The Brink (28 page)

“You can count on it,” said Alan. “We’ll give it our best shot anyway.”

“That’s all any of us ask.”

Henry smiled and nodded his head before turning away, back to his duty. Alan felt his heart beat a little bit faster as the odds began to turn in his favour.

“Alan!” cried Rachel as he stepped into the chaotic school room, narrowly avoiding crushing a young girl’s hand under his boot as it shot out in front of him to catch a ball. “John told me what happened. Is he really going to be this churlish?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked. She paled a little before indicating that he should follow her to a small office just off to one side of the room where Tim was playing with his cars and two other younger boys.

“Hi Tim!” he said. “How are you today?”

“Alan Harding!” he cried. “We’re playing Fire Brigade today. Tommy is the Police and Freddy is the people and I’m the Fireman!”

“That’s great.”

“Is it time to go home?” he asked, a little downcast at the thought of his fun being over for the day.

“No, Tim,” said Rachel. “Not yet. Alan has just come to talk with me.”

“Oh! That’s great!” he said, brightening before dropping back to the mat and resuming control of his shiny red fire truck as it sped to the scene of a 12 car pileup outside a two-dimensional church.

“Bless him,” muttered Rachel as they continued. When they were all inside the office, Alan closed the door and took one of the wooden stools, turning it to face the door side-on. Rachel took the chair on the other side of the desk.

“So? Where are we up to?” she asked.

“He tried to kill Doc,” said Alan. Rachel gasped.

“Surely you don’t mean Sam Stuart.”

“I do. He mixed drain cleaner with his booze, I got there just as he was about to drink the bloody stuff. I nearly got caught in the process but I’m telling you, it was a close call.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “That’s terrible. I didn’t think he’d be capable of anything like that.”

He explained the rest to her, what happened at the allotment, the closing of the gates and the reinstatement of Richard, eventually coming to how Doc was almost murdered by his own brother. By the end of the tale Rachel was trembling with anger, shaking her head and doing her best to deny the obvious conclusions.

“I just can’t believe it,” she said. “I know you’re telling the truth but it just seems so...
strange
, so much more like a work of fiction than reality.”

“It’s the truth I’m afraid,” he replied.

“And where’s Doc now?”

“In the infirmary. He feels safer there, with people around him. I don’t think he’ll be drinking again for a long time.”

“What are we going to do, Alan?” she said, burying her head in her hands. “I didn’t think things could get worse after the disaster and the storm but they did. And so quickly too.”

“You’re telling me. The thing to do now is to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Sam Stuart is only just starting,” he said. “He’s going to lock this place down so tight we won’t be able to breathe and I’m expecting him to strike back at me soon.”

“Don’t say that,” she moaned. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“I’m working on it; I just need a little more time. In the meanwhile I need you to keep a close eye on Tim. I’ve had a word with Henry and he and a few of the other guards are with us. They’ll watch this place and let me know if anything happens.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I think we need a little fear. It’ll give us the edge that we so desperately need because if I’m right it’s going to get a whole lot worse soon.”

“By god, he wouldn’t harm the children would he?”

“Who knows?” he replied. “Did you think he’d try to murder his brother?”

Rachel held back a sob and Alan put his hand on top of hers, smiling.

“It’s not over yet,” he said. “We’ll win in the end.”

“At what cost?”

“Whatever it is, we can’t afford
not
to pay it. 300 people are depending on us.”

Alan returned to his caravan and, finding his clothes in a neat clean pile, changed back into them before carrying out a thorough search of the place, turning over every surface, every cupboard, every nook, looking for signs that someone had been there. Towards the front of the caravan, near Tim’s bedroom, he found a partial footprint where someone had crouched down, forcing mud out of the waffle of their boots and subsequently stepped in it. Here, in the corner, was a panel with four screws holding it in place behind which he found several bags of medicine from the infirmary and a dozen jars of coffee.

Placing the items into his ammunition bag, he replaced the panel, cleared away the footprint and continued his search, finding nothing more. The stolen items would’ve been enough though and the fact that it was in the place where Tim slept meant that Sam Stuart would’ve been able to accuse them both. What would happen then? Did he plan to throw them out or lock them up? Or worse?

Alan left the caravan, taking the planted items with him back to the fire exit entrance he’d made and went straight to Doc who was in his office, drinking coffee from the same mug he’d once drunk his booze from the previous day.

