Blood Crazy (27 page)

‘Shit.' I stalked off. Irrationally, I wanted to prove myself to them. That I could pull their lives round and stop them sliding into the dark ages.

I prowled the camp like a wolf looking for something to vent my talents on; something that would dazzle them into giving me what I wanted.

I felt as if a clock had started ticking in my head. Up in Eskdale
Curt and his crew partied while the Creosotes slowly massed. Any day now they might attack.

‘How does the radio work if there's no generator?' I snapped at the next kid I saw.

‘Uh? A hand generator. We take turns to charge up some—'

I walked on. In one of the barns I found a huge collection of stores. It looked as if they'd tried to salvage everything that wasn't nailed down. There were tyres, car parts, window panes, kitchen sinks, washing-up liquid by the crateful, surgical gloves, licorice-flavour condoms, ice cream cones, barbecues, wall paper … Everything under the sun whether vital or as useful as a chocolate fireguard.

As I dived through the store mountain an eerie feeling crept in through the back of my head that somehow, unconsciously, I was striving to fulfil Doc's messiah prophecy.

I shook my head trying to dislodge the feeling. But as I worked through the stores the conviction took shape in my head that I was looking for something specific. God knows what – but when I saw it bells and lights would go off in my head.

Sheila came to watch me. ‘Be patient, Nick.' The tenderness in her voice made my skin tingle. ‘Believe me, the fuel stocks
are
really low. Apart from what's in the trucks, all we've got is the reserve tank behind the barn.'

I made a noise to acknowledge she existed and carried on sorting through the stores.

‘No one's had a chance to catalogue this stuff yet,' she said. ‘We just brought as much as we could. A lot of it's useless.'

She watched me, probably more than a little bit frightened, as I continued what had become a holy quest.

‘I'll see you later, Nick. Grub up at one.'

I grunted and she walked reluctantly away.

Ten minutes later, grinning more like a devil than a messiah, I hissed, ‘Eureka.'

The sky was wedged so solid with storm clouds that the candles were lit at lunchtime as they sat down to eat. Boss sat looking gloomy. In his glass was something that sure as jiggery wasn't water.

I stood there and watched them. I felt a mixture of triumph and sheer craziness. They must have seen it in my face, so most sat
there, forks in hand, looking at me and wondering if I was going to strip bollock naked and dance a tango.

Casually, I asked, ‘Why are you all sitting in the dark?'

Boss paused, the glass at his lips, and watched me steadily.

‘The candles are lit,' said Jigsaw. ‘This is as bright as it gets, buddy.'

I smiled. ‘Let there be light.' I swung my hand down brushing the light switches.

Squeals, gasps, yells – you name it. And the expressions on their faces should have been framed for posterity.

Sheila cried out, ‘Nick. How did you do it … Sweet Jesus, I'd forgotten what they looked like.'

Everyone stared up at the blazing light bulbs, big grins all over their faces. Only Boss looked unhappy.

‘We can't spare the diesel, Nick … Turn off the generator.'

‘It's not running, Boss.'

Jigsaw stared open-mouthed at the lights. ‘A miracle … Nick's worked a bloody miracle.'

Doc watched me, his eyes gleaming behind the glasses.

I sat down at the table and began to eat. ‘No miracle. What you didn't know is that buried beneath all that crap in the barn you had a brand new, boxed, twelve-month-guaranteed generator that runs off bottled gas. And I know you don't use bottled gas here for cooking and heating. You use wood. And seeing as someone has dumped eight full LP Gas cylinders in that clump of nettles out by the fence I thought I'd use those.' I spooned in the rabbit stew. ‘I reckon on the gas stocks you've got, you can run the generator two hours a day, every day, through the winter.'

‘Christ, he's right.' Doc was gobsmacked. ‘And after the LPG's gone we can ferment animal excrement for methane. We can have electricity all the time, for lighting, for the transmitter and … Just a minute, Nick, how did you know the generator was there?'

‘I didn't. I'm just a nosy sonofabitch.'

I carried on eating. The rest did not – they sat and stared at me.

