There was some noise in the distance. Music, I thought.
I hit a rock and my right foot bent outwards. I sprawled into the cold, frozen mud and lay back, wide-eyed and horrified at the new pain in my ankle.
How hard? How hard did this have to be? To live?
And then I was back in Edinburgh, lying on the bedroom carpet and staring up into a shaft of winter sunlight swarming with weightless dust. It was a couple of months after Arthur was born. Beth and I were exhausted, with weeks of broken sleep behind us and nothing but the promise of the same ahead. We had argued fiercely about something ridiculous like the temperature of milk and I had retreated upstairs with Alice. She was toddling about on the other side of the bed, trying out new words, squealing at something. I lay, listening to my breathing with my eyes half-shut while Beth slammed cupboard doors and sobbed downstairs.
How hard? I thought. How hard does this have to be? To bring life into the world?
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alice looking at me, smiling, her chubby fists at her mouth, realising something, plotting something, excited by a new scheme. She ran across to me and stopped suddenly at my head, gazing down through the light shaft onto my tired, drawn face. Then she bent over and paused, hovering above my head and searching my tired face, breathing little, excited breaths. Then she placed her lips softly on my brow. It was the first time she’d ever kissed me.
I choked on a lungful of icy air and I was back in the pit. I peeled my head from the mud and got to my feet. There was the sound somewhere of somebody howling, me I supposed as my twisted ankle took its first weight. The noise of the music was growing louder. I staggered forward and broke into a limping run towards the sound. And then I was stumbling, gasping and shuddering up a hill.
And then the mist cleared.
And I felt warmth.
And I broke out into bright sunlight, blue sky and a thundering wall of sound.
It was freezing cold and brighter than I imagined anything had ever been. I watched it all through my one good eye. My right was sealed shut with scabs beneath Harvey’s bandage. There were people everywhere, crowds, hungry faces, worried faces, lost faces, happy faces, drunken faces, toothless mouths, camp-fires and makeshift tents made out of rags and sticks, sizzling meat, smoke and steam, stalls selling food, tattered clothes, families keeping close, traipsing along in what appeared to be a gigantic queue snaking towards a tower of metal, beggars holding out their hands for food, musicians singing and playing, girls half naked and daubed with mud and paint, dancing, eyes closed, lost in something else away from the world, noise and movement all around them. A man in a ragged pinstriped suit and hollow eyes barged past me, spinning me into a fat woman and her child. She growled and shoved me and I fell. I heard laughter, then someone pulled me up and patted me on the back. I staggered on, trying to focus on something in the glare of the new sunlight. Every face that saw me reeled or sneered or looked away in horror. A topless teenaged boy walked past in sunglasses, six-pack and pectorals glistening in the sunshine, a grin of white teeth exposed for all the world to see. He had his arms around two girls. One of them looked me up and down, then pulled back her mouth as she saw my hand.
“Whatchoo staring at, mate?” said the boy. “Oy. I’m talking to you. Cyclops. Hear me? What the fack are you looking at?”
I moved back, but the boy had released his girls and was stepping towards me.
“Ed!” I heard a voice from through the throng and spun my head.
“Oy!” said the boy. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, you…”
And suddenly Bryce was there, towering next to the boy, holding a cup of something. I saw Harvey behind him. His arm was wrapped in a sling.
“Ed!” he said. “Christ, I thought we’d lost you for good!”
Bryce turned his head down to the boy, who had stopped talking.
“You got some trouble here, Ed?” said Bryce. “Ed?”
The world span again, tumbling down as my head hit mud and my eyes were filled with blue light.
FAMILY
I woke up beneath a blanket in a warm, hard bunk. Light spilled down a dark wooden wall from a small window above. The room was moving to the sound of water gently slapping against a bow. I rolled over and saw Bryce sitting on a bunk opposite. I felt relief. I didn’t know why at first. It was ephemeral, a floating feeling with no cause or effect. Then I remembered the feeling of running alone, the feeling that I had always been running alone. But Bryce was there. He was right there in front of me, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands and hair hanging down to the floor.
