Elysium. Part Two (23 page)

‘I was just thinking how I miss the summer.’

‘Hmm. Hard months ahead before that. Not a warm toe in the village between now and May.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘What are you doing out?’

‘Just heading home. The Smuggler’s is empty.’

‘Well, it’s no time to be sitting around chatting.’ He said, but he stopped himself before he said any more. ‘I’m heading up to the old barn.’ He motioned behind her, to the high wall that ran the length of the road. He meant the barn beyond the wall, and beyond the houses atop it. The barn that was never visited.

‘What’s up there?’ Selina asked.

He hesitated a moment, then considered it wasn’t a secret. ‘The mirror. It’s a telescope of a fashion.’

‘Ah,’ she nodded deeply, recalling George mentioning it some months previously. ‘George mentioned it not long after Priya and I arrived. He said he'd take me up there one day.’

‘Yes, I imagine he did.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘Well, I’m heading up there now.’

‘I thought it wasn’t used anymore?’

He hesitated again, knowing Semilion would be furious if he disclosed the reason for his operating the mirror. ‘It’s not used, but we tend to it from time to time. It was a marvel in its day and, as you know, we waste nothing here.’

‘Can I see it? George said he’d take me but...’

‘Aye... Come on then. There’s no reason why not.

He put his arm through hers and they ambled along the remainder of the road, remarking on the beautiful evening and passing their time with small-talk. One thing she had noticed since her coming to Mortehoe was that there appeared to be few, if any, people who were socially inept. They were carefree with their words and rarely tongue-tied or bashful. They spoke from their hearts and rambled about anything, personal or otherwise, without shame or apparent inhibition. Initially she had been shocked by this, memorably when Betty had spoken openly about a rash on her crotch, though she had grown accustomed to it - and even found herself speaking in a way she would have never dreamt before.

Priya loved it, the brazen side of her had unfurled its wings and soared. Selina felt as though the want to speak frankly had been the bane of Priya’s life in the old world. She felt sure that the child of foster care and shifting homes had grown a hard shell and an arsenal of verbal ammunition to defend it in a society with little tolerance of disrespect. Now she could say anything she liked, and no-one batted an eyelid.

They pushed through a bush and exited on to a open field the colour of dry blood. At the far end was an old building which slanted precariously, and they trudged toward it, Selina wishing she had worn shoes other than the thin moccasins she wore at the mill. They were perfect for ladders but were no match for the flint decorating the space between them and the barn.

‘I were a boy when pa first brought me up here,’ Bill said, ‘thought it was a wonder to be able to look up into the sky and see all what’s up there. Me and my brother spent more time up here than we did in school until Carrick put a stop to it.’

‘Why’d he do that?’

‘It wasn’t a practical way to spend our time, so he said. I suppose he was right in a way, we’d not seen anything since we’d started learning how to operate it with our pa; the only thing we clung to was the story he told us, about seeing a satellite when he was a young man. Heh, once!’

‘So what did you do after that?’

‘Well, I was sent down to the cattle mine and Gordie was put to the salt. He hated it.’

‘I don’t think I’ve met him.’ She said, worried he was going to say he was dead.

‘Ah, he keeps himself over the way,’ he waved his hand toward Woolacombe. ‘got himself married and...’

‘Sel?’

They turned, Bill’s voice dwindling until he saw Priya behind them.

‘Priya!’ He exclaimed like a teenager, releasing Selina’s arm as though he’d been caught
in flegrante.
His face broke into a smile, obviously enamoured, and took a few steps toward her, arms open to receive, allowing himself this one little pleasure before his world collapsed around him.

Selina smirked at the sudden change in him, and contained herself when the two embraced, Priya stared at her wide-eyed as Bill squeezed her extensively. She had been on her way to find Selina and tell her about the threat coming from the south and convince her that it was time to leave. No more arguments, no more conversations about how things would turn out for the best. It was time to move, and the swifter the better.

Priya coughed delicately and peeled herself away, smiling sweetly at him. ‘How are you, Bill?’ Her words hid her bitterness. He knew exactly what was happening, though was prepared to keep it from them. He had no idea she knew of the threat coming beyond the horizon, and although she too had kept her knowledge secret she wondered how long he would keep them in the dark. Would he say nothing? Even as soldiers came and dragged the villagers from their beds? If that was who was coming. Would he still claim ignorance, even then?

‘Good for seeing you, I was just showing Selina the mirror. Would you like to join us?’

‘I’d love to,’ she replied as he slipped his arm into hers.

‘I was calling after you,’ she said to Selina, ‘I guess you didn’t hear me. I was in the Smuggler’s and saw you coming back from the mill.’

