The Last Plague (26 page)

     Ralph peered through the side of the truck and saw the cathedral’s spire, undamaged and resolute, reaching towards the sky. He wondered how long it would remain standing.

     Everything fell eventually.

     Magnus and Joel were seated either side of him while Frank was sitting on the floor with Florence. She looked at Ralph and he returned her gaze. He didn’t smile at her. He turned away as the truck juddered over rubble and potholes. Ralph had heard other people talking. According to the rumours, passed about like germs in the back of the truck, the army was occupying Salisbury. The infected had claimed parts of the city, but the army had pushed them back from most areas. One man, wrapped in a dirty blanket, had said the infected had amassed near the cathedral, where they had made nests and larders to store their dead victims.

     Ralph didn’t know what to believe.

     The convoy halted. The refugees looked at one another. Furtive glances and confusion. Murmurs and whispers amongst the crowded bodies.

     They disembarked from the trucks and were corralled along the street. Frank kept Florence close to him, holding her hand. The refugees were herded down the road. Armed soldiers lined the street, watching the crowd. Side roads were blocked by armoured cars and Humvees. Helicopters buzzed the skies.

     Gunfire crackled a few streets away.

     “Keep moving!” a soldier was shouting. “Don’t stop! Keep moving!”

     “Where are we going?” asked Florence.

     “Just stay close,” said Frank. “Everybody stay close.”

     The crowd streamed into the train station car park. Cars had been shifted so there was space for people to gather. Other masses of people joined until the separate crowds became a huge swarm of refugees. A surging, confused mass of humanity. A herd of terrified animals watching for the predators.

     Another soldier was standing on the roof of a tank, speaking through a loudspeaker: “Please stay calm. Move in an orderly fashion. Do not panic. Keep moving.”

     They moved past a machine gun nest manned by nervous-looking grunts. Ralph met eyes with one of them, a young man of no more than twenty who averted his gaze quickly.

     The flow of the crowd slowed until it stopped outside the station entrance.

     “Please keep calm,” the soldier with the loudspeaker said. “Do not panic.”

     Rain began to fall.

* * *

The refugees possessing weapons, makeshift or otherwise, were forced to give them up to the army. Frank handed over his axe without complaint. Ralph stowed the flare gun down his jeans, hoping some grubby squaddie wouldn’t look down there. Baseball bats, cricket bats and knives were handed over under protest. Red Cross workers and Salvation Army volunteers distributed blankets and bottles of water. Both items ran out before even a quarter of the refugees received any.

     Trains arrived at and departed the station; some travelled straight through, already laden with refugees staring out from clouded windows.

     After waiting for what seemed like hours, stuck in the rain, they were finally herded into the train station and onto one of the platforms. They were all drenched and miserable. Ralph was craving a hot shower, a pint of beer, and a plate of toasted cheese sandwiches. Maybe a chicken curry with rice, naan bread, prawn crackers, and poppadums. His mouth watered. His stomach complained. His nose was running. He shivered.

     “We’re going home,” said Joel. “At last. We’re going home.”

     The crowd filled the platform above the tracks. People jostled for room. Small arguments broke out but were quickly subdued by the soldiers. Ralph and the others managed to get to the front of the platform, overlooking the tracks. They were careful not to get pushed off. The rain was coming down fast and hard. Ralph looked towards the horizon and it was all black clouds.

     They waited. Pale and expectant faces. Shivering bodies clad in coats or jackets. Hoods pulled up to shelter heads. Huddled families waiting to be saved. Murmurs and whispers. Babies crying. An old lady kept asking anyone who would listen if the train would be arriving before it got dark. No one gave her an answer. She gave up after the eighth time of asking. Then she asked if the rain would stop soon.

     More jets roared overhead, lost in the clouds. Some of the children covered their ears. A loud crash from across the city; a mushroom cloud of smoke rose above the buildings and dispersed in the breeze. Someone screamed. Someone told the screamer to shut up.

     The battle for Salisbury was raging.

     “Are we going on the train?” said Florence.

