On the Third Day

by Rhys Thomas

‘What’s happened to you, Miri?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered quietly. She took the bowl from her mother and poured in some more of the powdered milk. Mary’s would be the first birthday since the illness had struck. Apart from Henry’s. His birthday had been last April but had passed by unobserved.

  The cake mix was ready. The oven had been hooked up to one of Joseph’s car-battery generators. It was worth the effort. Mary was going to love it. Today, she was eight. Miriam dripped some bottled lemon juice into the mixture. Her mother circled around the edge of the mixing bowl with a wooden spoon and folded the mixture in on itself.

  ‘Pass me the baking tin,’ she said.

  Miriam slid the tin over and sprinkled some flour into it. Her mother poured in the mixture and the cake was slid into the oven. After ten minutes its smell tapped into senses the two women had not used in months. Miriam dried her hands in the hand towel and opened the drawers to find some birthday candles.

  Cutlery in the top drawer, cooking equipment in the second, clean towels in the third, miscellaneous in the bottom. She rummaged around between chopsticks, sandwich bags, dusty old paper napkins. There were no candles.

  ‘Try the dresser,’ her mother suggested.

  She went out of the kitchen area and into the adjoining room. A long, narrow drawer opened to reveal some boxes where Henry’s mother had stored the good silver, a tablecloth and a small box. The baby kicked and Miriam put her hand to the dresser to support herself. She opened the little box and there they were. A small pack of yellow candles. She looked at them and stopped.

  Her mother had started washing the dishes in the sink, using the water from one of the buckets.

  Miriam lifted the candles and brought them up to the level of her face. She thought of Henry’s father and how he must have kept the candles here just in case they would ever be needed, in the hope of the children coming here for their birthday. She went back into the kitchen and threw them on to the counter.

  ‘You know,’ she said, casually, ‘I never thought I would ever be able to kill somebody, but now I think I could do it.’

  Her mother stood up straight and looked at her daughter.

  ‘If it came down to it, I think I’m finally ready. If somebody threatened the kids, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself. I’d get the shotgun, and do it.’

  Her mother was not smiling any more. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that in case they come true.’

  ‘But I don’t care if they come true. I’ve learned enough to know what sometimes needs to be done.’

  She caught a glimpse of hurt on her mother’s face.

  ‘I never thought I’d hear you say something like that.’

  Miriam shrugged and looked away dismissively, folding her arms across the baby and saying nothing.

  Edward jumped out of bed and wobbled over to the window to see what the weather was going to be like for his sister’s birthday. He pulled the heavy curtains across and stepped back from the thin rain that didn’t make a sound as it landed on the window. He looked past the back garden to the forest behind the fields. The remaining leaves on the trees were a deep red or a bright orange.

  He tiptoed back over to the bed and stood there for a moment, looking at his sister. Then, quickly, he yanked off the blankets and her eyes snapped open.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ he screamed at the top of his voice.

  Mary leaped up in shock and her head rocked back and forth on her neck. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again. Edward jumped up on to the bed and started to bounce, tossing her body up and down.

  ‘Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday,’ he cried.

  Mary still seemed like she did not know what was going on. Edward hopped off the bed and ran to the drawers where he kept his clothes. He grabbed something and ran back just as Mary was starting to come round.

  ‘Here.’

  He threw a balled-up piece of paper in front of her. She picked it up.

  ‘It’s your present,’ he said, eagerly.

  He watched her face change from one of tiredness into a smile. Her face in the mornings always looked creased. Her eyes widened as she ripped the paper wrapping off. Inside was what looked like a clump of fur.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, twisting it around.

  ‘It’s a rabbit’s foot.’

  Mary furrowed her brow. ‘Er, what would I want this for?’

  Edward smiled at her. She was so stupid. He took the foot from her and whispered, ‘It will bring you luck.’

  Mary took the rabbit’s foot back and looked at it again.

  ‘It’s a lucky foot?’

  ‘All rabbit’s feet are lucky,’ he said.

  Mary took a breath to say something, stopped, then decided to say it after all.

  ‘The rabbit this came from wasn’t very lucky, was he?’

  The flatbed truck rumbled to a stop and the jostling bodies in the cab sat still for a moment.

  ‘Out we get.’

  Charlie was sitting right up against the door and could feel the other men pushing into him. He slipped the handle and jumped down to the ground. He looked around. The air was freezing but alive with the smell of coming winter. The trees that lined the thin lane leaned over to form a natural, golden archway that looked like the inside of a church. It had rained nearly every day in that first month since he had arrived; a consistent drizzle so fine that it hardly seemed to land at all, but today the sky was crisp. A single crow squawked from somewhere within the wood.

  He went round to the front of the van and waited for the others. They had come to collect him earlier that morning. McAvennie himself had knocked at his door. This was Charlie’s first day of work.

  There were six of them in all and they had driven out of the camp for a few miles through untidy lanes to this spot where the farmer had said they could take firewood.

  McAvennie joined Charlie. He was holding a small handsaw.

