The Undead (Book 23): The Fort

by Haywood, R. R.

  Out of the office into the wall of heat rising higher within the walls of the fort. No breeze, no air and the sun glaring down.

  ‘Lenski!’

  ‘What?’ she turns as she walks, looking to Agatha throwing a bottle of water over.

  ‘Drink love, you look hot…’

  She catches the bottle, unscrewing the top to glug the warm water while glancing over to the rows of rough looking shelters already put up. Everyone now back to work. Everyone back to sweating and she reaches the hub of building work near the new toilet blocks. Timber stacked ready for cutting. Sheets of ply wood of varying thickness. Tool boxes and bags. Boxes of nails and screws. Hand tools everywhere. People with pencils behind ears and cigarettes hanging from lips.

  John spots her coming, waving for her attention. ‘Lenski…was there a building here before?’

  ‘Yes. A place for visitors.’

  ‘Visitors centre,’ Pardip says, clicking his fingers. ‘Makes sense now.’

  ‘What happened to it?’ Simar asks.

  ‘Same as everywhere,’ Lenski says. ‘Things break. Things burn. Things fall down…old world is broken. We are the new world yes?’

  ‘One way of looking at it,’ John mutters. ‘Anyway, we’ve got foundations here…’

  ‘To build on,’ Pardip says. ‘We’ve got drainage, water pipes….’

  ‘And we spoke to Agatha,’ John continues, making Lenski look from one to the other as they speak.

  ‘She said it’s the right size for her,’ Pardip says. ‘We can put a cooking section and a covered area for people to eat in…bench seats, big tables…like a refectory.’

  ‘I know this. Canteen yes,’ Lenski says.

  ‘What do you think?’ John asks.

  ‘Yes. Do this. Build this here. Is good. But we only have five toilets and four showers. Is many people now. Build one more of each then do this next. Is okay? Agatha needs more shelves too for food rooms…’ she says, spotting a group of people standing by the edge of tent-town watching Colin and a couple of his workers fashion another shelter. She frowns, squints and nods to herself. ‘Pamela…’ she mutters, finally seeing where the woman has been hiding.

  Pamela stands back while watching people try to get a shelter rigged up over their section, her arms at her sides. Her face, arms and neck red from the sun. A dozen people about her, all of whom were lying in the sun when Colin politely asked if they wouldn’t mind just moving over a little bit so they could quickly pop a shelter up.

  ‘Um, so…if you get your end in first there, Joanne…yes that’s it. Try and drive it in,’ Colin says, holding a pole at one corner. The three other corners held by volunteers working all day to help get shelters up. A big expanse of tarpaulin already tied onto the poles making it unwieldy and hard to control, all of them sweating, all of them struggling in the intense heat and all of that made so much worse by the running commentary coming their way.

  ‘How fucking hard is it?’ Tommy calls. ‘Fucking incompetent…why’d do you make it so bloody big?’

  ‘Just the size it came in,’ Colin replies, his face a deep shade of crimson from both the heat and the pressure of being watched by so many people.

  ‘Who’s using it then?’ Tommy asks, seeing it stretch over several patches of ground.

  ‘Well, as many as can get under it I would think…’

  ‘Oh right. We’re fucking sharing then are we. The fucking golden bollock family get their own shelter but we have to share…’

  ‘Sorry, who?’ Colin asks as Joanna struggles to get her pole in the ground, her eyes constantly darting to the angry Tommy and his group.

  ‘Them!’ Tommy yells angrily, pointing at the Singh family section covered by a sheet.

  ‘We’re just using what we have,’ Colin says nervously. ‘Come on now, we’re only trying…’

  ‘Fucking joke. They get the best patch… a shelter all of their own…letting ‘em work in the kitchens to get more food. Eh? Bigger portions is it? Creaming it off the top yeah?’

  ‘Other people have their own shelters too,’ Joanne says.

  ‘Who asked you?’ Tommy demands, making her flinch. ‘Sticking your oar in. Fuck me. Can’t say a fucking word in this place…’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean anything,’ Joanne says.

  ‘Perhaps you could help,’ one of the workers on another corner says.

  ‘I watched my fucking wife die,’ Tommy shouts, bridling instantly, chest puffing up, eyes glaring. ‘Right in front of my own eyes…I got slipped discs and…’

  ‘Pamela!’ Lenski snaps, cutting Tommy off as she steams towards them. ‘Why are you here? What this? Why you all watch? Why not working?’

