The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst (17 page)

Chapter thirty-four

Zed was dreaming. It was a fitful, restless sort of sleep he’d been trying to wake from. It was as if he was trying to climb out of a giant petri dish with smooth slippery sides. Every time he nearly reached the top he’d lose his grip reaching up to the top and slide back down again. The pit was an inferno, sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. Drip, drip, drop. It wouldn’t stop. His skin was prickling and pulsating with boils and sores that appeared and disappeared on his hands and forearms. He steeled himself one more time and clambered up the sheer wall, palms pressed firmly against the contour-less surface, hands damp with perspiration, a tingling sensation in his finger tips. Just as he felt himself begin to slide back down, he thrust his hand in to the air, every sinew stretching, hoping. A woman’s hand grabbed his, grasping it firmly, holding on tight and pulling him clear.

He opened his eyes and found Riley sitting patiently next to his bedside, holding his hand tightly, her eyes closed. She looked so peaceful. His other arm was sore, but the bandages were fresh on and blood free. He flexed his fingers gingerly and a wave of pain shot up to his shoulder and made him wince. The pain felt good though and reminded him he was still alive.

Riley relaxed her grip, placing Zed’s hand back down on the bed sheet and went to find the nurse. His mouth was parched, his lips cracked and blistered. There was a glass of water on the bedside table which he drained in one.

The nurse bustled back into the room with quiet efficiency. She fumbled in her top pocket and inserted a digital thermometer into his right ear, waited for the beep and showed the screen to Riley. “99.4 degrees. His fever has come right down. Nearly back to normal, dear. We’ll keep you in one more night and then I think you’ll be back on your feet in the morning. OK?”

Riley thanked the nurse who stared blankly past her, turned brusquely and left. Riley poured another glass of water and handed it to Zed, waiting for him to drain it in one and then placed it back on the bedside table next to the jug. “You gave us quite a scare there collapsing like that. Looks like you’re not quite as indestructible as we thought. Human after all then?” said Riley.

“I don’t remember much after we got here. How long was I out?” asked Zed.

She checked her watch, a black plastic looking Casio she never took off. “You’ve been asleep for about eighteen hours straight.”

He raised a single eyebrow quizzically. The dividing lines between dream and reality had become blurred. With the drugs, he was no longer sure what was real and what was imagined. It was all rather disconcerting. “The fever gave me the worst dreams. I’m sincerely hoping that the three witches who have been tormenting me in my sleep are not real.”

“Oh the Sisters are all too real I’m afraid. You don’t know the half of it. The women who live here are terrified of them. They are trying to force Stella to stay, because she’s part of some weird cult breeding program and the Sisters claim she’s pregnant. Oh and then they’ve got Joe locked up because they think he’s some kind of sex pest and can’t be trusted around all these sex-starved women.”

“What? He must love that then. He’s never had much luck with the ladies. He’ll be loving all the attention.”

He tried to sit up straight but the strain on his face was palpable.

“Hey, hey, easy fella.  Nurse told me you need to rest up some more and not to tire yourself out. I brought some reading material for you.”

She dumped the small pile of well-thumbed magazines on the bedside table. Zed picked up the top one, whose cover was ringed with stains from half a dozen coffee cups. He flicked through grainy images of half-remembered celebrities in swimwear photos shot through telephoto lenses by the paparazzi. Page after page of smug fake-tan couples posing in front of replica Greek columns outside their country houses, dripping in gold jewellery. Precocious young children dressed in Ralph Lauren, the upper classes playing polo on horseback watched by minor royalty. He turned on his side shaking his head in disgust.

“Hey, it’s better than nothing. The only other thing I could find in the hall were copies of the Bible and I didn’t think you’d want that.”

She went through the stack and found what she was looking for, a vintage 
Top Gear
 magazine. “This is probably more your thing. Nuns on bikes. Special on the Stig. Richard Hammond interview, yeah?”

Zed’s face was pale, his skin drawn and paper-thin. He looked much older with grey circles under his clear blue eyes and two days’ worth of stubble, giving him a lived-in look that Riley found pleasing. Flicking through the pages of Ferraris and Lamborghinis, reasonably-priced cars and beautiful landscapes, burned rubber, winding roads, tarmac stretching into the distance. The colour seemed to flood back into his cheeks as memories came rushing back like soothing waves of sound. The corner of his mouth turned upwards. “I used to love that show. Seems like a long time ago doesn't it?”

He leaned back and sighed. “To think people back then were so obsessed with material possessions like cars, houses, clothes, and gadgets. Remember the shopping channels on TV full of chintz? How normal sane people could spend hours gossiping about celebrities, who’s dating who, who’s wearing what? It was all so trivial, just tittle tattle for the masses.”

He rolled on his back and turned towards Riley, suddenly aware of how heavy his head felt, leaning back against the pillow. He gazed deep into her grey-green eyes, a serious world-weary look on his face. It was like the accumulated strain of the last few months had caught up with him and he had given in to his exhaustion.

“It was everything I detested, Riley. Didn’t you think it was all just so superficial? You look back now and wonder what it was all about. It was just stuff. None of it mattered. It was like people’s lives were a shallow veneer, a topcoat that masked something rotten just below the surface. Scratch your fingernail across the paint and the truth revealed itself. You realised that your whole existence was skin deep. Beyond the routine of work and life, there was absolutely nothing. Just a hollow emptiness.”

Riley had never heard him talk like this. They had spent a lot of time together on the road or back at camp chewing the fat, passing time, and Zed was not normally one for soul searching or philosophising.

