Brother in the Land (4 page)

He'd used rubble to make a sort of low wall across the corner. I moved to and fro behind it with the pick-handle in my hand or stood, straining my eyes into the dark. He was right: it was quiet. I don't think I'd ever known real quiet before. I mean, when you live in a town there's always noise, even in the middle of the night. You don't notice it but it's there. Real silence feels like something's pressing in on you, and so does darkness. It's never dark in town.

I was more tired than I'd ever been. My eyes ached and my body felt like it didn't belong to me. I kept taking these very deep breaths and hitting the side of my leg with the pick-handle to keep awake. I tried talking to myself but even a whisper sounded loud in the silence and I gave it up. I thought, maybe this is what it sounds like to be dead.

I thought about Mum, but it was unreal. Any other time I'd have wept for a week. I'd often imagined myself after her death, prostrate, clutching her picture, refusing food, wanting nothing of this world except to be shot of it and go to her. Maybe it was tiredness or shock or something, but it didn't feel like that at all. I was able to think about her in a detached way, as though she died a long time ago. I even thought, there she is, in a parcel under the counter like somebody's order, waiting to be collected.

It was a long night, but nothing happened. Eventually I
noticed that the sky to the east had paled and I could see the silhouettes of broken buildings against it. Imperceptibly, the paleness pearled and turned to faintest pink. It was cold, and all the smashed bricks had moisture on them. Soon, it was light enough for me to see that the street was empty. I laid my weapon on the wall and began breathing on my hands and rubbing them together. My feet were numb. I curled and flexed my toes over and over again till warmth came.

Presently I heard movements below and Dad came up, treading softly. There was a three-days growth of whiskers on his face. His chin was blue.

‘All right?' His voice was low. I nodded.

‘Quiet, like you said. Funny how shadows move when you're straining to see.' He laughed.

‘You can say that again. Scare myself daft sometimes. By heck!' He rubbed his palms together. ‘I'll be glad when that sun gets some heat in it. Somebody'll come today, I shouldn't wonder.'

‘Aye.' My crotch was killing me and I thought about the man in the black outfit. ‘I just hope they do summat for us when they do.'

Ben was still asleep. Dad went down again and came back with a big cardboard box. ‘Here.' He set it down on the makeshift wall and handed me a tin-opener. ‘Get cracking and open that lot while I find us something to drink.'

The box was full of tinned food, baked beans, spaghetti; stuff like that. There must have been twenty tins. I opened a couple, then waited till he came up again with some pop and sterilized milk. ‘D'you want all these open?' I asked. He nodded and I said, ‘Why? There's enough for about forty people here.' He nodded again. ‘That's right. And it won't be long till there's forty waiting for it. We're not the only ones, y'know. Here.' He passed me a bottle of pop. Orangeade. I screwed the cap off, took a long swig and shivered. ‘Ugh! Nice cup of coffee'd be more like it. Who're you feeding?'

He was quiet a minute, thinking. ‘There's Mrs Troy and her lot, and that couple next to the filling-station, the Hansons. There's Les Holmes and his lad, his missus copped it like your
mum. Then there's Mrs North from number sixty-three, the widow. And there's some others that I can't remember. A lot of folk still have stuff of their own, but they'll start running out in a day or two.'

I took another swig of the pop. ‘Are we going to feed them all, everybody that comes?'

‘Oh, no,' he said. ‘Not everybody. Friends and neighbours, lad. Customers. It'll only be for a day or two, anyway.'

‘We hope,' I said. ‘But what if it isn't? What if nobody comes?'

He shrugged. ‘They will, Danny. Bound to. But if they didn't, well, we'd just have to think again, wouldn't we?'

People started coming as soon as it was properly light. We gave them food and drink. Mrs Troy had four kids and no husband. One of the kids, Craig, was Ben's best friend. Ben was up when they arrived, and he wanted to go off with Craig but Dad said no. ‘It's not safe,' he said. ‘Buildings ready to fall down and funny people wandering about. You can play with Craig in a day or two, when the soldiers come.'

It sounds daft now, but we lived in hopes those first few days. We kept expecting somebody to come. Dad's booklet said the dead would be collected and feeding-centres set up. It said to listen to the radio; there'd be news, and instructions.

We knew there were people up at Kershaw Farm with fallout gear and weapons. People in authority. We assumed they were soldiers, and that they'd come down and start sorting things out like the soldiers in Turkey when there was that earthquake. In the meantime, we had to shift for ourselves.

A lot of people went mad. Not raving mad, but wandering aimlessly about in the ruins, muttering; or sitting absolutely still, staring at the ground.

You'd think people would've got together to organize tents and cooking and first-aid and that, but they didn't. They were stunned, I suppose. They'd be outside and it'd start to rain and they'd just stand or sit getting wet with places all round they could shelter in.

