WHEN REAPER HAD KNOWN they needed to expand the Blues he hadn’t expected Gwen and Nina to be the latest recruits. But, when he analysed the reasons, it made sense. They were both highly motivated after their experience and were determined never to be victims again. Besides, the community of which they had been a part, no longer existed. The Blues would be a new home for them.
Seventeen-year-old Gwen remained quiet and withdrawn and stayed close to James, although their infatuation with each other had not been consummated. A more unlikely relationship developed between Kev and Nina. This remained at a stage of mutual trust that Kev hoped might become something more.
The two women survivors of the Nab farm massacre had shared accommodation since their arrival at Haven. It had been their choice. They could relate to the trauma each had endured. It was better than having to face the sympathy of strangers who had not been there, and suffer their silent speculation about what had occurred.
When not with Nina, Gwen sought the company of James. The silence between them was comfortable; she needed no more, it seemed, than to be in his presence and hold his hand. The arrangement also suited him. It was the closeness he had wanted. They never referred to the circumstances that had brought it about.
It was natural that, because the two teenagers spent time together, Nina and Kev would come into contact. He remained bluff, compassionate and available. ‘I’ll sleep outside your bedroom, anytime,’ he said, provoking a sad smile from her. Circumstances again. If the horror of Nab Farm hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have needed to; and he wouldn’t have got close to this attractive woman for whom he realised he had more than the usual thoughts of desire. Kev was surprised to discover his motives towards Nina were honourable rather than lustful.
Their recruitment happened naturally. The two women felt vulnerable and Nina asked Kev if he would teach her the rudiments of shooting. If there was ever a next time, she wanted to be able to defend herself. Sandra agreed it would be a good idea, and Kev and James introduced the two women to the intricacies of the Heckler and Koch carbine and the Glock handgun. Sandra and Reaper added lectures on discipline and survival and they became trainee Blues.
When James asked if he could travel to Cheshire to discover what had happened to his family, it was a mission in which all four could take part. Most people had experienced the deaths of their families and loved ones when the virus had devastated the world but James had been at school on the other side of the country. He knew there was little or no chance that his parents or sister had survived but he didn’t know for sure. Reaper understood that it was important for the young man to resolve the doubts.
As the two girls were novice members, it would be normal for them to team up with a Blue with experience. It was obvious which way these four would team up, no matter what Reaper said. James would be with Gwen, leaving Nina paired with Kev.
‘I’m not totally happy about this,’ Reaper told James. ‘You and Gwen are close. It might impair judgement if you get a tough call.’
‘Sparta,’ said James, nonchalantly.
Reaper nodded. He understood the reference.
‘Spartan warriors in Ancient Greece took male lovers when at war and fought side by side. It made them fight all the fiercer.’ James smiled. ‘And to be honest, I never really fancied Kev in that way.’
Reaper laughed.
‘Besides,’ said James, ‘we’re all close, you know that. All the Blues. We’d all die for each other. Because I love Gwen doesn’t mean I’m going to do something stupid. Rather the opposite.’
Reaper was impressed at how mature the young man was. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Totally right. Just take care.’
Two teams usually travelled in two cars but on this occasion it seemed sensible for all four to use the one vehicle as the girls were still serving an apprenticeship. Next time out, they could split into pairs.
They completed loading the Rover for the trip on a hot sunny morning. The girls were already in the back of the vehicle.
‘One thing,’ Kev said in a quiet voice that would not carry. ‘If shit does happen, there’s no way we can let them fall into the hands of another gang.’
‘I know that.’
‘Do you? Do you understand what I’m saying?’
James raised his chin slightly, his eyes far too cold for a youth of his age. ‘I understand,’ he said.
Kev nodded, and suddenly felt the weight of the responsibility they were both shouldering because of the changed rules of survival under which they were living. They would shoot the girls to stop them becoming rape victims again. He snorted at having to consider such options when they were embarking on a trip on a summer morning that should have meant only excitement and having a laugh.
* * *
When the world was normal, the trip wouldn’t have taken long. Motorway across the Pennines from Yorkshire into Lancashire and on into Cheshire. They might have stopped at a service station for coffee and an over-priced meal or looked for a pub in any of the conurbations through which the highway went.
