The Brink (27 page)

After another hour of walking the plots, they made their way back to the camp with a little more hope in their hearts that they could make it work. There was hard graft ahead, to be sure, but they had the manpower and the resources - they just needed the structure to implement it, to divert it to where it was needed the most and to this Alan applied his thoughts.

“The more I think about it,” said John as they approached the camp entrance. “The more I feel that with Rachel overseeing things we could really-”

“Ah,” said Alan, stopping at the closed and locked gates. “Here’s another attempt from Mr Stuart.”

“Really?” said John, looking around. “This is getting childish now. Locking us out? Seriously?”

John raised his leg and kicked the gates as hard as he could, calling out to the guard who could just be seen through a gap in the steel sheeting, warming himself by a barrel fire.

“Open up,” he cried. “Stop being ridiculous.”

The guard, ignoring the noise, continued to rub his hands together over the flames and started to whistle through his feigned nonchalance, a tune that broke off at several bars into a hoarse blowing noise. John kicked again, shaking the chains that held both doors closed.

“There are new security measures in place,” he called without turning around. “You were not given special dispensation to leave the camp and thus cannot return until dispensation has been granted.”

“Special dispensation? How the hell are we supposed to get special dispensation from out here?”

“That’s none of my concern,” said the guard, laughing. “You should have thought about that before you walked through those gates.”

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the leadership meeting this morning, by any chance?” asked Alan, knowing the answer already.

“I’m afraid you weren’t present at that meeting, but yes, this new tightened attitude to security has brought about the changes you now see. Good day, gentlemen.”

The guard walked off around the corner and left them alone on the wrong side of the gates, chuckling to himself as he went. By this time John was seething with anger and he stood there, staring at the steel tubing and mesh as if his burning hatred could cut its way through.

“What a prick,” he cried. “I used to respect that man. I used to think he would turn this place around. How wrong was I?”

“Very,” said Alan. “Why don’t you tell him how angry you are?”

“Eh?”

Alan pointed to the other side of the fence and John peaked through the gap, seeing that Sam Stuart, Richard and Frank were now heading towards them. All three grinned, joking between themselves as they approached and when they were within a few feet of the gate, they stopped.

“Mr Harding.  Mr Swarbrick. You did not seek the proper dispensation before leaving the compound,” said Sam Stuart. “That is why you are locked out and why we cannot let you in. You left without my express permission.”

Alan looked at John, indicating that he shouldn’t reply.

“We didn’t know about the new laws,” said Alan. “How were we meant to know?”

“I think common sense would have told you to gain my permission before leaving my camp, wouldn’t you agree?” said Sam Stuart, leaning heavily on the word ‘my’.

“Can we have it now?” he asked. John clamped his hand over his own mouth, his face turning bright red with his trapped rage.

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure I heard you correctly,” said Sam Stuart. “Did you ask for ‘my’ permission to enter?”

“Yes, I did, Mr Stuart,” said Alan.

“Then you may have it. Richard, be so kind as to grant these two fine gentlemen access to my camp.”

“Will do, sir,” replied Richard, laughing. Alan watched him through the gap, sauntering towards the padlock and chain and lazily opening it before stepping back out of the way. The gates swung inwards and both John and Alan entered the camp with Moll following behind. He made no effort to restrain the beast and when she passed near Richard, the man backed away with his face wiped clean of his mirth.

They stood before the smiling old man and Alan, his face blank and unreadable, looked keenly into his eyes, saying nothing and everything all at the same time. Sam Stuart tried to hold the gaze but once more broke away, indicating to the other guards that it was time they left.

“Now what?” asked John.

“We keep going,” he replied. “Get those people together but do it quietly. Get them started as soon as you can.”

“What about this dispensation?”

“Get it. I think he’ll refuse of course, but play the game their way for now. It won’t stop us doing what we can within the compound. There’s only so far he can go and I’m sure that once he sees what we’re doing he’ll make another attempt to stop us.”

“Can’t he see he’s killing us by doing this?”

“No,” replied Alan. “He probably can’t. Can I leave you to it?”

