Breakdown (4 page)

We'd heard about the place, of course, Nan and me.

People had warned us how the Light of the Lord had gone out there. People got quite biblical on the topic, cautioned everyone that a new breed of humans was evolving. A breed as cruel as Herod, that could survive radiation, could multiply like cockroaches; could infect things.

And they were spawning in multitudes in Games City.

But as I trudge up towards its ramshackle barricades and its towering walls, this new evil breed of mankind is not the first thing I notice. The first thing is the smell.

It belches out at me. Sour like a bad dream. Even before we get there.

And the closer we get, the worse it is.

Across the barricades and into the old VIP lounges, and it's so thick I can't breathe. Saliva rises in my mouth. And however empty I thought my belly was, I'm sure I'm going to spill it right there. I nearly do, though my stomach's so shrunk it can't be much bigger than a pod.

I try to cover my nose with my coat sleeve, try to stop myself retching. How can people stand it? And I think of all the stories. It must be true then. Radiation must've changed them. They must be like cockroaches, happy to live on filth.

And I know I can't stay here. That's for sure.

Kaylem and Nailey march me down to the arena.

The once-gleaming, white-spoked Olympic Stadium with its glorious racetrack, which Nan told me all about, is now riddled with ramshackle alleyways. Lean-to sheds. Tin shacks. Hovels of buckled boards. Everything huddled together. Pools of filthy water. Mud. Sewage. Slime-covered concrete. Cracked paving. Litter. Rubble.

And stench.

A brindle dog slinks towards us, its tail between its legs. Oh hell. They've got dogs here too.

‘She's a tracker dog, Miss,' says Lenny. ‘And she's my friend, ain't ya?' He fondles the dog's head. She tries to wag her tail.

Kaylem sees and steps over. ‘Get,' he snarls, and whacks the dog around its muzzle with the iron bar.

The dogs squeals and runs off.

‘You didn't ought to do that,' says Lenny. ‘She's still got a bad mouth from before.'

‘Shut up,' says Kaylem.

Oh Nan, where are you? Don't abandon me here. Not with these gangers and these dogs.

Please take me with you.

Take me to a place where we won't have to scrabble around in dirt trying to grow a few scabby potatoes, hoping this year some apples will fruit on the old tree.

Take me to a place where the bees are back.

We heard that once – didn't we? That the bees were coming back. That somewhere, up-country, in the far north, in the mountains, somehow, they were there. Buzzing on lavender-coloured heather. Not biome bees – real bees, honey bees, collecting nectar, dusting pollen from blossom to blossom.

How long will they take to come south? How many years must we wait?

But we'd have waited, Nan, just the two of us. We'd have sat by dying fires, thrown books on to keep us warm.

How you cried, Nan, when we did that, and said: Not the books – not a life without stories, not a world without the Gods. How you held me close and called me your hope, your little Melissa, and reminded me of my name
–
Melissa, the nymph of the mountains, who was cursed to dwell in the underworld until Zeus, grown from the child she rescued, took possession of paradise and took pity on Melissa, transforming her into a beautiful bee and sending her back to earth to regenerate the souls of men.

‘To regenerate the souls of men.' That's what you said, Nan. ‘That's the task, Melissa.' How often did you tell me that?

But, Nan, we got by, didn't we? We used the embers to cook those potatoes, dried our sodden feet, told our own stories.

And you said, ‘The sacrifice has been made. The earth has been punished. The bees will return.'

We'd have waited together.

While those bees were coming.

Lenny's upset. He tries to call the dog. But she's too scared to come. We're marched into the centre of the racetrack. I stare at the piles of refuse around me.

I can't stay here.

Kaylem shoves me, says, ‘Get close to the fire, then. Dry yourself out. You ain't going to fetch nothing if you look nasty.'

I don't move.

Oh Nan. Are you there? Can I follow you? Please? To that other place?

Is it different there – over the doorstep of death? Is there a hearth with real logs burning brightly and a pot of stew bubbling and clean clothes in the closet and shoes for every day of the week  … ?

Kaylem slaps me hard across the back of my head. ‘I don't ask twice.'

It's only when Lenny pulls my hand and leads me to the fire that I move. My ears ring. ‘Miss, you got to do like they say or we can't help you.'

‘That's it, you watch her,' snaps Kaylem. He rolls his iron bar to Lenny. ‘Whack her with this if she's trouble.'

‘Please, Miss?'

I get up and go close to the fire. I take off Nan's coat and hook it over an upturned grocery trolley so it can dry out. Then I sit where I can dry out too. The smoke curls itself all around me. I'm glad. I cough, but the smell of smoke shuts out the stench.

Kaylem and Nailey walk off. They head towards some benches at the far side of the arena. Noise. Something like music. Oil lamps flicker. A lot of shouting.

‘They're doing drinking, Miss,' says Lenny. ‘Old Ma Taylor's brew. And playing checkers.'

Nan's coat drips and steams. The brindle dog slinks back, her belly close to the ground. Lenny croons over her, feeding her scraps of things from his pocket.

‘I gotta feed her,' he says. ‘And she's one of our best trackers. But
Careem hit her bad last week an' broke some teeth. She's still recovering an' she can't eat easily no more. Can you, doggy?' He tickles her shoulders.

I scrunch myself up as tight as possible and stay next to the flames. They die away. Nobody tends them. I start to get cold again. If there was wood nearby I'd risk another slap to get it. Lenny watches me.

‘Got to watch you,' he says. ‘Tarquin says.'

‘I know.'

‘I'm not going to hit you, though.' He toes away the iron bar Kaylem rolled at him. ‘Even if you tries to escape. I won't hit you, Miss.'

‘OK.'

‘But please don't try. You might get away and then they'll beat me.' He sits scrunched up as well, his too-big head on his scrawny knees. The dog nuzzles him. Lenny watches me with his oversized eyes and I think:
I can't escape right now. I'm too weak. It's too cold, and it's night, and there's dogs, and Nan's dead.
But I will.
And I don't care who they beat.

But I don't say anything. I just watch him back with my eyes all squinty.