Autumn: Aftermath (26 page)

Harry looked at him. Did he have more to say? He looked unsure. “But…?” he pressed.

“Nothing … it’s just that the wall looks fucking huge now we’re stood next to it. Are we going to get over it?”

“We’re going to have to,” Michael said. “Desperate times call for desperate actions.”

“Where d’you get that little gem from?” Harry grinned.

“Can’t remember. Some film or other, I expect. It’s true, though.”

“Bloody hell,” Harte continued nervously, “climbing over castle walls in the middle of the night. It’s all a bit James Bond, isn’t it?”

“Give us an alternative and we’ll listen,” Harry said.

“We gave up on the idea of a helicopter rescue, remember?” Michael said. “Now
that
was more like James Bond.”

Harte was too anxious to see the funny side. Truth was, he wasn’t even listening anymore.

“It’s fine,” Harry said, trying to reassure him. “I did a lot of climbing. I’ve been up rock faces far worse than this in my time.”

With that he began to get himself ready. He took various pieces of kit from the bag Harte had been carrying—carabiners, harnesses, and the like—and issued the same to both of the others.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Harte asked.

“Nothing. Leave it to Michael. You remember what to do, don’t you Mike?”

Michael nodded and hoped that he did. Harry had given him the briefest instruction before they’d started out, but after all they’d been through to get here, he thought he’d probably forgotten most of it.

“I remember,” he said, sounding less than convincing.

Harry laid out the climbing rope, unspooling it carefully along the ground, then attached one end to his belt. “I’ll get up and over,” he explained, “get the rope fastened to something on the other side, then you two follow when you hear my signal, okay?”

“Okay,” Harte said. “What’s the signal?”

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” Harry said. “If you hear anyened of the ordinary, take that as your cue to start climbing.”

“Got it,” Michael said. “Get going.”

Harry stood at the foot of the wall and looked up to find his first handholds. He reached up, dug his fingers into the narrow gaps between the huge, ancient stones, and lifted himself off the ground. Michael watched as he hauled himself up, impressed by his dexterity and speed. He’d climbed several meters in no time at all.

“I’ll never be able to do that,” Harte complained.

“You don’t have to. You’ll have the rope to help you, remember?”

Harte looked up at Harry, way above both of them now, scrambling up the sheer face of the wall at lizard-like speed and without a damn care. It had all sounded deceptively simple when they were back in Chadwick making plans—get across the dead by foot, scale the wall and get into the castle, round up everyone who wants to leave, find a vehicle big enough for them all, then get the fuck out of the castle before anyone notices.
But plans like this always sound okay until you’re there
, he said to himself. Crossing the dead had been a nightmare in itself, and as for climbing the wall … he honestly didn’t know if he could make it. If Harry slipped and fell … it didn’t bear thinking about. There’d be no way he could survive and no way they could help him. He remembered Steve Morecombe who’d died as a result of an accident he should have made a full recovery from.

Bloody hell, and this was the
easy
part of the plan. He was seriously doubting if they were going to make this.

*   *   *

Harry was more than two-thirds of the way up now. His arms ached—he hadn’t done anything like this for a while—but he was able to ignore the pain because he knew it wouldn’t last much longer. He felt for another handhold, and managed to find a narrow gap between two huge chunks of stone which had been carved and dropped into position hundreds of years ago.
Now’s not the time to get distracted
, he told himself as he thought about how many years these massive blocks had remained in place and all that had happened to the world around them in that time. Even if he made it through tonight and lasted another fifty years, his entire life would be little more than the blink of an eye in comparison to the centuries this place had been here.

He eventually reached the top of the wall, peering over at first, then pulling his legs over, keeping low so that he wouldn’t be spotted from inside. He lay flat on his stomach and looked down into the castle grounds. There was the cesspit Harte had told him about—he could smell it from up here—and near to it lay an unmistakable shape wrapped in a tarpaulin. It was a body, no question about it. He glanced back in the other direction and gave Michael and Harte a quick thumbs-up to let them know he was okay and he hadn’t been seen. Bloody hell, all that talk of James Bond … he was actually starting to feel like a spy. But spying was yet another redundant profession now there were so few people left alive.

