. It has had a pronounced effect upon on you, and it still plays on your mind now. How old is your child?’

  ‘He’s seven, I’m not sure what to do any more, where to take him. There are people who are looking for children like mine, I need to find somewhere safe to take him, somewhere I know will not exploit him. I hope you understand what I am asking Father?’

  ‘I do understand, there are places, but I don’t know if anywhere is truly safe any more’

  ‘I know there’s a camp in Blackpool, I’ve heard it called ‘Camp Blue,’ do you know anything about it? Is it safe?’

  ‘It’s as safe as anywhere if you are prepared to commit to the journey, the camp was originally created by soldiers from the army reserve at the barracks in Preston. Their early incarnation moved around a bit, fighting running battles with Torriero’s men for early control of the north, I think they settled in Blackpool as the floods got worse, Torriero’s men wouldn’t go anywhere near the coast, the storms were causing catastrophic damage.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I visited it, before the floods really set in, it was touch and go whether they would stay there at first, the storms were destroying any work they did to the structure. But I believe they have got it up and running now, using the hotel on the opposite side to the stadium, they have built a roof covering the entire football ground. I saw what they were trying to achieve, and it was ambitious.’

  ‘So do you think it’s the best option for someone in my position?’

  ‘Yes I do, but be aware, the closer you get to the coast, the worse the flooding is, you have to be prepared for it, and the storms coming in off the sea will be very dangerous.’

  ‘Thanks Father, I will.’

  ‘This is the point under normal circumstances I would order you to hand yourself in to the authorities, but these are no longer normal circumstances, I do believe you are remorseful about what you have been forced to do.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Are you able to repeat the act of contrition, or would you prefer ten Hail Mary’s?’

  ‘Might be best with the Hail Mary’s.’

  ‘Okay, through the ministry of the church, I here by grant you pardon and absolution for your sins, in the Name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

  I bowed my head, performed the sign of the cross and left the booth, kneeling on the nearest pew to perform my penance, Father Wilson stayed inside the cubical. I looked up at the cross hanging above the altar, with Jesus’ body sprawled out theatrically, is this what his father had planned for us all? How can he claim to love us and allow this to happen to our planet? His planet? I stared at his mournful face, waiting for a flicker of acknowledgement, but none was forthcoming, so I said another prayer for my daughter. The confession booth door opened and Father Wilson came out, he walked to the front of the church, up the steps and onto the altar. I stood up and walked to the back of the church, making the sign of the cross with the holy water on the way out. The rain had started to come down hard, the dark black sky seemed to be carrying a weeks worth of rain and dispensing it on me. I ran all the way home, remembering to pick up my Welrod from outside the first house on my right. By the time I reached Bernard’s, I was completely drenched, shivering and cold. I made sure I hadn’t been followed before locking the shutters behind me and climbing up the stairs, through the shop and up into the flat. Water was dripping off me, leaving a trail on the wooden floorboards. ‘You’re soaked’ said Bernard when he saw me, ‘Take your clothes off, I’ll get the bath going.’ He filled the tin kettle up with water from a barrel under the kitchen work top and started to heat it on the hob. I walked stiffly into the bedroom were Emma was sat on the bed, ‘Get out dad’ she shouted, pushing me towards the door. ‘I’m doing something.’ The door was slammed in my face, I was still dripping water onto the wooden floor, it was pooling by my feet. I looked at Bernard, hoping for some kind of understanding, ‘Sorry buddy, I promised her, my lips are sealed.’ I took my soaking clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Bernard carried the old tin bath out of his garage, up the stairs to the living area and started to fill it with water. I stood shivering in just my underpants, as the steaming hot water was poured in. I waited for what seemed like an age, but when I finally stepped in the bath it didn’t matter. I lay there, watching the steam rising above my head and floating like clouds. I had a quick wash and then relaxed back down, I could feel the heat around my eyes, as they glazed over, my eyelashes fusing together. I had just started to doze off when Emma burst out of the bedroom, the door flying into the wall. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I shouted.

