CHAPTER 66
10 years AC
O2 Arena - ‘Safety Zone 4’, London
They stood in silence amongst a cluster of several dozen large green plastic water butts. They were filled with human waste collected from the latrine cabanas inside the dome. The air above them seemed to shimmer with the warmth of fermentation. The odour of rancid shit was so powerful Leona felt like it was coating her tongue, the back of her throat, lining her lungs.
‘Jesus, Brooksie, why the f*ck d’you have to pick this place to meet?’ said one of the men.
‘Why do you think? We got a little privacy here. Just make it look like you’re taking a leak.’
The men obediently circled around a pile of waste and pretended to fumble at their flies.
‘Right then,’ said Adam, ‘let’s start talking. We won’t have long before the whistle goes.’
‘So,’ said Leona, trying to look like she had some purpose being here standing amongst four men supposedly taking a piss break. ‘These guys were in your platoon?’
‘All that’s left of our unit,’ replied Adam quietly. ‘This is Sergeant Danny Walfield,’ he said pointing at the man standing opposite her. Dark, almost black, hair, had been kept cropped relatively short, an untidy cut that looked as if shears had been used. On top it was going thin. He had a thick moustache curving down either side of his mouth, like the black neoprene-grip handlebars of a racing bike. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties.
‘All right, love?’ he grunted. She nodded back.
‘And this is Lance Corporal Sean Davies. But everyone calls him Bushey.’
A slightly younger man with long curly ginger hair pulled back into a bulky ponytail and a scruffy, wispy goatee around his mouth. ‘Hey,’ he said with a small self-conscious wave.
‘And Lance Corporal Davey Potter.’
Thinning a little at the temples, long brown frizzy hair swooped down either side of his narrow face to unite with a thick grizzly beard he’d clearly not bothered to tame in years. He pushed his round-framed glasses up his nose. ‘They call me Harry,’ he said in a tone of voice that sounded as if she ought to have already guessed that. She cocked her head, not sure what he was getting at.
‘On account of the glasses and the surname. Potter? Remember them books?’
The books? Then she got it. She remembered them. Jacob hated those bloody books.
‘Right, I get it.’ She looked at his unruly hair. ‘I’m surprised they don’t call you Hagrid.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, I had short back and sides back when I joined the platoon, didn’t I?’
‘And this,’ Adam said to the three men, ‘is Leona.’
They exchanged formal nods. Like Adam, like every other worker here, they were wiry-lean; every last ounce of surplus fat burned away years ago as a slow and steady downhill curve of calories in their diet was waging a war of attrition on their bodies; slowly but surely starving them to death.
‘Right, so like I was saying lads,’ he said, ‘Leona’s the one that came in last month, after those two boys. All three of them came down together from this other settlement in Norfolk.’
‘Norfolk is it?’ said Harry. ‘That’s where we was based.’
Adam carried on. ‘Their settlement is a going concern, not another crash ’n’ burn. It’s doing just fine and it’s quite a big settlement, right?’
She nodded. ‘About four hundred and fifty of us.’
The men looked at each other, stunned.
‘That’s right,’ said Adam. ‘And the thing is, lads, Leona says we’d be welcome there.’
‘You got food . . . you know, like for ever?’ asked Bushey.
Leona nodded. ‘We’ve been self-sustaining for the last four years.’
‘It’s not just f*cking vegetables?’
‘We have fish, loads of fish. We have eggs too. And chicken occasionally. ’
‘Eggs!’ Harry looked at Bushey. ‘Did you say eggs?’
‘F*ck that.’ Bushey made a face. ‘You said chicken? I’d sell me own grandma for a Kentucky Fried—’
‘Quiet, you two,’ said Walfield.
Adam nodded gratefully. ‘But here’s the thing, lads,’ he continued. ‘Maxwell and his soldier boys are planning on moving there themselves. They know about it, and they’re going for it. That’s what all that noise today has been about. That’s why they grabbed a hundred workers earlier this morning and took them into the middle. They’re packing up their stuff and leaving.’
Walfield nodded. ‘Shit! That’s what we were saying earlier, wasn’t it? Thought they’d found someplace better, that this was them f*cking off with the supplies.’
‘Well, you were right,’ said Leona.
‘The thing is, gents,’ said Adam, ‘we have to beat Maxwell there and—’
‘Oh, I get it,’ said Bushey nodding slowly. He looked up at Leona. ‘You want us to help fight those boys when they arrive?’
Adam looked at him and splayed his hands in guilty admission. ‘Yes. We’d help Leona’s people defend themselves. That’s the price of admission.’
The men looked at each other. It was Walfield who spoke. ‘I don’t know, Brooksie, mate. They’re all psyched-out in the head. It’s Maxwell’s doing. Last few years he’s been brainwashing those little pricks into believing they’re all f*cking superhero warriors. That makes ’em dangerous.’
Harry nodded. ‘They’ll fight like bloody pit bull terriers. Maxwell will probably coke them out of their heads before he sends them in.’
‘How many other men are there at your place?’ asked Adam.
‘Not many, I’m afraid. About a dozen grown men. Although most of them are pretty old.’
Walfield, Bushey and Harry glanced at each other unhappily.
‘A dozen men and us. Sixteen effectives,’ said Adam.
‘Seventeen,’ added Leona. They looked at her. ‘And every other woman there who doesn’t want to be raped by a gang of teenagers,’ she added quietly.
The men nodded. Point taken.
‘What about weapons?’ asked Walfield. ‘What have you got?’
‘Some guns. Four or five, I think.’
‘That’s it?’
She nodded.
