Elysium. Part Two (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four
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South-easterly wind.

One knot.

They convened in the afternoon at Bull Point, the sky overcast though thinning to reveal shafts of white that glided across the landscape.

Thirty men. Semilion had ordered their presence and they had come. When he told them of the threat their community faced, the threat their world faced, they had grown pale and asked how they were to defend against the old-world. They had brought with them any weapon they possessed, though truly it was a sorry sight to go up against military arms. Shovels, bats, hatchets, knives, several bows with copper-tipped arrows. Semilion had hoped more guns would be present, though between them there was only a single handgun with four magazines and his own shotgun. Tinder carried a rifle that fired tranquilliser darts, the tranquillisers laced with S18K4. The second party moving to the high ground of High Willhays in the south were in a similar state, though at least they had left in a more fearsome spirit. His own group had spoken of little other than how ill-equipped they were.

‘They’ve got guns!’ Stated a man Semilion hadn’t seen in some years. He lived in Woolacombe and kept to himself.

‘We only need to hold them off for a few days. By the time the Dekeryls have decoded their DNA strings and have bred their virus we can return, bringing our attackers with us. They might have better weapons than us but we’ve got knowledge of the terrain and a passion to remain here.’ Semilion said angrily. ‘Technology can’t overthrow that.’

‘Training can!’ Another said, rousing support from others. ‘Years and years of training.’

Semilion looked to those he trusted for support. Tinder leant against a post, though stood upright. ‘Training don’t count for shit when you’re in terrain you’ve never seen’.

Semilion nodded approvingly and turned to Reighn, though he looked as though he didn’t know what day it was – let alone the situation. William’s death had struck him hard, and had left him nearly insensible.

‘Reighn,’ Semilion said.

Reighn looked up, and for a moment he appeared he would agree with the Woolacombe men, and he held himself as though the fight in him had died with his son.

‘I say if we’re to go down then we take whoever we can with us.’

‘That’s more like it,’ Semilion said, still not satisfied, ‘though they’re not going to take us down. We’ve been on this land for over a hundred years. Our pas died here, as did their pas, and their pas before them. This soil is made of our blood and by God we’re not yielding it to anyone.’

He had their attention. Some had risen from their slouches; he saw their hands tightening on bow-shafts and hatchets. ‘You’re all born from the stock that fought to build this place. They risked their lives. They killed to build everything here, and though the military have guns to outnumber our own, we share a heritage with survivors! We survived everything the old-world threw at us. We survived the plague. We survived the collapse. We survived everything! And we will do so again!’

Chests were near visibly filling with pride, and he could see the swell of dignity transform them. They held their paltry tools as though they brandished weapons of mass destruction, and he saw their lips harden as though he had drained them of all apprehension. He turned to the man who had feared the number of guns they would face.

‘They have more guns, I guarantee they will and you all know it. But what they don’t have is a family down there like you do. They’re not fighting for a cause that means anything, whereas you are. You fight for your daughters and your wives, or the children you’re yet to have. Do you want them to wake each morning in a prison cell for the rest of their lives? Or rather the same sea breeze and wildflowers that you’ve enjoyed? You’re not fighting against guns, you’re not even fighting against men, you’re fighting against weakness. Only the weak need enslave. Only the weak need conquer. They know they are vulnerable and in turn stamp their feet like children. Well, we’re the hand that slaps the child and puts it in its place.’

Someone shouted in ascent whilst another spat angrily. They were far from warriors, he thought. They were nothing but farm labourers, carpenters and blacksmiths, yet they were free men who feared repercussions. Repercussions of their ancestors, repercussions of living secluded, repercussions of nearly every aspect of their survival. Once face to face with their enemy, Semilion thought, that fear would bend them into a formidable opponent.