     “Yes,” Frank told her.

     “Where are we going?”

     “We’re going to Somerset. “Have you ever been to Somerset, Florence?”

     She shook her head. “I don’t think so. My dad always said the people who lived there were inbred. What does that mean?”

     Ralph couldn’t help but laugh.

     Frank hesitated. “It means they’re nice people.”

     “Inbred,” she said slowly, trying out the word in her mouth.

     “We have to get out of here,” said Joel. The colour of his face was like curdled milk.

     “We will,” said Frank. “Be patient.”

     Joel coughed, scratched a rash developing on the side of his neck. “Me and Anya came to Salisbury last year for a day out shopping. I bought her some nice earrings. We got the train back. We waited on this platform. The train was late, if I remember correctly.”

     “Sounds about right,” said Frank. “I’ve never liked trains.”

     “I need a cigarette,” said Magnus. “Ralph stole my last one.”

     An Apache helicopter flew over them then stopped and hovered over one of the streets to the north. It released its missiles at the ground. Unknown targets. An explosion. Flames bloomed and then died. The Apache banked to its left and wheeled away out of sight.

     “Boom,” said Ralph.

     “Fucking hell,” Magnus said. “It’s almost unreal, isn’t it?”

     Ralph spat onto the tracks. “Yeah.”

     “I hear a train coming,” said Joel.

     A rush of expectation and excitement swept through the crowd. Raised voices. Someone laughed in relief.

     “This next train isn’t stopping,” said a soldier cradling his rifle. “You’ll be on the next one.”

     There were complaints. Dissenting voices. Insults. The soldier ignored them all.

     “Where will our train take us?” said Joel. “Will it stop to let us off in Somerset? The train might go straight through Somerset. Do you think they’ll let us get off at Yeovil Junction or maybe Crewkerne station?”

     No one answered him. No one had a clue.

     A train appeared from around the bend in the track, the ugly noise of its engine growing louder.

     People were screaming on the platform. Ralph saw the train driver and realised why. The man looked terrified.

     Frank turned Florence away from the train as it went past them. Joel held one hand over his mouth. The train, all five carriages of it, was filled with the infected and their victims. Blood painted the windows. Snarling faces smashing against the glass. Red handprints. Windows filled with writhing flesh. The infected screaming to be let out, driven into a frenzy by the proximity of fresh victims.

     Rain was pelting the carriages. A great silence descended on the platform as the train went past.

     “Infected must have gotten aboard one of the carriages,” said an old man next to Ralph. “Slaughter. A fucking slaughter.”

     “Does that mean we can’t go home?” said Joel. He looked ready to burst into tears.

     “I don’t know,” said Frank.

     A ripple of sheer panic spread through the crowd. A woman was crying, saying “Oh god, oh god,” over and over until she buried her face in her hands.

     Voices spoke up from the crammed bodies on the platform. High-pitched with fear as the possibility of being stranded at the station became very real.

     “Are there any more trains?”

     “We can’t stay here!”

     “Please help us!”

     “All those people are dead!”

     The same soldier from earlier addressed the crowd: “There’ll be another train along in a minute. Please remain calm.”

     “Can we still use the track if that train is on it?” said a middle-aged woman carrying a toddler.

     The soldier held out his hands. “Yes. It’s been diverted onto another track and it’ll be dealt with. There’s no need to panic.”

     “Thank fuck for that,” said Magnus.

     “What if our train has infected on it?” said Joel.

     “It’s either that or stay here,” said Ralph.

     Joel looked at him, said nothing.

     The sound of a train approached the platform.

     “Get ready,” said Frank.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

The rain lessened and became a drizzle against the windows. The train groaned and picked up speed as it headed out of Salisbury with its four carriages packed full of human cargo. 

     Parts of Salisbury were burning. The sky above the city was bloated by the smoke rising from the fires. The refugees had been crammed onto the train; the aisles were filled, swamped by people holding onto seats to keep their balance. A silence descended aboard the train, allied with relief, misery and a little hope. The smell of dirty bodies, wet hair and waterlogged clothes; the mutter of prayers spoken behind entwined hands. The sense of relief was palpable, but it was tempered by fear and anxiety. Whispers of quiet elation, guarded like secrets. The odour of stagnancy was so thick it had a pulse.

