Autumn: Aftermath Page 19

  “Why what? Why are we still here?” Michael asked. Harte nodded. “Like Harry said,” he explained, “we weren’t planning on hanging around much longer. Did you see Cooper and Richard? We were supposed to be following them.”

  “We put the supplies on the other boat and left this one empty for all the passengers we were supposed to be taking,” Harry said. “We stopped back to try and load up a few more things before we left. I swear, mate, you caught us by the skin of your teeth.”

  “Anyway,” Michael said, leaning back against the cabin wall and watching Harte intently, “more to the point, why are you here?”

  “You’re making a habit of abandoning your mates, aren’t you?” Harry added unnecessarily.

  Harte finished his water, wiped his face again, and tried to explain.

  “It’s Jas,” he said. “The fucker’s completely lost the plot. We were getting ready to clear out and he went ape-shit. We were just trying to get our share of the supplies and he flew off the handle. Before we knew what was happening there were guns going off and he was fighting with Jackson and all sorts.”

  Michael looked at Harry. “Sounds about right from what Cooper and Donna said. That’s the guy who thought living on an island was a bad idea? Cooper said there’d probably be some trouble with him.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “So what exactly happened?”

  “I didn’t see it all—”

  “Too busy plotting your escape?”

  Harte ignored Harry’s cheap jibe and continued. “Jas reckons the island is too restrictive. Thinks it’s too cut off.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference these days,” Michael said quickly. “Where you are is far less important than—”

  “Listen, you don’t have to convince me,” Harte interrupted, “I’ve already had this argument. I was planning to go with you, remember? Look, no one really knows what the best long-term option is anymore, no one can, but most folks seemed to have decided that going with you guys was the safer option.”

  “And this Jas wouldn’t let them?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “So what do we do now?” Harry asked. “Just head back home like we agreed?”

  “You can’t,” Harte said, an uncharacteristic urgency in his voice. “The only reason people aren’t here is because they couldn’t get away, not because they didn’t want to.”

  “And what about you? Are you just here because you were still hoping to catch a lift?”

  Harte shook his head and looked at both of the other two men. He wasn’t sure what they thought of him. Did they believe anything he said?

  “I came back because I want your help,” he said. “I know I ran away before and yes, I did it because I was a coward and I didn’t want to go back to the castle. But you’ve got to believe me, this is different. My friends are trapped back there, and I want to get them out.”

  33

  The castle was a hive of frightened activity. The beaten-up bus sat useless in the middle of the courtyard like a beached whale. Its other tires had been slashed to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere, and all the supplies which had been loaded onboard had been removed. All around, people carried out Jas’s orders, passed to them by Kieran, Bayliss, Ainsworth, and Field. Field himself stood guard in front of the gate, a rifle held where everyone could see it, his presence alone enough to deter anyone from trying to get out. He occasionally barked instructions at Howard and Bob, who were shoveling the remains of the dead into wheelbarrows, then dumping them into the overfull cesspit. They were both exhausted, too tired to even think about rebelling now. Jackson’s body had been taken over to the cesspit area too. His corpse had been left by the outside wall, wrapped in a tarpaulin and dumped next to where Steve Morecombe had been buried a week and a half earlier. No one would notice the stink over there, Field had said.

  Jas watched the proceedings alone from the top of the gatehouse, keen to put as much distance as possible between himself and everyone else. It had taken him more than an hour and two cans of lager to stop shaking after Jackson’s death. He was overwhelmed by a raft of unexpected emotions: guilt, fear, anger, remorse … but there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t my fault. What’s done is done, he kept telling himself. I need to get this lot back on track now. Let them forget about the helicopter and that bloody island and all that bullshit. Another few weeks and we can move out of here.

  But he kept coming back to one dark thought.

  I’ve killed a man.

  He tried to focus on something—anything—else, but it was impossible. He hadn’t actually sunk the knife into the other man’s chest, but he may as well have. Over the months he’d destroyed untold hundreds of those wretched cadavers which walked the dead world outside, dispatching even the least decayed, most human of them without a second’s thought—but this was different. Completely different.

  Less than a hundred people left alive that I know of, and I killed one of them …

  “What do you want me to do with them?”

  Jas, startled by the unexpected voice, quickly turned around. It was Kieran.

  “What?”

  “I asked you what you want me to do with them. Do we just keep them locked up in the caravans for now?”

  Jas thought for a moment. “Might as well,” he replied, trying not to sound as distracted and nervous as he felt. “Use the vans nearest the gatehouse. Let them calm down. We need to get everything back to how it was before those fuckers turned up here and screwed everything up.”

  Kieran paused before answering. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  He turned to go back downstairs, but Jas called to him before he disappeared.

  “We’re doing the right thing, you know,” he said. Kieran nodded. “Look, no one meant for any of this to happen. Fact is, they’ll have fucked off back to their island again by now, so what’s done is done.” He walked over to the other man. “Get some food going. Get a couple of the girls working in the kitchen, and crack open a few bottles of booze, the best stuff you can find. Keep the people safe and warm and give them what they want within reason. Let’s not give them any excuses to try anything we might all end up regretting.”

