CHAPTER 22 – CATHY

I held a finger for Adam to grab.

“It took a long time, but I’ve fallen in love with you,” I said.

In the last few days, Adam had transformed in my eyes. Every time I looked at him I was reminded of Michael. Sensing the change in me, Adam seemed more content, sleeping more soundly and happy to be cuddled. Anna had moved in with us and her presence was soothing. But no amount of people could silence the voice that shouted inside my head.

Michael’s dead.

You’ll never see Michael again.

I heard a knock on the door and tensed. It had been like this for days. Who would it be: nosy neighbours, intrepid survivors or a CE? So far it had only been the former. I opened the door and saw a group of six people. I blinked, at first not recognising the smoke-blackened face of the person at the front, and then let out a cry.

“Daisy! I don’t believe it!”

They staggered indoors. Daisy’s companions were clad in blue bodysuits, with shaved heads and tell-tale ragged ears.

“Come and sit in front of the fire and I’ll get you all some soup,” said Anna. “We’ve had a pot on the stove all day. We hoped people would turn up. But sweetheart, we’d given up on you.”

I leant on the wall to steady myself, unsure I was ready to hear Daisy’s story.

“Oh, it was appalling,” Daisy said. “The factory … the blast was so much bigger than we’d expected. Dan and Gina, who threw some of the sticks and bombs, didn’t survive it.” She wiped her hair from her brow. “Most of the attacking party didn’t, only Harry and Susan. Most of us drivers made it, though. How Harry survived was a miracle. He ran further than the others and dived into a ditch. We pulled a ton of rubble off him, but apart from cuts and bruises and singed hair, he was OK.”

“Did he get some people to the canal?”

“Yeah. We couldn’t see anything at first – the wall of smoke was enormous. Then we saw them, lines of people – those at the front slicing ears. And then they started running our way, all these people with blood dripping off them. Harry took forty or so. I kept cramming them into the TravelPod, ferrying them to the woods. But soon it was absolute carnage, bodies everywhere, shots from all directions, and then that giant machine shooting fire from the sky.”

Daisy took a deep breath and continued. “The guy at the entrance told me to give up and come inside. They were about to close up the bunker; they thought the thing in the air might trace its location. But I said no, there were so many people still outside.” She paused and shivered. “He said I’d never get anywhere by road – some people had tried to escape in trucks and there were roadblocks everywhere. They took the TravelPod into a storage unit next to the bunker. B-but I had to try, didn’t I? Try to save a few at least. So I walked. Kept finding people along the way. I had to bite off their tags. I left twelve at Bakewell, brought these five.”

“You’ve been walking for four days? Oh, Daisy.”

Anna arrived with bowls of soup, which all six devoured.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Not much. Blackberries, well past their best. Found some watercress, managed to catch a pheasant. I’ve had better meals.” Daisy turned to me. “What happened to Michael? Did he …” Her voice tailed off.

“He was injured. He’s in the bunker.” My voice was high and fast. “So you didn’t see Helen, or anyone else we knew?”

“No; I guess Helen was slicing ears but I was too far away to pick out individuals.”

I sighed and looked at the weary faces of the escapees. “We need to get you guys warmed up then taken to the safe house, don’t we? Ah, no TravelPod. It’ll have to be the horse and cart.”

Within an hour, I’d arranged for the newcomers to be examined by Alex and took them to the Barrel Inn, an old pub high in the hills around ten kilometres from the village. The pub was the official safe house for the region and had been stocked with food and water for the purpose. But it wasn’t empty. Five bald-headed people, huddled around a fire, stared at me with fear-filled eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m a friend. How did you get here?”

“A guy with a horse and cart found us by the roadside and brought us here. Said he was from – what was it – the OAC? He said someone would be here to tell us what happens next.”

I smiled. The rescue operation was obviously still active. “AOC. The Alliance of Outside Communities. We’ll look after you from now on. I have to leave you here for at least four weeks then we’ll find permanent homes for you. But someone’s going to check up on you once a week. Who wants to learn how to use a rifle?” I continued to talk to the newcomers. This was good. If I kept myself busy, I could suppress the screaming inside.

