CHAPTER NINE

 

 

DESPITE THE IMMINENT nuclear holocaust, Laura’s community were keen to keep up with the paperwork. Jack and his friends sat at a line of tables inside the low, grey building, working their way through pages and pages of forms. They were all numb with shock from the brutal loss of their friends. Nina had to choke back tears, for they were all desperately aware that any slip up they made in front of Laura and her cult would see them meet the same fate as Nathaniel and Alice.

Jack couldn’t help going over what he might have done differently. If they’d stopped the horse box as it passed them on the road, he thought. If Nathaniel and Alice and been inside it, and if they’d still been alive...

He was also worried about the others sat with him now. Yet he himself didn’t feel afraid. There was little hope he’d survive very long anyway: he’d die trying to get into the nuclear reactor, or because he managed to. But his fearlessness was mostly down to the fact that it hadn’t sunk in. Filling in paperwork while sat in what was basically a village hall felt almost homely and normal, not the prelude to horrible death.

Around them, children chased each other back and forth in a complex game of ever-changing rules. The children were aged, Jack guessed, between about three and twelve, all noisy, healthy kids without a care in the world—presumably not knowing of its imminent end. When one small child slipped and crashed to the ground, another, older child scooped her up for a hug then set her on her feet, and the game continued.

Jane had been watching, too. Jack saw her face and guessed she was thinking of her son. Catching Jack’s eye, she quickly turned back to her papers. “They actually want to know what I got in my GCSEs,” she said.

“Make it up,” said Jack.

“Best to be honest,” said Barnden. “They might test us on our answers. That’s why the forms are so long—it’s harder to remember everything we put.”

“We’re going to die,” sniffed Nina. Jane took her hand.

“Not if we’re smart,” she said. “And you’re the smartest one of us all.”

“Bad news for Jack,” said Kit, and despite everything—or because of it—they laughed.

They continued writing. Jack felt a pang as, under ‘parents,’ he wrote out the names, birth and death dates of Emma and Scott Bedford, mother and father of the real Jack. He’d seen the names on so many documents that ‘proved’ his claim to the throne that he knew the details off by heart—but this was the first time he’d had to spell out the lie himself.

“Hey,” said Jane.

“I’m fine,” he said, but she looked over what he had written.

“It’s not right to ask stuff like this,” she said. Barnden coughed, but it was too late—Laura, coming over with a tray of steaming cups, had clearly heard her.

“The idea,” said Laura, forcing a smile, “is to leave behind a full testament. Who we are, that we do this of our own volition.”

“Of course,” said Jane. “I only meant it dredges up some difficult memories.”

Laura handed out the cups, which contained the foul “coffee” made from roasted acorns that older people insisted on drinking. “Good to get these things out in the open. Deal with it now, before the end.” She stood patiently waiting for them to drink. Barnden sniffed his coffee suspiciously, but Jack took a sip. It was utterly disgusting.

“Lovely,” he told Laura. “Just stronger than I’m used to.”

Kit came to his rescue. “Can I ask a question? How will the answers we give here survive? Paper is sort of flammable.”

Laura nodded. “We’ve secure storage under this building—a shelter, in case of emergencies.”

Jack and his friends resisted the urge to swap glances. “Um,” said Jack. “I imagine that has to be closely guarded, just like the fence.”

Laura laughed. “Oh, if anyone has a sudden change of mind, they’re welcome to enter the shelter. There’s room inside for a large part of our community if that’s what people want. But I doubt many, if anyone, will change their minds. We all know what conditions will be like after the explosion. We’ve enough reports from the north.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jane. “I mean, you shoot anyone who tries to get to the reactor...”

“That’s completely different,” said Laura, patiently. “We explain this to the children: what’s happening now is about how we face the end with dignity, as rational beings. But we don’t interfere to hasten the end.”

Jack chose his words carefully. “They say in the north that it’s possible to fix things so there isn’t an explosion. Do you get that being said here? You know, by people out to make trouble.”

Laura shook her head sadly. “We had to deal with some very disagreeable sorts, and others who meant well but could have done a lot of harm among the community. They couldn’t understand that the evidence is clear. The people who tried to fix things in the north were all killed by the reactor, weren’t they? The reactor still poisoned the area for hundreds of miles. They didn’t save anyone, just prolonged the agony. Imagine: the situation as bad as it is, and you make it worse.”

“Of course,” said Jack. “Awful.”

“So we wait it out,” said Laura. “Like decent, civilised people. After all, we’re British, aren’t we?”

The others made affirmative noises. Barnden looked like he might laugh, or punch something.

“You don’t think people will go crazy waiting it out?” said Jane. “I mean,” she added quickly, “that’s what we heard can happen in the north.”

Laura sighed. “Yes, we’ve heard that, too. But we run a timetable of scheduled activities and entertainment to keep people busy, and open counselling workshops where we can all share our concerns. You’re invited to join us for the session tonight.”

“We’d love to,” said Jack.

“Good boy,” said Laura. “And you look like you’ve almost finished your form.”

He had, signing his name at the bottom of the last page and sitting smugly back in his seat. Nina—who’d studiously completed her form while the others had been talking—sat back, too. A thought occurred to Jack and he took her form and put it on top of his, as if helpfully collecting them up. Then he just happened to notice the details on the first page of her papers.

“You’re from Oxford,” he said, as if it were news to him.

“Uh,” said Nina, “yeah.”

“Funny,” said Jack. “We spend all this time on the road together, and we don’t really know the first thing about each other.”

