by Terry Tyler
He didn't want to put that in his book, either. H8r, lol.
There's fifty-seven people here now. We have two new arrivals today. Adam and Flora. They're in a bad way, hungry and weak, and psychologically damaged, you know? Flora is one of those daughters-of-straights who led totally sheltered lives before the virus. She and her parents had the vaccine and thought they were safe but these guys broke into their house, stole all their stuff and killed her mum and dad.
Adam hasn't had the vac, and Marcus starts bleating about the quarantine house, but Flora clings on to him like he's her lifeline.
Mum says, "Marcus, it's fifteen months since the outbreak; if Adam was going to get it, he'd have done so by now, wouldn't he?"
Marcus gives one of his yellow-toothed cheesy grins and shuffles away, waterproof poncho flapping in his wake.
One of the arseholes who broke into Flora's house and killed her parents was getting ill with the virus. He got into her bed and was sick in it. Ew! She managed to escape when they were pillaging supplies, but she was alone and terrified for ages, and had to run away from lots of scary people.
You know how some people go through a load of stuff and it makes them get strong, and others it turns into emotional wrecks? Most people still walking about now are the first sort, but Flora's the second.
She met up with this gang who seemed okay and said they'd protect her, but the men made her have sex with them in exchange for food. There were girls in the gang—rough girls, she says—and they told her to get tough, but when she tried to protest the men slapped her about. Eventually she couldn't take any more and escaped with Adam, who'd just joined the gang and wasn't a retard like the rest of them, and they've been wandering around ever since.
I'm assigned to take them to their new house and help them settle in, so I send Adam to the hotel to get supplies, and that's when Flora spills the beans.
"I think I would have died if Adam hadn't looked out for me," she says. She's really dirty (honks a bit, too), so I find their bath tub, fetch rainwater from the barrel, and lay a fire to heat enough water to make it a bit warm. She keeps crying, I feel so sorry for her. When the bath's ready she strips off in front of me, I mean, like, all her clothes, totally without being embarrassed, which seems a bit weird at first, but then I suppose if she's been gang raped she's used to it. She just sits in the tub and cries, so I wash her hair and her back and arms for her.
She takes the sponge off me, and suddenly says, "I can't have sex with Adam," and I say, "Yeah, well, you don't have to," and she says she feels guilty because he's done so much for her but she can't repay him. Isn't that sad? I mean, that she thinks she has to repay him with sex?
I say, "I'm sure he doesn't expect you to," and that makes her start crying again.
"I've got nothing else to offer anyone," she wails.
I bet she was one of those girls who'd let boys talk her into sexting, then discover they'd sent the pictures round the whole school. I used to say okay when they asked, then send them a one-fingered salute. Ha!
When she's clean and dry she turns out to have that sort of frail, fantasy book cover look I wish I had sometimes, and her hair's fair, not shitty brown. Even though I bank up the fire, she's still shivering. When Adam come back we heat up soup and have some of this awesome poppy seed bread that Avery's mum makes, but Flora sicks it up. I suppose she'll get better soon.
I stay with them overnight to make sure they're okay, and in the morning Kara comes round to say hi, and see what jobs they fancy. No free rides on Lindisfarne. She realises straight away that Flora isn't up to doing anything apart from getting her strength back, but Adam says he'd like to work on the farm.
"Yeah, we met this guy who told us about your community here; he worked on the farm, said it was sound."
Kara is studying her clipboard, but her head jerks up, dead sharp, when he says that. "Really? Who was that?"
"Jonas," Flora says, in her shaky, whispery voice. (I think it might start to get on my nerves, actually; hope she bucks up soon.)
"Yeah, sound guy," Adam says. "Him and Shuv, sound people."
Shuv? I suppose if you must shorten 'Siobhan', it's the only way to go. Do you spell it 'Shuv' or 'Siobh', though?
"Where'd you meet him?" Kara doesn't look happy.