  ‘Here you go, kiddo.’ His eyes darted towards the trees. ‘Let’s get started.’

  Charlie took the saw. It seemed a little small for tree-felling. He held it up in front of him to inspect it.

  ‘It’s not great, but it’ll have to do,’ McAvennie said.

  He slapped him on the shoulder and Charlie turned and walked into the woods. He went straight up to a smallish tree. It looked as though it wouldn’t take as much effort as some of its older, larger brothers. He had never cut down a tree before but he did not want to look like a fool in front of the other men. He wanted to be just as productive as everybody else. In the last month he had learned that a person’s willingness to work was held in high regard. He placed the saw against the smooth, grey bark and made a cut. At first he worked slowly to ensure the saw didn’t slip from its groove but when he was far enough in he sawed a little harder and tried to set himself into a rhythm.

  He sawed for around half a minute before realizing that none of the other men had joined him in the woods. He stopped and turned to the truck.

  The men were staring at him, smirking, each of them holding a large chainsaw. When they saw him turn round they all started laughing.

  ‘How’s the saw working out for you?’ McAvennie howled, doubled over in the joy of his own joke.

  Charlie nodded and smiled. ‘I see,’ he said quietly. ‘Pick on the little one, eh?’

  His initial annoyance fell away quickly and his smile broadened. They were accepting him. They laughed louder.

  ‘Christ, boy,’ puffed McAvennie, ‘you’re taller than all of us, man.’

  He stepped off the road and into the woods. Great billowing puffs of steam chugged out of his mouth.

  ‘Come on, comrades,’ he said. ‘Sooner we do this, the sooner we can go home.’

  They worked for most of the morning. Charlie’s job was to stack the wood into manageable piles that could be transported back to the van. It was hard work. His muscles were unused to it and they ached. They had shrunk over the months and the wo
od was heavier than it would have been had Charlie been at full strength.

  At lunchtime they downed tools and decided to take their food, a flask of soup, a flask of tea and some bread, into the woods. The air felt Christmassy. It was early November and although the prospect of the coming winter was frightening, the day itself held some magic.

  The wood followed the path of a valley. A river had dried up in the ages past, its only remnant being the flat, auburn, leaf-strewn carpet along which the six men walked in convoy. Charlie felt contented there. The darkness was far off. It was difficult to know how it could even exist at times like this.

  He fell in step alongside one of the other men, a man of maybe thirty years. A big bushy beard covered the lower half of his face and he had a woolly hat on his head. He acknowledged Charlie with a nod.

  ‘How are you finding the work?’ he said in a soft, northern voice.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘You’re new?’

  ‘Yeah. Got here a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ said the man.

  Charlie looked at him. He was sure he had never seen him before.

  ‘It’s the beard,’ said the man, stroking his chin. ‘I was the guy at the gates on the day you got here.’

  ‘God, you look so different.’

  ‘Yeah, the beard’ll do that to you.’ They walked in silence for a while. ‘My name’s David,’ he said, without offering a handshake.

  ‘Charlie.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  David laughed. Somewhere in the distance the sound of running water babbled.

  ‘Have you got any family left, Charlie?’

  Charlie hesitated. ‘No.’ He stepped on a damp twig that disintegrated beneath his boot. ‘You know.’

  David sucked a stream of air in through his teeth. ‘I’m on my own as well.’ A flurry of wind whistled through the trees and a few of the orange leaves drifted from their branches and swung in invisible cradles to the forest floor. ‘It’s pretty fucked up, right?’

  Charlie laughed. The man’s gentle voice didn’t sound right swearing. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I mean, I was on my own anyway,’ David went on, returning to the subject of family. ‘I’m not married. And I don’t have any brothers or sisters.’

  ‘What happened to your parents?’

  ‘No idea. They lived in Spain. I tried calling them when it happened but, well, it was crazy then, you know. The phone wouldn’t even connect on the first day.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘I kept trying them for the first few weeks but they never answered.’

  ‘And they didn’t call you?’

  ‘No.’ He paused. ‘They didn’t even have my number. Right?’

  Charlie was surprised by the openness of the man and he understood what he had meant. He felt sorry for him. At least when the Sadness had come for Charlie’s family it hadn’t left anything open-ended. There were no wounds needing to be healed, no rifts that needed to be closed.

  ‘So they could still be out there.’

  ‘Maybe. Who knows?’

  ‘Do you think you’ll ever go and look for them?’

  David sniffed in the air. ‘I doubt it. There’s no way of getting over there anyway.’

  ‘Yes there is,’ said Charlie, suddenly. ‘You can go through the tunnel. That’s how me and Em got across.’ He was speaking in his overly quick style he used when he thought he could help someone. ‘We were in Europe when the Sadness hit.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you came through the tunnel?’

  ‘Yeah. They’d got the service tunnels open by then. There weren’t any trains or anything, obviously. It was pretty grim there, but we had to come back.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because—’ He stopped. ‘I don’t know. It just felt like the right thing to do. The only thing, really.’

