Afterlight

by Alex Scarrow

  He sighed. ‘If you want your people to be totally immobilised by absolute fear, you need a militia that can kill and r—’ He was going to say ‘rape’, but casting a quick glance at Leona, he decided not to. There was no knowing what she’d been through in the arena. He could guess; beaten repeatedly for sure . . . and most probably worse. So far, she’d shown no sign of wanting to talk about it.

  ‘You need a militia that can do the really bad stuff. Do it without batting an eyelid. Enjoy it, even. A powerful force of mind, that is.’

  Bushey looked up at him. ‘What is?’

  ‘The arrogance of youth. You can do wonders with that kind of energy, that kind of self-belief. You can put the world to rights . . . or create dangerous little monsters.’

  Leona shuffled uncomfortably on her rump. ‘Not all kids are bad.’

  ‘No,’ Adam smiled at her. ‘Not all bad.’

  ‘Jacob wasn’t bad,’ said Leona. ‘Didn’t have a bad bone in his body.’

  Adam said nothing. He didn’t know anything at all about her brother. He’d only seen the lad from afar being given the red-carpet treatment by Maxwell; one blond-haired teenager, one black teenager, neither looking wild or malnourished.

  ‘Nathan wasn’t bad either,’ she added. ‘Do you think he’s with those praetorians now?’

  Adam shrugged. ‘I suppose. Do you think he’s actually going to lead Maxwell to your home?’

  She wiped her hands on a tuft of dry grass stalks beside her. She stared into the flames for a long while, the still night filled with the crackling of fire and greasy fingers being sucked. She wasn’t sure what a young man like Nathan would do in that situation. He’d always been a good friend to Jacob. He’d always been good with the younger children. But if he was with them, then he was with very different people at this moment in time. She really couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind right now.

  But there was one thing she was sure of. ‘He loves his mum,’ she replied eventually, as if that completely answered the question.

  It was then they all heard the skittering of a small stone kicked carelessly across the motorway. It was somewhere out in the darkness beyond the flickering light cast by their fire. Adam snapped the torch on and panned it down the tarmac.

  Caught in the glare, one hand held up beseechingly, a lean face crumpled as it winced at the intense beam. It was one of the people . . . the scavengers.

  ‘P-please . . .’

  A man of about forty or fifty. Dark grey tangled curls framed a creased and gaunt face.

  ‘Fuckin’ hungry,’ his voice croaked.

  He was wearing what looked like a threadbare police uniform; a fraying sleeve well on the way to dropping off its seam at the shoulder.

  ‘Poor bastard,’ she whispered.

  Walfield racked his gun and shouldered it in one swift motion.

  ‘NO!’ shouted Leona. She raised her hand at him. ‘No! Stop it! Can’t you see? He’s just hungry! That’s all!’

  The man was cowering on the road, his hands and arms cradling his head. She could hear his breathing, fluttering with fear. But he wasn’t running.

  ‘He just wants a little food,’ she said. She turned back to face Walfield, Adam and the others. The smell of meat being barbecued had to be an almost unbearable smell for them.

  ‘We could give them some,’ she said.

  The men stared at her. She could see they weren’t sure it was such a good idea.

  ‘We can carve off enough to do us for tonight, and let them . . .’ she gestured out into the darkness to where she imagined the rest of those people were eagerly waiting to see what was going to happen, ‘let them have the rest of it. After all, we’ve got guns and I’m sure there’s no shortage of deer or rabbits between here and home.’

  Harry nodded earnestly. ‘She’s got a point.’

  ‘Let’s show them a small kindness,’ she said, annoyed at the emotion in her voice. ‘I don’t suppose they’ve seen any of that in a long time.’

  Adam turned to Walfield. ‘All right. Danny, lower your gun, mate.’

  He got up and produced a long kitchen knife that he’d liberated from a kitchen supplies store earlier. ‘Hold this,’ he said, passing the torch to Bushey. Then he started to hack at the large browning carcass on the spit. Fat dripped and spat on to the fire as he cut at one of the rear legs and eventually pulled it free. Then he worked on the other, tugging it loose a moment later with the sound of cartilage snapping.

