You have no idea how brave that was. I remember the disposal teams. Made up mainly of young men, they were kitted out in white suits with matching boots and they wore masks over their faces. As if Hazmat suits could protect them from the horror of entering hundreds of homes, carrying out the bodies of entire families in hammock stretchers constructed from bed sheets.
Within a couple of weeks, Jess was the only squad member left alive, and London had become Hell on Earth. In those last few days when everyone was either ill or dead and the bodies were piling up all over the place, what was left of the Army and disposal squads were ordered to use napalm to burn the piles of bodies. They used JCBs to move thousands of bodies into large stadiums like Wembley and the O2 arena. Then they set the whole lot alight. The fires burned for days, and the air reeked. It was like London had held the world's biggest barbecue.
It must have affected Jess a great deal because, though he tried to sound blasé, it didn’t quite come off. His voice was thick with emotion, despite a valiant attempt to hide it.
Jess had been on his own for three months before running into Peter. By then, he was convinced that he was the only person left on the planet. I know how scary that feels.
Pete had been driving around the streets of London in an ice cream van, playing that stupid jingle; you know the one, the tune of Greensleeves. He found Nikki that way too. Apparently, my father was one of the very few 'smart' individuals who found PINDAR via the emergency radio transmission. He drove all the way from Milton Keynes, where he was working on the Mars Space Program.
We talked all through our lunch. I told Jess about Mona, Sal, Fang and a little about Ma too. We were enjoying a real heart to heart when our conversation was interrupted by a deep throaty growl. I had never heard anything like it. The heat of the sun could not stem the shiver that ran down my spine. Jess’s eyes spread wide as he lifted the rifle.
“What is it?” I knew it wasn't a dog, the growl was too guttural.
“Big cat,” he said, his voice hushed. “London Zoo is just over there.”
There was little warning before the animal attacked, just the brief rustle of a bush as the animal charged through, leaping towards us with a terrifying roar.
My scream was muffled by the sound of the rifle as it exploded in my ears. The tiger's flight towards us was interrupted by the bullet tearing into its flesh, knocking it backward. The animal slumped and fell with a dull thud at our feet.
We stood there transfixed, gazing down at the once beautiful creature. Its breath came in rasping gulps, blood frothing from its nostrils. Soon, it's heaving chest had stilled, and those brilliant, bright yellow eyes glazed over. 'Tiger, Tiger, burning bright…'
The animal was emaciated and yet still remarkably striking, it's thick golden fur painted with jet black stripes. 'What immortal hand or eye. Could frame thy fearful symmetry?'
I stroked the still warm body. Under the animal's silky top coat was a thick, soft, under-fur. It reminded me of Sal. Collies have an undercoat too; it keeps them warm and dry when they are working high in the hills herding the sheep. Tears spilled from my eyes, I let out a sob, then another, and soon they had snowballed into a series of sorrowful wails. I sounded like a tortured animal.
Jess pulled me to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t have any choice. There was no other option, you know that don’t you?”
I nodded. I wanted to say, yes, it’s okay. I’m not crying about the tiger, I’m crying for Sal. Sal who loved me unconditionally, Sal who kept me warm at night and protected me with her life, Sal who is probably as dead as this beautiful beast, if she ever existed at all, but I could do nothing but sob.
“Do you want to go back?” he asked.
I struggled to find my voice. “No,” I said, “I need to find Sal.”
We packed up our things and got back on our bikes. It didn’t take us long to get to where Mona was moored. We climbed aboard. This time, there was no joy of returning home, the place seemed cold and empty now.
Inside, everything was just as I had left it, but Sal wasn’t there. I was surprised that I had any tears left, but apparently, nature gives us an unlimited supply. I sat on my bunk and pulled the blanket up around me. Through blurry eyes, I searched the familiar cabin for anything that would reassure me that Sal was real, that she had been here recently, and that she was still alive.
Jess let out a series of sneezes. Sniffing, he rubbed at his rapidly reddening eyes.
“You can stop that blubbering,” he said wiping away the tears that were streaming down his face. “Sal is real alright. I have a bloody gross allergy to dogs. It’s why I had to get rid of Jinx. There has definitely been a dog here recently, and I'm sorry but, if we find her, you had better keep her the hell away from me.”
It was as if I had just taken in a beaker full of Cherry Brandy. The feeling of relief warmed my heart and spread out from there until I could sense my face glowing.
“Are you sure?" I asked, but the two red rings around his swollen eyes made the answer redundant. "Well, I can’t go back without her now!”
“I'm sorry Harper,” said Jess, “there is no way that we can stay out overnight. I have strict instructions to get you back before dark.”
“So when have you ever worried about breaking the rules?” I asked.
He picked up a bottle of water and splashed it over his face, wiping it with one of my towels. “Since I discovered that living alone is… well, it’s shit isn’t it?”