  ‘Oh here we fucking go,’ Tommy sneers. ‘Comes over with a gun threatening everyone…’

  ‘I no threaten. You work. Pamela, go to office. Is new people…’

  ‘But my knee and…I think I got heatstroke and…’ Pamela blurts.

  ‘Go!’ Lenski snaps, glaring as Pamela rushes off.

  ‘Alright alright, Jesus love,’ Tommy says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. ‘We’re all sick we are. Got slipped discs in my back, Pat here can’t think straight. Keithy is a mess. Karl’s got problems with his…’

  Lenski tuts, scowling at them all. ‘You here for days now. Not new. You rested. You work now. Put shelters up. Colin. Leave this…they do it.’

  ‘Fuck me! Trying to explain and you get threatened! Get told to work or get a kicking. This what this place is yeah? I watched my FUCKING WIFE DIE,’ he screams the words out, flushing with instant rage designed to make her wilt and run away but Lenski just tuts at him, shaking her head with disdain.

  ‘Colin, take this shelter. Put in other place. Over there…yes? Working people need shade. These people no work. They no have shelter…’

  ‘What did you fucking say?’ Tommy demands.

  ‘Colin, go,’ she says, waving the frightened man and his workers away before looking back to Tommy and the dozen or so people about him. ‘You lazy. You no work. You lie in sun. Drink tea. Everyone else sweat and get sick from working in this heat. You want shelter. Make it. Put it up. Work…’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Keith says. ‘We’ve got human rights…’

  ‘Now just hang on a moment,’ Patricia snaps.

  ‘I no wait moment. You want shelter. You ask for material and you make it. You want to eat. You work for it…’

  This isn’t right. Tommy is used to scaring people. His tattoos. His angry voice and the projection of violence but Lenski shows no fear and just withers him on the spot with a single look.

  ‘You lazy,’ she says simply, giving them all a disgusted look. ‘All of you. I speak to the cooks. You get basic food only. Water only…’ she strides off after Pamela, leaving a stunned Tommy behind in her wake.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Pamela says, pausing to let her catch up. ‘I was like trying to make friends with them so I could encourage them to work but they were all, fuck this, fuck that and I’m like hey come on guys, everyone has to do their bit and Lenski’s working so hard and those guys are like doing everything they can and Lilly is so amazing and we…’

  ‘You smell,’ Lenski snaps, catching a waft of body odour, stale urine, shit and filth coming from Pamela. ‘Use showers. They work now,’ she adds, heedless to the look of shock mingled with horror on Pamela’s grime streaked face. ‘Take new people around then please go and wash. Get new clothes. Disease is spread by not washing.’

  ‘But but…the kids were trying to sex me and…like I was too scared to go into a shower cubicle in case they came back and…’

  Lenski walks off. A hundred other things to do and a hundred other things to think about.

  Tommy watches them go. Seething with righteous anger. Furious at the way Lenski spoke to him in front of everyone. He glances to Colin rushing away with their shelter and balls his hands at his side into fists. ‘Fucking joke,’ he mutters.

  ‘Half rations?’ Karl asks quie
tly, looking at the others. ‘Can she do that?’

  ‘Course she can’t fucking do that,’ Tommy snaps. ‘Keithy said it. We’ve got human rights…fucking cheeky cunt. Did you hear her? Couldn’t say a word. Had that gun she did. Fucking coming over here threatening us all with a gun…’

  ‘Er, she didn’t really like do anything with the gun,’ Mathew suggests, lifting a hand as he speaks.

  ‘But she bloody had it,’ Tommy shouts, glaring so hard it makes Mathew look away. ‘And you can bet she’d have pulled it out and started firing the bloody thing. The Polish are like that. Mark my words. That’s what this is. Fucking immigrants telling the English what to do in their own fort. Got the fucking darkie family eating the best food and getting the best shelter and the fucking Polish making everyone else eat their scraps…fucking joke. I got slipped discs. S’not our fault we can’t fuckin work…’ he trails off. Thinking of all his old tricks he would use when the government started insisting he got a job. A nod. An idea. ‘Wait here,’ he says, marching off with his thick arms swinging by his sides.

