The Dead of Night (8 page)

I looked across at the others. I tried to focus my gaze on them, and gradually, by doing that, my shadow faded away. Then, as though I'd had a rush of blood to the eyes, I suddenly started seeing them very strongly.
I became very aware of everyone, of the way they all looked. Maybe it was the light or something. Suddenly they were on a huge movie screen, with the clouds and the darkening sky behind. It wasn't like I was seeing them for the first time; it was like I was seeing them as others would have. I was seeing them the way strangers, outsiders would.

We were all wearing clothing that camouflaged well. We did that as a matter of course, these days. I sometimes had a terrible longing to wear bright and colourful clothes again, but there was no chance of that yet. And this day I wanted only my khaki and grey; I wanted it to cling to my body, to be my mourning suit.

We were spread out across two paddocks in quite open country. It was dangerous but probably not too bad. The only real risk was from the air, but we thought we'd hear planes or helicopters in enough time to take cover. There were plenty of trees around.

It had been a long walk. God I was tired. We all were. Chris had his head down and was trailing a bit. With my new vision I saw how small and lightly built he was: a fair-haired serious boy who looked a bit younger than the rest of us. Across from him, and fifty metres in front, was Fi, who even now in her exhaustion walked gracefully, as though her feet needed only to brush the ground on each step to keep propelling her forward. She was looking around as she walked, like a wild swan searching for water. Not for the first time I wished I had a quarter of her style. When you looked at her you forgot that her clothes were as grubby as yours, her body as smelly and dirty. She had class without being conscious that she had it; that was her secret, and because I knew that, I would never have it.

Well, that was one reason I would never have it.

A hundred metres to my left was Homer, almost out of sight among a line of thin poplars that had been planted as a windbreak. He was big and burly, looking more like a bear than ever as he walked with his shoulders hunched up, his face closed against the cold wind. It was hard to tell what he was going through. He'd been in trouble so many times in his life that he should have been used to it. But this was just a bit different. I still didn't know whether to be angry at him or not. He'd broken one of our agreements, but my anger at that was overlaid with my pity and horror at what he'd done, and my confusion because he'd probably been right and we'd been wrong. There'd been no time to check how he was feeling, to see if he was OK. That would have to wait till we were back in the peace and safety of Hell. Meanwhile, thinking about how he might be feeling helped me avoid thinking about how I was feeling.

On the other flank was Robyn. Looking at her I thought of those old-time heroes. Those old kings for instance, who'd all had titles to go with their names: Edward the Confessor, Ethelred the Unready, William the Conqueror. Robyn was Robyn the Dauntless. When things were going quietly and normally she kept a low profile. But when the going got tough, Robyn grabbed the axe, swung it round her head, and charged. In the most frightening times, the most horrifying moments, she was at her best. Nothing seemed to deter
her. Maybe she felt nothing could touch her. I don't know. Even now she was walking along quite casually, head up. I had the impression that she was singing something even, by the way she was tapping her left hand on her thigh.

The other one who was pretty up was Lee. The night we wrecked the bridge he was happy, but he hadn't been able to do much because of his wounded leg. This time we'd done a lot of damage—we knew that—and Lee had been in the thick of it. Lee always moved like a thoroughbred racehorse when we were out in the open or walking a big distance, and now he moved along eagerly, head pointing forward, long legs covering k after k. Occasionally he looked across and smiled at me, or winked. I didn't know whether to be pleased that he was feeling so proud, or worried that he was enjoying killing people and wrecking things. At least it made life less complicated for him.

As for me, my mind was so crowded that thoughts were being squeezed out of my ears. I wouldn't have been surprised to find them dripping from my nostrils. There was just too much to cope with. Instead I shoved it all away and started going through French irregular verbs. Je vis, tu vis, il vit, nous vivons, vous vivez, ils vivent. Je meurs, tu meurs, il meurt, nous mourons, vous mourez, ils meurent. It seemed safer doing that than thinking about our ambush, and it seemed to keep my huge dark shadow from haunting me for a little bit longer.