Maybe a shopping detour into the giant Trafford Centre on the outskirts of Manchester, a retail mall of domes and doric columns, markets and food halls, the splendour of baroque and Ancient Egypt, and parking for 10,000 cars. Or a cultural diversion into the ancient streets of Chester with its Roman history, 17th century inns and tiered galleries of shops and tearooms.
Instead, they took their own food and drink, and drove carefully.
They had travelled to the peak of the Pennine range before, when Ronnie had discovered the secret bunker beneath the moors where government representatives had hoped to sit out the pandemic and restore order afterwards. It hadn’t happened. The pandemic had found and destroyed them, like it had done everywhere.
Once they started down the long sweeping motorway into Lancashire, they were entering new territory, new dangers. The view ahead was vast. Urban areas lay on the plain before them on both sides of the snaking double carriageways. From a distance they looked normal, as if people still lived there and led lives of industry and going to the pub. As if mums were still picking up the kids from school or having coffee with their neighbours and talking about the holiday they planned in Florida. ‘It’s expensive but the children will love it.’
But there was no such thing as normal any more.
The skies seemed clearer, cleaner, without pollution. Smoke from one small fire rose straight upwards way over towards Oldham. Controlled smoke. Perhaps a cooking fire. A sign of habitation. No morning coffee for young mums but maybe roast rat or dog with a baked potato. Maybe roast human. There had been stories.
No barriers marred the highway ahead but they stayed alert. Kev drove at 50, James had his seat pushed back, carbine at the ready across his knees. They went beneath the walkway that linked the two sides of Birch Services, a few cars in each parking area but no people. Kev peeled off left to take the circular M60 around the southern edge of the city. It was a longer way, but avoided the Trafford Centre. They had discussed the route before they left and had surmised that the richness of the Centre, one of the largest retail parks in the country, might have attracted a gang with grandiose ideas to match the architecture. Buckingham Palace had had three kings, the Trafford Centre might have a pharaoh. At the least, the occupiers might have put up barriers on the motorway that ran past, to inspect, capture or barter with travellers.
They encountered no problems as they snaked along the swift road through the environs of suburban sprawl. There was the occasional crashed car, either driven by suicides in the aftermath of the plague, or by people going far too fast in thoroughbred vehicles whose power they had fatally underestimated. Two more small fires burnt on the far outskirts of Stockport, more signs of life in the desolated land. They encountered no travellers. In the early days, there had been plenty of fugitives on the roads in single vehicles or small convoys, looking for salvation. Now, it seemed, they had realised there was no salvation and many had decided there was no point in moving. Until the food ran out.
The motorway split again and they took the M56. Signs proclaimed this was the way to Manchester Airport.
‘Where do you fancy?’ said Kev. ‘Three terminals. Destinations around the world. We flew to Cyprus from there. Smashing holiday. We had a villa at a place called Polis. Terrific time. Lovely bars and restaurants, great beach. Lovely people. Went snorkling every day.’
He ran out of things to say. The emotions of the holiday suddenly catching him out, memories of his wife and daughter, of the gentle, warm, family fun. No clouds of any kind on any horizon. He almost cried. He sniffed. ‘Anyway, it was a lovely spot. Unspoilt.’ He grunted. ‘Unspoilt for ever now.’
Nina said, ‘I’ve been to Cyprus. Nice place.’
‘We flew to Majorca from Manchester,’ said Gwen. It was the first comment she had made since the start of the journey. ‘Family holiday.’
The silence threatened to emphasise her contribution out of proportion.
‘How about you, James?’ Kev said. ‘Family hols?’
‘We had a house in Ireland,’ James said. ‘On the coast in Wicklow. We flew from Manchester to Dublin a few times but mostly we drove and took the ferry.’
The signs showed the airport turn was approaching.
‘Well, if there’s nowhere exotic you want to fly, we might as well go to Cheshire.’
They surged past the turn and stared at the curve that had once taken passengers to the major international airport. Now weeds would be growing through the runways and the aircraft would be slowly rusting on the tarmac.
‘No more holidays abroad for a while,’ said Kev. ‘Not until someone invents an airship.’
‘That will be the way we’ll go,’ said James, meaning the future, and not them personally. ‘Airships were the thing in the 1930s. Far superior to aeroplanes. The war and the Hindenburg disaster stopped their development. But they will be the best option for us. It’s an easier way to fly.’