He nodded to Tinder, who slung the rifle's strap across his chest and picked up his axe. He shouted at the men to follow him before striding south. It was strange to see him in such a role, though it was strange to see any of them march off to fight. Tinder carried himself well, Semilion thought, his axe resting on his shoulder as though they were doing nothing more than marching to fell an offending tree.

Semilion stepped to his equipment. He slung a bulky radio transmitter, with which he would use to keep contact with the party destined for High Willhays in the south and those left in the village. He hauled it to his back, and he wished for a moment that he had spent more on a lightweight set all those years before when he had told Kelly to purchase them. They were of old army stock, from some unknown era, and although they had been cheap they were sturdy and reliable – if a hindrance to carry.

He looked up at the lighthouse. No-one had seen Ted for a long time, and he had ignored any calls to attend the council meetings or survey of the south. Semilion had tried several times, yet was suddenly angry that Ted should be so overwhelmed by the death of his dog.

‘Ted?’ He shouted up to the windows, then stepped toward the door and hammered on it forcibly. ‘Ted, you miserable coward, come down here now!’ His palm thundered on the door until it hurt. ‘I don’t have time for this, Ted. Either you open up this door or I’m going to waste a shell blowing the damn thing off its hinges. You don’t lock me out of my own property!’

He waited a few moments, wondering if Ted might come to the door, or whether he was hiding behind it.

‘If you’re there you better step away!’ On the count of three he blasted both barrels into the lock, though it took another three shells to shatter the old latch on the inside.

‘Five shells, Ted. They could have been used on our enemy!’ He kicked the door open and stepped inside.

Smoke hung lazily in the room, and dust wafted up from the door swinging open. As he entered he knew something was wrong, he could smell the familiar odour of stagnation that wafted up from the stables after livestock had died.

Semilion lowered his gun and sighed. ‘God damn you, Ted.’ He whispered, and began to slowly ascend the serpentine stairway that circled to the first floor. There the smell was stronger, and yet it wasn’t the smell of death. Old sweat tainted the air, accompanied by the bitter stench of infection and shit.

‘Ted?’ Semilion asked tentatively, moving from room to room. They were all empty and shuttered, though when he neared the third doorway he held his breath and knew that he was inside.

In the darkness he could see a form prostrate on the floor. Semilion lay his shotgun by his feet and rushed to the window, hurling the shutters wide and dragging the window open. He turned back and started. The man on the floor was covered in blood and beads of sweat pricked his face and bare chest.

It wasn’t Ted.

‘He took Breaker!’

Semilion flinched and nearly attacked Ted, who stood in the shadows behind him. He stared at him, his heart racing, then turned back to the stranger.

‘Who the hell is he?’

‘He’s a Lundian. I found him. It were him that killed my Breaker.’

‘Is he dead?’ Semilion asked, crouching beside the man, though he could see his heartbeat pulse weakly at his throat.

‘He’s not dead. I wanted him to suffer.’ His voice was detached, though it began to break. ‘The bastard has been here for months, hiding up in Lee Wood. He told me and thought I would spare him the knife…’

‘He’s a spy?’ Semilion stood and turned back to Ted, laying a hand on his shoulder and making him look squarely in his eyes. ‘Ted. You’ve got to tell me everything you know. What did you ask him?’

Ted’s eyes were full of tears, and Semilion wondered whether he had destroyed his own mind as he had broken the man’s body. ‘He hid in Lee Woods. Breaker found him, and look,’ he pointed desperately at the man’s arm, ‘he tried to bring him to us. Bit him good and proper, he did. I left the wound to go rotten, so Breaker can finish him off, avenge himself!’ He spat on the man who twitched, as though whatever unconscious nightmare he was suffering mirrored the real world.

Ted breathed heavily. ‘He knifed Breaker, and dumped him in a hole… though he never knew it were a shaft for the mill. He didn’t know he’d ever be found… But he was found weren’t he? Found ripped in two by the waterwheel… And I knew it weren’t right. Didn’t I! I knew Breaker would never have gone off like that without a reason. I knew he wouldn’t fall down no bloody hole… So I went out looking, and I found him bandaged and bleeding.’