Bushey shook his head and turned to Adam. ‘That’s not good, sir.’
Sir? She looked at Adam and it occurred to her for the first time that he must have been their commanding officer. The deferential body language, the guarded familiarity hinted of old habits hard to kill off.
‘What she hasn’t told you fellas yet is where they’re based.’
‘It would need to be a bloody castle,’ said Harry.
‘It’s better than that.’ He turned to her. ‘Isn’t it, Leona?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is. It’s a gas rig on the North Sea.’
Their eyes widened in comedic unison.
‘It’s big,’ she added, ‘five separate, linked platforms all sitting on eighty-foot support-legs. It’s hard enough climbing on when there’s someone above giving you a helping hand. Trust me.’
‘And a whole lot harder if there’s several hundred people firing guns and throwing things down at you,’ added Adam. ‘Right?’
She nodded. ‘That’s right.’
The men continued to pretend to be pissing in silence.
Walfield spoke up again. ‘We’d need more guns.’
‘Well, we’ll be getting two more when we take down the little f*ckers guarding the gate.’
Bushey looked up. ‘Rush them?’
Walfield smiled. ‘I’ve got a shiv I keep under my cot. Would do the job nicely.’
‘No way,’ said Harry. ‘They’d drop us before we could get close enough.’
Adam shook his head. ‘I’m pretty sure they patrol with empty clips. Maxwell was worried about them wasting ammo unnecessarily. You remember? Limited ammo was a concern when he had us weapons-training them?’
They nodded.
‘And no one’s ever bothered to try and escape. Shit, most nights those boys aren’t doing their job properly, anyway. They’re too busy arsing around.’
‘Or sleeping on the job,’ added Walfield.
‘It’s the last thing those boys will expect,’ said Adam. ‘Even if they are packing loaded clips, I bet they’ll still be fumbling for the safety by the time we’re on them.’
Walfield grinned. ‘Useless twats.’
Adam turned to Leona. ‘Most of the boys were pretty crap at handling the SAs properly. All thumbs. You watch them. They hold them like movie gangsters.’
Harry nodded and smiled. ‘Christ, we were shit drill instructors, weren’t we?’
‘So we’re doing this? said Bushey, scratching at his ginger goatee.
Walfield nodded. Harry gave it a moment and nodded. ‘I’m in.’
‘Bushey?’
‘Get away from this shit hole? Yeah, I’m in, sir.’
‘Good. Then we’re going for it tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes. You’ve all heard the noises coming from the middle. They’ve been at it all day. They could be leaving at any time.’
‘Are we sure that’s them packing up?’ asked Harry.
Walfield nodded. ‘Someone in my work group got a look round the side of the dome. They’ve got the barges lined up there. They’re loading stuff on.’
‘If we don’t get home first,’ said Leona, ‘if they get up onto the rigs before us, then it’s all for nothing. We might as well stay here and just wait for things to fall apart.’
‘How long’ll it take Maxwell to float his way up?’ asked Walfield.
‘My guess, it might take him three or four days,’ said Adam. ‘Say, two days if the sea’s millpond calm.’
‘So how’re we getting there?’
They heard the shrill scream of the work whistle in the distance.
‘On foot,’ said Leona. ‘Bicycles if we can find some. Shouldn’t be difficult - first retail park we come across there’ll be a shop.’
‘How long will that take us on bikes?’
‘Two days,’ she replied. Her eyes flickered towards Adam. ‘Maybe three . . . four.’
‘So,’ said Adam, ‘that’s why we need to get away first.’
The whistle blew again.
‘We’re out of time, lads. So, tonight we’re going for it. Okay?’
The other three men nodded as they pretended to shake off and tuck away.
Adam looked at them all. Very quietly he spoke, little more than a whisper. ‘Right then. One hour after the bedtime whistle blows.’
‘Where do we meet?’ asked Walfield.
Adam thought about it. ‘The rainwater pool.’
Leona knew where he meant. He was talking about the large family-sized paddling pool. It was to the left of the dome’s main entrance, towards the river’s edge.
‘Got that, lads?’ said Walfield. Both lance corporals nodded. ‘Back to work then.’
Leona watched the three men turn and make their way through the cluster of stinking plastic butts towards the plantation, converging with all the other workers.
Adam stirred. ‘All right, Leona? You okay with them?’
She knew what he was asking of them. ‘They seem like good men.’
‘They are. They’re good fellas.’
‘And you were, like, in charge of them?’ she asked.
He shrugged awkwardly. ‘Once upon a time, yeah. I was their CO.’
‘Like an officer?’ she asked.
‘Exactly like an officer. Flight Lieutenant, to be precise.’
‘That sounds impressive.’
Adam led the way through the butts back towards the aisles of beans where they’d been working this morning. ‘It’s not. I was a junior officer really. I was only twenty-five when the crash happened.’
‘Flight Lieutenant . . . sounds like you ought to be flying a plane.’
‘RAF regiment,’ he sighed. ‘Air Force grunts. I’m not a pilot, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh,’ she replied.
Adam laughed softly. ‘And that’s exactly the response I used to get from girls.’
‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me.’
‘Don’t worry, doesn’t mean anything now, does it?’
‘My work group’s on root-crops the rest of today,’ said Adam, pointing to the other side of the plantation, near the old boarded-up entrance to North Greenwich tube station. ‘We’re digging up whatever runty little potatoes and onions are left in the grow troughs. So, I’ll see you later.’
She smiled. ‘Later.’
‘Enjoy the rest of the day,’ he said.
‘It’s going to drag,’ she replied.
He laughed and she thought she saw a smile under that dark beard that she could grow to like.