We got back to my place in the last moments of daylight. I didn't go in the house this time. Already it was starting to look unfamiliar, as though it were just an old
building we'd lived in once, a long time ago. You could tell it was unoccupied. The lawn had grown wildly, all straggly and confused. One of the bow windows in the dining room had cracked right across, I don't know how. Maybe a bird had flown into it. Half the grape vine had fallen off the trellis and was now dragging across the path and garden. That was my fault. Dad had told me a dozen times to tie it on better.

The faithful Land Rover was waiting patiently in the bushes, hidden from prying eyes. I drove it to the shed and filled it with petrol. We were lucky we had our petrol in an overhead tank, so I could gravity-feed it to the car. Eventually though, we'd run out of petrol. I didn't know what we'd do then. I sighed, twisted the hose to cut off the flow, and climbed back up onto the tank to shut down the valve. Running out of fuel was only one of so many problems.

Our work for the evening was just beginning. We drove out to a property right up in the hills. It was a small place that I'd forgotten about, owned by people called King, whom I'd only met once, at the Post Office. He was a part-time social worker at the Hospital and she taught music at the Primary School two days a week. But their real interest was in becoming self-sufficient. They'd built this little mud-brick place on some land they'd bought from Mr Rowntree—poor land too, and' they'd paid a premium price. Dad thought they'd been ripped off. Anyway, they were out there at the end of a dirt road with no electricity and no phone, running a mixture of cattle and pigs and chooks and geese and coloured sheep, with a couple of very grubby, very shy kids.

The scene there was the usual depressing sight. Decaying buildings and fences, too many carcasses, a paddock full of hungry sheep who'd eaten all the feed in it and were very thin and wonky. At least we saved them by opening their gates. I hoped the work parties were allowed to feed and move stock: a lot of animals would need hand-feeding to get them through winter, and some places should have started already, if they wanted the stock kept in prime condition.

I'd half thought the Kings might have still been there, hiding, but there was no sign of them. I think Mrs King had some of her violin students performing at the Show, so they'd probably gone into town that day and been caught But in the house, and in the shiny new galvanised-iron shed behind it, we struck a jackpot. Bags of spuds and flour, jars of preserves, a carton of canned peaches that they'd got cheap because the cans were dented. Chook food, tea and coffee, and a dozen bottles of homebrew, which Chris eagerly carried to the car. Rice, sugar, rolled oats, cooking oil, home-made jam, chutney. Tragically, no chocolate.

When we'd finished, we grabbed all the bags we could find and headed off to the fruit trees. The trees were young but, despite the possums and parrots, were bearing well. I'll never forget the first crunchy juicy bite of the first crisp hard Jonathan I picked. I've never seen anything so white and pure, never tasted anything so fruity. We'd eaten the apples at Corrie's a few days earlier, but these seemed different. It wasn't really that the apples were different of course; it must be that I was different. I was looking for absolution and in some strange way the fruit gave it to me. I know that once you lose
your innocence you never can get it back, but the immaculate whiteness of the apple made me feel that not everything in the world was rotten and corrupt; that some things could still be pure. The sweet flavour filled my mouth, a few drops running down my chin.

We stripped the trees. Johnnies, Grannies, Fujis, pears and quinces. I ate five apples and got a bit poohy again, but I felt a little better, a little more alive, after picking that beautiful fruit, that cool sharp evening.

Our last pick-up was an impulse. We were back in the Landie, bumping slowly down the road, all very quiet. I had the parking lights on, because we were under a canopy of trees, so it seemed safe. Driving at night without lights is nightmarishly frightening. Of all the things we'd done since the invasion, that was almost the scariest. It was like driving in nothing, in a dark limbo. It was weird, and no matter how much I did it I never seemed to get used to it.

Anyway, in the little light we had, I saw a couple of pairs of eyes peeping curiously towards us. Most of the stock we passed these days was already getting quite wild and running away, but these little critters didn't. Bad luck for them that they didn't. They were two lambs, about six months old,'black wool, and probably twins. I'd guess their mother had died, but not till they were old enough to wean themselves. They were in good nick.

