It was decided, pretty unanimously, that we leave for the Lakes. Jess and Peter did express a couple of misgivings. Being Londoners, I guess leaving London was more of a big deal for them, than for the rest of us. Nikki was local too of course, but she was more than eager to be away from those furry, grey, mischief-makers.
So, the last few days we have been busy packing up. We had to be quite selective regarding what was carried in the chopper. The remainder of the supplies and equipment were loaded into an old army truck Pete had ‘requisitioned’ from his barracks.
Finally, this morning, we set off for Norfolk. Pete, Nikki, and Jess took the chopper and Dad, Sal and I went in the truck. Originally, Nikki was to come with us as she is not a big fan of the helicopter, but she didn’t feel too well this morning, so Pete convinced her to go with them. That turned out to be a good thing because I got to spend lots of time alone with my dad.
Dad said that it should take around five hours to make the journey, but it took us much longer. The roads were in an awful state, most were strewn with a variety of debris. Many were blocked by abandoned vehicles and one, by a fallen tree. Once we got out of the city, the tarmac was covered with leaves and branches, and in places, plants had begun to push their way up through the road surface.
It has not even been a year yet, and already nature is retrieving the land that was once hers. One thing was unusually absent, though - road kill. We did not see one mutilated animal carcass during the whole journey. How great is that? Maybe one day in the future, someone will make a documentary film about all this. They would call it something like ‘The Rise and Fall of The Natural World’ or ‘Mother Nature’s Revenge.' It would tell the story of how our planet, once virtually destroyed by we humans and our industries, deforestation, intensive farming and rampant urban sprawl, began its fight back to health. This thought made me smile. Who knew that there was such a simple solution to the environmental issues that plagued our Earth for decades - kill off the humans and save the planet.
There was little to do on the journey except to talk, which was good because I learned a lot about my dad. Here are some of the things I learned.
1. Music: His favourite bands were called Frightened Rabbit and Biffy Clyro, they were old ‘indie’ bands from before I was born - I had not heard of either of them. Apparently, he has some of their music on CD’s for me to listen to when we get to Norfolk. I told him I liked Jagged Pill and One for Sorrow, but he hadn't heard of either band.
2. Food: He will eat anything except beetroot, which he thinks tastes like he's eating soil. I have never eaten beetroot, so I don’t know if we share that idiosyncrasy, but ordinarily I do have a strong stomach and will pretty much eat anything. I had no choice but to develop that trait with a mother like mine. When Ma went on a bender, going to the store was not a priority, unless it was to buy more booze. I ate some rather ingenious concoctions then, made up of whatever remained in the back of our cupboards. Sardines, sweetcorn, and rice taste surprisingly good.
3. Books: Dad likes Science Fiction (I had worked that one out already). He said that I should read some of his John Wyndham books. I am going to start with ‘The Day of the Triffids,’ as Dad recommended it. He said it has echoes of the present day in it. I’m not sure what he means by that, but I’m looking forward to finding out.
4. Hobbies: Dad plays the guitar, though he left his in Cambridge. I was never taught to play an instrument, but I would love to learn. Maybe he will show me how, one day, if we can get hold of a guitar.
5. Family: This was the last thing I discovered about my father, as it was something that he found difficult to discuss and it stopped us talking for a while. Dad had been married to a woman called Claire. They had a son - a little boy called George who had been four years old when he had died from the pox. They both died.
Dad drove in silence for a while. I missed our discussion, so I began to tell him a little about myself. I left out most of the gory parts, but we talked about Ma and her drinking, about my twin brother and my time in the Girl Guides. He had been in the boy scouts as a child. Spontaneously, he burst into song. It was ‘The Parachute Song’ one of my favourite campfire songs, so I joined in.
He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute,
He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute,
He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute,
And he ain’t gonna jump no more.
Glory glory what a hell of a way to die,
suspended by your braces when you don’t know how to fly,
Glory glory what a hell of a way to die,
And he ain’t gonna jump no more.
They put him in a matchbox, and they sent him home to mum,
They put him in a matchbox, and they sent him home to mum,
They put him in a matchbox, and they sent him home to mum,
And he ain’t gonna jump no more.
Then we sang Scout Camp, Three Little Angels and There Was An Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly… Even Sal attempted to 'sing' along at one point, though I resorted to holding her mouth closed, because the sound of a dog howling is not a pleasant experience, especially within the confines of a truck.
The journey to Lost Lakes was one of the best times I ever had. We were still singing as we passed through the two massive carved stone gateposts, and drove up the long, tree-lined drive towards the centre of the forest. 'Those who wish to sing... always find a song.'
We emerged from the woods and turned into a large clearing. The Lost Lake Community certainly looked impressive. One massive wooden building was surrounded by a variety of log cabins, each roof covered with solar panels.
