by Terry Tyler
"Thirty exactly." He grins, and delves back into his truck for his kitbag. "Well, it was thirty-one, but one of them had a bit of an accident."
"What sort of accident?"
He laughs. "The sort that makes you stop breathing. Hence thirty, not thirty-one."
I feel sick. "Who?"
"Don't fret, your boyfriend's safe." He swings his bag over his shoulder. "We'll give 'em a few months. Another winter should sort 'em, but they've had their chance; if any turn up here now, begging for a crust of bread, they'll be sent straight to Mercia; we need more bodies there. Any case, we'll round 'em all up when we start clearing Scotland in April-May time. It's too dangerous up there right now. Fucking marauding Bravehearts with road blocks everywhere." He laughs. "Looks like the Jocks are still making their stand for independence!"
"So what was the name of the one who died?"
Barney shrugs. "Dunno. Some cunt. What's it to you?" He looks up at the dark sky, grey clouds about to burst, and shivers. "Time to batten down the hatches. Tell you what, I'd rather be here than huddled round a log fire in a damp house on that island. You wait, they'll trickle down here before the winter's out." He chortles. "Then we'll stick 'em in a van and send 'em straight back up the road!"
No. That can't happen.
Keeping my head down is no longer an option. I have to warn them. If I don't, I'll be like every coward throughout history who did nothing and looked the other way.
I need a plan. Time, at least, is on my side.
They need to get away, and I need to be with them.
Though where we're all going to go, I haven't got a clue.
Scotland? Or maybe a settlement that Barney thinks is already 'cleared'; that might work.
I mustn't panic.
I've got until April.
Meanwhile, I will keep my head down.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lottie
Five days earlier
Saturday, December 5th
Bullshit Barney's here again.
I'm on the barricade with Mac and some of the lads when he arrives, but he's not with Travis's nice mate Doyle this time. Just three henchmen who look like they emerged from under the same stone as him but left their brain cells back in the cave.
He gets out and waves, all big smiles, like he thinks we're going to be pleased to see him.
"Just passing through!" he calls up. "Dex asked me to call in and see you, special, like."
"What do you want?" Parks calls down.
"To see you guys!" He leans on the truck, dead casual. "Tell you how your chums are getting on, let you know 'bout some of the great stuff happening down Central since we last spoke!" He shivers, visibly. "Don't suppose anyone's got the kettle on, have they?"
We let them in. Parks sends Mac and me to escort them to Kara.
She doesn't look too happy to see him, either, but, like us, she can't help being curious about how our friends are. She says okay, she'll organise a get-together for lunchtime, in the Hudson; there being fewer of us now, we can all fit in comfortably.
Barney reminds me of Dex, in the way that he doesn't seem to care or even notice that people don't actually like him.
"Well, he's a salesman, isn't he?" Martin says, when I mention this. "Salesmen don't give a toss what people think of them, they just plug away until they get a result."
"Mum said he was a cop, before."
"I'm not talking about his job. I'm talking about his basic nature."
Being in the pub is a welcome relief from standing on the barricade. The December damp gets right into your bones; Audrey says I'll know what that means when I get to her age. It's dark and gloomy out, but we pile more wood onto the stove, light lanterns, Luke and Carla get the coffee going, and we settle down to hear what Bullshit Features has to say.
"So, has anyone had second thoughts about spending winter in their own clean, warm apartment, with a hot shower and a nice bit of TV of an evening?"
I look around, and see people glancing at each other. Clay's shivering; I see him nod at Zoe, like they've already been talking about it. Carla's daughter, Millie, looks at her and says, "Mu-um. TV. Can we go?"
Barney singles out Travis, and tells him Doyle says hi, and would really love him to come down and join him.
"Sure he would," says Travis. "So where is he?"
"Working hard in the Hub!" Barney grins. "In his comfortable, cosy office; you could be working in his team. Plenty of jobs for good data analysts. And, later, you get to go home to—"
"My nice warm flat where I can take a hot shower and play video games." Travis's face is deadpan. "I heard the sales patter the first time. Not interested."
