Lilly takes it all in. Seeing the new world moving on. A world without people. Without fumes or smog. She opens her window and leans out to breathe deep, catching scent of flowers and all sorts of things she would never have smelled before. They pass buildings and structures. Seeing houses with smashed in doors or broken windows. Others look intact. A car abandoned in the road ahead and bodies further down the road. Half-eaten by birds and whatever else creatures took a fancy. The bones showing through the skin.
They keep a wide route around the big towns and go a few miles north to get by Portsmouth as they head towards Southampton. The two of them chatting but only about the now, about life now and not the past. Not what they were. Not who they were. It’s not relevant. It doesn’t matter.
At the bay, the day grows hot again. Searing and crushing. Sweat pouring. Sam, Pea, Joan and Kyle doubling up as guards to slow the incoming cars down.
Pamela on the shore outside the fort smiling at the next incoming boat full of refugees. ‘Hi, I’m Pammie,’ she says, offering a wave and waiting as they disembark and grab their bags. ‘Follow me,’ she sets off and pauses inside to let them gawp at the fort and the work underway. ‘I need to take your names and details again then I’ll get you round the fort…’
Into the infirmary. Down the main aisle to the glowering form of Doctor Lisa Franklin
‘I know right,’ Pamela says, tutting and rolling her eyes. ‘What a joke. Lenski’s like totally making me bring them over. I said to her look, Len, there’s no point doing a double medical check. But she’s all like you go. Do not argue.’
‘Well, we’re in a dictatorship,’ Lisa says, smiling coldly at the new arrivals. ‘Hmmm? How do you like that? Prepared for a little tyrant ordering you about? And I hope for god’s sake none of you are Muslims. You get shot for that here apparently. Anyway, you all look fine so go away…’
Pamela leads them out back into the sunshine, traipsing through the staggering heat. ‘…and yeah so like, I totally got fingered and Lilly was the same and we’re like working through our grief together, but I can’t talk about that as it’s private…anyway, so this is the food section. HELLO, SUNNIE. I. HAVE. NEW. PEOPLE. HERE…’
‘Why do you keep doing that?’ Sunnie asks as Pamela slips past her and through to the back, pretending to be looking about in interest. A quick look about and she scurries to the end room, the one filled with the goodies, snacks, booze, packets of cigarettes and rolling tobacco. Pockets filled, and things shoved into her knickers and bra before she strolls back out, fanning her face to show she’s super hot and only seeking shade.
‘So, this is your patch,’ Pamela tells them a few minutes later, pointing at a newly vacated patch of ground under a stretch of tarpaulin.
‘Did they really start all this?’ one of them asks, glaring over at the Muslim family.
‘Um, dunno…probably, so like, don’t go touching them or anything…bye then!’
She walks off into Tommy’s tent and another hive of activity underway with more sticks and poles being fashioned to make rooms inside.
‘Watchya get?’ Tommy asks, leading to his private section and he watches eagerly as she pulls the front of her top down to show her fat breasts spilling from her bra and the many things bulging out of the material. ‘Bloody hell,’ he mutters at the sight of so many stolen goodies.
A thrill inside from him watching and she starts pulling the things out slowly, as though being erotic and tugging her bra down a bit more as she does. ‘Yeah come on,’ he urges without interest in her boobs. ‘Ain’t got all day…just flop ‘em out if it’s quicker…I’ll give you a hand…’
He does too. Flopping her fat breasts out to grab the food and packets of smokes and she blinks, slightly stunned when he tweaks her nipples and winks. ‘Good girl…you got anything else?’
‘In my knickers,’ she whispers with hearts shining in her eyes that a real human man touched her boobs.
‘Get it out then,’ he says quickly. ‘You want me to do it? You dirty girl…’ he tuts and winks again, hoisting her skirts up to delve into the huge knickers, hiding the grimace at feeling a mass of wiry pubic hair. ‘Hiding it in the forest eh?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Yeah never mind…’ he says, pulling a small bottle of vodka out. ‘You beauty…get me more of this…booze, smokes…chocolate yeah? Good girl…off you go…’
She waddles out with a big grin and scurries off towards the gate thinking she might have actually found somewhere she can fit in. She never did in her old life. She just used to spend her time online trolling for attention, but she doesn’t have to do that anymore. Now she can have a boyfriend and he’ll like totally have a huge shop and be important and maybe even be a leader when Lenski and all them stuck up bitches fuck off.