Behind the cabins were stables and barns and beyond those, open fields planted with a variety of crops. Some housed livestock; I saw cows, sheep, and pigs. Beyond the cabins was an enormous glasshouse, and next to the lake a wind turbine rattled, rising above the buildings and humming like a giant mosquito. Ducks and geese cackled and hissed as they glided across the water, and chickens scratched about in the dirt in front of the buildings.
The chopper had landed beside the lake on a patch of grass, marked with a large white target.
Dad parked the truck between a small tractor and a beat-up blue Landrover. Almost immediately, a variety of individuals were hurrying out to meet us.
A stocky, unshaven, older man, his long silver hair tied back in a ponytail, was the first to greet us. He had one of those broad, friendly smiles that forced you to retaliate, no matter how reluctant you may be to interact. After enveloping my dad in a 'man-hug,' he turned his attention to me. Instinctively I stepped back. I have an aversion to hugs, especially from strangers.
“Err, this is Harper,” Dad tossed me a knowing smile, “my daughter. She hasn’t quite got the hang of hello yet. Harper, this is Lucas.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harper,” said Lucas, his eyes creasing as he smiled, “we were waiting for you to arrive before we ate. I bet you are starving.”
Dinner was served in the large central hall, which was mainly open plan. A solid fuel cooking range, shelves, cupboards and a long pine table sat in one half of the room and nestled at the other end, was an assortment of comfortable looking seating arranged around an imposing stone fireplace.
The walls on either side of the fireplace were stacked from floor to ceiling with thick, evenly cut logs. At the rear of the room were a piano, two guitars and a selection of other musical instruments. Behind them, against the wall, was a large bookcase overflowing with books, jigsaws, and board games. Maybe I will get to try out a guitar sooner than I imagined.
There was to have been twenty-two of us seated at the table, but Nikki was missing. She had gone to bed early as she was still feeling unwell. It was so long since I had been around this many people, that it unnerved me. Suddenly there were far too many people left in the world. If I could have crawled inside a cupboard right then, I would have. I don't hate people - I just feel better when they aren'
t around.
Lucas introduced me to everyone. They certainly are an eclectic bunch. I guess that is what random selection is all about. 'It takes all sorts...'
They sat me next to a boy of about nine or ten, his name is Tom, and he never spoke a word to me - can't say I blame him, I must have looked a sight. Number one in the good-looks scale is James, a veterinary medicine student before the pox, he is now both vet and doctor to the community. Number two on the same scale is Maxine, a blond girl who was wearing a ridiculous amount of makeup. What type of person worries about salvaging their makeup when the world is ending? People like Maxine evidently.
Maxine informed me, with a bizarre air of pride, how she had been a beautician and hairdresser before the plague. So when we are finished working the fields and mucking out the animals, at least we will have access to beautifully styled hair and freshly manicured nails.
I just re-read those last couple of paragraphs, and I feel ashamed. When did I get so judgemental? She could be the nicest person here for all I know. Maybe it's because she reminds me of Ma.
There are a few older people in the group too, like Donald, a kindly looking man in his seventies, who looked like a lightweight edition of Kris Kringle, minus the red coat. Then there was Iris, a retired actress, probably around the same age as Donald, who I warmed to immediately. Iris epitomized bohemian and was inventively witty. She sat at the table wearing a long velvet gown and a wide brimmed hat. It had a shabby feather curling from its brim. The woman is a true eccentric. 'If you’re going to be weird, be confident about it.'
Except for Pete, a Jamaican woman called Bernadette, and Serena, who was Asian, everyone was white British. I counted ten males and seven females. Tom, Jess and I are the only kids. At least five of the group are in their late fifties or older, (including Lucas). The others fall somewhere in between. All of them were welcoming and reasonably friendly except for an overweight, middle-aged man called Red Ashton who took one look at Sal and said: “the place for animals is outside, not at the dinner table.” Lucas shot him a ‘shut the fuck up’ look and, thankfully, he did.
This is it, I thought, glancing around the table at the faces of this mismatched group of individuals. The destiny of the entire human race rests with these people. No doubt about it - we are screwed.
15th August
A Plague on Both Your Houses
The frantic shouting was reminiscent of a lynch mob. The awful racket should have been enough to wake me up, but it took Sal’s anxious barking to drag me to full consciousness. Dad, Jess and I are sharing the same cabin. It has three bedrooms, a bathroom, and an open-plan living area. Comfortable seating is arranged around a large fireplace, and at the back of the room, there is a kitchen area with a small stove, pine table, and chairs.
It was not yet light. I doubt it was long past midnight. The shouting outside intensified. Someone repeatedly banged on the door of our cabin. They were shouting for Dad, I was still a bit groggy, so I didn’t catch what they were saying.
I got up and went into the sitting room. Jess and Dad were there, and both looked as confused as I must have. Dad opened the door. About half a dozen of the people who were at dinner last night were standing outside. They were armed with rifles and wearing white masks tied over their noses and mouths. Absurdly, I wondered if it were some new incarnation of the Klu Klux Klan or perhaps the Salem Witch Hunts. Lucas stood in front of them, his back towards us with his arms outstretched as, presumably, he attempted to calm them.