Kev glanced at him. ‘You know some stuff, don’t you?’
‘It’s called education, Kevin.’ He said it with a smile to remove the sting.
‘Me…’ Kev said. ‘I never went to a posh school. I’m a graduate of the University of Life. How about you Gwen?’
‘My parents were teachers. It was all mapped out for me. Sixth form and university.’
Kev couldn’t care less about her educational aspirations. He was pleased that she was talking. ‘Were you going to be a teacher?’
‘That’s what they wanted.’ Kev saw a hint of a smile in the rear view mirror. ‘They meant well. But it wasn’t for me. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was in sixth form. I had a vague idea that I wanted to be a social worker.’
‘By heck, me hearty,’ Kev said. ‘I never had you down for the open-toed sandal brigade.’
James said, a little defensively, ‘Gwen just wanted to help people.’
They had obviously discussed this before.
‘Fine thing too. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a vocation, like being a priest. All power to your sandals, Gwen.’
‘I’ve never worn sandals,’ she said. The smile stayed.
How about you, Nina?’ Kev said. He realised he didn’t even know if she’d been married. Come to that, she didn’t know if he had. Many people chose not to talk about the past, keeping the memories precious and for themselves alone.
‘Me?’ she said. ‘I was in local government.’
‘Tea lady?’ Kev said it mischievously.
‘I was an architect in the Planning Department.’
The declaration of her past profession immediately dented Kev’s hopes. Being an architect meant she was clever. What could she possibly see in a former matelot with a tattooed arse? Before he could brood too deeply, James directed him to turn off. His family home was the other side of the town of Knutsford, which was still some miles away. They were taking country roads to avoid urban areas.
‘Nice countryside,’ Kev commented.
‘I hadn’t noticed before,’ James said.‘Just taken it for granted.’
‘It’s gentle,’ said Gwen.
They drove along a narrow road that was canopied with overhanging tree branches. The road dipped past a lake and rose again to emerge at the crossroad of a small village with an ancient parish church, a pub and a solitary shop that said VILLAGE STORE. Terraced cottages meandered away along two of the roads and more substantial houses were in secluded spots among trees and overgrown foliage. Parked on the road were two cars that might have been abandoned for a year, and a sit-up-and-beg bicycle that had been left propped against a hedge, and was now part of it as the undergrowth had gradually absorbed the frame.
Kev stopped the Rover and switched off the engine and they got out. Both he and James carried their carbines casually but ready to use. Gwen and Nina stood behind them, holding their weapons in the same manner but self-consciously. This was the first time they had been in an active situation. Except that it wasn’t very active. They were in the peace of the countryside and listened to the birds and the hum of insects. From somewhere, they could hear the cooling sound of water in a stream.
They stretched and relaxed.
‘Hello,’ shouted Kev, but no one replied.
James, with Gwen a pace behind, walked towards the Parish Church of St Stephen. He too, shouted, but still there was no response. He looked at Kev and said, ‘We might as well eat. I’ll check the pub.’
He went cautiously towards The Black Swan, even though all the signs suggested the village was deserted and hid no hordes of ferals. He motioned to Gwen and she levelled the carbine to the ready. James entered the pub, whose door was unlocked, and Gwen followed. Kev waited but there were no shots or shouts of alarm or discovery. He went to the Village Store; Nina was behind him, also with carbine ready.
The whole village looked as if it had gone to sleep eighteen months before and missed the turmoil that had followed in the wake of the virus. It was a neat and civilised village where the inhabitants had probably died neat and civilised in their beds, without causing a fuss.
Kev was not surprised that the front door of the store wasn’t locked. He pushed it open and the shop bell rang, a sound of normality in a village that had died. It was an old building with a nicely preserved old frontage but, inside, it had undergone modernisation to better utilise the space. The counter was on the right as he went in. A door to the interior was at the end. A row of shelving in the middle of the store on the left created two aisles. Against the far left wall were two refrigerated units that had long ceased working. The shelves were reasonably well stocked with household items but there were spaces where foodstuffs had been. A rack of newspapers was inside the door. State of Emergency and Martial Law were headlines on the nationals. May Day Festival Cancelled declared the local weekly.
He indicated for Nina to stay at the front door. He opened the interior door that led to a passage and a flight of stairs.
‘Hello,’ he shouted.
