The Brink (22 page)

“This is where we hold our meetings if we need them.”

“It doesn’t look like you can fit 300 in here.”

“We don’t. We ask that the ‘heads of family’ come and leave the rest at home. They can go back and tell the others what’s been said.”

“When was the last meeting?” asked Alan.

“Oh, a few months ago.”

They passed through another door into a tennis court where a firing range had been set up but which was empty now. There were oversized cardboard cut-outs of the Park’s beloved cartoon animals set up in rows along one wall and empty upturned crates had been stacked to form tables and fire steps on the other side. Empty shell casings were scattered here and there and chunks of brick, struck by the rounds and sent hurtling through the air, were dotted all over.

“We don’t use this much now. Rounds are getting scarce.”

“You haven’t made any more?”

“Nope. Don’t know how to really.”

On they went, into a separate building that had another guard posted at the wooden door under a tin-roof porch who waved them in when he saw John.

“Thanks Pat.”

“No worries, John.”

They went inside. The air was stuffy and had the faint odour of urine and cleaning chemicals that stung their noses and immediately made Alan breathe through his mouth. The lighting was terrible in the narrow hallway that led to another door much further down.

“Here we are,” he said, reaching for the handle and, turning it, blinded them both with the light that spilled out.

In total contrast to the exterior, the children’s room was so brightly lit and so colourful that Alan had to take a moment to adjust. The environment hit him in violent splashes of reds and blues and greens, deafening him with shouts and cries from happy kids that threatened to drown him in soft toys, plastic bricks and pots of poster paint. He suddenly felt very strange, like he was a monster who was shocked to find himself in the palace of a King.

“Happy little blighters,” said John. “Rachel’s over there.”

They crossed the blue carpeted floor very carefully, trying to avoid stepping on the myriad of toys and crayons and tiny fingers that seemed to plant themselves in front of their enormous boots. Soon eyes and heads began to turn and the noise diminished until they were all looking at the gigantic, hairy man who they’d never seen before.

“Is everything okay?” asked the middle-aged woman on her knees before a young boy, helping him with a tricky jigsaw of a horse.

“Rachel, this is Alan Harding. I think I mentioned...?”

“Oh yes, I remember. You brought the young man here. Tim, is it?” she said in a soft voice made to subdue the youngest and most troublesome children. She had long, chestnut coloured hair that was tied back in a bun and she swept a number of escaped strands from her brow as John helped her to her feet. She was pretty, yet careworn and behind the school teacher smile was a broken heart that peaked from around the frayed edges of her expressions.

“Yes, he’s a boy of about 16, maybe older but he seems to have the mind of someone much younger,” said Alan. “I was wondering if you could help him.”

“I’m no psychiatrist,” she said. “But I’ll do my best to care for him. It could simply be PTSD brought on by all this-” She gestured to the entire world that existed beyond the colour and the noise. “Or he could simply be a little slower than everyone else. Do you want me to come over and meet him?”

“If you have the time,” he replied.

“I don’t, but I’ll make some for him. It’s the children who are really suffering now and I dread to think-” She stopped herself from finishing the sentence, and then shook her head as if to clear the ideas and images away. “I’ll just leave instructions with Josie to finish up here and we’ll go.”

She walked stiffly away towards a younger woman reading a story in the corner of the room and whispered a few sentences before returning with her coat. Then, together they walked back out of the room, into the dingy corridor and back out into the cold. The change of atmosphere was almost tangible.

“Any sickness?” she asked him.

“Yeah. It was touch and go for a while. He was in bed for days and I thought he was going to die right in front of me but he’s recovered now. A miracle really.”

“We could do with a few of those,” she said, hugging herself against the cold. The wind was blowing in sharply and John raced on ahead to get the door for them both. “Have you been to the infirmary?”

“I saw Doc but I didn’t get a chance to see the patients,” he replied.

“People are dying here and there’s just nothing we can do to help them. That’s why I keep the children away from as much exposure as I can, in that place.” She indicated behind her with a thumb. “We need those kids if we’re going to survive.”

“I agree,” said Alan, holding the door for her as John moved ahead. “I have some concerns of my own.”

“You do?” she asked, shooting a stunned look at him. “It would be nice to have some fresh enthusiasm around the place, by god we need it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, short of handing out the blue pill, people are as close to giving up as I’ve ever known them to be. It scares the shit out of me but when I raise the issue with Sam or Doc I’m met with...
resistance
.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” said John.

“You know I’m right though,” she replied. “No one wants to take this seriously. Sure, when someone’s sick or wounded we rush to treat the physical problem but no one around here is dealing with the mental one, the emotional pain we’re all in.”

“You mean depression?” asked Alan.

“I mean the whole bloody traumatic thing. People have seen things they should never have had to see. Families dead. Bodies rotting in the streets. Life as they know it destroyed, gone. I tell you something,” she said, wagging a finger in the air. “It won’t be the rads or the Scavs that finish us. It’ll be the real plague.”

“Oh, don’t start again, Rach,” moaned John.

“What’s this?” asked Alan, looking at them both. They stopped just before the fire door to the gymnasium.

“Rachel here thinks it’s the Yankee virus come back again,” said John.

“No I don’t,” she replied. “I said it’s
like
it was back then, people wouldn’t listen in those days either when it broke out and you lot aren’t listening now. That’s the only comparison here.”

“That was a completely different circumstance,” said John.

“Was it? Really? The same thing is infecting this camp and no one is dealing with it. People are rolling over and dying, they’re giving up on life.”