“Is there a problem?” asked Dad.
I could hear the tension in his voice.
Lucas turned around to answer, but Red got in first. He jerked his head towards me.
“She's the problem - your bloody daughter. She’s carrying the pox!”
“That’s impossible,” said Dad, his voice wavering, “and even if it were true, everyone here is immune.”
He shot a questioning glance towards Lucas.
“Nikki's dead,” Lucas shrugged as he spoke, “and now Pete is sick too. You and Jess have been with both of them for months without anyone becoming ill. The only way they could have become infected is through Harper.”
“Nikki is dead?” The shock in Dad's voice was replaced by anger, as he addressed the mob, “I am sorry that Nikki is dead, she was my friend too, but you have no reason to come here like this in the middle of the night and blame Harper. If Harper were carrying anything, then it would have been Jess and me who would have gone down with it first, not Pete and Nikki. Look at you. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. What did you intend to do - kill us?”
“We came to tell you to go,” said Red, “we cannot risk anyone else getting sick. There are barely enough of us left to run this place as it is. Another outbreak could wipe us all out.”
“James is running some tests,” Lucas cut in. His voice was controlled and calm. “He's investigating the possibility that the pox virus has mutated and Harper is carrying the new strain. If she is, then she will have to go - and so will the two of you. Even then it may be too late.”
“How is Pete doing?” asked Jess.
Lucas shook his head.
“Shit…” Jess thumped his fist against the wall and looked right at me, his eyes narrowing. “I knew you would be trouble,”
Pushing past me, he stomped off into his room, slamming the door behind him.
"I'm sorry Greg," said Lucas, "until we know more, I am going to have to ask you all to remain in your cabin."
“Fine, we won’t leave the cabin until we can be sure it’s safe." said Dad, "but perhaps you can keep us informed on how James and Pete are doing?”
Lucas nodded, “I’m sorry Greg,” he said pulling the door closed.
I heard a key turn in the lock. Seconds later the banging began.
“What are they doing?” I asked, half afraid to hear the answer.
“They’re nailing the windows shut,” Jess was standing in his doorway, “to keep us inside. They don’t trust us.”
“I’m sorry,” I spoke the words so softly that he probably didn't even hear me. I was overcome with such an overpowering feeling of guilt that I thought I would throw up.
“You have nothing to be sorry for Harper,” said Dad, “you couldn’t have known, and anyway, nothing is sure yet. Let’s wait and see what James manages to find out.”
I took Sal back into my room, and we sat on the bed listening to the windows being boarded up. Sal would need to go out soon, she couldn’t stay walled up in here. Most of the group hadn’t wanted a dog to join the community before all this. I doubt that they would be happy to let her out of here now. Then I realised - they had no intention of letting Sal leave any more than they intended to let us go. They are nailing us in here. This cabin is our coffin - we are not meant to get out.
What if they decide not to wait for confirmation from James? What if they play it safe? After all, 'It’s better to be safe than sorry.' We had to make a plan.
I could not just sit there in the hope that they wouldn’t decide to kill us. I felt like one of those trussed-up lobsters waiting to be dropped into a pan of boiling water. I crept out of my room.
Dad was sitting in an armchair staring blankly into space. His eyes met mine as I approached him. It was as if he read my thoughts. We spoke the words together. “We have to get out of here.”
Tentatively, I knocked on Jess’s door. His voice was muffled. “Go away.”
“I’m sorry Jess,” I said, “but we need to talk.”
I heard him shuffle to the door. Slowly, it swung open. He looked awful, he had evidently been crying. Nikki - he must have been closer to Nikki than I knew.
“You know they won’t let us leave don’t you,” he said, “probably won’t even bother to use the rifles. Just burn the building down around us - won’t even have to waste the bullets.”
“You’re right Jess,” Dad said, as he joined us, “which is why we have to get out of here, and preferably before dawn. The question is… how do we do i
t without getting caught?”
Jess came out of his room and the three of us explored the cabin for a few minutes looking for a way out. Dad had us testing the floorboards, checking the cupboards and generally searching for some means of escaping. We had nothing, though Dad kept on returning to the bathroom. He stared at the curious looking fixtures and fittings as if they were a puzzle in need of solving. Finally, he seemed to figure it out.
"There is only one option," he said, "the one way to get out of here quickly and without being discovered, is through the sewage system."
Jess sniggered; "Yeah, because out here in the wilds of Norfolk they are bound to have a sewerage system large enough for us to crawl through."
Dad smiled. It was one of those smiles that said: I know something you don't know.
"No, in fact, the cabins have no sewerage system as such," Dad said, "when Pete, Lucas and I were investigating the feasibility of setting up the Lake Community, we went through all of the blueprints. Each cabin has a composting Eco-toilet fitted over this simple wooden box frame." He slapped his hand down on top of the wood. "I think it should be relatively easy to dismantle."
The Last Girl Guide: Diary of a Survivor Page 11