‘Sorry, I thought it was empty.’ She walked beside the two of them until they reached the large building. It was evident now that most of the roof was missing, covered by a thick canvas.

‘Looks like it’s taken a beating,’ Priya said, indicating the large hole beneath the fabric.

Bill unhooked his arm and unlocked the wide door. ‘That hole’s there by design,’ he said, pulling on the door. It creaked loudly on rusting hinges, and he gestured them to enter before closing the door and lighting several solar lamps.

In the centre of the room was a thick wooden ring at waist height. It was large, the three of them could probably fit across its diameter, and it was protected by a dusty patchwork sheet. Priya and Selina stepped towards it while Bill smiled at their wonder and moved toward several ropes that hung from the rafters. He pulled gently on the first; pulleys squeaked and jangled in the darkness. Slowly the canvas which masked the hole was drawn back, revealing a purple sky.

Priya took hold of the sheet covering the mirror and pulled it away. Beneath it was a glass dome that gleamed brightly under the solar lamps.

‘This must have cost a pretty penny back in the day,’ Selina said as Bill tied up the last rope. The hole in the ceiling was completely unveiled, and he looked up at the wide sky, noting the first stars beginning to shine in the gloaming.

‘Indeed,’ he sighed. ‘All the money of our ancestors combined went into what the Dekeyrel’s do, the mill, and this. God knows how they did it, or who they paid to make it... Excuse me.’ He stepped beside Selina to a wooden lever, the channel in which it lay circling the mirror’s circumference. He pushed it, and the well-oiled mechanics beneath churned as though made of liquid. A shutter beneath the glass unfurled, and the dome changed colour, reflecting the clear Persian-blue evening.

He rounded the mirror and took hold of another lever, pushing more slowly, drawing the lens into focus.

‘Wow,’ Selina said, speechless, as she looked across the pool of night below her. Stars began to form as glowing mist, shrinking as Bill gently eased the lever. The mirror was awash with obscure shapes which shrank until the entire dome was entirely focused.

Priya leaned on the wooden rim, gazing at the spectacle below. ‘I don’t care how much I disagree with what goes on here. The biased justice system and lies, the blatant fact that this is a dictatorship under the guise of a utopia...' She said, lifting her eyes to Bill, ‘that is impressive.’

Before them, upon a mauve and lilac sea and decorated with fairy-light stars, were the remnants of a former age. Satellites drifted like motes of dust. Hundreds of thousands of them, tumbling slowly in silence, nudging one another and revolving slowly on their eternal amble across the globe. Long generations had passed since they had received any instruction from Earth. Now they floated on the edge of space, their batteries long dead, waiting to one day fall and burn in the atmosphere.

‘No wonder you spent your childhood up here,’ Selina said, transfixed. ‘This is really something.’

‘Why does no one use this anymore? Something pretty serious must be going on if you're up here now?’ Priya coaxed, and could see the coy look cross his eyes.

‘Waste of time, apparently,’ Selina offered.

‘It was built to see if we were being observed. Back before the plague these things,’ he thrust his chin at the satellites, ‘near controlled everything... Some were harmless enough, though most watched the world - and would have made a community like this impossible. Never was there a time in human history where the powers that be could watch the actions of all of their peoples... They were so ubiquitous that our ancestors didn’t consider that there would be too few people left to operate them, nor the funds to do so after The Pathogen. Now look at them,’ he gestured at the ambling satellites, ‘they’re mostly dead. Like I said before, the last one that looked as though it were being remotely operated was back when my pa operated the mirror.’ He pat the wooden rim affectionately. ‘That was near sixty years ago.’

‘What happened?’

‘When he saw it?’ He pointed to a car battery in the corner of the barn. It was covered in cobwebs and hid the wire attached to it. ‘He flipped a switch and the community shut down. No one moved for days. I could have only been about five but I remember it well. Caused as much of a fuss as the whole Lundy affair.’

‘Hannah was telling me about that,’ Selina said, looking up from the mirror, ‘Semilion’s grandfather killed a boy?’

‘Don’t know what came over him. He was a wrongun, that one. Had so much hatred in him for the Sawbones.’

‘Family feud?’ Priya offered.

‘Only between him and Red. Before that their fathers had got on as well as any other. They traded and visited one another as colleagues. They had known each other before the plague, I think. Their boys, however... Semilion’s grandpa, Carrick... He hated Red, in a way that always seemed illogical. There was no cause for it that anyone could tell, or at least that I ever knew of.’ He shrugged and pulled a face. ‘I don’t know... Ah, look.’

He pointed animatedly to a satellite which was reeling closer to its final fall. ‘This hardly ever happens, we’re lucky...’ he said quietly, and for several minutes they watched the small, aluminium device linger as though teetering on a precipice before it became enveloped in a hazy sheen of fire.