Maleek stands at the edge of his section and offers a smile to the filthy look sent his way from Pamela as she rushes on by. His smile fades slowly and the worry shows in his soft brown eyes as he looks about at the barely concealed hostility coming from the people nearby and thinks maybe they made a mistake by coming here. He glances back to his family, to his brothers and finds himself caught out once more at seeing his wife’s face revealed to the world. He doesn’t mind that his wife must now show her face. He feels the wrongness of it in accordance with the will of Allah. Allah is everything and what Allah wills so be it, but Maleek also takes great pleasure in being able to see his wife and daughter smile.
Maleek didn’t realise, when he left Afghanistan, that so many Muslim countries around the world allowed their women to show their faces. Some even show their hair and many wear make-up and drive cars, some even work, like doctors and engineers, and although he could never have admitted so in Afghanistan, he secretly wished his daughter could be educated and feel the deep satisfaction that comes from mastering a skill.
That’s why he was so eager to come here, to this country after Ameer, his son, gained a prestigious scholarship and managed to get a few of their family out of the abject violence and suffering in their country.
They arrived in England with hope in their hearts, thinking it would be better, that it would be the start of a new life. His daughter would be educated. His nieces too. His wife, Damsa, could show her face, but they were immediately housed in a predominantly Muslim area on the outskirts of London and so the same pressures came back. The same adherence to strict laws that they suffered in their home country. The same threat of violence or worse if they didn’t abide and adhere to what was expected, and so Damsa and the other women remained covered and life stayed as it was before.
They stayed hidden and quiet when the world fell with skills learnt from living in warzones. Maleek and his brothers snuck out to find food now and then. That’s when they found the weapons. Stumbling into what looked like the scene of an awful attack with many bodies lying about the road. The guns were right there, dropped and left. They washed them off and took them back and it was having those guns that gave them the confidence to finally set out for the fort in the south. They’d heard it had order and security and hoped they would be admitted.
But now. Now it can be different, but he feels fear in his heart. Everyone is looking at them with hatred and hostility and he doesn’t know why. The blond girl, she made the women show they are not infected. Why then does everyone glare the way they are?
Maleek bites his bottom lip, deep in thought. They look different. He knows that, but they have Sikh’s here, and they aren’t getting the same level of angry looks. Black people too. They’re not being glared at.
‘Maleek,’ Damsa calls from behind. Her voice so soft and warm and he turns to look at her, caught out at seeing her face in public like this. She smiles sadly, seeing the worry in her husband’s eyes. ‘Either come and sit down or go and try…’
‘You’re scaring people,’ his brother Bashir says. ‘Standing there like that…’
Maleek nods, swallowing his fear. He must be brave. He must show courage, for his son, for his fami
ly.
‘I’ll try,’ he says.
‘Good,’ Damsa says, smiling at him standing there. ‘Go on then.’
‘I am.’
‘You’re not moving.’
‘I’m praying.’
‘Praying silently?’ she asks, humour in her eyes.
Maleek shrugs and smiles back at her. ‘I’ll go then…’ he sets off, nervous, scared and feeling every head snapping over to watch the Muslim man step from his patch of ground. He walks steadily, trying to show his hands, worrying they’ll think he has a bomb or a weapon or something. That thought makes him lift his hands a bit more.
‘What’s he doing?’ Damsa asks, rolling her eyes. ‘He looks mad…’
‘What’s he fucking doing?’ Tommy asks, his hard voice rolling out as Maleek passes by the big circus tent, nodding and smiling at people while showing them his empty hands. ‘Jihadi time is it? You try it in here mate and see what fucking happens…yeah, grinning at me like some wanker…’
Maleek nods and grins. His heart racing. Dread inside at moving even just a short distance from his family and he heads for the middle ground, for the work going on that all stops with people ceasing what they are doing to watch him go by.