“Can you blame them?” yelled John suddenly, causing them both to reel back from the outburst. “Can you blame them for not wanting to put up with this bullshit anymore? To have to wake up to this-” He waved both arms above him. “Look at it - what’s there to live for, really?”

“We can’t give up!” cried Rachel. “We can’t! What about the children?”

“Maybe they’re-”

“Maybe they’re what?”

“Nothing.”

“Go on. Finish the sentence,” said Rachel. John couldn’t. His eyes glistened and he turned, shaking his head and opening the door. As he walked through, Rachel placed her hand on Alan’s arm and he stopped. “Do you see?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I do.”

John broke away to continue with his work whilst Alan and Rachel left the complex and carried on walking towards the caravan.

“They’re busy, but their hearts aren’t in it,” she said once they were far enough away from the people working to wire in the antenna. “It’s written on their faces.”

“I noticed it when I arrived,” he said. “I’ve seen it before.”

“A previous settlement?”

“That and some survivors I came across, the ones who first found Tim.”

“They were the same?”

“Worse. The people who cared for him killed themselves. That’s how I ended up taking him in.”

“Oh dear,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Did Tim see it?”

“No, thankfully, but I did tell him in as gentle a way as I could.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not well. He spends a lot of time playing with some cars we found in a house. He doesn’t say much about his past or where he’s from. You get small pieces now and again as something triggers a memory.”

“Such as?”

“A car reminded him of his family,” he replied, not wanting to mention his shameful behaviour the previous night. “I suspect there might have been abuse from the Father.”

“Poor thing, it’s such a pity.”

“It is. He’s a sweet lad who just wants to be loved.” Rachel smiled and patted his arm.

“To look at you, I’d never expect to hear that.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You’re a gentle giant. Did you see the other children looking at you?”

“Hard not to,” he replied. “There were so many of them.”

“You’re something of a legend around here.”

He stopped and turned to look at her. “How’s that? I’ve been here five minutes.”

Rachel giggled.

“A giant man walks into our camp with an enormous wolf at his side-”

“Dog. She’s a dog.”

“A dog then. Do you think word doesn’t spread so quickly? That the mums and dads weren’t talking about you at their tables last night?”

“I didn’t think about it like that,” he said.

“All the children came to school this morning - we call it a school here - and started telling each other wild tales about the giant man who rode the wolf into camp.”

“I don’t remember riding in!” he laughed.

“Tell me,” she said as they resumed walking. “Is the creature that big?”

“You’ll find out in a moment.”

“Oh dear.”

They reached the caravan and Alan opened the door, calling to the boy that he was back. He left Rachel outside and called to Moll.

“It’s a she?”

“Yes,” replied Alan, stepping aside as the enormous dog padded down the steps and into the dim afternoon sun, her tongue lolling out to one side of her mouth. Rachel backed away in fright.

“Are you sure you didn’t ride her in? Look at the size of her!” she cried as the dog laid down at his command. “And so obedient! Is she safe?”

“No,” he said. “She’s an animal and she seems to follow what I say but...”

“I understand. I had a family full of dogs once. But she’s never harmed someone you didn’t want harmed, has she?”

Alan smiled. “That’s exactly right,” he said.

Rachel walked towards the panting beast, standing just off to one side but within reach of the big wet nose which came sniffing at her hand. She waited and then, slowly, began to pat Moll’s head.

“She’s beautiful,” she said, running her felt-tip stained fingers down her spine.

“She’s amazing!” said Tim, appearing in the doorway with his rucksack on and the clattering sound of toy cars not far behind. “She’s called Moll.”

“Hi Molly,” said Rachel. “And hello to you too. What’s your name?”

Tim looked at Alan, his eyes asking if it were safe. He nodded.

“Tim.”

“Tim? I’m Rachel, a friend of Alan’s. Are you hungry?” Nod. “Why don’t we get something to eat, eh?”

Tim looked at Alan and he nodded once more. “Okay,” he replied.

“Good! I know a really nice place we can go to.”

During the walk back to the complex, Rachel did more for Tim in those few minutes than Alan had been able to do for the last few weeks. He remained silent as she gently drew from him tiny bite sized pieces of memory, little fragments of the past that in her own way she was able to build into a better picture of life before the disaster for young Tim. Alan found it strange to watch how she worked, it appeared to be effortless the way she asked questions that on the surface seemed harmless but which later she put to good effect. It caused Tim to excitedly strain his mind to answer in order to please his new friend and the good-intentioned pressure forced the past to rise to the surface like a submerged wreck.

At the doors to the complex, the guards had changed and this time it was the two from the previous night. They stopped them at the entrance almost immediately.

“You may have been cleared by Doc,” said the first. “But I’ve yet to see some-”

There was a low growl from behind him and Alan turned, shocked to see Moll with the hair on her shoulders standing up and her head raised high, her lip just starting to curl up over her teeth. The guard paled but Alan, perhaps, turned paler still.

“Get that beast under control!” he snarled.

“Moll? What is it?” asked Alan.

“I’ll take Tim inside,” said Rachel, helping the boy through the gap between the guards and ushering him away.

“I said, get it under-” Moll lunged and Alan tried to grab her but she was too fast. He stumbled and the guard was thrown to the floor with the gigantic animal on top of him.

“MOLL!” roared Alan, preparing to throw himself onto the back of the beast, wondering how on earth he’d be able to overpower her before it was too late. The cry, however, halted her attack and with one paw pressing firmly down on the guard’s chest, she turned and looked at him.