“Of course. I’ll try and gather up the writing stuff and have it taken to your caravan. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to pay a visit on the good Doctor first.”

“Really? Is that wise?”

“Probably not but he’s the only person in this whole Bedlam of a camp that we need to help the most. His knowledge is too valuable to lose.”

“And you think he’ll have some influence over his brother?”

“No. If I know anything about Sam Stuart it’s that he’s ashamed of him. The impression I got was that he hoped Doc would help him run the place, but when he turned to the booze all that went down the toilet. Now he feels alone and caring for Doc will grind him to dust. He’ll be desperate soon. Dangerously so.”

“You think he’d murder his own brother? Surely not.”

“I’m afraid so. That’s why we need to move fast before he’s driven to it. I’m going to go find him and see if I can do something for him or at least look at ways of protecting the man.”

“You’re either bloody compassionate, Alan, or just dumb.”

“I might be both,” he replied.

17

As the rain began to ease off a little and the daylight made a fleeting attempt at shining down on the camp, Alan and Moll walked towards the complex but this time avoided the main entrance and instead walked around the perimeter, looking for another way in. Thankfully the guards employed by Sam Stuart weren’t the most highly trained and he was quickly able to find a fire exit, held open by an empty barrel of ale to allow fresh air to pass into the stuffy kitchens.

The passageway was empty and a quick check in the adjoining rooms told him that there was no one else around. They hurried along, taking a few turns and, finding a narrow service stairwell, climbed up to the next floor. From here, Alan made careful examinations of every room. Minutes stretched into hours, pulled into longer and longer strands by the difficult, tedious task of making sure he was alone and with the rising heat from the kitchens below, the air became hot and humid. Moll herself walked with her tongue hanging down from her mouth, sniffing as she went, silent on those thickly padded paws and as quiet as he was, owing to her unfailing obedience.

Eventually he was forced to climb another flight of stairs, seeing that Sam Stuart’s quarters were not on that floor and he found himself exactly where he needed to be. The entire area had been cleared of debris and before the disaster it must have been home to the site’s meetings and gatherings of higher officials within the company. The place was meticulously clean with thick piled carpets of crimson, immaculate white walls decorated here and there with tasteful art and, arranged at appropriate intervals, were pieces of furniture which, to Alan, didn’t appear to be a part of the original design but had been added after by someone with a keen eye for antiques. Even the air was fresh and scented with lavender, but nothing could disguise the underlying pungency of booze coming from somewhere down the hallway to his left.

Together they walked softly down, following the heady aroma until they stood outside a stained oak door, slightly ajar. Alan stood to one side and looked through the narrow gap into the room, struggling at first to make anything out in the darkness. There was a faint light coming from the left but he couldn’t see its source and it failed to show him anything more than the vague outline of a row of tall bottles on a coffee table to the right. As he stood there he believed he could hear the sound of someone snoring, but it was so faint and so subtle that he couldn’t be sure.

Seeing no other option, Alan pushed the door further open and stepped into the gloom.

“Who’s there?” cried a voice from the darkness. “Is that you, Samuel?”

“No,” said Alan, closing the door behind them and searching for a light switch. He found it and pressed it, shutting his eyes as the sudden shift from Stygian darkness to brilliant Elysium light blinded them both.

“You!” cried Doc, writhing on his bed covers and rubbing his sore, bloodshot eyes. “What do you want?” He was laid fully clothed on the folding bed but his outfit was creased and crumpled and partly unbuttoned. His hair was in wild disarray and his hands trembled as he tried to compose himself in the filthy room. In total contrast to the rest of the floor, this niche of decay was clearly where the Doc intended to see out the last of his days, wallowing in empty ration packs, partially drunk bottles of Brandy and the stained filth of defeat.

“I hate to say it,” said Alan, looking around the mess. “But I need your help.”

“Me? Help you?” he slurred, sitting up. “Why the hell should I? My brother told me about you, about what you’re planning to do. Yes, he’s seen right through you and I curse myself for not having seen it the other day also. You’re bad news around here, you’re nothing but an usurper, come to take and steal by force or cunning and-”

“Shut up, man,” cried Alan. “I’ve not got time for this.”