  Held by the hooves he carried a haunch of still sizzling meat in each hand and stepped out into the gloom towards the man.

  The man’s eyes remained on the food.

  ‘There you go, mate. This is for you and the others out there,’ he said, placing it on the road in front of him. Only when he’d backed up a few steps did the man come forward.

  ‘Thanks,’ he uttered quickly before reaching for each hoof and dragging the haunches off into the gloom, leaving a glistening trail of grease on the road.

  They returned to their own meal and ate in sombre silence, listening to the faint sounds further down the motorway; murmuring and cries, the occasional sound of garbled half-words exchanged between them.

  ‘We better try and get some sleep,’ said Adam.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ said Bushey. ‘With them wild people out there?’

  ‘I think they’re harmless. All the same, we probably ought to take turns keeping an eye open.’

  Adam sorted them into three watches. Leona and Walfield took the first watch, keeping the fire ticking over and listening to the noises the people were making. A couple of hours later, when Bushey and Harry relieved them, there was nothing to be heard but somebody moving far off down the slip road and amongst the dark streets of Chigwell. It could have been the children, it could have been dogs, it could have been that small herd of deer.

  Chapter 73

  10 years AC

  Southend-On-Sea, Essex

  Maxwell watched his boys messing around on the dodgems. They’d teamed up into groups of three; one in each car and two to push. Howls of delight and good-natured banter filled the deserted seaside fairground as they bounced heavily off each other.

  Southend-on-Sea was the first obvious stop. They were more or less out of the Thames Estuary. Looking east along the coastline past Canvey Island was the North Sea. The tugboat had chugged and juddered slowly as it hugged the estuary shoreline. They’d travelled about forty miles today which was further than he thought they’d make. But it had made a significant dent in the boat’s supply of diesel, according to Jeff.

  Tomorrow, if they were lucky enough to have the sea as flat as they’d had today, the pilot assured him there was enough fuel to get them as far as Felixstowe where there was a large container port. With a bit of luck they’d be able to locate some more fuel, perhaps even stay a day or two and forage through all those containers and warehouses for anything that might be useful.

  Felixstowe being a big container port was going to be a very useful stop. Southend, on the other hand, had nothing . . . except apparently endless unpowered fairground rides. The shops and cafés had been comprehensively picked clean over the years. A number of the once fine buildings along the seafront Marine Parade had caught fire; the blackened carcasses sandwiched between amusement arcades and banks of those ‘claw’ vending machines that still held hundreds of sun-bleached soft toys prisoner. And along the kerbside several brown husks that had once been recreational trucks sat rusting on stubs of melted tyre rubber and blackened wire. No doubt set aflame the same night as the buildings when the town’s chavs came out onto the street to celebrate the lights going out and the promise of unpoliced fun and games.

  ‘Sir? Mr Maxwell?’

  He turned away from the boy-powered dodgems to see Nathan standing a couple of yards away.

  ‘What is it?’

  The lad looked uncomfortable.

  ‘What’s the matter, Nathan?’

  ‘You . . . you said we w
as just going to visit them.’

  ‘Your old home, yes, that’s right. To pay them a visit.’

  ‘But . . . but you’ve brought everything with you.’

  Maxwell sighed and then smiled. There was no point bullshitting him. ‘Yes, Nathan, you’re right. It’s not just a visit.’

  The lad shook his head. ‘Then what—?’

  ‘We had to move, Nathan. This has been on the cards for months and months.’ Maxwell waved the boy over to join him leaning against the rail. He did so and they both turned to watch the dodgems being pushed around by the guffawing boys.

  ‘As Edward’s second in command, I guess I should bring you into my confidence.’ Maxwell lowered his voice ever so slightly. He was quiet for a moment, thinking how to proceed.