This is not nice. Not nice at all. Everyone hates him. Everyone hates his family. He should go back. They should leave the fort. But no, he must try, and he heads for the big stack of wood, stopping beside Simar standing with his hands on his hips, tutting and huffing.
‘Half of this is no good,’ Simar says, not paying attention to whoever is next to him.
‘Half of that wood is no good for construction.’ Maleek says in his own fast and flowing language.
‘It’s taking me too long to sort it,’ Simar mutters, scratching at his beard. Not hearing and still not looking.
Maleek stares at the pile of stacked wood then turns to stare at the beginnings of the frame being constructed and nearly every person in sight watching him. ‘A frame of this size needs strong wood,’ he says, finally making Simar turn to look at him. The younger Sikh man hardly showing reaction to the Muslim standing next to him.
‘Sorry mate, what did you say like?’ Simar asks.
‘Most of this wood is not building timber…’ Maleek says, earnest and sincere as he points at the pile.
Simar shrugs, not understanding a word.
Maleek purses his lips, frowns, scratches his beard and tugs a length of wood out and turns to show Simar. ‘This is not building wood,’ he says and casts it aside to select another piece. ‘This is splintered,’ he says, running a finger over the crack and casting it with the other piece. ‘This is too short…this is brittle, it snaps too easy…this had termites or insects. Ah but this, this is good wood. Strong! Good.’
‘That’s a nice bit that is,’ Simar says, watching Maleek pull out a nice length of timber. ‘Good wood that.’
‘This is good wood,’ Maleek says.
Simar goes closer, tapping the timber. ‘GOOD WOOD,’ he points to the rotten stuff. ‘BAD WOOD.’
‘Good wood,’ Maleek says in a heavy accent, putting the good timber down before choosing another piece. ‘Good wood,’ he adds it to the first one then pulls out a rotten strip and shows it to Simar.
‘Bad wood,’ Simar says.
‘Bad wood,’ Maleek says, casting it over with the other crap stuff. ‘Good wood, bad wood,’ he adds, pointing at the two piles then at the big stack then at himself. ‘Good wood. Bad wood…’
‘Yes!’ Simar says, grinning widely. ‘Good wood…bad wood…Ah mate, that’s brill that is. You sort the wood. Good wood and bad wood…ah that’s great. I’m Simar…Simar, mate…me…SIMAR…’
‘Maleek,’ Maleek says, smiling as Simar takes his hand to shake.
‘Maleek?’ Simar asks, shaking his hand. ‘Great stuff. Bang on that is…’
‘I have no idea what you are saying,’ Maleek tells him.
‘Yeah sorry, no idea what you’re saying now,’ Simar says.
‘What’s going on?’ John asks, walking over. ‘Why’s everyone stopped working? Come on…back to it,’ he shouts, ending the show as the other workers shrug and carry on working.
‘Alright, John,’ Simar says. ‘Maleek here is going to sort the good wood and the bad wood…’
‘Good wood,’ Maleek says, grinning at John.
‘Great. Get on with it then. I want this frame done for when Lilly gets back tonight.’
‘Eh? The whole thing?’ Simar asks.
‘Yep! The whole thing.’
‘Bashir! Come and help,’ Maleek calls, waving his brother over.
‘Go,’ Damsa urges in their patch of ground as Bashir rushes out.
‘There goes another one,’ Tommy calls as Bashir grins and nods as he rushes by. ‘Don’t let ‘em near any explosive for fuck’s sake…’
‘I’m telling you, Blondie,’ Mary says as they hit the outskirts of Southampton. ‘You let a bitch like that doctor Lisa carry on and she’ll fester and make it worse…we don’t put up with that shit in the camp. It’s not healthy…’
‘What should I do? Order her not to say anything and thereby prove her point with a totalitarian response?’
‘Bloody hell. That’s a big word. Can you spell that?’
‘Yes,’ she smiles, laughing at Mary. ‘I can spell it.’
‘You just tell her quietly to stop gobbing off or you’ll punch her in the face…which she’ll believe as you’re already running about the place punching people in the face.’
‘I thought that woman was dead.’