Barney dips his head and puts up a hand. "Fine, fine. I ain't here to pressurise. Just to offer you the opportunity. UK Central has grown. We've got a population of nearly eight thousand now. Every one of your friends who left here has a job." He takes out a piece of paper from his top pocket and consults it. "Y'mate Suzanne—she's working as a behavioural counsellor at the school. Naomi's having a great time selling clothes, Steve's teaching, Nish and Ian have got their white coats back on; they're in the medical lab. Tom's building his muscles on the building site—they're all settled in, moving forward, know what I'm saying? And Flora Holden, she's the big success story. Totally loved up with this guy Chester, and they're having a baby, to be delivered in our fully staffed clinic; whaddya think of that?"
Again, I see people glance at each other. Like they're being taken in.
"It does sound tempting," says Carla.
Barney grins. "Too right. We got, you know, a sense of community." He fixes his gaze on Lucas. "An honest day's work for an honest day's pay. Ain't that what we all want?"
He chose the wrong person to address that to. Lucas laughs.
"Told you the first time. Anything I want, I can find, without clocking in or tugging my forelock to some dick-for-brains. Tomorrow, I'm going out on the supply run. I'll be out for a few hours, getting everything I need, going where I want, when I want." He stares at Barney. "So, basically, no offence, mate, but you can shove your 'honest day's work for an honest day's pay' up your arse. Sideways, with big spikes on."
Barney doesn't flinch, even though people laugh, and the henchmen take a step forward.
"Fine, fine. But let me ask you this: have you had any trouble from outsiders lately? Any undesirables trying to break your impenetrable barricade?"
Jez laughs, loudly. "Aye, last month, and they won't be coming back!"
"Can you be sure? How much ammo did it take to get rid of them? How do you know they won't come back? Climb over y'wall? Arrive by boat? In Central we got all entrances manned, twenty-four-seven, by perimeter guards, with proper sophisticated military equipment. You can go about your normal day knowing you're safe."
Lucas makes a token attempt at heckling, but, unlike before, he gets no back-up laughter. The fear of invasion scares most people even more than not having enough to eat.
There's no tour of the island this time. No evening at the castle; that's unoccupied now and stocked with basic supplies and weapons, so we can use it as a fortress if the worst happens.
"We'll take our leave on that note," Barney says. "Duty calls; as I said, we're off to a few places around and about." He looks around to gauge our reaction. "UK2 is a reality, it's happening. You can't hold back progress. It's what, Sat'day now? I lose track these days, don't you? But I'll come back Wednesday. By which time we'll have sent home a truck load of people who've made the right decision." He looks at several of those who are wavering, like Carla. "Be one of them."
Stupid tit.
I don't wait to listen to everyone discussing it, and saying all the same things they said last time. Most of all, I don't want to hear anyone saying they're going.
Sunday, December 6th
Why don't you get a warning when serious shit is going to happen? Like, dark rumbling clouds and a raven cawing at the window? I don't even see any one-for-sorrow magpies
up here.
Today starts off the same as any other day. Kara gets up early and sets off for Pinkham's café where the supply run group meets, and she's moaning about having to go via Lucas's house to get him up because he's a lazy so-and-so. Phil's getting ready to drive up to the farm; Mac, Mum and I are having a lazy day, but Mum says we could perhaps get some washing done, and I grumble 'cause I want to curl up by the fire and read. Same old, same old.
We don't even talk about Barney and UK Central, because we're not going.
In the end Ozzy and Myra come round; Myra and Mum do a jigsaw while Ozzy, Mac and me have a few beers and play strip Scrabble.
Later, though, just as the tide is about to turn, Phil comes back but Kara doesn't.
He says the water was starting to cover the causeway even when he came home, and I can see he's beginning to fret.
When she does come back, she has bad news. Five of them went out, but only four have returned.
Lucas is missing.
"We stayed as late as we dared, to look for him," she says.
They were in a village near Bamburgh, just down the coast.
"We went into every building, shouted our heads off, but he was just nowhere."