Bill eased two levers deftly and kept the satellite in focus as it began to crumble and break into scraps of cinder, embers glowing brightly on a mist of steam until there was nothing left to watch.

‘I’ve only seen that happen a few dozen times,’ he said, breaking the silence and returning the lens to its original position, overlooking the battlefield of gliding debris.

‘Well, there’s certainly nothing there that looks as though it’s watching us?’ He said, walking around the mirror slowly.

‘What are you looking for specifically?’ Selina asked.

‘A number of things, really, but mostly a change in trajectory or the lack of any movement. We’re looking for something just sitting still like a spider.’

They all watched the mirror for some time, until the lilac had bled to a rich black and their examination had returned nothing of interest. Eventually Bill manoeuvred the levers and shut the mirror down, closing the shutter and replacing the patchwork sheet.

‘Why the sudden interest?’ Priya asked again, wanting to coax the truth from him.

Bill looked up and considered for a moment that he wanted to tell her. She might hang off his every word if he told her about the council meeting. ‘No sudden interest, I just thought you might like to see it.’ He said, though his hesitation had been too long. Both Selina and Priya were staring at him intently.

'Bill,' she held him in her glare. 'I know exactly what's happening. It was me who decoded the message from Dr. Camberwell.'

He stared at her for a moment, his eyebrows twitching as though they might distract her.

‘What message?’ Selina asked, the name Camberwell igniting the memory of the letter she had stuffed in the back of the kitchen cupboard. ‘Priya?'

‘Do you want to tell her or shall I?’ Priya asked.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

Bridgewater.

When Tranter woke it was cold and the stars were veiled by a thin cloud. His head rang like a gong, loud and pervasive and reverberating. He ached all over, and that aching changed to a spasm of pain when he tried to move.

He groaned, and wondered why he couldn’t hear it, and why his head feel as though it were in a vice? He tried to say something, but a flash of torment stung his cheek. He lifted his arm, wincing, what was in his mouth? More pain flooded his body, his mouth, God, his gums! His teeth. As awareness dawned on him more threads of agony stung and throbbed. Fresh bright spasms, deep slow throbs, latent rushes that burned if he moved, it seemed as though all facets of torment loitered inside him somewhere; he felt tears in his eyes and moaned - a moan that conveyed all his pain and roused more anew - and still he couldn’t hear it.

Toubec was above him, looking over him. Her hair tickling his flesh. She was saying something but he couldn’t hear. Nothing. Not even vibrations.

Her lips stopped moving and her features, pale and frightened, slipped into a piteous frown.

His heart raced as things fell into place. He remembered their attempt to run from the Rhinox, the ground breaking around them, the wind swatting him, something ripping at his face...

God, he tried to say, though if he said it or not he didn’t know. Fresh pain blossomed in his mouth and he hesitated until it died down. His arm trembled as he raised it and felt the bandage Toubec had wrapped around his head and jaw.

God, he thought again, without even attempting to say it. God! Jesus! I’m alive! She saved me... Thank Chri...’ Another wave of pain stung his ribs and he rose to rest on his elbows. Toubec’s hands were on his chest, gently trying to ease him back down, but he fought against them and the pain that it caused to shake his head in denial. She relented, and sat beside him, saying something to him regardless if he could hear or not.

They sat there for a while, growing colder as the stars revolved above them. Tranter breathed heavily, fighting off the waves of nausea that came and went with a reassuring regularity.

Toubec tried to comfort him, though weariness overcame her and she slept in the grass, dew wetting her clothes while Tranter slowly raised his knees and pushed himself up to sit upright, his arms wrapped around his legs as he shivered.

The pain in his mouth remained sharp and blinding, but the throbbing of his bones slowly subsided until it levelled out, its only effect being to keep a fresh supply of tears in his eyes.

He got to his feet several hours later and limped through the grass. New pains rushed through him, but there was little else he could do. His choices were either lay down and die without medical attention or fight to keep moving.

He stepped in a teetering line across the ploughed earth, stooping eventually as he found his discarded bag a few hundred feet from where he had come to rest. He opened it and found the contents complete. He switched the two-way radio on, and although he couldn't hear the static hiss he could see the green display light up, and knew it was working.

He turned and walked back towards Toubec. She had woken and was watching him with a look that combined caution and admiration. He threw two squat syringes and she caught them, opening the packaging and injecting herself with the isotonic and protein solutions.

He lifted his arm and pointed to the horizon, she followed his gesture before turning back with an angry frown.

Yes I can be serious, he thought, hobbling passed her and continuing in the direction they had been walking before the Rhinox descended on them.

She was at his side, shouting at him angrily. He watched her mouth and picked up the words rest and heal. He shook his head and continued doggedly, a new throb gaining in his thigh with each step.