‘Which is even worse…and anyway, I saw the cat woman’s black eye. I’m not speaking out of turn but that wasn’t a good punch. She was sitting down, you were above her, she should have been knocked out. I’ll show you later…’
‘Great. I shall look forward to it…’ Lilly says primly, offering a quick smile with a second’s worth of eye-contact held again.
‘Mary, we’re only a few minutes out. Pull over and let me go first,’ Peter says.
‘Go first? Why the bloody hell should he go first?’
‘Slow down and let him go first,’ Lilly says, waving her over while pulling the radio away from Mary. ‘Peter, It’s Lilly. We’re moving over now…’
‘What the hell?’ Mary asks.
‘Pick your fights,’ Lilly tells her. ‘Peter’s a good man and you arguing over every single thing won’t help…’
Mary glares. Lilly lifts her eyebrows. An immovable object meeting an unstoppable force. Humour in Lilly’s eyes that projects out and makes Mary grin. ‘Fine,’ she says, slowing down to let Peter go by. ‘Happy now, Blondie?’
‘Thank you,’ Lilly says, turning away to look at the world about them. Mary stares at her for a second. At her golden skin and blonde hair pulled back. There’s an ageless quality about Lilly. An energy inside of her that defies anyone to define her by age alone. Pretty too and Mary swallows, clearing her throat as she looks away and blasts air through her cheeks. ‘Hot isn’t it…’
‘It is,’ Lilly says, glancing across to see a flush in Mary’s cheeks. ‘Do you want some water?’
They take the motorway into the city from the west and the surrounding view soon gives away from rural to urban and then on to inner city with tower blocks, shops, stores and houses lining the route. Smoke billowing within the city. Fires underway. Debris everywhere. Cars and vehicles crashed and dumped. Bodies too. Lots of them. Like a carpet in some places. The storms and flood waters having scooped them to dump in troughs and dips.
Lilly hardens her mood, bringing her assault rifle up to check through, popping the magazine out then slotting it back in before yanking the bolt back, making it ready.
‘We’ll take the slip road ahead then over the roundabout on the third exit…it’s signposted to the docks but just in case they’ve been taken down…’ Peter’s voice coming in. His tone hard now. This isn’t play. This is work.
‘Understood,’ Lilly transmits back as Mary glides the van off
the motorway and along the slip road to a large roundabout. A barricade of sorts across the first exit road. Lorries and van jammed in end on end with coils of razor wire spooled through it all. A big gap torn in the middle. Bodies seen inside as they pass. They pass another exit road leading into the city. Corpses everywhere. Everything seemingly dark and sinister.
They take the third exit, driving fast down a straight road towards the docks. A smell of burning in the air. Unpleasant and strong.
‘That’s from the refinery,’ Mary says. ‘The smell I mean…we’re right by the River Test. The refinery is just down a bit and on the other side. Or it was I should say…’
‘Is that Fawley?’ Lilly asks.
‘Aye.’
‘Howie blew it up,’ she says. ‘Nick told me…’
‘Your Mr Howie did that? No way…we heard it from like thirty miles away. Felt the ground tremble we did…oh now, will you look at that,’ she looks right as the road starts to climb up a bridge over wide sections of railway tracks. A view opening up of the docks spread out and the tens of thousands of containers stacked in all directions. A vast car park to the right side filled with brand-new cars shipped in that will simply remain where they are until they turn to rust.
‘There,’ Mary says, pointing off towards the east. Lilly turns her head, trying to see what she’s looking at. ‘The truck park…see it?’ Mary asks.
Lilly blinks then spots it. The same containers as stacked up everywhere else, but these ones already loaded on the backs of trucks. Loads of them too. Easily enough for her wall, and if not then it’s a very good start, all they have to do is get them back to the fort.
Then she spots the blood. Wet, red and glistening on the metal railings at the side of the road. She leans forward, looking across Mary to see the same thing on the other side. Blood smears along the railings. Fresh too. A different smell in the air now mixing with the oil and smoke. The stench of unwashed bodies and faeces. The same stench she scented in the battle.
The Undead (Book 23): The Fort Page 17