"It was out at Hawes, across the Yorks moors, wasn't it, Flor?" Adam takes her fragile hand. "We were looking for supplies; he'd heard there was a community at Hawes, so we went there with him but it so didn't check out; it was, like, a load of soldiers making you strip down and have a medical, set meal times and uncool stuff like that. He told us 'bout this place, said it was more laid back." He grins. "So here we are! I said, why didn't he come back with us, but he said he'd got a black mark against his name, yeah?" He's waiting for an answer to his non-question; Kara gives me one of her 'looks' which I know means don't say anything.
"So did Jonas stay at Hawes?" I ask. I liked Jonas. And Shuv. Dex was a serious ogre for chucking them out.
"Yeah. Said it'd do for now." He laughs. "Well, he was hungry!"
Kara is not happy at all. "What else did he say about here?"
Adam shrugs. "Oh, just that it was sound, that there was food and booze, and you'd get a nice house to live in all to yourself and it didn't stink of rotting shit and dead bodies. No soldiers, no medicals, and no rats!" He and I laugh; Kara and Flora don't. "He said all we had to do was present ourselves at the barricade and look pathetic and we'd be let in. Didn't have to put on the last bit, though, eh?"
Kara stands up. "I don't suppose you know if he told anyone else about us?"
Adam looks cheerful. "Oh yeah, he told a few when we were in the waiting area at Hawes. He was giving it heaps, wasn't he, Flor? He was like, 'I so know where the best camp is'! So you'd better expect some more turning up soon, I guess."
"Thanks for that, Adam." Kara pats him on the shoulder, but seems distracted. "Look, you just settle in, and we'll sort out your job tomorrow."
She leaves without saying goodbye.
I spend the day with our new arrivals, showing them around the island, and they tell me more about their experiences. When I hear what they've been through, I realise how lucky I am. They've been living on biscuits and stale stuff (and probably tinned prunes), and Adam's got into some serious fights, even had to kill one toe rag who tried to rape Flora. Then she got proper ill a couple of months ago, with tonsillitis, and he found a hospital to see if he could get her some antibiotics, and there were decomposing bodies everywhere.
I'm impressed that he's killed someone, he's impressed that I lived in Shipden.
"You actually lived there? Like, when it was quarantined? Wow! I mean, Shipden's famous! It was all over YouTube."
"Yes, well, it wasn't that great at the time. It was just scary." I think of the dead wagons. The girl whose friends died on the beach. The campers sitting in the rain.
I go home when it gets dark, and Kara's just come back from unloading the vans after a run. We sit around the table, and Kara tells everyone that Adam learned about this place from Jonas.
"Word spreads fast," she says. "God only knows how many more people he's told."
"Well, we can take in loads more, can't we?" Scott says. "It's not like we haven't got the houses."
"Yes, but we'll have to feed them," says Mum.
"That's not the problem," Kara says. "You don't get it. Whoever else he's told, they might not all be harmless, like Adam and Flora."
"I think we can guarantee that," Dex says. He stands up. "We're going to have to get ready."
"What, in case we get invaded?" says Jax. He's all bright-eyed and excited; I laugh.
"Yep." Dex looks less thrilled. "Sounds like Jonas is spreading it about that this place is easy pickings."
"What will we do?" Mum's got gun-fear all over her face.
"Revise our defence strategy."
"What does that mean, exactly?" I'm glad Mum asked, because I hate it when people say things like 'revise our defence str
ategy', instead of telling you exactly what they're going to do.
He looks pissed off at being asked. "Everyone needs to be armed. Everyone, even the kids. You don't keep your guns and knives in a drawer, they need to be on you at all times. I'll assign some guards to go straight to the stores in the case of an invasion, and decide on designated hiding places for those who can't fight. I'm thinking the church."
"Er, Dex. We have a castle. A fortress." Kara looks at him like he's stupid. "What do you think it was built for?"
"It's too far out of the village," Phil says. "We need to get the church ready, too."
Dex looks relieved. Probably doesn't want a load of people trampling over his precious fur rugs. He sticks his hands in his pockets. "Right, I'm going over to see Wedge."
Jax leaps up. "Can I come?" He's been on about getting a bike; I reckon he'll be an apprentice Hadrian before long.
"Me too," I say.
