by Rhys Thomas
‘You must be able to put it off at least?’ His voice wavered. ‘Mims. They fixed him, didn’t they? That’s what they said. So do the same.’
All that came back was silence. Silence from the doctor, from the two men standing behind him, from the walls and the floor and the ceiling.
She had been there on the day he had returned to his home. She had been there when he found his family. She had been the one who had held him when he cried. And she had never doubted him. It had become that they were just an extension of one another. Many hours had passed when they were in the van and not a word had been spoken. He had never been like that with anybody else. She made him calm. She took away the dangers. And she fended off the darkness. He couldn’t handle the thought of her not being there. She was too good to go.
‘Emily?’
She didn’t answer him. She turned her head away. Her neck looked pale. He could see the veins just underneath the skin. The bottom of her ear was poking out from beneath her hair; she was wearing her tiny pearl earring.
‘Emily,’ he said again. ‘It’s me, Charlie.’
He leaned over her and took her hand and gripped it. She did not grip back.
The doctor was a blur in the background. He was moving away. Three sets of footsteps faded away as they left Charlie.
‘Can you hear me?’ he said. ‘Emily?’
Three men were in the house. They would sleep downstairs. A blockade had been set up further down the road. Fencing had been erected as far as possible and the house was now within that perimeter. The fence stretched far enough either side of the road to stop cars or other vehicles getting around it. The fields were too rough and too wet. Twenty men guarded the new defences.
Miriam had packed some things, as much as she could fit, into the car. Most of the family things had been left in London: photograph albums, old videos, school reports. They were probably still there, in the house with the front door still ajar, in the carcass of a dead city. This was the second purge. Anything she wanted to keep but couldn’t fit into the car was packed up into boxes and placed in the airing cupboard upstairs where Henry’s father kept the board games. As she closed the door she wondered if this really was the last time she would see them.
At the top of the stairs she paused. She put her hand on the newel post and rested. Whenever she stopped she could feel the restorative power of stillness. In her legs, in her back.
What remained of the food in the cellar was loaded into a truck, as were the battery packs they used for electricity, and the bottles of rainwater. The camp would make use of them.
That evening they ate a meal of tinned baked beans and mashed potato. It felt to Miriam a little like the Last Supper. Earlier she had told the children of the move and they were quiet as they ate. Edward was sullen. Mary was still not talking to him after he had abandoned her down on the beach. Miriam’s mother pushed the food around her plate but ate little. Her appetite had left her weeks ago, ever since Miriam had told her about what Joseph had done.
After dinner she asked the guards if they would leave the house for an hour so she could put the children to bed for the last time.
Miriam looked at the sky. There was nothing magical about it tonight; no hoops of colour, no oversized moon. The stars were bright, but that was just the way they were now.
She tucked Edward and Mary into the large double bed in the back bedroom, savouring the moment, knowing it would be the last time she would do it in this house for a while. Maybe it would never happen again. If the marauders never came, would McAvennie be willing to give the house back to her?
Mary was scared and Miriam stayed until she fell asleep. Neither Miriam nor her daughter were aware of the silent vigil Edward kept every night. It took nearly an hour for Mary to fall asleep. She cried for a while, and Miriam hugged her. Edward lay still, on his back, pretending to be asleep.
Miriam left the two children just as the guards returned. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table in silence. There was nothing more to be done. They were ready to leave. All they had to do was wait as the minutes ticked down.
She woke up. There was a noise outside the house. A rasping, heavy breathing. Clicking. The muted sound of slapping against something soft. Perhaps she was still asleep and this was a new dream. The monster that had killed her husband had come to the house. The light from the stars illuminated the bedroom; she could see the outline of the furniture as she sat up and listened. She was not asleep.
She pulled herself on to her knees and looked out of the window. The grass leading to the cliff edge was silver. There was nobody in the garden.
She must have been imagining it. Nobody could have got past the outer perimeter. There were too many guards. There would have been noise: gunfire, or shouting. She looked down to the garden again, this time moving her head into the glass so she could see the whole of the wall beneath her.
Instantly she fell back on to her bed. Her body went stiff. There were people down there, hugging the walls. Her throat went dry and she stifled a cough. Gas masks.
She looked again. Their backs were pressed against the wall, moving slowly, crab-like. There it was again: the rasping sound. Along the wall, near the corner of the house, was a man on a horse. Silver breath floated into the air from the animal’s nostrils. The rider patted its neck.
They must have come from the woods beyond the farmers’ fields. Or maybe they had just gone around the outer perimeter. It didn’t matter. They were here. They had come. McAvennie was wrong.
Miriam got to her feet. The landing was pitch black but that didn’t matter. She knew the house just as well in the darkness as she did in the light. As she moved along the banister she became aware of who it was that had insisted on them learning how to do this.
She went as quietly as she could into the children’s bedroom and woke them from their sleep. They waited for her at the top of the staircase whilst she went to wake her mother.