Nobody answered but three cats ran past his legs, giving him a start.
He inspected the shelves. They had brought their own food but anything that might augment it would be welcome, although he was inclined to leave the store intact. He had done his share of liberating supplies in other places but here it would seem like looting. That was until he discovered the SPAM. He first found a couple of cans on a middle shelf alongside a solitary tin of pilchards. He found himself smiling and reached for them. Two 12 ounce cans of the pork-based meat product were too good to pass up. He dropped one can and, when he crouched to recover it, he saw that extra supplies had been stored at ground level below the bottom shelf. There was a whole cardboard carton of SPAM. Twenty-four cans.
‘Oh yes!’ he said out loud. He put his carbine on the counter with the two spare cans.
‘What is it?’ said Nina.
‘Food of the gods,’ he said, and went back and picked up the carton.
SPAM was never top of the list when scavenging groups went out from Haven, but to Kev it was a delicacy he had missed over the last year. He was back at the counter when a voice behind him said, ‘Stop right there!’
It was an old voice that trembled, but it spoke with an authority that suggested its owner might have more than justifiable outrage to back up his demand. Kev stopped. Nina had stiffened on the doorstep of the shop, her gun pointing past him, her eyes unsure. He motioned with the palm of his hand for her to calm down.
‘Turn round.’
Kev turned and faced an elderly man in the shadows beyond the interior door. He held a shotgun that shook as much as his voice. He wore glasses, baggy trousers, a shirt buttoned to the neck and a cardigan. From her position, Nina would be unsighted.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kev said. ‘I didn’t know anyone was here. I did shout but you didn’t answer.’
‘Put it back where you found it.’
He waved the gun to encourage compliance and the shake got worse. Kev thought it would be a hell of a way to go – shot over a case of SPAM. No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for his SPAM. The chap was so old and the gun so unsteady that he couldn’t take the situation seriously. Except that he should.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll put it back. No harm done. Okay?’
He moved carefully past the gun barrel and replaced the carton below the shelf.
‘And them,’ said the old man, and Kev returned for the two cans, his hands going temptingly close to the carbine on the counter, but what would he do if he grabbed his own weapon? Shoot the old bloke?
‘I really am sorry,’ he said, after replacing them. ‘I wasn’t really stealing. I thought the whole village was empty.’
‘Well it isn’t.’
‘I can see that.’
He backed towards the doorway with his hands held out to his side at shoulder height, fingers spread, palms showing.
Then Nina pushed past him, her gun pushed behind her back on its strap, and said, ‘I’m glad you’re open. Do you have any shampoo?’
The old man lowered the shotgun and pointed.
‘On the back shelf. Near the ice cream.’
Nina went where he directed and returned a few moments later with a bottle of Vosene.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘But what do you want for it? I mean, you don’t still take money, do you?’
‘Do I look daft?’
‘Certainly not. You look like a businessman. One who means business with that.’ She pointed to the shotgun and he grinned at her.
‘Don’t you be worried about that, lass. It’s not loaded.’ He propped the gun in the corner by the door, lifted a wooden flap and shuffled behind the counter, and put the flap back down. ‘Now then. One bottle of shampoo. Do you have any liquorice allsorts?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t. But we’re going to my friend’s home on the other side of Knutsford. I’ll stop in the town and see if I can get some for you.’
‘Funny folk in Knutsford.’
‘You mean since the plague?’ said Kev.
‘No. There’s allus been funny folk in Knutsford. I keep my distance. Anyways, the liquorice allsorts aren’t for me. They’re for me wife.’
‘You live here with your wife?’ Nina said.
‘I look after her. She’s older than me. Has a condition.’
Kev said, ‘So that’s why you stayed?’
‘Why should I go?’ the old man said belligerently.
Kev held his hands up again. ‘No reason at all.’
Nina held her hand out and said, ‘I’m Nina.’
The old man took her hand and held it. The tremble turned it into a shake. ‘Godfrey Green.’ He relinquished her hand almost reluctantly and moved his head in a circular gesture. He was so frail, Kev hoped it didn’t fall off. ‘Folk round here call me God.’ He looked at Kev, still aggressive. ‘It’s a joke,’ he said.
‘I’m Kev,’ he said, but didn’t offer a hand. James and Gwen had come from the pub and were now behind him in the doorway. ‘These are our friends. James and Gwen.’