Dex ignores Mum's concerned looks (which are a bit irritating, I have to admit), and puts his head on one side, like he's studying us. "Lottie can come. Jax, another time."
Dex can be a bit of a prick, and more so than usual lately, but he does have this air about him that makes people do what he says. Jax doesn't even whinge.
It's the first time I've seen the murderer at close quarters; usually he's roaring past on his wheels of steel. He's scary. Psycho eyes.
Parks and Zoot are sitting at a table just inside the door of the hotel, so you can't get past without their say-so. They stand up and look menacing, but sit down when Wedge says to let us in.
Mac catches my eye and smiles at me. He's cute.
It's awesome inside. Just a few candles, and incense burning. I can imagine a mystery man sitting in the corner, face shrouded in the shadow of his hood, like Strider in The Fellowship of the Ring! Wedge sits at a table near the bar, with Bette at his side. She's wankered, eyelids down by her knees, can hardly sit up straight. What a fuck-up, staying with Wedge when he murdered her boyfriend. She could've come to live with us, couldn't she? Or left with Jodie.
Must be one of those abusive relationships that I've read about in old magazines, where the woman is too much of a div to break away.
Dex says, "We need to talk about our strategy for defence," and Wedge gestures to the seats in front of him without saying anything, then makes another gesture behind him, and the next minute we have drinks in front of us. My bottle of cider is delivered with a delicate waft of men's urinal. I look up; yeah, it's Cleary.
They start talking guns.
"My main worry is that if a group overpowers the barricade, those who aren't combat-ready won't get to safety in time," Dex says.
Wedge nods. His eyes are black. "My lads know to sound the horn at the first sign of trouble. And we gotta stay tooled up at all times."
They agree that Wedge will lead the group who'll go straight to the hotel if the worst happens; the conversation doesn't last long. Wedge is one of those people who only say words that are absolutely necessary, then shut the hell up.
Just before we go, I see him pass a small bag of something to Dex.
Hmm.
On the way back, I say I know that the bikers take speed, and ask Dex where they get it from. Just by way of conversation, like.
He laughs. "You saw. It's just medicinal, for now and again when I need a little something to keep me awake, don't worry. They're manufacturing at a village out on the mainland." He pats me on the shoulder. "Don't tell your mum, there's a good girl."
Gotcha.
Chapter Twenty-one
Heath
December
This week's meeting is all about upping security. Kara tells me that the kid who was evicted has been spreading the word, but we have instructions not to make it public knowledge. Dexy's too scared he'll be lynched by the rest of the island for putting us in danger, I imagine.
I'm amazed he didn't see this coming as soon as he waved Jonas goodbye. The key to the success of this place is that there is no through traffic. You evict someone for no good reason—and there was no good reason—he's going to be pissed off.
He's going to say, hey, people, I know this great place full of supplies, families and idiots who don't know one end of a gun from another.
And only four days after the meeting, it happens.
It's Jax's seventeenth birthday, so I know it's December the tenth. We've had a good dinner at Kara's; I'm not drinking because I'm on duty at eleven o'clock, and ever since the meeting I've had one eye over the causeway, all the time, even when I'm not there.
The night's freezing and silent as I take a slow ride down to the barricade. There are six of us on watch: me, John, Paul and Stefan, and Ash and Jez from the Hadrian.
We spend many hours together, we watchers. We read, we play cards, anything to pass the time. We take the piss out of Dex, Marcus and each other, discuss the physical merits of the various women of Lindisfarne. Now and again, we talk about the past. Tonight, though, is one of those times when we're all tired and don't have much to say. Worse, no one thought to bring any coffee. Paul's moaning about being cold.
"Aye, you will be," says Jez. "It's December on the north east coast of England, dickbrain."
Paul says he's 'coming down with something', and goes to sit in one of the cars.
It happens shortly after midnight.
We see headlights, far away.
"Aye-up," says John, looking through his scope. "What we got here, then?"
It's only one vehicle, so I tell my beating heart to calm the hell down.
"Well, when they get here, tell them to fuck off back wherever they came from, and let me get some kip." Paul gets out, leaning on the door. "What sort of pillock turns up at this time of night?"