"Roast lamb!" I said, and braked. It was just an impulse, but then I thought, Why not? I stopped the car completely, and looked around at the others. "Do we want roast lamb?" I asked. They seemed too tired to think, let alone answer, but Homer reacted. He showed
more enthusiasm than I'd seen from him in twenty-four hours. He got out one side and I got out the other. The lambs stood there sheepishly. Yes they did, sheepishly, and I'm not going to change it. Now Robyn and Lee started to get excited as they contemplated the thought of a good meal. None of us are vegetarians—being a vegetarian is a capital offence in our part of the world. We grabbed the lambs and up-ended them, found some cord and tied their legs, then somehow cleared space for them in the back of the car.

They won't eat the potatoes, will they?" Fi asked anxiously, trying to move the heavy sack of spuds from near the head of one of the lambs.

"No Fi, and not the sugar either."

Callously I went and picked some mint when we got back to my house. That short walk to the mint was almost the end of me though. As I bent down to cut it I felt my great black shadow return, hovering above me like an eagle, a predator. I was scared to look up. The night was dark enough anyway, but I knew that however dark the sky may have been, my tagging shadow was darker.

The mistake I'd made was to go to the mint patch on my own. It was the first time I'd been alone since shooting the soldier in Buttercup Lane. It was as though as soon as I strayed away from my friends the sky filled with this terrible thing.

I crouched there for a couple of minutes. The hair on the back of my neck was prickling and I could no longer smell the mint, although my face was buried in it. After a while I heard Homer calling for me, and then I heard his heavy footsteps and his body brushing through the
overgrown wallflowers. It took him some time to find me, as I didn't seem able to answer his calls, but I could hear his voice getting more and more concerned. When he did find me, he was surprisingly gentle, rubbing the back of my neck and mumbling words that I didn't exactly understand.

I went back to the Landie with him. Without a word to the others, and without looking up, I turned the key in the ignition. We at last began the slow ascent to the place I now thought of as home: Hell. We hid the Landie in the usual spot, tethered the sheep and gave them a bucket of water, then picked up a few supplies and began the walk in. I should call it a stumble rather than a walk. We'd gone to our limits, physically, mentally and emotionally, and I was glad we didn't have to dig any deeper to'find more energy. I don't think anyone had much left. I got into a groove, putting one foot ahead of the other, and did it so successfully that I think I could have gone on forever, except for the steep downhill bits, which strained my thigh muscles too much. When we got to the campsite Homer had to prod me in the back to stop me, like he was searching for my off button. We stumbled into our tents and mumbled goodnights to each other, before crashing into our private hells of sleep.

I did sleep, though I hadn't expected to. All night I dreamt of someone very large, very angry, hovering very close to me, and speaking to me in a voice so loud that it reverberated through my body. I woke early and huddled in close to Fi. I don't know what was going on in my head: I seemed haunted by the idea that I had to hide,' that I daren't be on my own. There was a sense
that doom was overshadowing me, and like a rat threatened by an owl I wanted to burrow under something. Only, unlike the rat, I wanted to get under a human being, not a thing.

Seems like since that night I've done less of everything: less sleeping, less eating, less talking. I feel I'm less of a person because I killed a dying soldier and that now I do less living.

I got up eventually, and washed my face.

The day went grinding by, hour by hour. No one did anything much. Certainly no one talked about anything important.

We'd left most of the supplies at the Land Rover. It was tempting to leave them there forever. But late afternoon, after I'd had a nap—one of those daytime sleeps that leave you feeling worse than you did before—I forced myself to round up a posse. I was thinking of the sheep, mainly, and I wanted to prove to the others that I was still useful, that I wasn't a bad person, even if I did kill people.

But it was hard work persuading them to come. Chris just whined, "It can wait till tomorrow, can't it?" Without looking me in the eye, he slunk back to his tent. Homer was so deeply asleep I didn't like to wake him. Lee didn't look too keen but he had too much pride to say no so he put down his book and came without a word. Robyn gave me about twenty reasons why we didn't need to go till the next day, then at the last moment, just as we were leaving, she changed her mind and came. Fi was the best: she crawled out of her sleeping bag saying, "Exercise! That's what I want, more exercise."