“No, you don’t,” said the old man, rising to his feet but sitting back down almost as quickly on the bed. “Because in a moment my brother will come and he’ll find you here and when he does-”

There was a noise outside and Alan realised that his timing couldn’t have been worse. There were footsteps and talking in the hallway and he looked around the room, hoping to find somewhere he could hide and wait for them to pass.

“It’s no use,” said Doc with a sneer. “They’re coming with fresh booze and when they find you they’ll lock you up, mark my words.”

“Listen to me,” said Alan, eyeing the door to the en-suite bathroom. “If you tell them I’m here they’ll open that door. I’ll kill them, then I’ll kill you - do you understand?”

“You don’t scare me!” cried Doc but Moll leapt up and, planting both paws on the old man’s chest, knocked him backwards onto the bed and lunged for his neck. He made a stifled noise but Alan recalled the animal before she tore out his throat.

“Tell them I’m here,” he whispered. “And I’ll feed you to her.”

He didn’t wait for an answer but darted into the bathroom, barely able to fit inside after urging Moll in front of him. He gently pulled the door closed until there was only a sliver of a gap to watch Doc through and waited, his stomach in his mouth with dread. A confrontation now, no doubt resulting in either their deaths or his willing arrest, would ruin everything and he cursed himself for taking the risk in the first place.

As the door to the bedroom opened, Alan saw Doc make another attempt to rise but he was quickly sent sprawling back across the covers by a shove from Richard who, with a bottle in his hand, laughed to himself.

“No need to get up, Doc,” he sneered. “You know we offer a delivery service.”

“Just leave the stuff and get out,” he said and Alan could hear the slight trembling in his voice. Being drunk would hide that, he thought.

“Oh we’ll go, don’t worry yourself about that,” he replied. “You make sure you drink this right up. Mr Stuart’s orders.”

“Why does he care what or how much I drink? He’s never cared before,” said Doc.

“He just sends his compliments, that’s all. This stuff is running out downstairs.” Saying this, he looked at the row of empties and examined each one, finding the dregs of a red wine bottle and necking its contents. “Expensive stuff now.”

“Expensive?”

“Yeah. New rules. People don’t work, they don’t eat or drink.”

“I wondered how long it would be before the power corrupted his already black heart.”

“You’re a fine one to speak about corruption,” he retorted, signalling to his partner that it was time to leave. He set the bottle he came with on the table and began to walk out.

“Wait,” called Doc. Richard paused in the doorway.

“Yes?” Alan held his breath. Doc looked to the en-suite, then back to Richard.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Then they were gone and walking away down the hall until he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore. He gave it a little bit longer before stepping back into the room. Doc had uncapped the bottle and was sniffing at the neck before pouring a tiny amount into a dirty glass and tasting it.

“Bah!” he cried, spitting it out. “The bastard!”

“Poison?” said Alan.

“Drain cleaner by the smell of it. He probably believed I’d be too far gone to notice. In fact, I wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the sobering effect of that animal.”

He set the bottle down and stared at it, shaking his head from side to side in a slow, melancholy fashion.

“He tried to kill me,” he whispered to himself.

“I suspected he would,” said Alan.

“Well your timing is beyond impeccable, I can assure you,” replied Doc, wiping his eyes with the bed covers. “Facing one’s own mortality has a remarkably sobering effect. I’m indebted to you.”

Alan gave him a moment to collect himself before he spoke and by that time the old man was on his feet, unsteadily at first but eventually able to smarten himself up in the small mirror near the coffee table.

“Your brother-”

“Is a madman, I know,” he cut in. “I just never thought that...” He shook his head. “No point dwelling. What’s done is done. I’ve seen this crisis do strange things to people so I shouldn’t be surprised. Look at me - before all this I’d never touched a drop save the odd night cap of brandy or a hot toddy when I caught a cold. Seeing all this...
grief
, it breaks a man, it empties him of hope, makes him doubt his mind and retreat to some safe haven. The bottle. Drugs. Violence. At first I thought I could be strong, but in the end it felled me like an axe at a tree.”