You’re here, I thought.
For a moment I thought I’d caught him in some vulnerable moment, imagining him to be in a kind of bedside vigil. I wondered how long he’d been there like that, worrying, hoping, praying. Then I heard a gaseous rumble erupt from somewhere deep in his throat. He retched and spat. I looked down and saw a bucket between his feet.
“Are you alright?” I said.
He lifted his eyes from the floor a little, then let them drop again. “Boats,” he whined. “Fucking hate boats.”
“Boat? What happened?” I said. “Where are we? What was that…”
I remembered leaving the canyon, feeling the shock of sunlight again, the freezing air, spinning around in some ghoulish carnival of noise and light. Bryce retched again. Something came up this time and hit the bucket in a single jet. He gave a moan of relief and sat up to look at me, wiping his mouth on his wrist.
“Why are we on a boat, Bryce?” I said. “What happened?”
“Uhh,” said Bryce.
“What day is it?”
“Huh…uhh.”
I sat up and threw off the blanket, rolling my feet off the bunk. “We have to…” I began, but stopped as my right foot hit the floor. I shrieked. I’d forgotten about my newly injured ankle. I clawed for it, remembering as I did so my mangled hand, howled and fell back on the bunk in the grip of two suddenly screaming pain centres. My eye joined the party by beating sharp thumps in the ensuing blood rush, until the entire right-hand side of my body was possessed by pain.
“Wouldn’t do that,” said Bryce. “It’s not broken, but it’s a bad sprain.”
As the pain subsided, I looked down at my shaking hand. The last time I had seen my fingers, they had resembled a cutlery drawer. Now they were set neatly and bandaged to a splint. My ankle was tightly bound. I felt a tight tape across my eye and suddenly registered the smell of antiseptic. I sat up slowly and placed my feet more carefully on the floor so that I was facing Bryce. I caught my breath. He looked back at me.
“Did I tell you I hate boats?” he said.
“You should be on deck,” I said.
“That just makes it worse,” he said. He looked pitifully down at the pale beneath him. “I’ve nothing left to hurl anyway.”
“Tell me what happened,” I said. “What was that place?”
Bryce took a deep, shuddering breath. “The place you passed out? That would be the gate. The way in.”
“The gate to the boats?” I said, leaning forward. Suddenly the feeling of water beneath us filled me with hope. I had no idea how long I’d been running alone or how many nights I had fallen into some hollow in the dirt, shivered through sleep and then crawled out to carry on. Was it possible that the canyon we had found at Birmingham stretched all the way down to the south coast? Was it possible that I had run all that way?
“Are we here?” I said, elated. “Did we make it?”
Bryce’s sour smile told me the answer before he spoke.
“No,” he said. “We’re in Bristol. Two hundred miles short.”
“What’s the gate then?” I asked.
“The way to the boats,” said Bryce. “The route to Falmouth. There’s a big chunk of the south coast that’s smashed up and water-logged. Cornwall’s cut off from the rest of the country by a long causeway that starts at Bristol. That’s where they built the gate. That’s where
they decide who gets on the boats.”
“The queue,” I said. “They were all waiting to see if they’d be evacuated?”
“Aye,” said Bryce. “After the broadcast and the rescue missions, more people turned up than they expected. More people survived than we thought, I guess. There aren’t enough boats, so they’re turning a lot of punters away. Oh and there’s a virus as well, a bad one. A lot of people are dying from it without the meds. You have to be tested and given a stamp to even be considered. Plus you…” He paused and looked me up and down. “You have to be in a certain state of health to get on.”
“What about the people they rescued?” I broke in. “Beth, my children, Richard’s son.”
“The choppers got here first. Everyone on them is guaranteed a place.”
“I have to talk to Richard,” I said. “We have to talk about what we’re going to do.”