I think it was the ones who thought too much who went mad. I mean, if you went round thinking about how it was before and how you used to take it all for granted and that, I guess it could drive you daft. I think Dad realized that. He was always doing something, keeping himself busy so he hadn't time to brood about Mum and the shop and that.

What kept me going was Ben. You know how it is with little kids, some big change comes into their lives, a new school or moving house or something, and they're upset for maybe a couple of days. After that, they pick up their lives and carry on and it's like nothing's happened. They adjust to new situations with fantastic speed.

Ben was like that. I mean, one day he was this ordinary little lad, going off to school with his reading book and pencil case, coming home to watch telly and eat toffees and go to sleep in a warm bed; and the next he was a little survivor with no mum, living among ruins and sleeping on the floor. And he just did it. His mum wasn't buried three days before he was racing about in the rubble, playing soldiers. It was incredible. It kept me sane, watching him.

Nobody came, and there was only crackling on the radio, so Dad and me dug a hole in a garden opposite the shop and put Mum in it. It was raining. Dad said something he remembered from the Bible and rain ran down his face so you could only tell he was crying by his voice and you couldn't tell about me at all. It was evening, and Ben was asleep. We'd have shown him where she was later, only he never asked.

Water was a big problem. Tremors from Branford had fractured the mains and you saw bits of broken pipes sticking up out of the debris. A lot of people drank from puddles or collected rain in sheets of polythene, but we didn't. It was bound to be contaminated and, unlike other people, we had a choice. There was beer and pop in the cellar, and sterilized milk too. We drank that. Then somebody uncovered an old well in the yard of the Dog and Gun, and it became one of my jobs to fetch water twice a day in a tin bucket. It was while I was doing that one day that I first met Kim.

It was about three weeks after the bomb. A lot of the food and stuff which had been lying in houses had gone. Hunger-pains roused people from their stupor and they began asking when the help they'd been told to expect was going to materialize. Fights broke out, as those lucky enough to find food were set upon by their less fortunate fellows.

The situation was getting nastier every day. Ben was confined to the little triangle behind the wall, we'd used the counter and the wrecked van to strengthen it and make it higher. Ben, cooped up day and night, grizzled.

A group of people, a deputation they called themselves, set off up the road. They said they were off to Kershaw Farm to confront the soldiers and demand some relief for the town. They didn't return, and a rumour went round that shots had been heard.

Another bunch of survivors walked along the Branford road, intent on plundering a supermarket half a mile outside Skipley. They arrived at dusk to find the place under guard by armed men in fallout-suits. They watched from cover and saw a truck driven out, escorted by two men on motorbikes. The whole outfit headed for the moors.

That's how things were when I set off as usual with my bucket one evening in mid-September. What we'd do was, we'd get a bucketful in the morning to cook and brew tea, and
another in the evening for washing. We even washed clothes for a time.

Anyway, I was heading for the Dog and Gun. You had to go up our street, turn left at the top and it was about a quarter of a mile.

Suddenly, someone cried out nearby. The sound seemed to come from a narrow street leading off, and I ran to the end to look.

Coming towards me was a girl. She was running clutching the strap of a plastic sports-bag which swung and bounced against her leg as she ran. Two lads were chasing her, one had a length of heavy chain and the other a whip-aerial off a car.

I'm no hero, and the last thing I wanted right then was a fight. My crotch was still pretty sore, but the lass was only about five yards from me with the two lads close behind. I was dangling the bucket, and as the girl ran past I swung it at the nearest lad. It caught him on the side of the head and he fell. The other one swerved round me and went after the girl. I flung the bucket at his back and set off after him.

The girl was halfway down the street. Her green skirt flew as she ran and the bag bounced against her leg. The lad was gaining on her. As I pelted after them he raised the aerial and swiped her across the shoulder with it. She cried out, swerved and tried to scramble up a mound of smashed bricks. The rubble shifted and she slipped. The lad darted in and seized the bag but the girl held on to the strap. He tugged on the bag and slashed at her repeatedly but she hung on, shielding her head with her free arm.

He was so intent on getting the bag that he didn't look to see where I was till I was nearly on top of him. I snatched up a half-brick and, as he turned, flung it. He clapped both hands to his face. Blood spurted from between his fingers and ran over his hands.

I grabbed the girl by an arm and tried to drag her away.

‘No, wait!'

She pulled herself free, bent down and pulled something out of the rubble. It was a bit of iron railing; one of those old ones
with a spear tip. The lad I'd clobbered sat curled up, holding his face.

I didn't know what she intended to do until she dropped her bag and lifted the spike above her head with both hands. I stood gaping till it was almost too late then flung myself at her, knocking her sideways and falling on top of her. The rail flew out of her hand and slithered away down the mound. The lad scrambled to his feet and tottered off, holding his face.

I glanced at the long spike, then at the girl. She'd wriggled herself out from underneath me and was knocking dirt off her sleeve. She looked angry. I said, ‘You wouldn't have done it, would you, killed him, just like that?'