“Alan!” he said, taking his feet from off the corner of his desk. “Is everything okay?”

Alan produced the medicine bag and held it up for him to see. “So he’s trying that first, eh?”

“Yes,” he replied. “And some stolen coffee too.”

“Do you expect the search tonight?”

“Yes. I’m going to make sure Tim is with Rachel though - I don’t want him seeing it. You should keep a close eye on your stuff in case he tries the same.”

“I already did,” he said, grinning.

“And?”

“Nothing - for now. I saw Richard come past earlier, just after I arrived here and the look on his face was priceless.”

“We’ll have shaken up their plans,” said Alan with a smile. “They’ll be getting nervous soon.”

“Dangerous thing, my brother being nervous. He was never really any good under pressure even when we were younger. I think that’s why his business failed.”

“He had a business? Doing what?”

“He was a franchise holder for the Ibromavich vaccine but they dropped him like a hot brick when he was accused of tampering with the product.”

“Tampering?”

“Oh my, no, not in that way,” said Doc suddenly. “Only the packaging, to try and pass it off cheaper so that people would buy from him. I think he found undercutting major pharmaceutical companies too much to handle. I’m almost glad that the disaster happened.”

“Why?”

“Because if it hadn’t my brother would’ve been facing a very long life in jail.”

“What do you think he’s facing now?” asked Alan. Doc shrugged.

“At least he had a chance. Sadly, he’s blown it.”

Doc looked up at him with a sorrowful expression on his face and turned away almost as quickly. “Answer me this - is it going to come to that in the end?”

“Come to what?”

“Dealing with my brother, once and for all.”

Alan wanted to reassure him that it wouldn’t, that he’d probably back down eventually and live a happy, healthy life in the camp. He could help Doc with the running of the Infirmary, handle the stocks of equipment or something, but he couldn’t.

He nodded his head.

“I thought so,” said Doc. “I thought so. He won’t stop. No matter what we do, he won’t stop.”

“No.”

“Still,” he replied, trying to hold a smile to his lips. “We gave him every chance, didn’t we?”

“We did, Doc. He took none of them.”

“Shame. A real shame.”

It was a shame, he thought, realising that events had been set in motion that were beyond his control now. He’d seen the next 24 hours in his mind and he knew what he would have to do and what it would cost him. With a heavy heart he looked at the path that snaked away into his future and made a decision which turn to take, which losses were ultimately his and where he would go from there.

He left Doc’s office and headed towards the people he’d have to visit, the equipment he’d need and the conclusion of that brief but vicious series of events that had brought him straight to this point.

18

When the evening came and the lights around camp were dimmed, Alan sat in the living room of the caravan, facing the door with only a small lamp to light the words he was writing in a thick, plastic bound, hardback notebook.

There’d been rumours of Sam Stuart demanding that all electricity be cut off after nightfall in order to preserve power, but having been reminded that the power was provided by the sun and therefore a pretty renewable resource, he compromised by having them dimmed instead.

As he sat there with the lamp flickering, Alan realised that perhaps he’d had the right idea. The fluctuations in the equipment was a direct result of the battery cells degrading and without some precision maintenance they’d eventually stop holding enough of a charge to power the camp’s devices.

Still, he continued to write, stopping only to boil some water on the hob and make himself a cup of coffee from the supplies he’d purchased that evening. Even under this new regime, the woman handing out rations had quickly turned her allegiance to him as soon as she’d been shown what was possible without it. Trading for a jar of instant espresso had been easy after that. Wherever he went, Alan gathered support for himself, explaining, where his reputation hadn’t quite reached, what was possible if the allotment was put to its full potential and the camp began turning their grassy patches into useable farmland.

When the clock on the wall read 3am, he heard movement outside the caravan. It was a slow, shuffling sound and it moved towards the door and reached the gravelled path very quickly. From here it gently crunched closer until it was just outside and then it paused.

Alan checked the last page he’d written and closed the book. Then, reclining in his chair, he waited.

A great crash suddenly broke through the silence of the night as the caravan door swung violently inwards, tearing itself off its hinges, falling to the floor. Three men burst into the hallway whilst another ran towards Tim’s bedroom and a fifth stood waiting outside.

“Right, get up!” cried Richard who’d led the charge. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” said Alan, calmly rising to his feet.

