Afterlight (42 page)

Snoop realised he was pushing his luck. He might be able to snap the man’s old wattled neck without any real effort but that would leave him in charge; leave him holding the baby . . .

‘Sorry, Chief.’

Through the double doors the boys roared. Someone must have scored again.

‘Look,’ said Maxwell, ‘we knew this day would eventually come, Edward. We’re lucky to have lasted this long. But here it is. And it will be bad. When the food and the generators run out, the boys will turn on you and I, then probably on each other. The workers will turn on the boys. We will end up like the other safety zones did. It won’t end up particularly well for anyone.’

‘The praetorians will be well angry, Chief. They believe you . . . you said the Zee was going to last for ever.’

‘They’re just fucking children. What do you expect? They can’t think five minutes ahead, let alone worry about tomorrow, or next year.’

Snoop said nothing for a while. Maxwell was right. The boys were perfectly happy doing what they were told just as long as they had their smokes, their treats; just as long as they had access to the girls in their cattle shed. He tended not to venture down there much these days. It smelled of shit and stale sweat. More than that, he preferred to keep a little distance from the girls - the distance of authority; the cattle-shed girls were for his foot soldiers: the general got his pleasures elsewhere.

‘So you got a plan, Chief?’

Maxwell grinned. ‘Of course I do. When do I not have a plan, Edward?’

‘What?’

‘The new boys - Nathan and Jacob - they’ve come from a community that has access to fuel, Edward. Fuel on tap. They’re living on drilling rigs for fuck’s sake. Do you understand what that means?’

Snoop nodded. ‘Sure, we can make more power.’

Maxwell smiled dismissively. ‘It’s much more than that. It’s the life blood that flows through a
civilised
world. When the last of our little stockpile runs out, and the floodlights go dark here . . .’ Maxwell shook his head. ‘We’ll all become cavemen again. It’s that simple. Just like those wild children . . . fucking savages.’

Snoop didn’t need him to say any more. He’d seen those pale feral wraiths up close enough times. He’d seen the remains of their eating: dogs, cats, rats . . . and on one occasion the tattered remains of a human cadaver.

‘We’re going to the rigs, then?’

Maxwell nodded.

‘When?’

‘As soon as possible,’ replied Maxwell.

‘How soon?’

‘We should start preparing the day after tomorrow.’

Snoop’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. ‘What?’

‘You heard me right, lad. We need to start preparing. I’d say we’ve got another month of reliable summer weather, hopefully, and if we’re going to use those river barges, then we need the best weather we can get.’

‘But . . . ain’t those barge things just for rivers an’ shit?’

‘They’ll float just as well on the North Sea, so long as we’re not dealing with choppy weather. That’s why we need to get a move on. Autumn’s coming. We wait too much longer, then we’ll have to do this next year.’

Snoop considered that for a moment. ‘The boys won’t be happy leavin’ the dome behind. S’all they know.’

‘Those little thugs will do as you tell them. Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I’ll tell them the place we are heading to is tapping oil, that we’ll have power that
will
last us for ever. And we’ll bring along on the barges all the comforts the boys are used to - their games machines, the girls, the booze. There’ll be space enough for those things. And when we get settled there, they’ll be able to play the games and movies
every
night, not just once a fortnight.’

‘Yeah? For real?’

Maxwell smiled. ‘Yes, Edward, for real.’

Snoop grinned. ‘My boys’ll like that.’

‘Of course they will. And we’ll also have a smaller, more manageable population; a smaller kingdom, but at least one that doesn’t have a sell-by date printed on the side. Also, with limitless fuel, it means we can forage much further. Up and down the coast. It gives us a lot more scope.’

‘What about them workers, we leavin’ them behind?’

‘We’ll take a few with us, yes. The rest? Well, if the poor buggers can survive here on their flippin’ cabbages and onions, good for them, but they’ll not be my concern any more. The important thing is that we load up and slip away without them finding out, all right?’

‘Right.’