  34

  The basic communications Harry had rigged up between the two boats and the helicopter worked intermittently, their efficiency steadily fading away with range. Between the frequent bursts of static and the increasingly long radio silences, Harry managed to get sufficient information to Richard, Donna, and Cooper so that everyone knew what was happening.

  With the Summer Breeze full of supplies, Donna and Cooper had little option but to continue back to Cormansey. There was nothing to be gained from them turning back. Richard stayed with them for a while, flying close and remaining in contact until he was sure they could reach the small port close to Danver’s Lye. He then flew back to the mainland, cursing the fact that, yet again, everything seemed to be down to him.

  Harry, Harte, and Michael watched the helicopter land on top of the car park. About twenty minutes later Richard returned to the marina, breathless.

  “Bloody hell, I hate being out there on my own,” he admitted. “It’s a ghost town. You turn any corner and there are still those things waiting for you. Good job they’re so slow. They scare the shit out of me, they do.” He stopped talking and looked at the others. “What?”

  “You finished?” Harry asked.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Bit nervous, that’s all.”

  He followed them onto the virtually empty Duchess, feeling self-conscious.

  “Donna and Cooper get back to Cormansey okay?” Harry asked.

  “I left them a few miles short. They’ll be there by now.”

  “Did you stop and land…?” Michael started to ask. Richard shook his head.

  “Wasn’t any point. I turned around and came straight back. They’ll explain to the others as soon as they’ve moored. So what’s the plan? I’m assuming that we do have a plan?”

 
; “Get back to the castle and get those who want out, out,” Harry flippantly replied.

  “Simple,” Richard said, equally flippantly. “I’ll just land in the middle of the castle and ship them out in threes and fours. No one will mind.”

  “How the hell are we going to do it?” Harte asked, nervously chewing his fingers. “Because you’re right, we’re not going to be able to just fly in. Jas is going to be seriously pissed off. He’s not going to let anyone in or out without a fight.”

  “Then we’ll have to find another way,” Michael said, stating the obvious.

  “Whoa … you’re not going anywhere,” Richard interrupted. “You can’t. You’ve got Emma and the baby to think about.”

  “I think about them all the time,” he said, suddenly sounding subdued. “Thing is, I’m here now, and it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere until we’ve got Harte’s people out of this castle. There’s no way I can’t get involved, is there?”

  “But you should stay out of trouble. Wait here for the rest of us to get back…”

  Michael was shaking his head. “There’s no point. I told you, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Things are different now. Believe me, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than back on the island with Emma. I fall asleep thinking about her and the baby at night, and I wake up every morning still thinking about them. But at the end of the day, me not being there isn’t going to make a massive amount of difference. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

  “You’ve missed that,” Harry mumbled. “That’s already been and gone.”

  Michael ignored him. This was serious.

  “What I’m saying is, there’s nothing I can do to help the baby be born, is there? I mean, I can do all the practical stuff and run errands and all that, but me being around won’t make a huge difference to Emma giving birth, will it?”

  “I think you’re doing yourself a huge disservice,” Richard said. “Your missus and your kid will need you. There’s another fifty bods back on Cormansey who can do chores and run errands, but you’re the only one Emma actually needs. You shouldn’t take any risks you don’t need to, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “But these are risks we do need to take,” Michael said. “Imagine the difference another ten or so folks will make on Cormansey.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but I still don’t agree.”

  “Well, that’s how it is. I’ve made my decision. You’d all probably do the same thing if you were in my shoes.”

  “This is all very lovely,” Harte said cynically, “but it’s all academic anyway. How the hell are we going to get them out of the castle? Are we just going to stroll up to the front door and knock and ask if Jas will let them out?”

  “He’s right,” Richard agreed. “This is a fool’s errand.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Harry said from the corner. “I know exactly how we’ll do it.”

  35

  Caron and Lorna had been locked in the café kitchen to prepare the food Jas had ordered.

  “I’d piss in this if I wasn’t going to have to eat it myself,” Lorna said, seething with anger, barely able to keep calm. “Who the fuck does Jas think he is?”

  She stirred a vast pot of soup they’d bulked up with tinned vegetables. Caron was busy steaming a job lot of chocolate puddings they’d found in the stores. She hunted through various crates and trays for a box of catering–size packets of custard powder she was sure she’d seen recently.

  “Have you seen the custard powder?” she asked.

  “No, I haven’t seen any fucking custard powder,” Lorna yelled at her. “Fucking hell, Caron, there are more important things to think about right now than pudding.”

  Unfazed by Lorna’s outburst, Caron found what she’d been looking for. She dropped the box onto the table next to the gas burner she was using.

  “This should be nice,” she said.

  “Nice! For fuck’s sake, who gives a damn if the food tastes nice? Are you completely fucking stupid? Haven’t you seen what’s been happening around here? Jackson’s dead, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Of course I’ve noticed,” Caron snapped, finally showing a little emotion. “Stupid thing to say.”