     Ralph watched a young boy sitting on his father’s lap, picking his nose and examining the stringy mucus on the tip of his finger. The man called him Sam. Ralph wondered what sights the boy had seen in the last few days; the horrors that had hunted him. Sam glanced at Ralph, blessed with the total absence of adult manners and ego, and wiped his finger on his father’s jacket without his father realising. Ralph forced a thin smile. Boys would be boys, even as the country was falling into ruin.

     Ralph pulled his fingers through his scraggly beard, staring at the floor. So many people around him, suffocating him. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then opened them. Deep breaths. His fingers felt tingly and his heart was punching against his ribcage. Too many people. He had been fine earlier when he was on his feet and his mind was occupied; but now, crammed into this metal coffin, his discomfort with large amounts of people and their close proximity was unsettling him, raising his hackles and turning his mouth dry.

     Magnus was sitting next to him. Behind them were Joel and Frank, with Florence sitting on Frank’s lap. The aisle was filled with standing people. A man’s groin was four inches from Ralph’s face, and he kept completely still so there was less chance of his nose or mouth accidentally brushing against something dangling and soft.

     “You alright, mate?” said Magnus.

     “Fucking rosy.”

     “Did you count to ten?”

     “First thing I did.”

     “Did it help?”

     “I’ll let you know.”

     “I forgot to let you have the window-seat, mate. Sorry. Do you want to swap?”

     Ralph shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Cheers, anyway.”

     Magnus patted him on the arm.

     Ralph breathed in deeply and took out his stress-ball from one of his pockets. He squeezed it hard. He opened his palm, and the ball was a misshapen lump; it slowly reformed. He squeezed it again until his knuckles had lost their colour.

     “We’re going home,” Magnus said. He sank back into his seat. “Never thought I’d be so glad to get on a bloody train.”

     “I hate trains,” Ralph said. “Did I already mention that?”

     “Yeah, but we’re going home. It seems a bit surreal now, don’t you think?”

     Ralph said, “The last few days have been surreal.”

     “I thought we were going to die out there. We were lucky.”

     “We’re not home yet. Not by a long way.”

     “Always the optimist.”

     “Always best to expect the worst, mate.”

     “And then anything else is a bonus?”

     “Spot on.”

     “That’s one way of looking at things.”

     “It’s the only way, my friend.”

     “You’ve always been a ray of sunshine.”

     “I try my best.”

     Magnus laughed and cleaned his glasses. “Some of the things I’ve seen…” His voice trailed off. He was shaking his head. “Part of me still finds it hard to believe they’re real. I had never seen a dead body before, Ralph.”

     Ralph looked at him, let him continue.

     “I’ve been constantly terrified for the last few days. Terrified beyond anything I could’ve imagined. It exhausts you, digs into your sanity.”

     “You’ve done well.”

     “Really?”

     “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

     Magnus looked puzzled.

     “Try to get some sleep, mate,” said Ralph. “A nap will do you good.”

     “I am pretty tired.” Magnus looked out the window as the train rushed past fields, houses and roads. “Wake me if anything happens, Ralph.”

     “Will do.”

     Magnus closed his eyes.

* * *

“I’m never going home again, am I?” said Florence. Exhaustion strained her voice. Her lips were cracked. “I’ll never see my house again. I’ll never go home. I’ll never go back to my bedroom and sleep in my bed.”

     Frank tried to smile for her. He didn’t want to give her false hope. She would never return to Wishford and her old life. That life was dead.

     “Maybe one day we’ll go back there. When this has been sorted out.”

     “My parents will never come back.”

     “I’m so sorry, Florence.”

     “You say that a lot.”

     “She’s right,” said Joel. “You do. Stop saying sorry. It’s not your fault.”

     “What will happen to me now?” Florence asked. “When the train stops…”