That night, with a sound system belting out music, the electric lights burning, Boss came across to me and handed me a glass of whisky. ‘You're a hero, Nick.'

‘I wish people would stop saying that about me … Really I do.'

Boss was full of booze and looked jolly. ‘Listen, Nick old son. You coming here has been like a … an injection of life into the place. Look around this room. What ya see? I'll tell you. You see happy faces. You see hopeful faces. And that's all down to you.'

‘You've not done bad yourself, Boss. You're a decent leader; you keep the crazies at bay.'

‘Hmm … I thought I'd got what it takes to be boss … but every day I die a bit. Keeping these people alive is just too big a weight to carry alone … Here, more whisky. There. Get it down you. Listen, Nick. Why don't you stay here? Join us. You could be my second-incommand.'

‘Sorry, Boss. I've got to get back to Eskdale. There's someone there who means a lot to me. I've been thinking. If you could just drive me to—'

‘Nick, Nick. We'll talk about that tomorrow. Come on, this's turning into a party. Hey, will you look at that, they've barbecued some chicken.' He nudged me and winked. ‘Sheila's sat by herself … She likes you, you know … Hey, Jigsaw, you vagabond. Haven't we got any different music to this? 'S crap, man.' He staggered away.

Sheila smiled gratefully when I sat beside her on the sofa. ‘Chicken?'

‘Please … Hell. This whisky's gone to my head. I'm not used to it.'

‘Look at them, Nick. I've not seen them as happy as this in weeks. You're a hero.'

‘Don't you start.' I laughed. ‘The name's Nick Aten, it rhymes with Satan, and I'm nobody doing nothing.'

‘Oh … Is that what you think?' She handed me a plateful of barbecued chicken and fixed me with those eyes, as dark and as glossy as polished coal.

‘Right, Mr Aten,' she smiled and slid across the sofa toward me. ‘Tell me your life story.'

The next day Boss, more hungover than ever, fobbed me off every time I asked about a ride past the Creosotes that hung about outside the fences like refugees from Bedlam.

I ended up servicing the trucks. It was a big hint what I wanted in return.

By evening the rain showers turned to snow and I was grateful to have a hot shower and get beside the log fire that shot flames up the chimney like a flame thrower.

Sheila brought a plateful of those bread pancakes and began toasting them on pieces of wire over the fire. She told me to help myself to honey as she explained, ‘We used to do a bit of trade with the people over in Harmby before the Kaybees got too cheesie on the ground. They've got huge orchards there and beehives.'

‘When we pick ourselves up that's what we're going to have to do,' I said, ‘Begin trading with other communities. Just think. We're just a bunch of kids with no experience and no real training and we're going to have to build civilization from scratch. How long do you think it'll be before we have our own space research programme again?'

‘Never, I hope.' Sheila snuggled down beside my legs and watched the flames. ‘Perhaps we can live simpler lives from now on. You know, like the old Red Indian tribes. If you're comfortable, have enough to eat, and if … and if you have someone to love who loves you – that's enough.'

‘I'd like to say you're right. But you know like it's in a wolf's nature to howl at the moon, or for sparrows to fly south? There is something in human nature that drives us to explore, colonize, develop. We won't be satisfied until we can take the whole universe apart like a clock and find out how it ticks. And that won't be the end of it. Then we'll want to know how to make one of our own. With all the imperfections ironed out, of course.'

She looked up at me steadily, her dark hair falling across her breasts. ‘Why do you talk like that, Nick? Most of the time you're just one of the lads, then you talk like you know things we don't.'

I laughed. ‘Take no notice. I'm beginning to sound like Del-Coffey.'

‘Who?'

‘Oh, just some egg-head I know back home.'

‘Is there anyone else back home, Nick? I mean who's special. I know I'm—'

‘Listen – everyone shut up and listen!' Jigsaw shouted. ‘Doc's on the radio to Dublin. They're under attack. They say it's the biggest yet.'

In thirty seconds flat everyone who could squeeze in was in the radio shack. Doc sat at the table, staring at the transmitter switches like he could see what was happening at the other end. Over the speakers a voice came clearly over a faint static crackle.