Doc put on his shoes which had been thrown across the room at some point and sat down to tie the laces.

“You mentioned that you required my help?” he asked. Alan nodded.

“We need to stop him.”

“We need to stop all of them,” he said. “Richard, the other cronies, the whole sordid bunch of misfits my brother has gathered around himself and who happily played their part in the act you just witnessed. They’d have seen me dead, their only medical man and...
friend
, perhaps, a long time ago.”

“I agree,” said Alan.

“Do you have a plan?”

“I’m starting to form one but I’m open to advice.”

Doc smiled, regaining some of his original, professional composure though it would take a lot longer to fully cleanse his system of the hard drinking he’d done.

“You didn’t have to tell me the truth about my daughter, you could have pacified me with a lie, but you didn’t. That took some strength of character. I’ll never forget that.” Alan nodded. “For this reason, if you want my advice, it’s on a single condition.”

“And that is?” The old man shook his head.

“Afterwards. We’ll talk once this sorry business is concluded. Right now I’d like to leave this place and take up residence elsewhere. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I think so. Where will you go?”

“To the infirmary downstairs. If you’ll escort me, I’ll be safe once I’m surrounded by people. I can’t be sure now that this has happened,” he said, indicating the bottle. “But I believe even my brother wouldn’t be so stupid as to try to kill me in front of witnesses.”

Alan moved towards the door and, looking into the hallway, led Doc out of the filth and into the fresher air of the third floor.

“This way,” said the doctor, pointing to a different path from Alan’s original one. “This way is much more discreet.”

“It’s a maze up here,” he replied. Doc nodded.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? But filled with every kind of cancerous growth.”

“You could say that.”

“I can and I will. Get me back to the place where I belong and we’ll begin the surgery to remove this cancer before it becomes fatal.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“You shouldn’t,” laughed Doc.

Leaving Doc in the hands of the nurse he’d spoken to earlier, Alan and Moll made their way out of the complex through the fire door but not before he damaged the lock sufficiently to stop it closing again. That way, he thought, he’d be able to come and go as he pleased knowing that the chances of anyone repairing the broken door were pretty slim.

He crossed the park, heading towards the school. His next task was to warn Rachel and explain to her how bad things had become and how quickly they’d descended. He fought back the urge to think closely about his own involvement, to ponder his guilt, and instead he reminded himself that having a fratricidal maniac in charge of 300 people was worth any cost to have him removed.

The familiar faced guard on the door eyed him as he approached, taking a look first at him and then Moll.

“Henry,” said Alan, hoping for at least one ally amongst the militant guards.

“Alan,” he replied. “Nice day for it.”

“As nice as it’s getting.”

They stared at each other for a moment and then, with a nod, Henry stepped aside and opened the door for him.

“Thanks,” said Alan.

“We’re not all Mr Stuart’s stooges,” he whispered. Alan put a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“I’m glad to hear it from you of all people, Henry.”

“If anything might happen,” he whispered. “You can count me and a few others on your side.”

“Thanks. I mean it.”

“I’ve been friends with John since the beginning. He’s always done right be me and mine. He told me about the allotment and what you plan to do. I used to grow the best marrows in my village, back in the day.”

“Henry - in the final count that skill is going to mean more than you realise. Things are happening sooner than even I anticipated and I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Go on,” he replied.

“Are you on duty until tonight?”

“Aye.”

“Look after Rachel and Tim for me.”

“You think he’ll come for them?”

“You can bet you rations on it, pal. I might not be here when he does though. He seems to be using Richard to do all his dirty work and until I make a move they’re all a threat to us.”

“They won’t get past me,” he said with boldness. “Nor my mate who’s here after me.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“You just do what you’ve got to do. For what it’s worth, me and the missus think you’re the best thing that’s happened to us. When Mr Stuart is out on his arse we really believe we might have a chance of living through this mess.”