Harry looked along the inside of the wall in bothons. Several trucks had been parked a short distance behind him. They’d make this immeasurably easier. As well as giving him something at a convenient height to lower himself onto, one of the trucks would also be a perfect anchor for him to tie the rope to. More than that, if he could get hold of the keys, any of the vehicles he could see would be perfect for getting people out of the castle compound. He looked back at Michael and Harte again, still standing in the same place, still waiting for his signal, then gestured in the direction in which he planned to move.

38

Between them, Harry and Michael helped Hart
e down onto the roof of the truck. The three of them lay flat, so as not to be seen. It was past eight, although the day had been long and tumultuous and it felt like the middle of the night. The moon was still out, but vast swathes of the camp inside the castle remained hidden in shadow, the tall encircling wall blocking out what little light there was. The only other illumination came from the windows of a couple of the caravans at the far end by the gatehouse, and from the glowing remains of a small, untended fire. Fortunately the bitter cold seemed to have kept everyone inside their shelters tonight, hiding away like hibernating animals.

“Do you know who wants out and can you make them known to us somehow?” Michael whispered. “Problem is, we don’t know who’s who.”

“I’ve got a good idea.”

“So where are they likely to be? In those caravans?”

“I guess so,” he replied. “There’s a classroom, a café, and a few other rooms over by the gatehouse, but I don’t see much activity up there. They must be in the vans. We need to be careful, though. Don’t want to find ourselves knocking on Jas’s door by mistake.”

“We should split up,” Harry suggested. “Go recce the place out, then meet back up over here and decide on a plan of action when we know where everyone is. Just stay out of sight and don’t get caught.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Harte mumbled. Did they think he was stupid?

The three men climbed down off the truck, lowering themselves as far as they could then dropping the last meter or so onto the gravel. Dressed in dark clothes, and with hats and scarves intentionally obscuring their faces, they moved off in different directions. Michael took the long way around to the various prefabricated rooms near to the gatehouse, but found no one there as Harte had suspected. He thought the place looked surprisingly well organized. If it hadn’t been for the wreck of the bus in the middle of the courtyard and the signs of fire damage to one of the caravans, all would have seemed well.

Harry went in the opposite direction, checking out the area around the cesspit. He noticed there were two bodies—the one wrapped in cloth he’d seen from the top of the wall, and another buried in a shallow grave with a rudimentary wooden cross hammered into the ground at one end.
So despite everything I’ve heard
, Harry thought,
these people aren’t total savages.
He ducked ot of sight when he thought he heard someone coming, hiding behind a wall where a trench urinal had been dug, the smell so strong it made his eyes water. Satisfied no one was there, he crept back out into the open and worked his way back around to the trucks where he’d first come in.

Harte made a quick dash across a patch of open space and slipped between two of the caravans. Inside one he could hear voices—it sounded like Kieran and several others, but he couldn’t be sure. He turned his attention to the van next door and stood up on tiptoes. Through a crack in the curtains he could see Lorna curled up on a narrow bed, but this wasn’t the van she usually slept in. And there was Zoe, sitting in a corner with her back against the wall. There was Sue, and Driver too. Bingo. This was what he was after. He turned and ran back to find the others.

Harte found Harry hiding in the back of one of the trucks. Michael returned seconds later.

“Well?” Harry asked.

“They’re in the caravans like we thought,” Harte explained.

“Easy to get to?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“So once we’ve got them,” Michael said, “how do we get them out of here.”

Harry tapped the side of the truck and dangled a set of keys in front of him. “They were left in the ignition,” he explained. “Very convenient.”

“So what’s the plan? Just get everyone we can loaded into this truck and drive out of here?”

“It’ll work as long as they don’t start shooting this time.”

“Shooting?” Harry said. “What kind of weapons have they got.”