  ‘Nathan, we couldn’t have lasted another winter in the Zone. There just wasn’t enough food being grown and we were supplementing every meal with a rapidly vanishing supply of tinned stuff. Just too many of us there. So that’s why we’re on the move. I had to split us up. Those we left behind will have a better chance of surviving on what they can grow without having our mouths to feed as well.’ Maxwell nudged his arm. ‘But you were the deciding factor.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You and that poor lad, Jacob. When you told me there was someplace else that was like ours; organised, properly sorted and managing to get by. That was what finally decided me to get a move on.’

  ‘So . . . so are you goin’ to join them? Because, see, I don’t think there’s . . .’ Nathan faltered and hesitated.

  ‘Go on, Nathan,’ said Maxwell. ‘You can speak your mind.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think there’ll be room on the rigs for us.’

  He smiled. ‘We’re just going to talk, that’s all, Nathan. Talk to the lady in charge.’

  ‘Jenny Sutherland.’

  ‘Yes. See if we can trade any supplies, any skills. See if she knows of any good locations nearby for us to set up a new home.’ Maxwell turned to look back at the boys under the canopy. ‘We need to be close together, do you see? If we really are all there is left of Great Britain; if I’m the last government representative left in authority and it’s just our two communities that made it this far, then we’ve got to work together to make sure neither group fails. We have to co-operate.’

  Nathan pursed his lips. ‘But some of the boys are saying . . .’

  ‘Saying what?’

  ‘Well . . . that . . . they think we’re going to live on a place that has lots of electricity and stuff. An’ I . . . well I just wondered—’

  ‘Whether they were referring to the rigs?’

  Nathan nodded.

  ‘Silly buggers. That’s just their Chinese whispers. I’ll be honest with you, Nathan, because I think I can trust you. I’m inclined to let them carry on believing something like that for now. They have no idea where we’re headed. Just you, Edward and me, we’re the only ones that know. Truth is, when we resettle, hopefully someplace not too far from your old home, those lads will have to start getting used to a new lifestyle. Farming for themselves.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll be happy about that.’

  ‘Well, you’re right. But they’ll have to get used to the idea anyway. But, for now, I’m happy to let them think whatever the hell they want. Once we’ve got together with your people . . . once the boys can see for themselves how well your lot are doing, they’ll settle down.’ Maxwell shrugged. ‘I might even offer the services of myself and the boys to your Jenny Sutherland. Let her be in charge, eh?’ He winked. ‘I could do with a bloody rest.’

  Maxwell could see that Nathan was encouraged by that. He’d obviously just wanted to be reassured this wasn’t intended to be a raiding party. He’d needed to hear a few words from him that sounded genuine, sounded like common sense.

  ‘Look, Nathan, these boys tell each other all sorts of silly stories. But then that’s young boys for you.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘That’s why I’ve got you and Edward to help me keep them in line. You’re both older, more mature. The boys look up to both of you. To be honest, I think some of them hero-worship Edward. And I suspect, in time, they’ll do the same to you, as well.’

  Nathan shrugged, shuffling his feet. ‘Oh, not sure ’bout that.’

  ‘Sure they will. Edward says they gather round you like bees to honey. Says you make them laugh till they piss their pants.’ He smiled. ‘That’s good. I need lieutenants like you, Nathan. Leaders the boys like.’

  Nathan looked at his feet, uncomfortable with the praise. He wanted to pursue his concern a little further. ‘So . . . we’re . . . you’re sure this isn’t, like, some sort of invasion?’

  ‘Christ!’ Maxwell looked bemused. ‘You really thought that? That I’m some sort of . . . of evil pirate? A Blackbeard. A Captain Hook?’

  Sheepishly, Nathan nodded.

  Maxwell dropped his head and laughed. ‘Oh, to be so interesting!’ He chuckled. ‘All I am, all I’ve ever bloody been, is a mid-level administrator. A long time ago, long before the crash I was a history teacher. Not a particularly good one if I’m honest. Then I became a senior executive officer at the Department of Education. I’m a bloody civil servant. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  He sighed. ‘The only reason I ended up in charge of Safety Zone Four was because my name was on a Cobra emergency volunteer list. And you know the only reason I entered my details on that volunteer database? It would look good on my CV!’