She glared at me, tight-lipped; straightening her dress. Then her features softened and she said, ‘It's going to be us or them, you know.' She picked up the bag and stood dangling it, looking down at me. ‘Come on.'

I picked myself up and looked around. Both lads had gone and I said, ‘See. You didn't have to be
that
drastic.'

She smiled and I looked at her. She was thin with long, pale hair. Fourteen or so. She had this green dress; thin stripes of white and green really – a school dress, and sandals. Her toes and the tops of her feet were dirty. She seemed nice, which is a crazy thing to say after what she'd meant to do.

Anyway, she said, ‘Had a good look, have you?'

I felt my face going red and I said, ‘What were they after you for?'

She held up the bag. ‘This.'

‘What's in it?' I asked. She gave me this incredulous look.

‘Food of course. What else?'

Instead of answering I said, ‘My name's Danny: what's yours?'

‘Kim.'

‘Where d'you live?'

She gave a vague wave. ‘Over there.'

‘Which street?' I persisted.

‘Victoria Place,' she said. ‘Why?'

I shrugged. ‘Just wondered. Will you be all right now?'

She gave a short laugh. ‘Sure. Will you?'

‘I mean, d'you want me to walk along with you?'

She looked at me coolly. ‘Haven't you got your own problems?'

I shrugged again. ‘I guess so. But I could see you home if you like.'

‘How come you're not after my grub. Or maybe you are?'

‘No!' I blurted, angrily. ‘I don't need it, we've got a shop.'

As soon as I'd said it I knew I shouldn't have. Dad would have called it drawing attention to our luck. Be thankful for it, he kept saying, but don't draw attention to it.

She must have read the look on my face because she said, ‘It's okay. I don't need your stuff either, there's a place I know near Branford.'

‘What's it like?' I asked.

‘What?'

‘Branford.' Talking to her was making me feel real for the first time in days and I didn't want her to go. I said, ‘Let's walk towards your place, we can talk as we go.'

She looked at me for a moment without speaking. Then she shrugged and said, ‘Okay. But one wrong move and I split, right?'

I nodded. ‘Okay.'

We started walking. The sun had dipped below the broken roofs and dusk was seeping through the little streets. ‘You want to know what Branford's like?' she said. ‘Gone, that's what it's like. One big bomb, one big hole, no Branford.'

‘No survivors?'

She shook her head. ‘Shouldn't think so. Hole must be fifty feet deep. I've been close four times and I've never seen anybody alive.'

I kicked a lump of brick. ‘Two-hundred-thousand people. I wonder who'll tie all the labels on?'

She glanced at me sidelong. ‘You don't believe all that stuff, do you?'

‘What stuff?'

‘What it says in the book.'

I shrugged. ‘I was joking about the labels, but somebody'll come eventually.'

She grinned briefly, swinging her bag. ‘Who? The enemy? The guys who did this?' They're in the same boat we're in, Danny-boy.'

‘No.' I jerked my head towards the moor. ‘Them. The soldiers, or whatever they are. They'll come and sort things out.'

‘Why?' There was a mocking light in her eyes.

‘Because it's their job,' I snapped. ‘That's why. Soldiers always step in where there's a disaster.'

‘You're joking!' She swung the bag in a full circle. ‘Would
you
come down into this lot if you were sitting up there on the moor in your protective gear on top of a bunkerful of clean grub?' She laughed. ‘They're only people you know, like you and me. They want to survive, just like us. You don't think they're about to get all that uncontaminated grub out and start dishing it up to us, do you?'

I shrugged again to hide my unease. The vanished deputation. The shots. What she was saying seemed to be borne out by what had happened up to now.

‘I don't know, Kim,' I said. ‘It's taking them a long time, but I can't believe they'd just leave us to die.'

‘Can't you?' She looked at me sideways. ‘I'll tell you something, Mister. If they were down here and I was up there, I'd leave
them
to die, no danger.' She stopped. ‘Anyway, this is where I live.'

It was a burnt-out house in a terrace of burnt-out houses. I grinned. ‘Better than us,' I said. ‘We've only got a cellar.'

‘Oh, aye,' she rejoined. ‘But it's full of grub though, isn't it?' Her eyes still mocked.

‘Look.' I gazed at the cobbles, shuffling my feet. ‘I – can we see each other again? Where d'you get your water?'

She grinned. ‘Dog and Gun, same as you. Only my sister goes for it.'

‘Can you come instead? Tomorrow night?'

She shrugged. ‘Dunno. Have to see, won't we? I've got to go in now.'

She turned and walked up the path. There was a charred door. She slapped it with her open hand, twice. It opened. I
peered through the gathering twilight, trying to see the sister. There was only a pale blob against the darkness inside. On the step, Kim turned and called softly, ‘G'night. Thanks for the rescue act.' Then she was gone, and I said my goodnight to the blackened door.