Elysium. Part Two (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two
.

South-Easterly wind.

Two knots.

The cellar beneath The Smuggler’s was humid and thick with smoke. Council members from all across the community were gathered, and the seventeen in attendance muttered amongst one another, hypothesising on the nature of the dilemma that brought them together.

A stocky, white haired man descended the last steps in an awkward fashion. He whistled when he saw the number gathered.

‘What’s all this, then?’ He wheezed, laying a hand on the wall. ‘Looks like we’re all here, ‘cept Semilion.’

‘None know more than you, Turner,’ someone said, and Turner shook his head, before reaching for his pipe. ‘Buggeration! No bloody tobacco!’

A pouch was handed to him. He thanked the offering, then turned as Semilion dismounted the stairs and entered the council chamber. The council members fell quiet expectantly as he stepped past them, he tugged at his sleeves nervously and greeted them in turn. He took a box file from the crammed shelf and retrieved from it Priya’s translation of Camberwell’s broadcast.

‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I apologise for not calling this council sooner. Some of you here know pieces of information, and all of you are aware of the patrols that have been increased in the south.’

‘What’s that all about?’ Turner said, breaking away suddenly from his pipe.

‘I’d like to explain everything and take questions afterwards if you don’t mind.’

Priya had nearly finished the translation, and had the bruise-coloured bags beneath her eyes to prove it. She’d protested when he had asked her to clear out of the cellar, and said that if he gave her another few hours she would have more information – possibly even finish the entire transcript.

What she had revealed about the countdown had forced his hand, however. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had told her to leave, to take the books with her and finish the rest at home if she wished, but he needed to call a council. There were no two ways about it, the time to hide was over, they needed an offensive, and quickly.

The gathered crowd watched him as he took a deep breath.

‘In August I received a broadcast from John. Most of it roused little suspicion on the face of it. There was nothing on the international scene of much interest; no hold up in any of the various civil wars etc.. Very mundane. The thing is... John mentioned that since the last broadcast fifteen miles of land from the border had been reclaimed.’

‘
In one month? Nonsense!
’

Semilion nodded understandingly, picking up the page and reading from it. ‘Exmouth, south-easterly wind. Fifteen knots.’

‘There’s never been fifteen miles of land reclaimed in such a short space of time. Exmouth wasn’t even mentioned the previous month.’ Turner said.

‘Which is the cause for concern, Bill. And that’s not the only intelligence that worries me.’ He looked down at the sheet once more, and read three simple words: ‘Exmoor: Storm-front.’

The room fell into silence.

‘
What does that mean?’

‘We’ve never heard of a storm-front before
.’

‘Well, look, it’s been generations since these books were used... I’ve never had a reason to know what they all mean. I never even knew there were all the different code books belonging...’

‘So it’s not your fault! What does it mean?’

‘I’ll read you the transcription as it has been translated. “Duress. Extreme Hostility, danger. Broadcast no longer safe. Broadcast intercepted by friend-enemy. Close proximity friend-enemy.”’

Several heads shook in exasperation, Semilion continued. ‘“Storm coming from the south east…”’

Gasps filled the cellar. He swallowed. The next line was the line that had convinced him finally to hold a council. ‘Storm rising from fifteen knots, South-easterly. Reducing to Dead Calm at the peak of Orionids.’

‘
What’s that?
’

‘The peak of Orionids refers to October’s annual meteor shower. Unknown to us, gentlemen, there has been a countdown hanging over the community, and in two days it will reach zero. Come Sunday we are to be attacked from the south east.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you come to us sooner with this?’ Turner shouted. Mutterings of concurrence followed.

‘Gentlemen, as I said, I wasn’t aware of these codes.’

‘That still doesn’t explain why you’ve kept us in the dark for so long. We should have been preparing for weeks!’

Semilion evaded their incriminating gazes, and avoided admitting to himself that it was his wife’s condemnation that had lead him to believe he could minister the situation single-handedly.

Shouts joined the muttering, and though he didn’t catch the words he knew he was once again being condemned.

‘Duress. Extreme hostility.
To be upon us by Sunday? That’s the message?’ Turner said after a long draw and exhale. His face became obscured by the lingering smoke.

‘It is.’

‘What of this month’s report?’

Semilion’s voice caught in his throat. This was more information that should have been shared with the council. ‘There has been no broadcast since.’

An uproar swelled in the chamber, fingers were thrust in Semilion’s direction, arms were thrown up in the air, fingers ploughed hair.

‘
And you kept this from us also?’

‘What were you thinking?’

‘You’ve no right!
’

Semilion let the accusations flood over him. He had expected it and knew he deserved it. He looked up at the stairway and thought for a moment that Red Sawbone had taken the place of Turner. His heart leapt and he cleared his throat when he realised he was wrong.

Only Turner, he thought to himself, biting his dry lips.

Turner regarded the room earnestly, as though he had been reminded of something long before Semilion had become governor. Semilion watched the old man move toward the library shelves and perused them as though he was searching for a good book. He said something over his shoulder though his words were snatched away by the hollering.

‘Gentlemen, please!’ Semilion shouted, faces turned toward Turner.

‘All this, every page of it, it was written with the intention of predicting and overcoming any problem we might face.’ He spoke in a whisper, and then turned to Semilion. ‘You’ve let it go to waste. Your grandfather, Carrick would never have let this happen.’

‘This is no time to point fingers!’ Semilion snapped, hitting the table. ‘We need a resolution. That’s why we’re gathered, to discuss the meaning of this broadcast and find a solution!’