“We know you’ve stolen rationed items - where are they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.

Richard turned to the others and said, “Search the place. Top to bottom.”

They did as they were told and Richard, grinning, looked around the living room with disgust etched upon his face.

“I don’t think the boss was happy that you interfered with us helping the Doc out of his predicament,” he said. “I reckon he’s going to make an example out of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” repeated Alan.

“You will, soon enough.”

Richard eyed the rest of the caravan, saw a book and laughed. “Reading?”

“I suppose so.”

“Didn’t think an inbred like you could read or write.” Saying this, he opened the pages, glanced at the writing and let the book fall to the floor. “Oops.”

“Really?” said Alan, unable to suppress a laugh. “Hardly your best ‘bad cop’ routine, is it? What’ll you do next? Pull the blankets off my bed? Knock over the sugar pot? Please, stop, I’ll talk.”

“Oh you won’t be laughing in a minute,” he sneered, looking down the hallway as the caravan was quickly being taken apart bit by bit. After a minute or two, Richard began to look quite unnerved.

“What’s wrong?” asked Alan. “Not found anything yet?”

Slowly and with timid faces, the others returned to the living room with empty hands.

“Well?” demanded Richard. “Well?”

“Nothing, boss.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“No.”

He spun round, staring hard at Alan who was still grinning, unable to hide his laughter any longer. As he broke out into another fit, Richard shook his head and, pushing past his team, left the caravan.

Alan followed him to the door and stared intently at the faces of the others who filed out past him. The smile had gone and he looked with such intensity that they couldn’t meet his gaze for more than a second or two before dropping their heads and walking down the road. He watched them go until another caravan blocked his view and then he went back inside, sitting down once more, looking at the clock.

The kettle boiled. The lamp continued to flicker and the minute hand ticked nervously round until it hit the hour. Then Alan rose and, putting on his long overcoat and bag, went out into the night in darkness. The cells had failed right on cue.

By morning the camp was in uproar. The call had gone out at the break of dawn; cries from the other side of camp nearest the fence woke those around them until far off another wailing was heard. And another. And another until the rest were drowned in a sea of mutters and shouts and screams and a rushing of feet to the complex.

The guard on duty couldn’t hold them back and the terrified masses crowded into the gymnasium, begging for protection and justice from a disorientated Sam Stuart who, having been woken by the racket had quickly changed into his suit to ask what was happening.

“We don’t know, sir,” said the guard as he’d stepped into the crowded arcade. “They just started screaming and rushing through the door, saying there’s been a murder!”

“A murder? Who?” said Sam Stuart.

“I don’t know, sir, but Richard is trying to find out - he’s in the gym.”

“Try and calm them down, for pity’s sake.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam Stuart marched back into his office to take another path towards the gym just as those in the crowd began to notice him. He didn’t see Alan there, didn’t notice that he was watching the whole proceedings from the other side of the arcade with a mug of coffee in his hand and a smile on his face. When he vanished behind the door, Alan followed the ebb and flow of the people and made his way inside.

Here the crowd packed themselves into the gym that was big enough to hold half that number and more were still arriving, standing where they could, and pressing themselves together. There was comfort here, thought Alan as a natural path seemed to clear for his bulk; comfort in being so close to other human beings in a crisis. He found a spot near the wall where his height wouldn’t block the view of the persons behind him and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Sam Stuart hadn’t wasted any time in getting there and onto the stage he came, holding his hands openly in the air, calling for calm so that he could speak. It took a further ten minutes to reduce the noise to a point where people could actually hear him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried. “Please - calm down, all of you, and let’s try and resolve this situation!”

The crowd wailed again, drowning out the last part of his sentence and Sam Stuart was forced to repeat it a further four times before he could get a reasonable amount of calm to speak in. In the meantime, Richard was whispering in his ear, trying to explain what had been discovered and in fact continued to be discovered as the riot continued.

“Please, ladies and gentlemen, give me a moment to-” he called but a man near to the front pushed the last few inches forward and raised his fist.

“They’re dead! They’re all dead, murdered in their bloody sleep!” he cried. “What the hell are you going to do about it?”

“I’m trying to-”

“My husband was murdered!” screamed another.

“Who was on guard?”

“Why did this happen?”

“What’s going to happen to them?”