"You don't think he could have just gone off?" I ask. "He's a bit of a flake, isn't he? He might have suddenly decided to bugger off without telling anyone."
"He's happy here," says Mum. "And he wouldn't leave Bev, Kelly and Rob; they've been through so much together."
"What we gonna do, then?" asks Ozzy. He looks at his watch. "Tide's coming in; next low's around ten; we could go look for him then. Could've gone down a cellar, fallen and knocked himself out."
"Okay, but no more than one car, fuel's too low," Phil says. "And take only the strongest, most able people. I'm thinking, if anything bad's happened to him, if he's been taken by someone—"
"Tell you what I've been worried about," says Ozzy. "Cannibals. It happens. People get hungry and desperate. Some will do anything, just to stay alive."
Mum shudders. "Ozzy, don't. You'd have to be some sort of monster."
"Yeah, we think that. But you can't judge every psycho out there by our standards."
Kara stands up. "Yes, well, can we just assume he's fallen, for now? And I don't want that talk going round the island, Oz. There's enough to worry about as it is."
She goes round to Lucas's house to assure his gang that we're doing all we can, and, as soon as the tide is on its way out, Parks, Rob and Ozzy go out to look for him.
"If he's there, we'll find him," Parks tells Bev, who is doing her nut.
I'm glad he doesn't ask Mac to go. Not if there are marauding flesh-eaters out there. Ha!
They don't find him. We stay up; they arrive back just after one in the morning.
"We looked everywhere," Parks says. "Every bastard cellar, even the attics. Nowt."
What they don't know is that they drove right past him on the way back. He might have even tried to call out to them.
That thought is going to haunt us all, for a long time.
Monday, December 7th
I wake up just as the dawn is breaking, i.e. about eight, it being December. I boot Mac out of bed; he's on watch at ten-thirty.
It's a beautiful day. Bright blue sky, dead frosty. I love winter days like this. I go downstairs, light a fire and put on a pan of water for coffee, toast the slightly stale bread in the fire with a toasting fork, and eat it with masses of this totally lush cherry jam that Carla makes. It's kind of tart, with huge lumps of cherry. Mac staggers down five minutes later, because he knows I won't wait for him before I make the coffee.
"I feel like cack," he says, and kisses me. He reeks of last night's cigarettes, but I don't mind. Not enough not to kiss him back, anyway. He takes the cup of coffee from me, and yawns. "Wonder if they'll find Lucas today."
"It's scary, isn't it?"
"Aye, it is that." He grins at me from under his dark, floppy fringe. "Do us some o' that toast and jam, pet."
We eat, snuggled round the fire. I'm wearing my huge fluffy dressing gown, two pairs of socks, the pyjamas I wore in bed—no sexy nighties in December on Lindisfarne!— and I'm still cold. I was going to brave a bath today, but a squirt of Right Guard will have to do. Then I snuggle closer to Mac and realise that he definitely needs one.
"We've got time for a bath before your shift," I say, and jump up. "Come on. Go get the water!"
It takes ages to boil enough to sit in and it's bloody freezing in the bathroom so we keep getting spongefuls of warm water to squeeze over each other's shoulders, but at least we don't honk any more. Afterwards we shiver in huge towels and have a very quiet shag on the bathroom floor; we can hear the others getting up. After hearing Rowan and Dex on the job, I am über-careful to make sure nobody ever hears us. Beyond gross!
It's still bright, beautiful and freezing cold when we leave the house, and we put crash helmets on for warmth. I feel good, and to be honest I'm not thinking about Lucas as we drive slowly out of the village and down the windy road past the mud flats and dunes. Mac knows to go slowly, because I like to take in my surroundings and look at the birds.
We get to the causeway, and I'm smiling at the landscape because it's so bloody beautiful; I wish I could record days like this in my mind and play them over and over. You know, like people used to do with those phone things we had way back then.
Then I see it.
I don't notice it at first because it's out in the distance, but as we get closer I see a large lumpy thing propped up against the lookout tower near the far end of the causeway.