It was three more days before the visit I’d dreaded; that of the Citidome authorities.

“I understand you’re the village leader,” the CE said.

“Yes, come in.”

“Fingerprint,” she demanded. I proffered my index finger and held my breath.

“You don’t originate from the Citidome?” she asked. “Then what’s with the ear?”

I cursed my own stupidity. I’d forgotten that I’d tied back my hair. My mind flailed.

“Check deleted records,” the woman said, and than gave me a hard stare. “Caia 031954?”

“Yeah.” Lying seemed futile.

“It says here you died over sixteen years ago, giving birth?”

“Huh? No, that’s not correct. My baby died.” I added the latter hastily; there was the grave of Cathy Brewer to account for.

“Strange; this shouldn’t make mistakes.” The woman screwed up her face.

“The authorities were looking for me, back then. I haemorrhaged during childbirth. I can’t remember much about it. Maybe they assumed I’d died.” Breathe, Cathy.

“Hmm, I’ll update that.” She looked up. “It says here that you escaped with Mac 022852 but he was recorded dead on 041772.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Two days after we escaped,” I said.

“The baby you had. Was it his?”

“Er – no. It was someone I went with in the village.” Sweat prickled the back of my neck. Why had they asked? Were they trying to find evidence of me having performed subversive activities in the Citidome? Were they going to arrest me?

“Have you seen any strangers in the last week?”

I relaxed. I’d been prepared for this one.

“No, no-one comes out much in winter,” I said, my voice deadpan.

“Are you aware of any unusual activity?”

“No.” I rubbed my chin, pretending to think. “Except, about a week ago there seemed to be something odd going on south of here. There was a huge black cloud and a strange sort of machine in the sky.”

“Huh. I need to search every building in the village. I’ll start here.”

“Of course. Feel free. My sons are in the living room.”

“Sons?” The woman’s voice was sharp, accusing.

“From someone I met when I settled down here.” I reminded myself to breathe.

“What happened to him?”

“He died too.”

“How very convenient.” The woman’s stare pierced my brain. I followed her to the next room.

“Where’s your father?” she demanded of Scott.

“Dad’s gone,” said Scott in a small, frightened voice.

I could have kissed him.

But the CE seemed unconvinced. After clattering and slamming doors upstairs, she returned, her arms folded across her chest.

“If their father died, why are his clothes still in the closet?”

Think Cathy, think! My mind twisted and tangled. Then my thoughts turned to Joy and Michael, an action that could be guaranteed to free some tears, and inspiration struck.

“He … Peter only died two months ago. Silly, I know, but I haven’t been able to get rid of his things.” I allowed myself the luxury of a cry.

“I only have your word for this.”

“So what? You want to see his grave? Dig up his body? Follow me.” In a rush of irritation, I marched to the churchyard, the CE behind me, and pointed towards the fresh mound of earth, at one end of which was a wooden cross bearing the inscription, “Peter Baxter. Died 15^th October 2189.” I pointed to a spot to the left. “And there’s my daughter Cathy.”

“OK.”

Would I get away with this? I held my breath. Then Milo, back from a rabbit hunting mission and eager to greet a new visitor, bounded up to us.

“Get away!” the CE shouted, removed what look like a gun from inside her jacket and shot the dog. Milo fell to the ground but continued to whimper and writhe. When I saw what the weapon had done to him, my stomach heaved. He wasn’t dead but had lost most of the skin between his shoulder blades, a vast expanse of pink flesh exposed. I opened my mouth but the woman still had a hand on the weapon. I closed it again.

“I’m going to search the village,” she said. “There’s some dangerous people on the loose.”

“OK. But we’re not harbouring runaways. Haven’t seen any for years, and even if we did, we don’t want them. Our community’s doing OK; we don’t want disruption.”

The CE nodded and turned away, but the noise had brought Daisy out.

“Fingerprint,” the woman demanded.