We went up on deck, and I called Sal. Jess joined in, but there was no response, except from a pair of giant rats, who looked up from their scavenging. Evidently deciding that we were unimportant, they quickly went back to rifling through the rubbish at the side of the towpath. We left Mona and began searching along the path, intermittently calling her name until the sun began to dip in the sky. Reluctantly, we got back on our bikes to ride back to the bunker.
“Do you think Pete will let us come back and search again?” I asked, sounding like a child at the seaside 'can we come back again tomorrow mummy, please, mummy...'
“Pete might,” said Jess, though his expression indicated that he was much more cynical and he hesitated before continuing. “I’m not sure that the Doc will approve of you going anywhere after he hears what happened with 'Tigger' back there.”
“Maybe we can leave that bit out?” I said.
“Yeah, well, if we did that we would have to lie about why I discharged the weapon. Pete will check you know.”
Jess was right, we would have to lie, and I have never been any good at lying. 'Tell a lie once, and all your truths become questionable.'
My mood was conflicted as we began our ride back towards Whitehall. On the one hand, I was relieved that Sal was not simply a figment of my imagination, but on the other, I was worried that I would never see her again. She was in great danger now, she needed me as much as I needed her - we were pack.
As we turned the corner from the towpath onto the road, I heard one single bark. It came from behind us.
I looked at Jess. He nodded, he had heard it too.
I knew it was Sal right away. I let the bike fall to the ground and ran towards the sound.
"Hold on!" Jess swung the rifle from his shoulders, raising its barrel to cover me. "Harper, wait! It could be another dog. It could be the pack."
"It's Sal," I shouted as I ran. "I am sure - it's her..."
I saw her then, trotting out from a side road and around two parked cars. Walking into the centre of the road she sniffed the air, turned her nose towards me and then she ran, tongue out, jowls smiling as her ears bounced against her head. I will never forget that sight - I keep on playing it in my head over and over again in slow motion, like in the movies.
As soon as she was close enough, she charged at me, yelping and barking excitedly. Leaping into my arms she knocked me backward, pinning me to the ground and showering me with wet, slobbery kisses.
I never knew such joy existed
in this world. Life has never felt as good as it did at that moment. "Lassie - You're my Lassie come home."
“I guess this is Sal.” Jess grinned down at me. “Does she have an off switch?”
“I hope not,” I said. “I really hope not.”
9th August
A Mischief of Rats
Today was Sal’s first full day at the bunker. When we returned, late yesterday afternoon, not everyone was happy to see her. Nikki looked at her as if she was some particularly foul creature that had crawled out from the sewers covered in green slime and immediately put forward a stream of arguments against Sal staying. We don’t have any food for her, dogs carry germs, she will attract other dogs, she will use up precious supplies that we need for ourselves, and the deal breaker - there is no way that she can come with us when we travel to Norfolk.
I was surprised when Pete chipped in as well, “I agree, there will not be room for the dog in the Chopper, not with the five of us and all the equipment we'll be taking.”
At first, I didn’t understand how they could be so negative when only yesterday they had encouraged us to go looking for her. Then it hit me, they never expected us to find Sal because they never actually believed she was real. They had only encouraged us to take the trip because they wanted Jess and me to bond.
I did not intend to go to all the trouble of finding Sal to leave her behind, and I was determined that we would not be parted again. So I gave them what I think is termed an ultimatum; Either Sal stayed, or I would leave too.
They looked at me as if I was a toddler demanding chocolate at the supermarket checkout, and everyone knows adults never give in to kids throwing tantrums. Then Jess, who had more reason than anyone not to want a dog around, picked his corner. He did that hitched up lip thing he does, looked at me and said: “and if she goes, I shall go with her.”
There were a few wide eyes in the room then, it was quite amusing. My father just smiled. He never seems to say a great deal, but when he does speak, everyone appears to listen.
“The dog stays,” he said, bending down to pet Sal, “you are a lovely looking dog aren’t you. Welcome to your new home Sal.” He glanced over to Nikki and Pete. “Looks like she's a collie and a working dog could come in pretty handy when we get to Norfolk.”
“Who is going to train her?” asked Pete, “You?”
“Me… I’ll train her. ” I said, “It shouldn’t be too difficult, she’s a smart dog.”
“Lucas will help,” said my father, with a wink, “he used to own a hill farm up in Yorkshire. He's in charge of the agricultural section of the facility at Lost Lake.”
“Well, I guess she might be of some use if she can keep those bloody rats at bay,” said Nikki, “I caught another one in the kitchen this morning. That makes five now. I can’t for the life of me work out how they are getting in. They are enormous too, it's abnormal - they give me the creeps.”
“I’ll check the drains again,” said Pete, “though I can’t see how they are getting in through there, it’s supposed to be a secure system.”