‘Hello planet Earth, this is Dublin. Welcome to the big one. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, these guys are thick on the ground tonight. Well … We've got the flood lights on and we can see them just sort of … sort of shuffling up to the fences.'

For my benefit Doc said, ‘The Dublin camp have taken over a prison. There's a thousand kids in the place. They're probably the best armed of the lot.' He drew two squares in the air one within the other. ‘On the outer boundary they have high barbed wire fences. Then there's a concrete inner wall that's thirty feet high.'

As Doc quickly talked other voices crackled over the speaker, which I took to be other communities calling in across the world with messages of encouragement.

‘Good luck, Dublin,' came a girl's voice with a German accent.

Then a public school English voice, ‘Tally ho chaps. Give the blighters hell.'

Then came Dublin: ‘Is Sheila there, Doc? I promised her a moonlit walk through old Dublin town one day soon. Am I still on a promise?'

Sheila blushed. ‘You are, Jono. You look after yourself, d'ya hear?'

‘Blow me a kiss for luck, sweetheart, and I'll chip you a piece of the Blarney stone for … Jesus, did you hear that?'

It sounded like a burst of static. ‘We've just fired our howitzer at the beggars. The mother just vaporised a path straight through them.'

It was like a radio play. We brought in drinks and barbecued chicken and listened to the story. Only it wasn't a story. A thousand people, not one beyond their teenage years, were fighting a war against an enemy that were no longer human.

‘… machine guns now,' said the soft Irish voice calmly. ‘I can see through the window … The bullets. Like a long line of sparks, flying from the roof above my head … out into darkness. We don't have to aim. Just fire in the general direction and you're bound to hit the bastards. There are thousands of them … They started massing this afternoon. They've done that before, then they disperse; this's the first time – shoot, that was the howitzer again. And now we're wheeling the tanks out of the gates. They're going to fire point blank through the barbed wire fences …'

Small arms fire sounded like sharp cracks on the speaker, the big guns came over like fat bursts of static. I looked round the faces in the room. They listened hard to every word. It wasn't blood lust. Every gunshot was an assurance that we too might survive.

The hours passed. More food and drink was carried in. Sometimes we'd cheer as the Irishman described another success. They were confident, they felt safe behind their thirty-foot concrete walls. We felt safe, too. Although when I went out for a leak I did notice that the Creosotes in the fields were shuffling restlessly as if somehow they knew what was happening in Ireland.

‘Nick, you missed it. The lads in Ireland have brought out the flamethrowers.' Jigsaw held up a burnt drumstick. ‘They're frying tonight!'

‘… now we're firing parachute flares. They light up the whole place, so I can describe the scene …' The calm voice paused. When it came back everyone in the room sensed it had changed. It sounded almost puzzled. ‘We've popped off hundreds of the mad so-and-so's. They're still coming though. They haven't got the sense
to quit … There go the tanks again … Wait. Wait! The tanks are pulling back to the gates. Our guys are running back! Sweet Mary, they're not stopping to pick up their guns … Wait … Shit … I see what's happened: the Crazies have broken in through the fence to my left. They're just pouring in like flood water … Come on, come on … That's it. We've closed the gates in the wall. Now the mad bastards are going to have to sprout wings and fly over.'

The sound of gunfire crackled over the speakers. By now we'd stopped eating. All that mattered was to hear the next words from that soft Irish voice.

By eleven the gunfire sounded as heavy as ever. The Dubliners stood on the prison walls firing straight down at the Creosotes as they pressed mindlessly at the slabs of concrete, like an incoming tide that had reached the sea wall.

Whatever drove them to the walls wouldn't let them go as fuel was poured onto their heads, then the burning rags.

‘Oh, boy … I'm glad you can only hear this. Not smell it. The flames are nearly forty feet high … The smell is indescribable … The Crazies are still coming though. There are thousands of them, they walk out of the darkness then just – just wade into the flames.'

I saw them in my mind's eye. And I knew then that this wasn't any pointless mass suicide by the Creosotes. Somehow they'd formed a strategy. And they would stick to it. Inside I felt cold. An arm slipped around mine. Sheila looked up, her face serious, then she looked back at the speaker.