The old woman took over a minute to come round. Miriam was crying. They were losing time. Just as they had done dozens of times before, the family made their way down the stairs in darkness and silence.
Edward went first. Miriam could see him moving. His footing was assured. He moved the same way that Henry had: the same lightness of foot, the same confidence in his movements. The boy went silently along the hallway to the cellar. He knew what to do. Holding the door open, he ushered Mary downstairs, then his grandmother, then Miriam.
‘You first,’ she whispered.
Without hesitation he did as he was told. She went to close the door after them. The three guards were asleep in the living room. She needed to wake them. They were their only hope.
A quick, high-pitched metal sound. She stopped and held her breath. The letterbox was opening. A thin line of torchlight played across the floor, moving upwards, towards her.
‘Wake up!’ she screamed. Her voice came out much louder than she had expected. ‘They’re here!’
There was shouting outside. Muffled and distorted.
She pulled the door to the cellar open and ran down the steps. She stopped halfway. She hadn’t locked the door. Cursing, she turned and clambered back up the steps and slid the lock across. Oh God, she thought. This can’t be happening.
A burst of gunfire tore the air in half.
Miriam screamed with shock.
‘Mum,’ she heard Edward call. The sound of Mary crying came up the stairs. Miriam went down into the cellar, trying to hold the baby steady as she went. She was so immobile.
The small window near the ceiling let in just enough light for her to make out the three shapes sitting on the sofa. They listened to the noises upstairs. More gunfire and then a thud. A man screamed and there was more shouting. And then the sound of distant gunfire, coming from the direction of the village, from the direction of the outer perimeter. And then there was a great boom that shook the molecules in the air.
‘What’s happening, Mum?’ Edward jumped to his feet. In his pyjamas
he looked like a skeleton.
Upstairs there was more shouting. The cellar door banged under the weight of something heavy being smashed into it. The door was thick but they would get through it.
‘Let us in,’ a cold, deep voice called.
‘Get the shotguns,’ she whispered to him, taking the keys from around her neck.
His head bobbed away into the darkness as he ran to the gun cabinet.
‘Get two,’ she said.
‘Let us in,’ called the voice again. She knew that the guards would have been overrun by now. She saw them sleeping in the living room, only just stirring when she called out to them. Far too late. And now they were dead.
Edward came back. The guns were nearly three-quarters his own length.
‘I loaded them,’ he said.
‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘Over to the window.’
Her mother and Mary stood up.
There was a wooden stool in the corner that she fetched over. She tried to climb up on to it but it was too difficult. Her mother took her place and looked out through the window.
Somewhere out of sight a wild report of many guns being fired rang out.
‘I can’t see anyone,’ her mother said.
‘Open the window,’ she said.
‘We can’t fit.’
‘The kids can.’
She caught her mother’s eyes. They glimmered in the half light. The old woman turned back and struggled to get the rusty catch across. It slid with a metal groan and she pushed the frame open.
Miriam crouched down in front of Edward and grabbed his arms.
‘Run to the cliff path. Don’t look back. Get to the camp. If anyone gets in your way, shoot them.’
He stared at her impassively, listening to the instructions.
‘Mary.’ She turned to her daughter. She took one of her hands off Edward’s arm and held it out to her. Mary ran across the few feet of space and held her mother’s hand. Her cheeks were drenched in tears.
Another bang at the top of the stairs and the crack of wood. The frame was splitting. The lock was about to give.
‘You go with your brother.’
Mary shook her head and sucked air between her lips.
‘You’ll be safe with him,’ said Miriam.
‘No.’
Miriam stood up and lifted her daughter. Mary started to scream and kick.
‘Mary,’ Miriam said as sternly as her voice would allow. Her head was hot. ‘You have to go,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ll follow you later.’
The little girl stopped kicking and Miriam and her mother pushed her through the tiny window. Her head fitted with two inches to spare. She rolled away and was gone. Miriam halted. Her daughter was gone. She could not see her.
Edward was already up on the wooden stool. He pushed one of the shotguns through the window and turned back to his mother.
‘Here,’ he whispered, holding the second gun out to her. ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure she’s all right.’
Miriam put her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t look at him. Her mother took the gun from Edward.
The boy scrambled easily up the wall. He steadied himself on the ledge and eased his head through. It just made it. He dragged the rest of his body through and, like Mary, rolled out of sight.
Miriam looked up at the window. The stars were so bright. They seemed to suck her upwards towards them. She watched for a moment. She hadn’t even said goodbye to him. She had just let her children go. That was what had just happened.
But then the stars were covered again. Edward’s head came back into view. It was sideways and his hair flopped down.
‘Promise me you’ll meet us in the camp,’ he said. There was hardly any emotion in his voice.
The two women stared at him. He just waited.
‘We promise,’ said Miriam’s mother.
Edward nodded seriously, and disappeared again.
Miriam and her mother swung around. The door shattered open and the beam from a helmet lamp cut a circle of white out of the darkness.
