‘Don’t lean over the edge’ I replied, walking over to her. I took a handful of her jacket, as I looked out over the landscape, steadying myself against the wind. I made a mental note of the best direction to head in, but it was simply too windy to stay on top of the tower. As we went back down the dirt stained steps, Emma past me halfway down, ‘Go into the room ahead of you’ I shouted after her. ‘By the entrance.’
‘Why, what’s in the other room dad?’
‘There are two bodies, I don’t want to be eating near them really.’ I unfastened my rucksack and Bernard took it off my back, I did the same for him, putting them on the floor where we sat. We both took our boots and socks off and wrapped our legs and feet in blankets, I rung the water out of my socks and lay them on the stone steps. I rummaged around in my rucksack, settling on a couple of cans of spaghetti hoops, which we ate cold while studying the map. While we did this, Emma slowly and quietly made her way to the opening to the second room. She stood hovering by it, with her hand on the brickwork. ‘Dad, dad’ she shouted suddenly, ‘One of them is alive.’ We all ran over to look, as the blankets moved and one child gingerly climbed out, and scampered into the corner when he saw us. ‘Please don’t hurt us’ he cried, ‘We have nothing, it’s just me and my brother.’
‘We aren’t going to hurt you’ I reassured him. He slowly crawled back to his brother and woke him up, they both looked scared and demoralised. The boy who had spoken looked about seven, his brother was a bit younger, maybe five. Their clothes were filthy, like they had been travelling for months, they didn’t seem to have any belongings or food with them. ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘James’ the eldest boy replied. ‘And this is my brother, Josh.’
‘My name is Nathan, this is my daughter Emma and my friend Bernard. Are you looking after your brother on your own?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What happened to your parents?’
‘The men took our mum a long time ago, dad was taking us to a camp before they killed him, he told us about it and drew a picture of what it looked like.’ James pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me, I opened it out, unveiling a rough black pen drawing with ‘Blackpool Tower’ scrolled across the top. ‘That’s what we’ve been trying to find’ he said. ‘When I saw this tower, I thought we had found it, but I realised it wasn’t right when we got here, I just didn’t know what to do.’
‘What happened to your dad?’
‘The men killed him, and took Leanne. They shot him in front of us, they didn’t care. They just left us by the side of the road.’
‘Was Leanne your mum?’
‘No, she’s our sister, they dragged her off, crying, dad tried to stop them, that’s why they killed him.’ Bernard had opened another tin of spaghetti hoops, and handed it to the boys with a couple of spoons, which they made little work of. ‘When was the last time you both ate?’ Bernard asked, opening a tin of pineapple pieces and handing it to James.
‘We managed to find some food in this tower for Josh yesterday’ he said, taking a handful and passing the tin to Josh. ‘Bits of mouldy fruit and soggy cereal, but I haven’t eaten for three days.’
‘What about water?’
‘We’ve been drinking rain water, I watched my dad collecting it, using a plastic container and some stones to hold it down.’
The brothers story got me thinking, if I was to die, would Emma be able to survive on her own? I hadn’t shown her any survival techniques, or told her how to cook, or obtain drinkable water, it was something I would have to remedy soon. We let the boys eat while trying to find out a bit more about them, they looked weak, maybe too fragile to make the journey, but if we left them they would die. Anyway, I couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves, so I asked James if they would come with us, he replied, ‘My dad always said we shouldn’t trust anyone.’
‘And he was right to tell you that’ I replied. ‘But you will die if we leave you here, sometimes you just have to take a chance.’
‘How do we know we can trust you?’
‘You don’t I’m afraid, you have to take that chance. Look at what’s in front of you, we are here with my daughter, we have nothing to gain from hurting you, I don’t want to leave you here on your own. The men that took your mum and sister, and killed your dad are disgusting human beings, we are nothing like them, we are just like you, trying to get to the same place you are.’ Emma sat down next to the boys, and put her arm around Josh, who was yet to say a word. ‘If you come with us’ she said gently. ‘Everything will be OK.’
‘Your dad would want you to come’ said Bernard, ‘He would want you to find people like us, who can protect you.’
After a short time deliberating in his head, James replied, ‘Okay, we’ll come with you.’