‘We’ll be nice and discreet. Don’t want a panic or a riot on our hands as we leave. So, we’ll load those barges up with the minimum of fuss. We don’t need to take everything, just what we need. We can always come back here later and pick up whatever goodies we left behind.’

‘Okay, Chief.’

‘Maybe you can move some workers into the arena area to help with the loading, and those will be the ones we take along with us. We keep them in the arena until we go.’

‘Y’know where these rigs are?’

‘Yes, I checked it on the map. Just a dozen or so miles offshore from a seaside town called Bracton. Thing is, we know this place is on some rigs, right? I have no bloody idea how big they are, or how tall they are. We may need to forage some ladders and ropes and grappling hooks from a hardware store and—’

‘We attackin’ it?’

Maxwell shrugged. ‘Ideally, we won’t need to. I don’t want us to have to storm these rigs. I don’t want a bloody battle if it can be helped. I don’t want to risk damaging these rigs. I just want us to arrive, say hello, come aboard and then once we’re on, calmly evict those we don’t want around. That’s why those two new boys are so important. They’re going to vouch for us . . . get us on so we don’t have to fight our way on.’

‘You think they’d do that?’

Maxwell shrugged. ‘They might if we treat them good enough. Make a fuss of them. Treat them like celebrities. We’re going to make them praetorians. So let’s give them a great initiation party, give them some booze, give them some blow and make sure they have a good time.’

Snoop grinned.

‘And, I think what we do is, we make them both your number twos. Give them some
authority
over the other praetorians.’

‘Shit,’ Snoop pulled a face. ‘Some of me boys won’t like that. Dizz-ee will fuckin’ well throw a shoe, man.’

Maxwell shook his head. ‘Which boy is that - Lawrence Bolland?’

‘Yeah.’

‘The boy’s a big idiot. He’s only your number two because he’s the oldest, right?’

Snoop nodded. ‘Fucking wigger. I can handle him if he gets shitty.’

‘I’m sure you can. What about the rest of the lads?’

Snoop gave it some thought. ‘Nathan they like. They think he’s well-sick. But the other one? Jacob? His face don’t fit so well.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

Snoop shrugged. ‘Way too quiet, man . . . a loner. The other boys think he’s, like, stuck up.’

‘Stuck up how? Too posh? Too nerdy? Too white?’

‘He just don’t fit.’

‘Well, you’ll just have to embrace him, Edward. Give him your official stamp of approval tomorrow night. The boys will follow your lead. Just give those two lads a bloody good time, all right? Make ’em a part of the family.’

‘Sure.’

‘And if you can, make sure they try a bit of junk. You know? Won’t hurt if they start developing a bit of an appetite for that, too.’

‘Right.’

‘Okay, Edward, that’s all for now. I need to do some planning, make a list of what we’re taking along. You can talk to the troops and let them know about Nathan and Jacob. Party night can also be their initiation party. And why not sweeten the deal a bit. Let them know it’s double booze and blow rations for all of them. That should soothe any ruffled feathers.’

Snoop got up and made his way towards the double doors, feeling a growing fizz of excitement in his stomach. The Chief had a fucking plan. The boys might grumble a bit at being uprooted, but he could keep them in line - even that twat Dizz-ee.

He was outside, walking up the sloping aisle to the arena when he realised already he had questions in his head that he should have asked. Questions like, how could he know there was going to be enough fuel to last them for ever on those rigs? Hadn’t that shit been running out or something? Wasn’t that why the world got totally fucked in the first place?

He guessed Maxwell had a handle on that. The man certainly wasn’t a fool.

 

 

 

W
alter listened to the gentle lapping of water against the quay and the boat’s fibreglass hull. It was an altogether more relaxing sound than the thump and roll of the North Sea. That and the soft
tink
of the halyards against the mast.

Bracton was quiet and still as it always was. Earlier he’d heard the snapping and yipping of a pack of dogs disputing some small find, but since then nothing but the tide.

He could have headed back to the rigs before it got dark. He could have made it back in time. Instead he chose to overnight here and sail back some time tomorrow morning.