James and Gwen waved.
‘It’s not every day you meet God,’ James said, with a smile.
God nodded, not taking offence. He didn’t appear to be intimidated by the fresh-faced youth. He looked from one to the other until he had re-assessed all four. ‘You’re together, then.’
‘Yes,’ said Kev.
‘I mean, couples. You’re together as couples.’
‘That’s right,’ said Gwen.
‘That’s good. Everybody needs somebody. It’s good you’re together. It’s how it should be.’
Kev glanced at Nina but she didn’t look back. He wondered how she felt about being partnered with him, if only in the mind of God.
‘You go well together,’ God said, staring at James and Gwen. ‘I can see it. I can feel it. You’re a couple. Like me and Beth. Married sixty-two years, me and Beth. Hope you last as long.’
Gwen said, ‘Can we do anything for your wife?’
‘No, thank you, lass. I do all that needs doing. She’s not up to visitors. But I’ll tell her you called. You and your young man.’
‘Erm.’ Kev waited to be noticed. ‘About the SPAM.’
‘That you were stealing.’
‘That was a mistake. The point is, I’m a SPAM aficionado.’
God’s expression didn’t change.
James said, ‘He means he likes it.’
‘I’m a member of the SPAM Appreciation Society,’ said Kev. ‘Well, I was.’
James said, ‘That means he likes it a lot.’
God said, ‘The SPAM Appreciation Society?’ as if it was a belief in aliens.
‘Yes. Honestly. And I haven’t seen any for yonks. That’s why I was tempted. But now that I know it belongs to you, perhaps we can come to some arrangement. Liquorice allsorts? We can do that. Or anything else you want. What do you say?’
‘Well for a start, I’d say it’s not my shop and the SPAM doesn’t belong to me. I just don’t like your not-so-much-as-a-by-your-leave thieving.’
‘You don’t live here?’ Kev said.
‘Oh I do now. After Mr Barlow died. It’s better accommodation than our cottage.’
Nina said, ‘So you’re not a shopkeeper?’
‘No lass. I’m the caretaker at the church. Caretaker and churchwarden.’
The pause lasted long enough for them all to re-assess the situation.
‘So I can take the SPAM?’ Kev said.
‘Can’t stand the stuff,’ said God. ‘Don’t like pilchards much, either.’
Gwen said, ‘If Kev takes it, we’ll bring you something back. What else would you like, if we can’t get liquorice allsorts?’
‘Any liquorice. Any sort of sweets, I suppose. Always had a sweet tooth, my Beth. All that was here’s gone.’
James said, ‘Is there anyone else in the village?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘All gone. Mostly dead. I hold a service for them in the church every Sunday. Churchwardens can do that.’
‘How do you know when it’s Sunday?’ said Kev.
‘When I hold a service, it’s Sunday,’ said God. He cocked an ear and looked at the ceiling. ‘Anyway. I have to go and see to Beth.’
‘We’ll bring you some sweets,’ said Nina.
‘Anything else?’ said Kev.
God lifted the counter flap and shuffled towards the door. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Cartridges for the shotgun would be handy.’
He went through the door and they heard him climbing the stairs. One of the cats went with him.
Kev saw James grinning.
‘You got taken by an old man with an empty gun?’
‘All right,’ he said, and held his hands up in surrender. ‘But I still got the SPAM.’
He collected the carton and the tins and took them to the car.
The old man had said they were couples and Nina had given him a cheeky smile in passing that could have meant anything, but probably meant don’t hold your breath. Kev had always had the ability to make women laugh – all the way into bed, he had liked to boast in his youth – but he was no longer young. He had never had film star looks, even then. His face was more lived in than Hollywood. Romance? Maybe he would settle for platonic and keep his fantasies to himself.
‘What’s the pub like?’ he asked.
‘The shelves are a bit empty but the cellar is well stocked,’ said James.
‘Why don’t we have a picnic on the bench by the church wall,’ Gwen said. ‘Then if God wants to join us, he can.’
‘Do you believe his wife is alive?’ James asked Kev.
‘Can’t be sure, but it’s doubtful.’
‘So he’s living with her memory?’ Nina said.
‘Or her body,’ said James. ‘It would be hard to be parted after sixty-two years.’