  Five minutes later he steps inside the infirmary. The air cooler. The atmosphere quieter. Muted even.

  He moves from the door into the main section, eyeing the people in beds. An old woman drugged and unconscious. Kids in bandages and dressings with life-altering injuries caused by grenades and bullets the night Lilly took the fort back.

  He spots others too. Workers from John’s section with work-related injuries. Cuts, sprains and many with heat-stroke sitting quietly. Some with drips attached.

  ‘Help you?’ Andrew asks, spotting Tommy loitering. ‘We’re really busy…so unless it’s something serious…’

  ‘Yeah I need a note.’

  ‘A what now?’ Andrew asks.

  ‘Got slipped discs haven’t I. Putting me on half rations cos I got a back injury and…’

  ‘Sorry,’ Andrew says, lifting a hand to cut him off. ‘Not now. Come back another time…’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Lisa asks, walking down the central aisle.

  ‘He wants a note or something,’ Andrew says, already turning away.

  ‘What for?’ Lisa asks, looking from Andrew to Tommy, seeing the tattooed arms and legs, the unshaven face, the roughness about him. ‘What for?’ she asks again.

  ‘Slipped discs and she said we can’t eat or have shelter just cos we can’t carry heavy wood about and…’

  ‘Listen, you need to take that up with someone else,’ Lisa says, turning away the same as Andrew.

  ‘Fucking figures,’ Tommy mutters. ‘In it with them are you? Getting the best food yeah?’

  She looks back at him, ready to tell him to piss off. She’s knows his type from her time as a GP. People that don’t want to work. Angry, cynical, bitter, entitled and vicious at anything that doesn’t mirror their own exact identity, except she pauses, thinking for a second. ‘Come down to the office,’ she says, motioning Tommy to follow her.

  ‘Lisa?’ Andrew asks, watching her walk off with Tommy.

  ‘Be five minutes,’ Lisa says, leading Tommy into a private room. ‘Tell me again what happened…’

  ‘We’s all hurt ain’t we. Me, Keithy, Pat, that’s Keithy’s wife. Er, Matty, Karl, few others…like we’ve got hurt. I got slipped discs and I watched my wife die and tried to fight the things having her then hid in my garage and like, I saved loads of people on the way here then we get in and we’re trying to get better so’s we can help but that fucking Polish woman comes screaming over with her gun saying we’s got to work and we don’t get any shelter and like, we can just eat scraps…didn’t fucking listen to a word we said. We’re trying to explain and she just fucks off…’

  ‘Sure,’ Lisa says, listening intently. ‘Slipped discs you say? Which ones?’

  ‘I dunno, like I was ready for tests when it all happened, but they reckoned that’s what it was. Fucking joke. We’re like slaves. Can’t say a word, and I ain’t racist or anything, some of my mates are black but they’re giving everything to them Pakis…’

  ‘They’re Indian, but I understand,’ Lisa says, turning away to rummage through boxes, opening drawers. ‘So basically, Lilly is denying you your basic human rights. Shelter, food, time to recover…’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tommy says, nodding eagerly at hearing what he wants to hear.

  ‘That’s the way it’s going in here I’m afraid,’ Lisa says. ‘It’s how dictators start. But…ah here we are,’ she finds a notepad of white pre-formatted sheets. ‘NHS sick-notes,’ she says, pulling a pen out. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Tommy. Tommy Barnstable.’

  ‘Better just check you over…turn around…pain in your back?’

  ‘Yeah, like…’

  ‘Down here I would say,’ Lisa says, prodding a random point in his back.

  ‘Ouch! Fuck me, yeah that’s sore as anything…’

  ‘Sure,’ she says, writing on the pad. ‘Severe back trauma, possible damage to the sciatic nerve, rest needed for recovery,’ she explains as she writes. ‘There you go,’ she peels it off, handing the note to Tommy. ‘Find someone to present that to and I hope you feel better soon, Mr Barnstable. If you get any more concerns you come straight back to me…’

  ‘Yeah cheers,’ he heads out feeling pleased as Punch and stops at coming face to face with Pamela on her way in with a group of new arrivals behind her.