‘That’s great’ I replied, ‘Your dad would be happy.’ I finished drying my legs and put my boots back on. After taking a couple of blankets out and re-packing my rucksack, I went to help the brothers. James was on his feet but looked unsteady, Josh was unable to stand at all. I picked him up under his armpits, his bony, thin body felt like it could snap. He was a dead weight, I wrapped him up in a blanket, gave him to Bernard, and went to help James. Emma had already wrapped him up, so I carried him out of the tower and put him in the boat. Emma climbed in next to him and Bernard put Josh by his brothers side. Bernard and I went back into the tower and helped each other put our rucksacks on, before grabbing hold of the rope and continuing towards Blackpool. The black sky over to our right lit up sporadically, by lightning from a storm coming off the sea, huge explosions of light flashing across the sky. The storm was a long way off and got no nearer for the first few hours walking. Now and then I would turn around and have a look at the three children sat in the boat behind us, the darkness hid their expressions, only the whites of their eyes visible, peering outward. We came to a wooden sign that had been knocked into the muddy ground. At first, it struck me as an odd place to put a sign, in the middle of nowhere. The wooden sign had the message ‘Camp Blue - the resistance, come this way if you want to live’ written in black paint, with a arrow pointing in the direction we were walking. The field had a definite path, created by hundreds of feet trudging through the mud while trying to avoid the water. Without a change of clothes for either the boys or Emma, keeping them dry was of the utmost importance, when it rained, Bernard and I would continue through it, unless it got too strong. We covered the children with the plastic sheets and tucked the edge under the rucksacks. A few hours of walking over the English countryside, pulling the boat, created painful blisters around my right shoulder and neck where the rope had rubbed. By the time we reached the outskirts of Conder Green, a small town to our left that had sunk beneath the waters, the lightning had changed direction and was beating a track towards us. The winds had noticeably picked up, barrelling across the open land we were trudging across, I made sure I was zipped up as tight as I could be, and the kids too. We struggled to continue at the pace we had set that morning, by five p.m. we had moved more inland, the landscape flattened as we ended up knee deep in water again. We were fortunate to find bridges over two rivers obstructing our progress, the area was surrounded by man made waterways, smaller than a canal, but with enough water to flood the area. The storm behind us was now taking up most of the sky, as it headed in our direction faster than we were walking. Within thirty minutes, the wind and rain had caught up to us, we picked out a lone building ahead as the place to shelter down for the night and pushed on towards it. The rain was soaking the back of my legs, the cold wet fabric clinging to my calf. The wind was on our backs pushing us all the way, the plastic sheets flapping furiously. There was a stonewall surrounding the farmhouse, which had collapsed in places, we carefully guided the boat through one hole, over the drive and through the garden to the front of the building. When we reached the dilapidated house, we pulled th
e boat through the gaping hole below the gable wall. The living room was flooded with water pouring in through the hole, which took out half the roof along with the front of the building. The water was about a foot deep, with a families life floating around in it. We pulled the boat across the carpet and rested it on a red leather sofa. I pulled the plastic sheeting off the children, laying it on the sofa, all three were asleep. I grabbed hold of the rucksacks, kicked away some of the debris floating around my feet and carried them up the stairs. They creaked with my weight as water dripped on my head from the ceiling, the whole house was dripping, as though it had been dipped into the sea and then lifted out to drain. There were three bedrooms on the second floor, one with a hole in the roof, all with rain water pouring down through the light fittings. There was a bucket placed roughly underneath the water, overflowing onto the carpets that were slippery with excess water. There was a strong musty smell, and dampness was creeping up the wallpaper. The house looked like it had been a loving family home not to long ago, now used as a halfway house for anyone from the north making the journey to Camp Blue. When I got back downstairs, Bernard had James in his arms, he waited while I picked up Emma and we climbed up the stairs to the bedrooms. We ignored the one with the hole in the roof, it was too noisy for the children to sleep in, and carried them into the first bedroom on the right, with two single beds. It had once been a bedroom for two boys, with blue bedding and curtains, toy cars and books were scattered across the room. We put Emma and James in separate beds and went back downstairs to get Josh, who was stirring. I picked him up, his little thin arms and legs clung around me like a magnet, he pushed his face into my neck as I carried him up the damp stairwell. Upstairs, I tucked him in next to his brother and covered them both with an extra blanket from my rucksack, I turned to walk back downstairs when I heard a voice. ‘My dad always reads me a story before bed’ said Josh, lifting his head off the pillow and trying to sit up.
Aftermath: The complete collection Page 23