Visibly shocked and struggling to keep control, Sam Stuart waved his arms, fanning the flames as if that would calm the raging inferno before him. The words were flowing into his ears, Alan could see Richard’s lips, see them working, saw the sweat collecting on his brow.

“Mills. Taylor. Frankie-” Alan knew them. Knew all of them. He’d seen them in his caravan. He’d stared at each one as they’d left, memorising their faces so that he’d be able to see them in the dark.

Sam Stuart turned, scanned the room with wide, bloodshot eyes that eventually fell upon him, realising the cold, horrible truth. Alan, stern faced, raised his cup in salute.

“What do we do?” he asked his subordinate but Richard was backing away, looking for an exit, anywhere he could escape to now that he was aware that Alan was in the gymnasium.

“Calm down, please!” he called over the rising noise. “Go back to your homes whilst we search for the killer. Go back to-”

“We’re staying here until you find him,” cried another of the terrified people now dangerously packed into the stiflingly hot gymnasium. “We’re staying here until it’s safe.”

“You can’t,” called Sam Stuart. “Please, at least move out into the complex before someone is hurt!”

“People are dead!” roared another.

“We’re next!”

The guards began ushering people into the hallway, diverting them this way and that, trying to herd the raging pack out of the confines of that small chamber. Alan moved with them, weaving his way between the tightly packed groups and out of the complex entirely.

Walking down the road, he made his way to the school where Henry stood on the door, paler than usual, but smiling as he saw him approach.

“Mr Harding,” he said.

“Henry.”

“Some dreadful news, eh?”

“If you say so,” he replied. “How are they?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t quite know.”

“Why?”

“That hound of yours won’t let me through the door. The last I knew they were all safe and sound though.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Alan made for the door but Henry cleared his throat.

“Do I have anything to fear?” he muttered in a trembling voice.

“Not if you avoid turning over my caravan at three in the morning you don’t.”

“Ah. I see.”

Alan nodded and, opening the door, went inside.

True enough, within the classroom sat Moll, staring at the him as he entered and no sooner had her keen senses detected the aroma of her master than she was upright, wagging her tail and running over to greet him.

“She’s scary when she’s mad,” said Tim, coming out of the office with Rachel not far behind him. She looked drawn and tired and she yawned as she approached.

“Are you both okay?” asked Alan.

“We’re fine. A bit tired but we’re okay,” she replied. “What’s going on? We heard the noise.”

“I was turned over early this morning, as I predicted. Richard and his goons.”

“Oh dear,” she said. “What did you do?”

“I let them search the place, of course. They found nothing.”

“I’m glad. So what’s going on now?”

Alan said nothing. A moment or two passed before she clasped her mouth with her hand and looked away.

“They left me no choice,” he said softly.

The look of disgust on her face said otherwise and it cut him deeply. She put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and he saw the gesture and understood the meaning behind it, even though it was involuntary. It was at that moment that he realised what the future held for him and for anyone like him. If at any point he’d been unsure about the path before him then that simple movement of the hand, that solitary touch on the young boy’s shoulder had clarified it beyond any reasonable doubt. His eyes moved away from them both and looked to a distant point, something unseen by them, some far off place only he and Moll would ever find.
The future
. Long and far away from them both, stretching out before them, empty and alone.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Without his supporters you’ll be able to overpower Sam and take control,” he replied. “You must talk to Doc as soon as you can, make plans for when it all happens.”

She nodded. He looked at Tim.

“How are you, little man?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” he said. “When do I get to go home?”

Alan’s eyes stung but he was determined to see it through; driven to let no harm come to his little charge at any cost, even his own heart.

“Soon, mate. Soon this will be home for all of you. I promise.”

The boy reached out and hugged him, burying his face into his coat and letting go of a sorrowful sob. Alan found his vision clouding with tears as he returned the embrace and kissed the top of his head, trying to hold on to something that he knew would never be his and which he had to let go of if he’d ever stand a chance of saving them.

“Why?” she asked. “Was there no other way?”

He shook his head.

“They’ll come for me,” he said. “But you’ll be able to run this place properly once I’m gone, give these people a fighting chance.”

“You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you? You can’t save the world, Alan, you-”

“It’s done. Just do your part and I’ll do mine.”

Then, letting the boy go, Alan Harding turned and, calling Moll to him, walked out of the room, never to see them again.