  ‘Oh my god,’ Pamela whispers. ‘She’s so fucking rude. That Lenski. I said to her, I said they’re all sick and just resting and you should, you know, totally go easy on them and she’s like they no work they no eat. I am in charge. This is my fort… then she’s all like you stink like a pig, Pamela. You dirty fat cunt. Go and wash you dirty fat cunt…’

  ‘She said that?’ Tommy asks, thinking actually Pamela could do with a good wash.

  ‘Yeah,’ Pamela says, nodding eagerly. ‘I said I was raped by all of those kids and I’m scared to go in a cubicle on my own, but she said I was a liar and told me to fuck off and get back to work and said I couldn’t eat or drink until she says. What’s that?’ she asks, seeing the note paper in Tommy’s hand.

  ‘Sick note,’ Tommy says, winking at her. ‘That lady doctor did it. She said to tell anyone else that can’t work to go see her…here, do me a favour if you go into them food rooms. Get us a choccy bar to eat yeah? Fucking starving. There’s my girl…’

  He heads off, thinking to take his sick-note to the office to that Polish bitch. She’s fit though. Tommy would do her. He’d bend her over a table and have a right old go on it. Mind you, he’d need some Viagra. His dick doesn’t stay up like it did a few years back. That Lisa will probably give him some.

  He spots Lenski coming back in through the gates. Admiring her body but then remembering he heard she only fucks black guys. Then he spots the people with her and comes to a stop. Men with beards. Dark skinned men. Baggy trousers, linen robes and those hats they wear. Muslims. Women in black robes with head-scarves wrapped about their heads. Full on fucking Muslims coming in like they own the place with Lenski stopping to explain how they can take what they want and do fuck all, and Tommy rushes off, the forgotten sick-note still clutched in his hand.

  Chapter Ten

  Day Twenty Two

  The days draws to a close and the fort grows busier as the bay workers return. All of them burnt from the sun and so exhausted they should be cowed and sullen with heads drooped.

  Except they’re not.

  They trudge back in smiling and joking from a bond between them all. That they set forth this morning in the boats and not only attacked the day head on, they saw it through even when they were bleeding and hurt.

  ‘Here they are,’ Agatha calls out from the cooking section, her eyes constantly flicking to the gate to see who is coming and going. ‘What happened to your arm, Martin? Bless you all. You limping, Brian? Blimey. Been through the wars eh? Over there working so hard. Food won’t be long now. Come and sit down, have a cuppa. Colin’s rigged some shade up he h
as…’

  Lilly and her team come in after them. Securing the gates before they head up to the office to see Lenski as the four children sprint across the fort to see them.

  ‘It’s changing,’ Agatha remarks.

  ‘Changing?’ Sunnie asks.

  ‘The fort, it’s changing…people are getting some confidence back they are…’

  Sunnie stops working, drying her hands on a cloth draped over her shoulder. ‘Was it that bad?’

  ‘Bloody awful it was. I told you, them bloody kids had everyone too scared to do anything. Lilly’s turned it around she has, and now we’ve got John and your Pardip, and Colin’s doing his work…makes a difference. I’m telling you…everyone working so hard and getting it done.’

  Tommy works hard too. Sweating freely with his top off and his swollen gut wobbling and hanging over the edge of his shorts. ‘Get your end up, Matty…good lad…now, Karl, you get over to Matty and drive it in…Pat, what you doing, love?’

  ‘It’s really awkward,’ Patricia says, struggling to hold the pole.

  ‘Keithy, get over and help Pat…Gwen love, lift your end up. Bleeding hell, Gwen. Up a bit more. That’s it. Right, now hold it nice and tight....’

  They made the shelter themselves after Tommy got back from the infirmary and told them about the muzzies invading, and how everything was going to shit, and they needed to stick together and get their own base sorted out pronto.

  ‘I’m tellin’ ya. We need to protect our patch before those fuckers take over…right, where we getting the material from? Might have to ask that wanker, Colin…’

  ‘I know where there’s some of that waterproof stuff,’ Pamela said, hunkering down out of sight from Lenski while handing out stolen chocolate bars taken from the food rooms.

  ‘Where?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘One of the rooms in the walls,’ she said and took them over. A big group skulking across to a far corner in the back wall.

  ‘Pat, Keithy, you speak posh so you keep an eye out,’ Tommy said, slipping inside the filthy rooms with Pamela. A length of rolled up tarpaulin. Big too. They carried it back to their section then went back to root through the rooms, finding poles, sticks and string.