Freya watched the soldiers – Everett’s ‘knights’ – from the rooftop of the castle. They were out there, beyond the protective moat, in the tall grass working in ‘no-man’s land’. Leon was somewhere among them and she pivoted on her better leg to try to catch a glimpse of him between the castle’s battlements.
Major Everett had announced in this morning’s breakfast briefing – or ‘morning prayers’ as he liked to call it – that as it was now clear the virus was out there and still a very present threat, the defences they’d been relying on last summer that had been allowed to fall into a less-than-ready state in the intervening months needed immediate attention.
She watched the men working in teams of four and five, rolling barrels of chemicals across the muddy ground, carefully carrying packets of demolition charges and bundles of wiring between them. Several soldiers stood on guard, dotted around the tall grass and scanning the distant treeline for any signs of movement. They were wearing their distinctive ‘armour’ plating, which she now understood was sportswear. One of the soldiers had sheepishly informed her they’d raided a sports store last year and grabbed every last bit of cycling, skateboarding and snowboarding protective gear they could lay their hands on.
‘Don’t worry. It’s not as hazardous as it looks.’
She turned to see a slight woman – shorter than her with dark skin and boyishly short cropped black hair.
‘It is of course men’s work, though,’ the woman added dryly as she folded laundry that she’d plucked from one of the washing lines stretched across the flat castle roof.
She offered Freya a small hand. ‘I’m Naga.’
‘Freya.’
Naga jerked her chin at the men working out beyond the moat. ‘Like I said, men’s work. Typical, isn’t it? The first thing that vanishes in the aftermath of an apocalypse is a hundred years’ worth of women’s liberation. Apparently, once more, we’re only good for hanging out laundry.’
Freya found herself nodding. Although . . . ‘You sure it’s OK?’
‘Pfft. Relax. Just firecrackers.’
Freya pointed at the craters that punctuated the wild grass. ‘The holes look pretty big. What’s in the drums those guys are rolling?’
‘Liquid butane.’ Naga folded a shirt and dropped it into the basket at her feet. ‘Don’t worry, though. Nothing’s live until the field’s cleared and Corkie goes out to wire it up.’
Canisters of liquid gas – that explained the craters.
Naga narrowed her eyes. ‘Meanwhile us women, as always, are stuck with the cooking, cleaning and scrubbing. Presumably because we’re all too stupid and female to dig a hole, stick a barrel in it and twist some wires.’
‘Do those bombs actually work?’
She nodded. ‘They did a pretty good job last year. I don’t know if we killed that many, but the big bangs seemed to do a good job of scaring them off.’
‘What about the moat? Did that help?’
‘Uh-huh. Corkie’s boys backed several trucks full of gritting salt right up to the edge and dumped it in. That water’s probably saltier than a bag of chips.’
Freya managed to pick out Leon, knee deep in a hole, swinging a shovel full of earth over his shoulder. Naga’s reassuring words settled her a little. An odd sensation, though, to suddenly realize that she was pining, aching, to get him safely back on this side of the moat.
Let’s not be getting all gooey-eyed, Freya. There’s love, there’s Love and there’s LOVE.
She wasn’t sure which of those she and Leon shared at the moment, but it was enough that she couldn’t help casting an anxious glance his way every now and then.
She was plucking some woolly red socks from the line when she became aware Naga had just said something. ‘Sorry?’
‘I said, do you want to guess what I did before I became a bloody laundry lady?’
‘Sure.’ Freya turned to look at her, as if that was actually going to help. ‘Umm . . . I wanna say an air hostess?’
Naga laughed at that. Then tutted. ‘A tax accountant, actually.’
‘Oh.’ Freya nodded as she resumed unpegging socks from the washing line. ‘OK.’
‘Yup!’ Naga laughed. ‘That’s exactly what people used to say to me at parties.’ She propped her small pointed jaw on her fists and batted her eyes as if she was struggling to keep them open. ‘Accounts, huh? Hmmm . . . so very fascinating.’
‘I’m sorry – I wasn’t trying to say your job was bor—’
Naga flapped a hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s the classic “yawn job”. Like being in HR or being an estate agent. Doesn’t matter. The fact is I enjoyed doing it . . . and I made lots of money too, which is what really counts.’
She arched her back, straightened her arms and clicked her elbow. ‘What about you? Who were you?’