At first I think it's a big bag of rubbish, but as we get closer I can tell it's not.
I tap Mac on the shoulder.
"Mac, over there, by the tower. Look."
Even before we get there, even before I identify the large lumpy thing as a human being, I know what it is. Who it is.
It's Lucas.
I can't help it, I start to cry, because I'm panicking.
He's tied round his torso to a post, bound fast. His hands are roped behind his back, his feet and legs taped together, and he's gagged. All his clothes are completely saturated.
Mac leaps off the back and puts his hand to Lucas's throat, his wrists. "Shit. He's gone."
There's a weird hue to his face, because, as we suss out PDQ, he's been submerged in water for hours.
"Oh Jesus," I whisper. "Who the fuck did this?"
We start to free him, which is bloody hard because his sodden clothes have made him super heavy, and he's all stiff and weird, which I suppose is rigor mortis, and our hands are so cold.
Mac says, "Shit, is this my fault for laughing at them?"
"Who?"
"That shite Jonas and his mob. Fuck. Fuck." He looks out, narrowing his eyes against the sunlight as he tries to rip the tape from Lucas's legs. "Musta come by boat. It's the only way. So we're not safe, barricade or not."
I'm quivering and shivering; I don't think I've ever felt so scared. "Shit, what are we going to do?"
"Dunno, pet. If they've found a place they can launch from, and they've got a boat, they turn up any time they like." He shakes his head. "Fucking hell."
"We'll have to keep up a watch at the entrance to the village, too, like we used to."
"Aye, but if they come by boat that means nowt, 'cause they can land anywhere."
I stop and think for a moment. "Wasn't Jonas's camp supposed to be miles away? D'you remember—when Adam told us he was shouting his mouth off about us, he said it was at a camp across the North Yorks Moors."
"Aye." Mac shoves his fringe out of his eyes, and pulls the tape off Lucas's mouth, the piece of rag out from inside it. "But they could've been holed up somewhere, waiting for us, or moved on, to somewhere nearer here. Or it could be someone else; we don't know what Lucas did or who he pissed off before he came here. I mean, I liked him, but he was a gobshite, wasn't he?"
I kneel, rubbing my hands up and down my arms; it's not just the col
d that's making me shiver. Mac sits down on the cold, frosty road, and starts pulling Lucas's clothes away.
"Pet, I don't think he was dead. Before he drowned, I mean. Look, there's no gunshot wound, no bang to the head, no ligature marks round his neck, nowt." He looks up at me. "I think he was tied to the post alive." He pauses. "If I'm right, it means he watched that freezing water coming in. Knew he was going to drown."
"Oh, my God. Oh, fucking hell." I touch our friend's cold face. "Poor, poor Lucas."
"What sort of sadistic fuck would do that?" Mac pulls his sleeves up from his wrists. "Look. His skin's red raw. He struggled. Mebbies right up until it was too late. Bit of luck, he passed out with hypothermia before that happened."
Tears flood my eyes. Kneeling up, I lean forward and kiss Lucas's wet forehead. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry this happened to you."
We see John's van come down the causeway, and Mac stands up, waving to alert him.
Another body to bury. Another tree to plant.
On the way back, I think about what Mac said. Or it could be someone else he upset. And I remember someone he's mouthed off to, recently.
Barney.
Most of us gather in the pub except for those on watch, and Kelly and Bev, who are in too much of a state to do anything apart from sit by the fire, drink brandy and cry.
"We're not as safe as we thought," Kara says. "From now on, we'll have two watches, each manned by four people, round the clock; the other will be at the entrance to the village. We stay armed at all times, and nobody goes anywhere alone, not even on the farm, and especially not when we're out on supply runs."
"You really think it was Jonas's gang?" Dan says. "I don't. You didn't see them; they couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery, let alone what happened to Lucas."
"Managed to shoot you, though, didn't they?" says Jez, with a grin.
Dan ignores him. "I reckon it was that Barney dickhead. Showing us who's boss."
"I do as well," I say.