“Er, that’s not going to be so easy,” he said. He looked uncomfortable, trying to read my expression. “Don’t worry, he’s fine, it’s just…Richard got through. He made it down to the boats.”
“What. How. What. I don’t understand.” The words fell out flat and sick.
“We got here the day before you did, Ed. I thought you were gone for good, we all did. Richard managed to talk to a guard, explained the situation, got himself bumped up to the front of the medical queue and got the all clear. He had a twelve-hour wait in the queue to the gate and then he was through.” He reached a hand forward for my arm, but let it fall back. “He’s going to try to find your family, Ed. He’s going to make sure they’re OK.”
“I can still make it,” I said. “I can find the same guard and tell him who I am. They have to let me through to my family.”
Bryce looked down at his bucket, adjusting it with his boot. “I’m sorry, Ed. The gates closed about an hour ago. They’re not letting anyone else through.”
My insides shrank to a tight coil. “What day is it?” I said.
“Christmas Eve,” he said. He ventured out another consolatory hand, pulling it back once again before it could land on my arm. “I’m sorry, bud. The boats leave tomorrow.”
We heard a noise above us, some footsteps and the scrape of rope. Bryce looked up.
“Thank fuck, I think we’re stopping,” he said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the captain.”
Bryce helped me out of the bunk and I limped after him through the cabin. The boat was short and filled with the warmth of family. Coloured and frayed cushions lined the wooden benches in the galley. Next to the stove was a teapot covered by a woollen tea cosy in the shape of a cat’s head, and next to this a photograph of an old woman. One the wall above, a child’s drawings were pinned across each other on a board; birds with triangular beaks and pink eyelashes; dogs with straight legs and human teeth; people with limbs that only served to support gigantic, circular hands and feet, faces drawn smile-first; everything primary, every stroke started before the last one had been completed. Alice had started to draw the previous spring; endless lines and scribbles, nothing recognisable yet. I felt a sudden need to see her progress and draw pictures like these. It was a strange and directionless feeling: joy, sadness, hope and envy all at once.
I followed Bryce up the thick ladder to the deck of the boat, relying more on my arms than my legs to lift me. We met the sun, low in the sky but still a shock. It was morning, I guessed. I shielded my eyes and looked up at the bright blue sky, a few wayward white clouds scudding away like lost dogs. I could smell saltwater and stone. I blinked and allowed shapes to form from the glare. We were on a small sailing boat moored in what looked like a makeshift harbour in a small cove. About a dozen more boats - yachts, barges, fishing junks and dinghies - were anchored and tied up against posts on a wooden platform built into the rocks. Bryce staggered over to the stern and leaned against the railing, looking blearily down into the black water.
A man stood at the helm wearing a thick, navy sweater and drinking from a tin mug. His hair was jet black but his beard was dashed with white. I put him somewhere in his forties. A younger woman sat on the bench beside him with her feet beneath her legs. Her hair was a wild stack of dull bronze and rich gold tied back with a purple bandana. A girl of about five sat cuddled beneath her right arm, an older one leaning into her left. All three were huddled together in a sprawl of cardigans, shawls and blankets.
The man put down his mug and looked across the deck at me. He stepped forward so that he stood between me and the girls on the bench and began to inspect the space around my eyes. He offered me his left hand.
“James Grey,” he said, still scanning my face.
I gave him my hand and he turned it over gently, pulling up my sleeve and looking at my wrists. A bald spot was staking a claim to his crown.
“Any pain in your ears?” he said as he pressed his thumb up and down the soft flesh. He spoke fast with the curves and angles of a broad South Western accent; every vowel stretched apart like a rubber band, every ‘r’ curving in on itself.
“No,” I said.
“Diarrhoea?”
“What?”
“Vomiting? Neck pain? Does it hurt when you urinate?”
“No, I mean, no more than usual, I…”
“Nose bleeds?”
“No.”
“Trouble catching your breath?”