It appeared that the subject was closed. Sal was staying, no one argued with Dr. Greg. I felt unaccustomedly proud. My dad is respected. It was a new thing for me, having a parent that garnered something other than sympathy or disgust. So, I’ve decided it’s going to be ‘Dad’ from now on. When I am talking to you, that is. It will be Dr. Greg to him and everyone else. I’m not sure if I ever will be ready to call him ‘Dad’ to his face.
Dad took Sal and me to his room next to the lab. I think it's a large, converted office. The room is stuffed with books; a few in piles neatly stacked on his desk and bedside table, the rest filled four large bookcases fitted into recesses in the walls. Every inch of space was taken up, and yet it was immaculate, not even a pencil was out of place. An open sketch book rested on a wooden drawing board on a table next to a beat up leather swivel chair. A selection of drawing pens, pencils, and paint brushes stood in old pickle jars on the table. Each jar had been labelled accordingly. Assorted tubes of acrylic paints were set out in a large box next to them, each tube incrementally a darker or lighter shade than the one before.
My eyes were drawn to the sketch he was working on. It was a drawing of a girl looking wistfully up at the stars - me. He flipped the front cover over his work. It seems he is as insecure about his artwork as I am.
“I sketch too,” I said, “not as well as you, though… that was beautiful.”
“It’s what keeps me sane,” he appeared awkward and embarrassed by my praise, “I find it helps me forget about all the crap, but I'm glad you like it. It's easy to create a fine-looking sketch when you have such an appealing subject.”
I felt my cheeks start to burn. He likes the way I look...
At the far end of the room stood a couple of leather armchairs, a coffee table and a portable television with a DVD player. A cabinet close by housed two rows of DVDs. I smiled when I noticed that they were arranged alphabetically - I used to store mine in exactly the same way. We even had similar taste. Star Gate, Alien, and the complete 're-mastered' collection of the original Star Trek series. 'It’s life Jim, but not as we know it..'
“I need to talk to you about Norfolk,” he said.
He motioned to one of the armchairs, and we sat. He told me about the Lost Lake Eco Community in Norfolk, a self-sufficient commune set up in 2020 with the aim that residents would grow their own food, pump their own water and provide their own power through solar panels and wind turbines.
"Lost Lakes was the only entirely sustainable eco-village in England then," he said, "though it never was fully employed as such. Eventually, it became more of a theoretical, idealistic experiment utilised mainly for educational purposes and occasionally, as a retreat for people who wanted to ‘escape from the rat race.’"
He sat back in the chair and watched me as he went on.
“We have begun converting it into fully working micro community. It is our way of reclaiming an element of civilization. We have to start somewhere, and Lost Lakes has everything we need to be fully self-sufficient. We cannot rely on leftovers forever.”
“What about this place, though, why not stay here?” I asked, “Pete said that the bunker was designed for surviving Armageddon.”
“It was,” he said, “and we have enough supplies here to last us for maybe three or four more years, but we will be relying totally on what we have stored from the past. If humanity is to continue then, we have to be able to learn how to be self-reliant again, and we cannot do that here. Nikki, Jess and I agreed to remain here for a year to help Pete search for other survivors to join us in Norfolk. That year is almost up and in the last six months, apart from you, we have found no other survivors. I am beginning to think that our time would be better spent at Lost Lakes. How do you feel about coming with us?”
I had no qualms about going anywhere, but I knew I wanted to remain with him. I had only just found my father; I did not want to be separated from him again.
"When you go to the Lakes, I will be happy to come with you," I said, "provided that Sal comes too."
Our conversation was interrupted by a commotion coming from the kitchen. Someone was throwing pans, and Nikki was screaming bloody murder.
“Kill them, shoot them... Do something!”
A shot rang out, and then another, finally a series, as bullets pinged loudly, ricocheting off the metal kitchen surfaces. As we ran down the corridor five huge, grey rats scurried towards us. All of them were well over three feet long.
Sal let out a low growl before barking excitedly as the rats raced by. The rodents appeared disturbingly unperturbed by this.
By the time we reached the kitchen, the floor was littered with the bloody bodies of at least seven of the monsters.
“Jeez,” Jess whistled through his teeth as he joined us in the kitchen, “how the heck did they get in?”
Pete kicked at one of the bodies with his boot, and then gestured to the sink. “It looks like they chewed
right through the waste disposal pipe. We can try and fix it, but they know there is food here now, and once they find one way to get in, they will likely discover another.”
A ‘mischief’ is the collective noun for rats, a mischief of rats - how appropriate. I remember reading once that no matter where you were in London, you were never more than six feet away from a rat. I always thought that it was an urban legend. Maybe once, that was all it was, now I am not so sure.
14th August
Shangri~La
The rats invading our supposedly impenetrable fortress shook everyone up, especially Nikki. It’s the reason why I haven’t written for a few days. After the rat incident, Dad called a meeting and, very democratically, we voted on what we should do next.
The Last Girl Guide: Diary of a Survivor Page 10