Just to the channel, he thought. Just to the channel and we can find a boat. I can sit and rest then, and I’ll be happy to lay down and die when we get to Mortehoe.

Dawn came as a smudge of grey cloud on the horizon. Tranter had slowed dramatically, each step small and emphatic. Sweat beaded his pale brow, and he stared at his bloodied shoes as they inched forward. Toubec’s hand was on his back and she looked at him fretfully, as though she were guiding him over hot coals. He looked at her, his eyes staring as though he were blind as well, and then he looked forward and stopped, overcome and unable to move any further.

She watched him for a moment, wondering if he would fall to his knees and exhale his last breath. Nothing happened. He swayed slightly and a moan escaped him. He then set off again and she remained still, tears flowing freely as she watched him helplessly - Helplessly stepping down the hill toward the wide Bristol Channel. They had made it. Miraculously he had made it. She rushed towards him, passed him and continued to the water’s edge in search of an abandoned boat.

*

‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ Tranter grumbled before clutching his jaw in pain. That was the last time he would say it, even though he knew his words were nothing more than an incomprehensible moan. If she couldn’t work that out then to hell with her.

Her hand was on his knee, squeezing reassuringly as he lay in the small hull of the rotting dinghy she had found. The paint and wood was peeling and cracked, though it floated well enough, even if it did let in water through a deep crack on its side.

Lucidity came to him in waves of no particular duration. He had no recollection of walking to the shore, though he had been acutely aware of the time it had taken Toubec to find a boat. The disordered thoughts came with the cold that settled in his marrow, when he started questioning his motives and asking himself why he shouldn’t just sleep.

She said something, though the look on her face suggested she understood his meaning if not his words. She took up the oars and began rowing again, deeper into the channel, until the border of Bridgewater seemed far enough a distance to cause them any trouble.

Tranter closed his eyes and tried to ignore the cold. He tried to ignore the pain. He tried to shut everything out, and yet it was impossible. He shivered until his bones hurt. He felt so weak, so impossibly fragile. He didn’t know it was possible to be drained so completely and yet still survive.

You just need rest, he assured himself, knowing that it wasn’t entirely true. He needed rest, but he needed medicine, splints, stitches… God knows what else. His cheek had stopped bleeding, but he knew that the wound would turn septic if it wasn’t treated. He didn’t know how long it would take, but he feared the smell of infection would reach his nostrils with every breath.

Why are we doing this? He thought, trying to remember why he had cared so much. He remembered a time when he had wanted to get to Mortehoe for a reason, to prove something, to complete someone else’s journey, but it was lost to him. The boat wavered and he was jolted awake. Stumm! He thought, and it was clear to him again.

He felt anxious of slipping away into a delirious state and he tried to sit upright, his spine protesting and forcing him into a slouch again. Don’t lose it, he willed, watching Bridgewater Garrison on the shore. This is where Stumm had died. He couldn’t lose it before he’d even reached the border.

The moon was losing its vibrancy in the encroaching dawn. A line of gold was in the east, and dark clouds unfurled to blot the sky. He watched the sun rise for a moment, but it seemed to make him colder, and he retreated from it, turning his back to it and shivering once more.

He looked at Toubec, a swell of tiredness overwhelming him again. Who was she? He idled. He had spent so much time in her company and yet he didn’t know what drove her to follow him. Why was she pushing herself so hard? This is my fight, he thought, looking up at her wearily, it’s my... right to get there. I owe it to Stumm. Why do you care so much?

She looked down at him, her face full of concern and wasted comfort. She tried to smile, though it was nothing but a grim reflection of his frailness. She looked away, not wanting him to see her tears.

He hadn’t seen. His eyes were on the dark fortification of Bridgewater border. Orange lights pulsed at its peak, small as match-flares, and search-lights scoured the waters close to the shore.

How did they find you? He questioned Stumm as he watched the lights. Why didn’t you come out into the channel..? Here, where it’s safe.

He watched the lights of a helicopter ascend slowly in the dawn, thinking how much more activity there was at Bridgewater than at Stone Hill. The helicopter disappeared to the south, and he reached for Toubec’s knee, missing it.

Toubec was slowing, exhausted and drowsy. She rowed with her eyes closed, checking infrequently that they weren’t drifting off-course. She felt his hand brush against her knee and she opened her eyes. He was staring across the wide channel toward Bridgewater Garrison.

‘What is it?’ She said, looking anxiously for a long while until she realised he was indicating that they had crossed beyond the garrison. She turned back to him, her precarious smile falling. She wept freely, not worried about him seeing her tears, he had drifted into sleep, or unconsciousness, safe in the knowledge they
had finally crossed the border.