“No.”
He looked suspiciously up at my eyes again. Finally he blinked and nodded. He gave my hand a single shake, then replaced the sleeve and let it drop.
He stepped back so that he was looking at me, not just the bits of me he had previously been interested in, and placed his fists on his hips. “James Grey,” he said again. He aimed a thumb back over his shoulder at the bench. “Wife Martha, two girls Jenny and Clare.” The woman raised a hand and smiled. I nodded back.
“Where am I?” I said.
“Just north of Croyde,” he replied, stepping over to the helm and busying himself with a rope. “Brizzle Channel.” I felt a warm hand grip my shoulder and turned to see Harvey behind me.
“G’day, Ed,” he said. He looked me over. “How are you doing, son?”
“Fine,” I said.
Harvey squinted a little, careful with his words. “Did Bryce fill you in?”
I nodded. “Some of it. I know we didn’t make it and I know Richard got past the gate, but I still don’t know how I got here.”
“Do you remember seeing us? Before you passed out?”
“I remember seeing Bryce, then nothing.”
“We’d just said goodbye to Richard when we found you. We were about to join the queue ourselves, although I don’t think we would have got in. People were already starting to give up and drift away. There was a bit of a party going on by the time you showed up, lots of kids, drinking and all that, arguments, fights, it was getting rough. People’d had enough I expect.”
He gripped my shoulder again.
“Then you stumbled out of nowhere, Ed,” he said. “Just fell out of the mist right in front of us. How did you know where we were?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “I had no idea where I was.”
“You looked like death, mate, hell of a mess with your fingers and everything. How’s your ankle? Martha got you fixed up.” He smiled and nodded at Martha. She smiled back as she walked past us and climbed the ladder down below deck. “She’s a nurse.”
“How did we get here?”
“James and Martha found us. You were on the ground, unconscious. We were trying to wake you up, shouting for help from one of the medical tents, but nobody came. Too busy I guess, but then Martha came across, asked what had happened. They were on their way back to their boat and offered to help. We came too.”
“You left the queue?”
“Like I say, there wasn’t much hope for us. We didn’t feel like hanging around in a field with all that fighting, figured we’d come along and make sure you were alright.”
“Thanks,” I said. I shook my head. “How the hell did Ri
chard get through?”
“He had a good reason. Plus, well…” Harvey shrugged. “You know what he’s like. He’s probably never queued in his life.”
Martha returned onto the deck and handed me a bowl. I stared at the oily, thick liquid inside it, and smelled fish on the steam rising from its surface. A familiar panic began to churn inside me, the string being pulled taught from my chest.
“Your ankle’s sprained,” she said. Her voice was detached. “It needs rest. Your fingers will fix themselves. Not much I could do about your eye, I’m afraid. It’ll heal, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to see properly out of it again. Like I said to your friends, you’re welcome to stay with us until you’re well enough to move on. We don’t have a lot of space, but we make do.”
“I’m sorry, Ed,” said Harvey. “We tried.”
I looked up from the broth. Two faces looked back at me with expressions full of care and pity, neither of which I needed.
“How far can you get us around the coast?” I said, turning to the helm.
James dropped the end of a rope he was arranging and straightened up. He looked over his shoulder.
“Beg pardon?” he said.
“How far can you get us around the coast?” I repeated. “How close can you get us to Falmouth?”
He turned and took a step towards me. “Not sure I follow,” he said.
“Bryce told me that everything directly south of Bristol was a swamp now,” I said.
“That’s right,” said James. “Everything from Plymouth to Southampton, as far north as Glastonbury. Can’t be walked on, can’t be driven on, can’t be floated on.”
“But there’s still a thin strip of land that runs south-west from here to Falmouth, where the boats are leaving from,” I said.
“Right,” said James slowly.
“If you can take us south, around the Cornish coast, we might be able to make it across that strip to Falmouth.”
The End of the World Running Club Page 37