‘An A-level student.’
‘Really?’ Naga’s eyes widened. ‘How old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘I thought you were in your mid-twenties!’
‘That old? Charming!’
‘Hey, no, sorry. That came out sounding wrong, didn’t it?’
‘’S OK.’ Freya chuckled. ‘It’s my old-woman hobble I guess.’ She tossed a fistful of socks into the clothes basket at her feet. ‘So, how did you manage to survive, Naga?’
‘Like everyone else here, I was zonked out on medication at the time.’ She held out one hand. ‘Chronic RSI. Carpal tunnel syndrome. I’d just had the operation done . . . privately, I might add. And then guess what.’
‘What?’
‘I got sepsis. An infection as a result of the op. So I was being kept in and pumped full of antibiotics when the plague came.’ She laughed. ‘Ironic, really – as a result of some ridiculously overpaid consultant not washing his hands properly after playing golf, my life was saved.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘That’s why I probably won’t be suing them for shoddy hygiene standards.’
Freya laughed.
‘What about you?’ asked Naga.
‘I was on meds too. Painkillers. I was diagnosed with—’
‘Multiple sclerosis?’
Freya nodded. ‘Good guess.’
‘My auntie had it. I thought it only happened to older people, though?’
‘Old and young.’
‘What about your boyfriend? American, isn’t he?’ Naga arched her brows. ‘I’m presuming boyfriend?’
‘Oh.’ Freya laughed a little ruefully. ‘We’re not that.’
Naga narrowed her eyes. ‘But . . . ?’
‘No.’ Freya shook her head. ‘That’s not a . . . a thing for us. We’ve got each other’s backs, though. We met at this other place after the virus and we just sort of clicked. And, no, Leon’s not American, by the way, he’s British. He gets really pissed off if you call him a Yank.’
‘Right.’ Naga zipped her mouth. ‘Note to self.’ She unpegged a heavy sweater. ‘So what was this “other place”?’
‘It was like a super-posh health spa in some woods outside Norwich. It was pretty remote, so they were well set up to survive.’
‘What made you leave, then?’
Freya wondered how much she wanted to share with her. The memory of that traumatic last day was still raw in her mind. For Leon, mercifully, a lot of it had been a concussed blur. Not for her, unfortunately. She’d heard Grace’s screams as she burned to death in that storeroom. She’d watched Dave staring through the open door and seen the flicker of flames on his face, the reflected glint in his eye.
She’d been the one who’d had to plead with Phil as he drove them both away, crying, begging for him not to follow Dave’s orders and kill them both. To let them go, and in return she’d promised they’d never come back. She’d done all that, saved their lives, while Leon had been dazed, useless, in shock.
She didn’t want to talk about that now. Instead she gave Naga an edited version of what had brought them here, which included their discovery of that BBC radio studio and the message for other survivors. ‘Me and Leon have no idea how recently that broadcast was recorded. It could have been a few months or weeks ago. It could just as easily have been recorded days after the outbreak.’
‘You said the station still had electric power?’
She nodded. ‘Some places still do. Wind turbines, solar panels . . . you know?’
‘This message, what was it?’
‘The gist is there’s a bunch of ships coming to collect survivors from Southampton. They said we had to get there by September. But, you know, which September? This one? Last year’s? The year befo—’
‘And you two were on your way down to find out?’
Freya nodded. ‘Stupidly. Yeah. Because . . . what else are we going to do? Right?’
‘You told Everett about this?’
Freya wondered what Leon would say about her sharing this with Naga. They hadn’t actually discussed whether it was something to keep secret or not. But both, so far, had instinctively kept it to themselves.
‘Not yet, no.’
‘My God, you have to tell him! If there’s even a small chance . . .’ Naga stepped closer. ‘If there’s even a tiny chance that there’s a rescue effort being put together?’ Her brown eyes were suddenly wide and round with hope. ‘You’re not messing me around? This is for real?’
Freya was regretting opening her mouth now. ‘Yes.’
‘Flipping hell! Seriously. Bloody hell!’ She was grinning. ‘Go tell him!’
Freya nodded. ‘OK . . . but, you know, maybe don’t tell anyone else until I’ve told him?’
Naga nodded quickly. ‘Sure. Sure!’ She snatched the socks out of Freya’s hands and shooed her away.
‘Go! GO!’