  ‘I can see that.’ David turned to Charlie. ‘It’s easier when you have something to aim for, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘That’s why this camp is doing so well. Just the running of it, the keeping it together, it keeps everyone’s minds active. We’ve got something to do and it keeps our minds off all the shit.’

  ‘You think so?’

  David nodded. ‘It’s probably a way of dealing with things. I mean, if you think about it, how could a camp like ours be so successful? It’s not human nature to get along so well in such large numbers. Not without laws and police and stuff. We’re not used to working together for the sake of the “greater good” or whatever. If it weren’t for the depth of the shit we’re in, the whole thing would have collapsed before it even got off the ground.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘A lot of people see this camp as something magical, right? George helps with that, with his speeches. He probably even believes it himself a little bit.’

  ‘And you don’t.’

  ‘It is magical, no doubt. Well, it’s amazing at least. But there’s nothing spiritual about it. It’s just survival. It’s human resilience. After the Sadness first came and everything fell apart, everybody just ran for their lives. We scattered and looked after ourselves. But look at it now. A few months on and we’re starting to get a perspective on what has happened and what we have to do to get things back to normal.’

  ‘We heard,’ Charlie interrupted, ‘that the government are getting things ready to start again. They’ve got a base up near Derby, or somewhere.’

  David’s lips curled upwards beneath his beard.

  ‘Maybe. Well, probably not, but I don’t think it matters. We’re already doing it. We’ve realized that we have to work together. Hoarding things in little groups won’t work. But what I’m saying is that we haven’t really had to work hard to keep the camp. It’s all just happened naturally. It’s instinctive. It’s in us to survive. It’s not that we wanted to do it, we had to do it.’

  Charlie nodded. The riverbed snaked around a low spur.

  ‘It’s how all life works, if you think about it. Everything always falls into place. We came together because that ship out in the bay ran aground. We all worked at getting the stuff from it, organizing ourselves, because it kept our minds away from the darker things. And then the camp just started to flourish. We survived.

  ‘George gives his speeches and says that what’s happened isn’t natural, but it is. You just need to follow the thought through to its conclusion. Things did fall apart at first but we were always going to recover. There’s nothing magical about it. It’s just human resilience.’

  ‘Human resilience,’ Charlie repeated to himself.

  ‘Of course, we don’t have many guns here so we can’t go around killing each other as much as in other countries,’ he laughed.

  Charlie smiled. It might be true that the camp was not magical, that it was something to do with evolution and an animal’s inbuilt will to survive. But he didn’t believe there was no magic in the world. David had not taken the Sadness itself into account. There was something magical about that, of this Charlie was in no doubt. And it wasn’t good magic.

  The dried-up riverbed led around several bends and they came to a small, deserted hut. It was only a few feet high, made of brick that was covered in moss and lichens. The roof was gone and in its place somebody had thrown some sheets of corrugated iron, the edges of which were rusty and jagged. A sapling grew through a gap in the iron. Some large stones were standing around the structure that the men used as seats.

  The soup had retained some of its heat during the morning and the steam from it rose in perfect cylinders into the still air. Charlie ate quickly and savoured the goodness of the food.

  The other men laughed and joked but he did not feel he was one of them enough to join in yet. He was happy to just sit and listen. It had been so long since things had seemed so normal.

  After a few minutes McAvennie eased himself awkwardly up from
his stone seat and went over to Charlie. His plastic soup bowl was tiny in his gigantic hands. He sat down next to him and released an almighty belch.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, patting his chest.

  He tilted his buttocks slightly and broke wind with a high-pitched rasp.

  ‘Nice one,’ congratulated Charlie.

  McAvennie ignored him. ‘So you had a good chat with David?’

  Charlie looked across to the man with the beard and woolly hat. David smiled and saluted at him.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered warily.

  ‘Relax, kiddo. We just want you to . . . understand . . . what the camp is, from all angles. So, what do you think?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Everything. Your first day’s work.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed it.’

  ‘Good lad.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve brought me here?’ He was starting to realize something. ‘As a kind of initiation?’

  McAvennie nodded.

  ‘You could say that, aye.’

  They both stared ahead.

  ‘I like to spend time with the new arrivals. We don’t have that many these days.’ He sounded almost sad when he said it, as if the more people that came the better. ‘I hope you understand why we’ve brought you out here today. We really are just here to help everyone, Charlie. We know that people get a bit funny when they first come to the camp but there’s nothing sinister about the place, ya ken? We just like to tell people that. We know and understand the nature of the camp and so we like to tell folks all about it when they first come here. So there’s no confusion.’

  ‘You don’t need to say that to me. I trust you.’

  McAvennie blew into his soup. ‘Thank you, Charlie. That means a lot. Most people aren’t so trusting so early on.’

  ‘It’s a fault of mine, apparently.’

  ‘A fault?’

  ‘Being naive.’

  ‘Trusting and naive aren’t the same, Charlie boy. Not now, and not in the old world. Understand? Do you know what I used to do, kid?’

  ‘A politician or something? A teacher? I don’t kn—’

  ‘I was a union man. In the port. Bristol?’