‘What did he tell you?’ Semilion asked desperately.

‘Tell me? Told me his confession, didn’t he! Tried bribing me first though, said he would pay me to keep quiet…’ He kicked the man in the leg. ‘What do I need with money?’

‘Why is he here? How long has he been here?’

‘Months. Years. If not him then someone else. They’ve been here since
Carrick killed their boy, watching us in the darkness and reporting back to Lundy... Telling them all our doings and goings on.’

‘And what does he know of the attack from the south?’

Ted looked up at him. ’What attack?' His eyes searched Semilion's, as though there were still a sane part of him clawing to get out.

Semilion placed his hand on Ted's shoulder. 'You've got to head down into the village. Get one of the lads I've left behind to come here and sort this man out. I want him looked after. Have him taken to the Smuggler's and see that Amber tends to him. We need him alive. Jesus Ted, you know what Red would do if this man died. You remember what he did when the Borderly boy was killed.'

Ted looked down at the Lundian. The man's face was porcelain and he twitched under his fever.

‘Get that wound sorted,' Semilion ordered again, gesturing at the Lundian's ravaged arm, ‘and make sure he's ready to ship back to Lundy by the time I get back.'

‘Where are you going?' Ted asked, looking up to Semilion like a lost child.

‘I’m going to Dunkery Beacon.' He decided not to waste time explaining why he was heading to the highest point of Exmoor, some thirty miles away, fearing Ted to be non compos mentis. 'I'm taking some men with me. Now, Ted, what are you going to do?'

‘I’ve got to take him to Amber, get her to tend to him while you're at Dunkery Beacon...'

‘Good enough. Do it as quickly as you can.' He stepped backwards and out of the room. On his descent of the stairs he looked up and saw Ted looming over the body, as though he were preparing to haul it to the Smuggler's himself. 'Get someone to help you,' he shouted before lumbering back out of the door into the waning light.

*

An evening sun, the colour of tired deserts, turned the buildings of Mortehoe pastel-peach, and their windows to livid flame.

Semilion had left Baron in charge of Mortehoe, and told any other remaining council member to keep silent about the threat from the south. He had spread the word that the fishermen of Puttsborough had requested Mortehoe’s help in constructing storage facilities and Semilion, in the name of neighbourly kindness, had answered.

No-one questioned their leaving, though once they had gone an air of unease hung over those remaining. They felt unguarded and empty, and feared natures abhorrence of vacuums would rush to fill their emptiness with something unwanted.

News of their leaving had bypassed the mill altogether, though Baron had told George to join him on the Smuggler’s roof and keep his eyes open for anything out of place.

Selina trudged home, noting the streets were increasingly quiet now that autumn was in full sway. She didn’t see Baron and George watching her as she passed by the eerily quiet Smuggler’s.

She heard a door slam behind her and saw a family hustle into the mist, bags of belongings beneath their arms. She watched them momentarily, wondering where they were going, then continued on her way home.

Her footfall seemed lonely on the road, muffled by the crisp leaves that formed a bank along the street. She already missed the sense of life that the village had radiated on their arrival. During the summer, with its untended wildflowers and untamed trees, Mortehoe seemed the very heart of nature - yet in the grip of autumn it had become a cold and desolate place, a place that drew mist from the sea and slumbered beneath it for days. The unkempt fashion that appeased in summer now created a sense of despondency that reminded her of a fairy tale. The leaning buildings, the narrow street, the bent trees, it made her long for the warmth and colour of spring.

‘Evening, Miss.’

Selina jumped and raised her hand to her chest. Bill Turner was reversing out of his front door, negotiating the tall doorstep cautiously.

‘Jesus, Bill, you frightened the life out of me.’

He exhaled a wheezing laugh before straightening and closing the door behind him.
‘Sorry about that, dear. Out at sea, were you?’