“A couple of hunting rifles,” Harte explained. “Nothing too serious.”

“Nothing too serious? Jesus.”

“All right,” Michael said, “there’s nothing we can do about it, just be on the lookout. So assuming we get everyone together, how do we get out of this place? I didn’t want to get too close to the gate. I thought they’d have guards there.”

“There probably is someone watching,” Harte agreed. “Up in the gatehouse, I expect. We should leave it till the last minute. There’s no lock or anything like that, just a wooden crossbeam. Get rid of that, then you just pull the two sides of the gate open.”

“Cool,” Harry said. “Sounds straightforward. Are we ready then?”

Harte immediately began to backpedal. “What, now?”

“Yes, now,” Michael sighed. “What did you think we were going to do? Wait for the sun to come up so we can see what we’re doing? Bloody hell, Harte.”

“Okay, okay…”

“You and I will go and see if we can get these people out. Harry, you get in the front of the truck and wait for us.”

Harry nodded.

Michael pushed Harte back out of the truck, then followed him along the castle wall until they were level with the back of the caravan where he’d seen Lorna.

“This the one?”

“Yep, in here,” Harte said. He gestured for Michael to stay back in the shadows, then crept across and lightly tapped on the window next to where Lorna was lying. At first she didn’t respond. He wrapped his knuckles on the glass a little harder, cringing at the noise, and after a couple of seconds she sat up and looked around. She moved with more urgency when she saw his face at the window. He gestured for her to come outside.

“Wait there,” she mouthed. She disappeared, and Harte could hear her talking to someone inside. After a delay, the caravan door opened. He could hear her voice more clearly now, telling someone she needed to go for a piss. The other person—it sounded like Mark Ainsworth, he thought—gave her permission but told her to be quick. If he was supposed to be acting as a guard, then he was a pretty ineffectual one. Lorna shut the door behind her then ran around to the back of the caravan and dragged Harte over into the shadows behind the remains of another crumbled interior castle wall. Michael followed.

“Bloody hell,” she said, “did you parachute back in here, Harte? I thought you’d run out on us again.”

“Just taking a leaf out of Driver’s book. Best to slip away and wait until it’s safe to come back.”

“It’s hardly safe now.”

“I know that, but this was the right time to do this.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Michael interrupted. “He’s been whinging like an old woman. I’m Michael, by the way.”

“Lorna,” she said. “Hey, are you the one with the baby?”

“Hopefully.”

“Save the small talk,” Harte said, his stomach still churning with nerves. “We need to get everybody out of here.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?”

“Our man Harry’s waiting in a truck over the way,” Michael explained. “We’ll get everyone who wants to leave loaded into the back of it, then get the gates open and get the hell out of here, hopefully before anyone else has realized what’s going on.”

“Simple as that?”

“Hopefully.”

“Are you all in this caravan?” Harte asked.

“Mostly,” Lorna replied, “there are a few more next door. But there’s a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Guard dogs. At least one in each caravan.”

Harte looked at Michael anxiously. “Do we take them out?”

Michael looked equally unsure. Dealing with dead bodies was one thing, but fighting a fellow survivor was a different matter altogether.

“Stay back here and give me a couple of minutes,” Lorna said. “I’ve got an idea.”

39

“You took your time,” Ainswort
h said as Lorna returned to the caravan. He sounded half asleep. Maybe if she’d waited a little longer he’d have drifted off completely and they might have all been able to walk out unchallenged, she thought, regretting her clumsy entrance. Her heart was pounding and the palms of her hands were clammy. She didn’t know if she could go through with this.

“Sorry,” she said, slipping back into character. “I didn’t mean to take so long. I was just thinking…”

“What about?”

“About you, actually. I was thinking about how rude I’ve been to you recently. How rude I was in the kitchen earlier. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he said, sounding shocked and yet surprisingly honest. “It was me. I can be a real dick at times. I kind of forget myself sometimes, you know, especially with all this shit going on around us.”