A synthetic voice confirmed Daisy’s former identity. “Veez, can’t believe you lot live so long as savages,” the woman muttered and continued to the other houses.

Daisy looked at Milo and gasped.

“That’s horrific,” she said. “What sort of weapon would do that? She looked to the ground where the remnants of a pellet remained. She picked it up, yelped and dropped it, shaking her hand and plunging it into snow.

“It’s acid.” She gathered up snow and placed it on Milo’s back, then looked at me. “That must be what they’re using on the escapees – shit, that’s inhuman.”

“A wound that size isn’t going to heal, is it?” I said.

Daisy shook her head. “We’ll have to put him out of his misery.”

“Let’s find Luke. I won’t tell Scott.”

I walked up to the farm, Milo in my arms, and Luke dispatched him with a clean shot to the head. Afterwards Daisy and I wept in each other’s arms, as if the dog symbolised everything we’d lost.

 

For two more weeks, life plodded on. Morale in the village grew even lower. Scott cried every night for a week when his beloved pet didn’t come home. I clung to the boys more than ever. No-one seemed to be enthusiastic about the approach of Christmas. Then came a pounding on my door. It was Matt, carrying a girl little older than Joy, in a blue uniform, with a ragged earlobe that looked infected.

“Found her lying by the riverside,” he said. “There was another girl with her but she was dead. This one’s in a bad way. You need me to help?”

“Thanks, Matt. Could you put a pan of water on to boil and fetch Alex?” I ushered the young woman, who seemed incapable of speaking, indoors. I pressed my fingers against her wrist and shuddered at its chill. As I suspected, her pulse was weak but racing. Hypothermia. “You must be frozen,” I said. “I’ll run you a bath. Follow me.”

She nodded. I ran the bath to lukewarm, knowing how hot water felt against chilled skin.

“When you can stand it, run some more hot in. That’s the tap on the left; you turn it anticlockwise. I’ll get you a warm drink.” When I returned with the drinks, the girl – pitifully thin – smiled and mouthed the word, “Thanks.”

“When did you last eat?” I asked.

“Outbreak,” she rasped.

I shuddered. How miraculous the human body was. December had proved unseasonably mild, but the temperatures were still close to freezing at night. How had she survived without food? Alex arrived.

“I’d better get some soup on,” Anna said.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Matt said.

“Thanks.” I smiled.

Matt seemed awkward these days whenever I saw him on the street. He’d always been a friend of the family, despite being a Baxter. It must have taken some guts for him to oppose his family in the vote for the AOC to retain its control.

“What are you going to do with her?” Matt asked.

“She can stay here tonight. But beyond that, I’m not sure. We can’t take her to the Barrel Inn. She’ll need nursing.”

“But you’ve got the boys and Anna, and it’s not likely that we’ll get another CE visit at this stage. Why don’t I see if Mum’ll take her in?”

I frowned. The last thing I wanted was Margaret and Frank complaining that I’d dumped a Citidome escapee on them. Then something in Matt’s expression made me smile. Of course. The girl looked to be around Matt’s age and had a delicate sort of beauty. Why not give him an early Christmas present?

“I’d be so grateful if they could,” I said.

Within the hour, I’d dressed the girl in some of Joy’s clothes, got two bowls of soup inside her, and Matt had taken her away with him. The next day Margaret knocked on the door. I braced myself for a tirade, but – was I seeing things? – Margaret was smiling.

“The girl seems better this morning. We gave her some eggs. Sweet little thing, isn’t she? We’ve given her a new name – Hope.”

“That’s lovely. Thanks so much for taking her in.”

“It’s a pleasure.” And with that, Margaret left, leaving me open-mouthed.

“Was I going senile, or was that Margaret being civil?” asked Anna.

“It appeared so. That girl really is a miracle.”

Something about the frail young woman touched everyone’s hearts. A steady stream of visitors arrived at Margaret’s house bearing bread, milk and soup. However short-lived it may be, we were a united community once more. And it was with a renewed optimism that Anna, Daisy and I prepared for a family Christmas and prayed that it would bring the greatest miracle of all.