“Everyone needs someone or something, right?” said Riley. “If you don’t have that, then sure, life’s a drag. It can feel quite empty at times.”

She encouraged him to go on. After a short pause, lost in his thoughts, he continued staring up at a stain on the ceiling where water had discoloured the paintwork.

“Back then I had a wife and family you know Riley. Living in Croydon. It was my own fault.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I made some poor choices, took them for granted, put my work first. I came home one day and they were gone. No note, no forwarding address. I had no idea she was even unhappy. Should have realised. Then all this happened with the virus. Times like this, I find myself thinking about them, where they ended up, wondering what I would do differently. Whether they’d still be alive if we’d all stayed together. But it’s too painful. Knowing I wasn’t there when it mattered...” his voice faded away.

“Hey, we’ve all lost people, yeah? It’s best not to think about it. Anyway, you’ve got a new family now at Hurst. A new start.”

He nodded weakly, still lost in his memories. “You think everything’s fine, until it’s not.” He took another sip of water, swallowing painfully. “Do you remember the London riots back in 2011 just before the Olympics?” asked Zed, pausing before continuing.

“People I knew thought that was the start of the revolution, that the working classes were ready to rise up and tear it all down. Take back the streets for the people. Fight back against the ruling classes. Reject a life of poverty, mediocrity, subservience. Did I ever tell you I was there, Riley? A riot in Croydon, for God’s sake. I saw it on my doorstep, and it was all just so tangible suddenly. The social fabric stretched to breaking point, there within touching distance.”
Riley nodded, it had been some time since she had thought about that time in her life. “I was living in America then, but I remember seeing it on the news and thinking ‘How did that happen?’ No-one saw that coming.”

“It was terrifying and exciting all at the same time. Bit like 9/11 and the attack on the Twin Towers. A slow motion car crash. You couldn’t look away. Like witnessing a fold in history, live and televised. The earth’s rotation knocked off its axis, albeit for a second. It was the same with the riots, a moment in time. When it’s gone, it’s hard to explain. But in the end that passion and fervour melted away. The crowds went home and the status quo resumed, more or less. It was all just forgotten. Everything changed and yet everything stayed the same. No, I’m wrong, something did change. CCTV saw to it that all those hooded figures who ransacked JD Sports and helped themselves to the latest sportswear, all those ring-leaders throwing stones at the police, all those looters smashing down shop windows and helping themselves to flat-screen TVs, were rounded up and prosecuted. It was an unprecedented triumph for Big Brother and the state.”

“Is that what you did before all this then? Worked for the government?” She waited for him to respond, but he remained silent. “You’re deluded if you think revolution was ever going to happen in this country, Zed. Dream on, comrade.”

“No that’s where you’re wrong, Riley. We may have had the longest history of democracy of any nation, but one thing that made it robust was a pressure valve of strike action, rioting and civic protest. In my book, those are the hallmarks of a high functioning democracy. But they’ve always fallen short of revolution because boring old British reserve always got in the way. Things never reached their necessary conclusion: a change in the status quo. You know the closest this country has come to a revolution was tearing down the railings outside parliament in the 19th century. ”

He shook his head with an ironic smile on his face.

“Funny to think that the virus has done more to change the world in short order than a lifetime of campaigning by socialists. It tore down the social fabric and replaced it with mob rule. The virus pressed reset on the world order. And who knows what comes next?”
Riley bent forward and straightened his pillow as he obligingly leaned forward. “Hey big man, less of the doom and gloom. All you need to do is focus on the here and now. That other stuff will drive you mad. Concentrate on getting better. Let someone else worry about that other stuff.”

“I’m done working for those people. After all this time, I’ve come to realise that it’s man’s prerogative to crave power and to exploit the weak. And Riley, maybe you’re right? Who’s to say that the future will be the same as the past? The slate’s been wiped clean. The virus pressed restart on the world. But you can bet that the same operating system reboots and the status quo is restored. Everything changes, but everything stays the same. What hope is there for people like us Riley?”

“You need to get some rest Zed. We’re all been through rough patches, yeah? I remember when I was a teenager and I got followed home one night after school by this guy. He came up behind me and tried to throttle me, drag me off somewhere, but I fought back, stamped on his foot, kneed him in the groin and then ran and ran until I got home. For weeks I didn’t leave the house. But in the end I figured that it was up to me. I never wanted to feel afraid again, so I did self-defence classes. I kept fit and strong. Made sure I could look after myself. No-one else is going to do that for you. I’ve never looked back. That day changed me. It was an awakening. Maybe this is yours. Trust me, the world will look a whole lot better after a good night’s sleep.”

He forced a smile and leaned his head back on the freshly plumped pillow, yawning.

“Maybe you’re right. This is my wake up call. Makes you realise what’s important and what’s not. Thanks Riley. For everything. I owe you one.” He patted her hand and turned on his side, closing his eyes again.

“Good to have you back with us Zed. Get some sleep, shake off this neg-head bullshit and hey, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Riley left him in peace with his dark thoughts and closed the door quietly behind her. Looking back through the small glass observation window, she noticed he was already asleep again. She’d never seen him like this. It was like the last few days had drained all that remained of his hope. He had been running on empty and let things get on top of him. She’d seen it before during her time as a physiotherapist. Physical injury sometimes impacted a person’s outlook on the world. She reassured herself that the condition was normally temporary. Normally. The sooner they got out of this place the better though.