  “Then why are you talking about custard and things tasting nice? Our last decent chance to get out of this place disappeared this afternoon.”

  “I’m well aware of that, thank you very much.”

  “You don’t act like you are.”

  Caron stopped and stared at Lorna.

  “Getting shitty with me isn’t going to make any difference,” she said, instantly slipping back into “mother mode” and talking to Lorna the same way she used to try reasoning with Matthew, her late son. “I know exactly what’s going on. We are where we are, Lorna, and there’s absolutely nothing you or I can do about it for the moment. We need to make the most of what we’ve still got, because the way things are going, we might lose that tomorrow. Now, have you seen any clean bowls?”

  “No,” Lorna grunted.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with these people,” Caron continued, conveniently forgetting the blatantly obvious fact that what was wrong with these people was that, through no fault of their own, their lives had been destroyed and that even now, several months further down the line, many of them were still completely fucking traumatized. Trivializing everything seemed to be helping Caron cope tonight. “I don’t know,” she grumbled to herself, “people help themselves, leave their dirty cups and plates all over the place, then moan at us when there’s none left.”

  “Am I supposed to care, Caron? Fuck ’em. I’ll ladle this shit into their bare fucking hands if they complain.”

  “I’m going to see what I can find outside, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  Caron picked up an empty washing-up bowl with which she could carry back any dirty crockery she found lying around the site. She knocked on the door between the kitchen and the café to get the attention of Mark Ainsworth, who was standing guard outside. He was leaning up against a wall, his head drooping, half asleep. Caron’s knocking woke him up.

  “Got to go and collect up some dishes, okay?” she shouted at him through a window. He didn’t say anything, he just yawned, nodded, and let her out.

  The door slammed shut and Lorna continued to work, trying to concentrate on the food and block out everything else. It was all an effort. Her arm ached, her back ached, her head ached … She cursed herself, wishing she’d been as selfish as Harte. If she’d been more with it then she’d have been out of here by now, and maybe some of the others would have got away with her too. As it was, she was stuck. And Jackson was dead. Had Jas meant to kill him? The same Jas she’d spent the last few months with …

  This was like something out of a bad dream, and yet it was frighteningly real. Caron’s words rattled around her head: make the most of what you’ve got today, because you might lose it tomorrow. Christ, how right she was. The fact that Jas had committed an act so foul and out of character just served to confirm something she’d suspected for a long time now: the farther they got from their old lives, the less they resembled the people they used to be. What would be the end result? Would they manage to stop the rot and salvage some semblance of normality, or this time next year would they all be running around like savages? She continued to stir the soup as she thought about the world beyond the castle walls, emptier than ever, with all the previously enforced restrictions about where you could and couldn’t go and what you could or couldn’t do now removed. Theoretically she was free to roam wherever she wanted, provided she could get out of this fucking place and—

  Lorna froze rigid when a hand touched her shoulder. She spun around, heart pounding, ready to attack with the ladle she’d been using to stir the soup.

  It was Mark Ainsworth. She relaxed slightly. Only slightly.

  “Sorry, love,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Then why did you creep up on me like that, you i
diot?” she yelled back at him. “And I’m not your ‘love,’ okay? I’m not anybody’s love.”

  He backed away, hands held up in submission.

  “Sorry,” he said again.

  “What do you want, anyway?”

  “Cup of tea would nice, if you’re offering.”

  “I’m not. You know where everything is, make it yourself.”

  “No need to be like that…”

  “Piss off.”

  “You want one?”

  “No.”

  Ainsworth fetched himself a mug and made his drink with hot water from the steamer Caron had been using, all the time watching Lorna. She sensed him staring at her but refused to make eye contact. Just ignore him and he’ll go away.

  But Ainsworth wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Look,” he said, “I think we both got off on the wrong foot. I don’t want any trouble. I just want us to get along.”

  “We’ll get along fine if you fuck off and stay out of my face, understand?”

  “That’s not going to be so easy now we’re all stuck here.”

  “You’ve got your mate Jas to thank for that.”

  “I thought he was your mate?”

  “He’s no friend of mine. Not after today.”

  “Don’t let him hear you talking like that, eh?”

  “Why, what’s he going to do? Kill me?”

  “I won’t let him hurt you, Lorna. I’ll look out for you.”

  “You come anywhere near me and I’ll have your balls.”

  “You can have my balls anytime, lover,” he said, slipping into sleaze mode with uncomfortable ease and immediately regretting it.

  “Come anywhere near me and I swear I’ll cut them off and shove them down your bloody throat.”

  He was about to make some stupid, insensitive quip about Lorna’s kinks and vices when he stopped himself. She looked angry enough to carry out her threats. He paused, knowing he should probably leave, but still wanting to say more.

  “Look, Lorna, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just my humor. I don’t mean anything by it, it’s just the way I deal with all of this.” He watched her for a moment longer. When she didn’t react, he decided to risk talking again. “You’re right, we are all stuck here. I don’t want to fight with you.”