  ‘I’m not doing anything’ she replied defiantly, standing holding a bath towel, as the pictures on the wall behind her vibrated from the impact.‘Watch the bloody doors will you? I was just falling asleep.’

  ‘You are going to have to get out now, I want a bath too.’

  ‘Oh you want a bath do you, I cannot have anything to myself can I?’

  I stood up and took the towel off her and wrapped it around my waist, as she started to strip and then climbed into the still warm water. I dried myself, got dressed and sat down on the sofa, keeping the bath within view, I still have a problem leaving her unattended, even at the age of seven. I threw some towels down around the bath, knowing Emma there will be more water on the floor than in the bath by the time she’s finished. She asked me to go and get Ella from the bedroom so she could play with her in the bath, Bernard watched her while I went to get the elephant, who was in need of a clean anyway. She played with her in the water for a while, mothering her, and talking to her as she cleaned her fur. Bernard sat talking to her as I took my wet clothes, along with Ella, to the bottom floor to hang out to dry in the drafty garage, I will have to remember to collect them before we go or Emma will be inconsolable. She spent a couple of hours playing in the bath, until her skin had pruned, and the water was cold. I got her out and wrapped her in blankets, while Bernard warmed up some food. The water was trickling down her face as I tried to dry her hair with a towel, an easier job now it was short. As we ate, I told Bernard about the conversation between Father Wilson and myself, that the safest place for Emma would be the camp. I asked him if he would join us on the journey, I felt he was just seeing his days out here and I could do with the help. He didn’t need much convincing, stating the only thing keeping him here was sentimentality, it had been his family home with Maureen for over twenty years. He also said he couldn’t live not knowing Emma was safe. If the weather was okay, it might be a good idea to drive down to Blackpool tonight. We need it to be bad enough to keep people indoors, but not too bad that it hinders us. We tried to make the remaining part of the day as normal as possible for Emma, Bernard brought out his collection of board games, something we always did when visiting him. We sat around the dining table, laid everything out and had some long overdue fun, it was great to see a smile on her face again. Bernard even managed to find some crisps and popcorn, he put them out in a bowl and we all helped ourselves, it was just like the old days. For a few hours, we managed to forget everything that had happened, and spend some time in virtual normality. After tea, I decided to get Emma to bed as soon as possible, Bernard and I had a lot to discuss.

  Blackpool is around a two and a half hours journey from Dumfries, along the M6. We plan to set off around three in the morning, arriving there around six or seven depending how the journey goes. If we set off at that time, Emma should sleep through the whole journey, and if we run into any trouble, it might be better she sleeps through it. When I was tucking her into bed, she sent me downstairs to
get Ella, who was still a bit damp, but if I wanted a happily sleeping daughter, it would have to do. While I was down there I checked on the clothes too, they should be dry by the time we set off. I stayed in the bedroom with Emma until she dropped off, like when she was a baby. I remember being sat on the floor outside her room with Jane, waiting for her to fall asleep, picking her up and putting her back in bed when she got up, it could take up to an hour. When she stopped chatting, it was a signal she was on her way, and right now she was full of questions. After around thirty minutes interrogation, everything went quiet, I checked she was asleep and then went to meet Bernard in the gun shop. He had a big black shoulder bag and was filling it with rifles and ammo, I would like to be a bit more descriptive about these weapons but I’m afraid I don’t know anything about them. The only gun I do remember the name of was the Glock pistol, his handgun of choice since the Iraq war. We had seven rifles and ammo plus our pistols, Bernard carried the bag downstairs and loaded it onto the back of his truck, when he came back up he had a couple of cardboard boxes which we filled with tinned food. We took them down to the garage, and loaded them onto the truck, adding a few barrels of water, before covering it all up with tarpaulin which we fastened down with rope. We retired to the sofa, a little tired from our exertion, for a whisky and to discuss our plan. ‘At least we now know the camp is real, and not myth’ I said, sinking down into my seat. ‘I’ve seen enough evidence now, it will be a turbulent final part to our journey, but it’s the place I think we must head towards.’