To be honest, he preferred the time away from the platforms. Things were getting unpleasant on there. Jenny refused to talk to Latoc any more and that bastard was carrying on as if he was now in charge. There were well over a hundred and fifty, maybe even two hundred of them now following the man. Too many, really, to all fit on the large compression platform. Since the accommodation platform was the one directly linked to his, Walter guessed he’d soon be insisting Jenny and the others currently bunked there vacate onto the next platform down so as to make way for his overspill.

The day that happened, Jenny might be better admitting she’d lost control of the rigs to him and prepare to gather up her things and those who wanted to go with her, and come ashore. The accommodation platform was the heart of the community, and surrendering that to Latoc was as good as losing it all.

There was another reason he preferred as much of his time as possible ashore, ostensibly scouring for bits. It was the staring. Everyone was doing it now and not just Latoc’s loony followers; long icy stares as he passed by, not even a formal nod, or a half smile, or a limp wave.

Just the bloody staring.

He knew what it was. That silly rumour. Alice Harton’s rumour, or whoever else she’d picked it up from. Just words. The rigs were full of words. In between chores it was all there was to do, gossip. But this . . . it was nasty. And there really was no verbal defence a man could make against that kind of innuendo. In fact, to bluster aloud that he’d never had any inappropriate thoughts about Hannah would seem to condemn him still further.

Hannah, she was a lovely little girl. He was very fond of her, almost like a granddaughter to him. And yes, there’d been occasions he’d been in the Sutherlands’ quarters when Leona was washing her hair or scrubbing her in a tin bath. But it was all innocent. For Christ’s sake, this was the kind of environment - all of them living cheek-by-jowl - where people
were
going to catch each other half dressed occasionally. It happened all of the time. But this . . . this kind of suggestion made by someone out there, someone who presumably had an axe to grind, somebody whom he must have annoyed or upset at some point in the past, this kind of suggestion stuck fast and never shook off. It made every hug he’d given Hannah, every peck on the cheek and a million other innocent physical interactions since she was born, take on a sinister new meaning. And dammit, yes, it
could
make him look like some pervert if that’s what someone wanted to see in him; a pervert carefully, patiently playing out some long game, biding his time as he groomed the girl and earned Jenny’s and Leona’s implicit trust.

An idea like that, once planted . . .
Jesus
. . . any interaction with Hannah would appear suspect.

‘Fuck!’ Walter snapped suddenly, angrily punching the side of the yacht’s cockpit. The fibreglass rang hollowly. He was angry enough he could throttle the vicious bitch, and he could start his guessing that it was Alice Harton who came up with that kind of poison.

The thought enraged him. The idea that everyone back on the rigs must actually now be wondering if he’d taken Hannah down there, done things to her . . . then killed her? That he was capable of that?

No. Jesus, No. Not
any
child . . . not anyone, in fact. And certainly not someone he’d known since she was born, grown to love as if she was his own flesh and blood, for Christ’s sake. He’d been a friend of Jenny’s and her family since before the rigs. He’d known them when they’d lived together outside Newark. They were bloody
family.

The truth was, Hannah had been down there, where she knew she shouldn’t be. Messing around amongst pipes that should have been more securely attached. And
that
. . . that was what he was guilty of. Carelessness. There should have been a lock on the door. There should have been adequate ventilation.

Unless, of course, that’s what happened to her. That she was . . .

He slapped the cockpit once again. ‘You fucking bastard!’ he hissed. ‘You fucking bastard!’

He’d seen the pair of them, as thick as thieves: Hannah and Latoc. The man helped around by Hannah, cared for, nursed by Hannah. His arm around her shoulders, his face so close to hers that their hair tangled, talking in hushed conspiratorial voices.

He almost laughed at the irony. Now the idea of Latoc being a pervert had taken hold in his head, every interaction of that Belgian bastard seemed to take on a sinister dimension.

Maybe that damned rumour had come from somewhere other than Alice’s big flapping mouth. Maybe that sick twisted fuck, Latoc, had put the idea about somehow. Just made a veiled suggestion and let it evolve and transmit and grow as it spread like swine flu from one gossiping mouth to the next.