Jez looks at him like he's a total waste of space. Which he is. "The sort of pillock who wants to catch us kipping in cars, you dumb fuck." He looks through his scope, too. "Transit van."
We need to be ready. "Jez, do you want to sound that horn?"
"Will do." He does; I know it's loud enough to be heard at the entrance to the village because we tested it, but I'm scared the sound will float off on the night air.
"Do it again. Several times."
"I dunno 'bout that," says Stefan. "Won't it just alert them? Y' know, get them ready for a fight?"
"Anyone driving up here at this time of night is ready for one anyway."
"He's right," says Jez. He turns round. "Lincoln, get your arse back up here and get in position."
He sounds the horn again, three blasts, a pause, then three more—and the vehicle is in sight.
"Shit," mutters Ash. "Behind the cars. Now."
We crouch down. The van stops, but no one gets out. We can't see a damn thing; the windows are black, too.
My heart's thudding.
Still nothing.
Stefan and Jez pop their heads up to look.
"Move the cars. Now!" A loud hailer from inside the van.
This is it.
We don't move.
The passenger door swings open and we can't see anyone, but a gun is fired. Stefan falls.
I'm shaking like a fucking leaf. John leans over to check Stefan; Ash, Jez and I hold our weapons at the ready.
"Move the cars!"
"Fuck this," mutters Paul, and I'm dimly aware of him creeping backwards into a car; I hear him starting it up, screeching it round and heading back to the island.
One less obstacle in their path, one less person to fight.
"That useless cunt!" growls Jez.
"Move the cars!"
There's nowhere to hide, except behind them.
Someone moves out of the passenger door and Jez edges out and shoots; the man falls back, clutching his chest, but there are others now, out of the side of the van, using the front doors as a shield; Jez has the only illuminated scope so the rest of us are just shooting into the darkness, and Ash goes down.
Three left.
John is beside me, holding his gun up
; I can feel him shaking. "We need to shift the cars. Stef and Ash aren't moving, we need to get them back—"
"Shut the fuck up," Jez snarls. "You're here to defend this place, not open the fucking doors and welcome 'em in." He pops up and shoots; I hear the bullet ricochet off a flat surface.
"There's a van full," I say, "and three of us." All the same, I take a shot. One of them yelps and lurches back, but he keeps coming.
More fire.
John flops down beside me; for a moment I think he's hit, but he's not, he's just terrified.
"I'm not dying," he says. "If we don't move them, they'll kill us and get through anyway."
"Get up!" says Jez.
John and I both do as he says, and fire. We both miss.
I sneak a look. There are about ten of them, all in dark clothes, black ski masks, though I can only count six guns.
John slumps back down again. "Jez, there's too many. We'll die, and so will Stef and Ash if we don't get them back."
"Fuck," mutters Jez, and stands up, hands raised. "Don't shoot!"
"Move the cars!"
We move the cars. Then duck down behind them just in case any of the men in black get trigger-happy on the way through.
As the van disappears across the causeway, my only hope is that Ray and Wyatt, at the entrance to the village, have sounded their horn to let everyone know, and get prepared.
Jez holds his hands up. "I can't fucking believe we did that."
John shines his torch on Ash and Stefan; they're not moving. We lift them into the cars.
"I've got to go," I say. "My kid."
"Yeah, you go," says Jez.
"Sound the horn again," I say, as I leap onto my bike. "Over and fucking over!"
All I can think of is Jax. Vicky. Lottie. Aria. I feel bad about leaving John and Jez, but I've got to get my son to safety.
For all our talk, we were totally unprepared.
I roar off in the freezing darkness, through the barricade at the entrance to the island —also open, the guys nowhere to be seen—and zoom into the village, screeching to a stop down Sandy Lane. I barge straight through the door of number four—thank God, thank God, they've heard the horn, Kara and Phil are armed and ready to go, Lottie's holding, too (she actually looks excited), Vicky is as white as a sheet but she's got a knife, Dex is shoving on a balaclava and checking his gun, and I run upstairs, because I can't see my son anywhere, but there he is, sitting on the side of his bed, putting on his boots and wiping the sleep from his eyes.