Jane got what he was doing. “Barden’s a Ranger, he must be from Nottingham.”

“Macclesfield,” said Barnden.

“Oh,” said Jane. “Well, we can get to know each other while we’re here.”

Laura didn’t seem very interested, so Jack laid it on a bit thicker. “You see,” he told her, “we met on the road, but we’re not really together.” He hoped that when he and Jane made their break for the reactor, that distinction might save his friends.

Laura only shrugged. “Well,” she said. “We’re all together now. One big family of friends. So long as everyone behaves.”

 

 

JACK AND BARNDEN strolled toward the barbed wire fence that encircled the huge, square buildings of the nuclear reactor. The ground trembled with whatever infernal forces were being generated within. Men and women with shotguns regarded them coolly as they approached. Barnden had his arms slightly out to the sides of his Ranger’s cloak, showing he carried no weapons and presented no threat. Jack copied him, though he felt awkward—like the more he tried to convince these people he meant no mischief, the more they would suspect it.

“Afternoon,” he said to the men and women with shotguns. “Just arrived here. I’m Jack, this is Barnden—he doesn’t say much but he’s all right, really. Our other friends are with Laura, looking for a space in the—the shanty town? You know what I mean. But that doesn’t need all of us. Frankly, we were getting in the way. So they sent us out for some air.”

“No sudden moves,” was all he got in response, from a woman in a battered old trenchcoat, worn over a glamorous ballgown. She had make-up and jewellery, too—things Jack had barely seen for years. One man behind her wore a black suit and tie, for all they were threadbare and spattered with mud. The guards were in their best clothes, proud to be first in the coming holocaust.

“Can’t be too careful,” agreed Jack. “You’re all doing a great job.” He gave them a thumbs up. They clearly thought he was a twat, but a harmless one.

The chain link fence stood some ten feet high, but close up it was difficult to look through it to the tall grass and buildings; scraps of coloured fabric had been threaded through the links, together with long lines of coloured wool and bits of old plastic packaging, any old rubbish with a splash of colour. Faded photographs in plastic coverings smiled cheerily at him. He saw drawings, too—crude stick people by children and portraits that captured a likeness. As he and Barden got closer, they could read messages on some of the litter: names and dates of loved ones, simple notes of remembrance and prayers that they’d be reunited.

These tokens and memories so crowded the fence that it took Jack a moment to spot the strands of barbed and razor wire also threaded at regular intervals. The rows were a hand’s span apart—a gap he couldn’t have wriggled through—and the barbs looked rusted and nasty.

The men and women with shotguns were still watching, so Jack, trying to look casual, pointed to one of the portraits.

“Hey,” he said to Barnden. “I think I knew this girl.”

The Ranger leaned forward to examine the picture. Jack moved his finger out of the way, and tapped the protruding tip of a piece of barbed wire. Barnden nodded—yes, of course he’d seen it—then stepped away from the fence.

“Could be anyone,” he said, carrying on round the perimeter, as if the fence itself held no particular interest. Jack hurried after him.

The fence and its guards entirely encircled the reactor buildings. Barricades had been added in front of the site’s old gates and along the slender strip of beach on the south side of the complex. Jack’s heart sank as they idled their way round. There was no obvious way in. The wind blew the acrid smoke into their faces, making Barnden sneeze.

They left the beach and made their way back towards the low building. Just for this short distance, they would be out of earshot of anyone else. “Well?” asked Jack.

“Easy,” said Barnden. “Plant a grenade by one of the fence posts and it’ll knock the thing down or make you a hole you can duck through. Best to do it up by where you pointed out that picture. Fence post with the blue jersey tied to it has the least distance to the buildings inside.”

“Right,” said Jack, his insides turning over at the prospect of this actually happening. “How do we plant a grenade without that lot seeing us, or shooting us when it goes off? And I’ll need to put on my protective suit before I head through the fence. Which might just make them suspicious. And I can’t go quickly or I’ll tear the suit on that wire. So all together, fuck.”

Barnden shrugged. “You see the guns they’ve got stored away, where we were signing the forms?”

“Um,” said Jack. “No.”

“Narrow, oblong crates, stacked up by the wall.”

“I was busy getting our story straight with Laura, so she wouldn’t have us strung up.”

“They’ve got enough people wandering round with shotguns. Those crates must be their back-up. Some kind of heavy artillery. Which I’ll use on the ones stood in front of the fence.”

“You mean just shoot them?”

“Before they shoot you.”

Jack ran his fingers through his matted, greasy hair. “Fucking hell,” he said.

“We’ve a job to do,” said Barnden.

Jack had faced death before. He’d run headlong into heavy fire. He’d felt then the same mix of terror and complete certainty he felt now. Fuck it, he could do this.

“Okay,” he said. “When?”

Barnden smiled. “Tonight—we can’t lose any more time.”

“Right,” said Jack. “But look. Jane and Kit and Nina...”

“We send them away. Not immediately—that’ll draw attention. But the moment we’re ready to move, Jane will get the kids out of here.”

Jack nodded. Jane wouldn’t be able to argue with that. It would make things easier when it was time to say goodbye.

“Okay,” he said. “A plan.”

But Barnden didn’t smile. He looked back towards the long building where they’d filled out the forms. Jack could just make out a figure framed in the doorway, arms raised and waving.

Barnden began running. Jack trailed after him, though with his gunshot wound he could barely keep up.

“What is it?” he called. “What’s happened?” But Barnden didn’t answer, racing towards the figure—who Jack could now see was Jane. She had a horrified look on her face.