The man came down the stairs slowly. Miriam lifted the shotgun and aimed. She remembered the lesson Joseph had taught her about firing the air rifle: sure and steady. She heard his voice telling her. She moved her eye over the barrel to aim. The man coming down the stairs was fucked. She held her breath.
It was just a simple movement. A mere curling inwards of the finger. That was enough to blow a life apart. Something so tiny could cause something so massive, like the splitting of an atom. The light from the helmet on the man’s head swung across the room. She had to fire. She had to kill him.
The light kept coming, further and further across the floor, fast. She felt as if everything that had happened in the last year had led here, as if the whole thing had been engineered to allow this situation to be. She wanted to fire. She became aware she was not breathing. The light was on her. She squinted. And her finger did not move. Her body would not allow it. Her mind slowed. Everything in the room came towards her, she could feel everything in there. Slowly, she lowered the gun and waited.
She dropped the gun on to the sofa behind her and put her hands in the air. She turned her face away in anticipation. And then she realized something. She was still alive.
‘You are pregnant,’ said the voice.
A momentary pause, and, ‘Yes.’
The voice sounded non-human, like a robot. There was a disconnection in its static fuzziness. Through the murk she could make out the shape of the man’s gas mask. It had two snouts and two large insect eyes.
‘There are no more of you here?’
‘No,’ she said.
A voice, distended with gain, indecipherable, called from upstairs. The man on the steps called something back. He had a small gun strapped over his shoulder, pointed at her, like the guns she had seen police carry at airports.
Something stirred in her. Something was coming back. She was still alive.
‘Please,’ said the man. ‘Come with me.’
The two women did not hesitate. Both of them sensed the hope and were willing for it to lead them wherever it would. They went up the stairs and the man waited behind the door. He pulled the mask away from his face so they could hear his voice more clearly.
‘Wait right here until I come for you.’
He left, and Miriam and her mother waited. Through the door they heard moving around, the sound of people running. There was no more gunfire from the house but it was still firing in short, sharp blasts in the distance.
Neither of them spoke. The baby was moving inside her, sensing its mother’s fear. Through the darkness her mother’s hand touched her shoulder. The door opened quietly.
‘OK, come.’
They followed him out into the deserted hallway. The front door was wide open and they could see the silvery expanse of grass beyond.
‘Go,’ he said.
He pulled his mask all the way off so they could see his face. The two women hurried past him.
‘Thank you,’ Miriam said with a shaky voice. She didn’t even look at him. She didn’t look back. Behind them, they heard the front door slam shut.
Out into the open they ran, Miriam using both hands to support the baby. The going was painfully slow. Blind panic coursed through her. They were so exposed. There was no choice but to keep going, one leg after the other. Her lungs clutched for oxygen. She turned her head to the right, expecting to see a convoy of vehicles coming up the hill from the camp, but there were none. It was just a dark ribbon of road.
She swung her head the other way, to the direction of the village.
‘Go,’ she called to her mother.
A line of horses was galloping towards the house. They appeared as a blur of legs. The deep echoing hoof stamps rumbled across the grass.
The two women could go no faster. The cliff path was not far now. Another fifty yards maybe. She tried to imagine how their shapes would appear to the horsemen. Maybe they were small enou
gh to go unnoticed, or too small a target to hit.
Suddenly the grass hissed all around them. The sound of exploding, splattering mud. And then, a fraction of a second later, gunfire. They had been spotted.
Her mother was behind her. Miriam had almost reached the cliff path. She stopped and turned. She expected to see her mother lying on the ground. But she was still going. Her run was awkward, more of a walk. Miriam remembered things from her childhood, happy memories, blazing like angels.
She looked back towards the house. It was far away. They couldn’t be accurate from that range, surely. More gunfire. It missed by a good fifteen feet, but arced inwards towards them, spraying over the grassland.
The sound of horses’ hoofs was louder now.
‘Oh Christ,’ she whispered. ‘Come on, Mum.’
One of the horsemen had broken away from the pack and was streaming across the grassland towards them. In the moonlight he cut a dark figure. His head was low.
The old woman drew alongside Miriam. They came to the cliff path. The ground was unstable on the first part. Only then did she realize she was not wearing any shoes. She looked for a place to hide but the ferns and brambles on either side of the path would not give. They had to go down.
The thunder of the horse grew and grew. And then stopped. The horseman had reached the path.
Miriam and her mother rounded the first bend.
‘Be careful,’ her mother said.
Miriam stopped. Their way was blocked. A group of men were coming up the path towards them. She could see their heads and shoulders in the moonlight.
‘It’s the women from the house,’ a voice whispered.
‘Jesus,’ said the man in the front. ‘You made it.’
Miriam hurried towards them. An immense wave of relief broke up her and her whole body went weak.
‘One of them’s followed us.’
She looked up the path towards the bend. The man’s silver face became stern.
He mouthed, ‘Just one?’
She nodded.
He turned back to the men and urgently put his hand up to silence them.