  He shook his head, grinning tiredly. ‘I wasn’t even meant to be in charge. The chap who was on the list to take charge was on holiday in the Dominican Republic when the crash happened. They couldn’t get hold of him, I was next on the list.’

  He looked at Nathan. ‘So I’m not really the slash ‘n’ burn bandit leader type. Just a dull old pen pusher in charge of a hundred unruly boys.’

  ‘Sorry, Chief, I just thought . . . I heard what the boys was saying and . . .’

  ‘Think about it, Nathan, would I have brought you along if that’s what I intended to do, hmm? You’d be a liability. I’d have to keep an eye on you. Wouldn’t I?’

  Nathan shrugged and nodded. ‘S’pose so.’

  ‘I can’t believe that’s what you were thinking, lad.’ He offered him a warm smile. ‘I’ll let you off this time.’

  His gaze fell back on the boys; all so gullible, so pliable. All of them had been so young when he’d ‘recruited’ them from amongst his zone intake. Just bewildered little boys ranging from eight to twelve years in age. Schooling - that’s what he’d told everyone: they needed some sort of schooling if they weren’t going to end up being illiterate scavengers like the feral children picking scraps out of the ruins.

  Perhaps that might have been the original reason he’d started up those classes. But it was those armed RAF troops and Met police officers, particularly the Met officers, that he found himself worrying about. Too much talk from them about putting the Zone under police jurisdiction.

  His lessons became subtle treatises on power and command, military geniuses, emperors and caesars - the sort of history all boys love. Soon the boys were given orange vests and assigned auxiliary civic tasks to teach them responsibility. No one objected to that, they were becoming a nuisance with nothing to do each and every day. A year after he started the schooling, Maxwell had suggested the boys be billeted in the central part of the dome where they’d be better placed for schooling and being given increasingly more important tasks.

  It wasn’t so long after that Maxwell learned that the Met officers were considering taking matters into their own hands. They had to go, and the RAF grunts they’d decided to involve along with them.

  His boys, now his guards, his army, were infinitely more manageable than Brooks’s men and the police officers - there was no need to explain things to them, to have to reason with his boys, they just did as they were told.

  But, like performing seals, only so long as they’re tossed a tasty fish.

&n
bsp; The boys on the dodgems stopped their game and a shuffling of roles ensued, some of them fighting each other to get in behind the wheel. Maxwell watched them as the game finally resumed. So many of those boys, once so small and anxious away from their parents’ sides, were now tall enough that they towered over his stocky frame.

  Once upon a time they listened avidly in class, hanging onto every word as he described the battles of ancient Rome, the insane excesses of Emperor Caligula, the brutal wars and punishments of medieval times, the burning of witches, the impaling of heretics. Now, Maxwell suspected, they listened only because he provided them with the things they craved . . . and not, as he sometimes tried telling himself, out of some residual loyalty to a much-respected teacher.

  It was getting dark now, getting hard to pick out the fun and games going on beneath the canopy of the dodgems’ tent.

  Maxwell gestured at the improvised game. ‘Be a lot more fun, I imagine, if we could switch the bloody thing on, eh?’

  Nathan grinned. ‘Yeah.’

  They watched in silence for a while.

  ‘You know, one day we’ll fix this country up again, just like it used to be. That’s always been my goal, you know? Between your Jenny Sutherland and me, we’ll get things sorted out.’

  Nathan replied with a wary nod. ‘That would be good.’

  ‘Trust me, lad. The future, that’s what I’m thinking about. Everyone’s future. A better one. We’re all going to work together on this.’ Maxwell turned to look up at the evening sky. ‘Anyway, I’d better get a move on and sort out arrangements for tonight.’

  ‘We’re sleeping-over here?’

  ‘Overnight, yes. We’ll be up early tomorrow if the sea’s good. I want to make Felixstowe by the evening. Nathan?’

  ‘Yes, Chief.’

  ‘Will you organise the onshore guard roster for tonight? I know the place looks deserted, but you never know, do you?’

  Nathan smiled. ‘Sure, no problem.’

  Maxwell could see he liked the idea of taking on the responsibility; being in charge.

  Make him feel a part of things. Make him feel trusted.