Eyes still lingered on him. Hateful eyes that accused and loathed him for leaving them in the dark over such a serious matter. When he spoke again his voice was calmer.

‘Before Guliven left I told him to communicate with Camberwell and get more information. He should be returning tonight, or tomorrow...’

‘We should employ the mirror.’ Turner said. ‘Make sure we’re not being observed.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling and several council members nodded in agreement.

‘Ok, that’s a good idea, Bill. And we’ll need to form some kind of front in the south-east, to stop whatever is coming our way.’

‘You’re not suggesting fighting your way out of this are you?’ Bill asked.

‘Of course. What do you suggest? Let them come and take us while we go about our business? If we’re going down we’re going down with a fight in our hearts. For the sake of our ancestors.’

‘Our ancestors,’ Bill continued, ‘obviously had more in mind for us than common brawling. They used all their wiles and imagination to keep us safe. Not once in the books they left us does it mention raising arms.’

‘It doesn’t mention a full scale attack, either.’

‘Maybe not, but that doesn’t stop us using our own wiles now, does it?’

‘How so?’

‘Whoever is coming might not expect to find anything here. They may only have suspicions. You say there’s a countdown so it doesn’t seem as though this is a hot-headed attack, maybe it’s simply a scouting mission…’

‘Or a well –planned attack!’ Someone snorted.

Turner ignored them, ‘So I say we make the place look as dead as though it’s been uninhabited for generations, just as they’d expect to see, and pull back into the countryside. We can grind soil as dust, drag weeds across the roads and disguise them with fallen leaves… and if no-one objects we could exhume a corpse or two to authenticate the scene.’

Another surge of disapproval resounded in the chamber, accompanied by twisted mouths and berating glances.

‘Would you have us dig up your ma, Turner?’ A voice from the back of the cellar called. ‘Throw her bones in the street like manure?’

‘I’m just saying,’ Turner continued, ‘that we could make this place look as dead as dead can be. Make it look as it’s supposed to look until they leave.’

‘No,’ Semilion said firmly. ‘I appreciate what you’re saying, Bill. But there’s too much here for them to investigate should they find anything. Take the mill, for example, or the mirror. Do you think they would take a look at these devices and just leave? And the hotel cellar? What do you think happens when they find the Dekeyrel’s work?

‘The community is obviously in danger, does anyone disagree with that?’ It was Ben Pilgrim who spoke, his hair and beard red and lank. His face was twisted in a perpetual squint. ‘Regardless what we think the issue is we need to set up the old defences,’ he hesitated momentarily. ‘We should think about speaking to the Dekeyrels and Ruben Halifax. Where’s Pollman?’

His words had the effect of turning several members pale.

Semilion took a deep breath and nodded gravely. He heard Red Sawbone’s words, as guttural and menacing as they had been thirty years ago: ‘If I ever have to step foot in this cancerous warren and attend your incompetence...’ the words had been roared at his father but he knew they had been intended for Mortehoe’s governor, whomever that might be. He nodded and addressed the council. ‘If someone is descending on us then yes, it’s sensible to turn to them.’

‘What do they have that would keep the old-world at bay?’

‘Other than the usual deterrents.’

‘They have a strain to keep outsiders at bay for a long time. Garth?’

Eyes turned on Garth Pollman, the milky-eyed governor of the laboratory. His voice was slow and heavy with sagacity, as though he would scare his audience into choosing another path. ‘We have a deterrent so virulent we near exterminated it immediately without further research. After much deliberation we kept it in isolation and set about working on a vaccine for it. Then we destroyed it, retaining only the information to make more coded DNA strings should it ever need be created.’

‘So it is ready to be made should we have need for it?’ Turner asked,peering over heads to see the bow-backed man.

Garth sighed, his attempt to discourage the use of the virus he feared so much having failed. ‘You have to understand what this thing does. It dissolves all cells. Skin, organs, bones, all liquefied within hours. Think what S18K4 did to the world. This virus could wipe away what’s left.’

The gathering stared at him expectantly, their silence a statement that they would not be convinced.

‘The information was divided and spread throughout Mortehoe and Woolacombe.’ Garth said slowly, his knuckles white on the pommel of his cane. ‘It was considered too dangerous to be kept as one. It can be gathered if needs be, the papers are in the hands of several men here. It would take as little as a week to grow a culture of the virus ready for dispersal...’ His words faltered. They were discussing a holocaust. ‘But… if we released it on whomever is coming from Exmoor it would be released into the animal population.’ One attack, he thought, surely one attack doesn’t warrant unleashing another plague on the world? Manipulating S18K4 and infecting the local animal population had been contained, a defence separating them from the old-world. This was no less than a genocidal pre-emptive strike. His cloudy eyes searched for Semilion. Was it really necessary to assemble the DNA strings?

Attention was again on Semilion. It had been on his order to disband the papers, so frightened was he of the virus he had been shown.

He had witnessed a hairless rat succumb to the airborne strain, and watched in horror as the creature’s pink skin darkened with bruises in four hours. Rapid animate necrosis, that’s what Christina Dekeyrel had called it. First soft tissue blackened, eyes and orifices turned to pus, within six hours organs were nothing more than sacks of viscosity, by which time the rodent had long expired. Decomposition continued swiftly, eating away at bone marrow until all that was left were fractured bone erupting from a syrupy pool. More alarming than the quick death and decomposition of the animal was the resulting bubo, a dark green swelling that arose from the waste of the corpse. It bloated into a tightly drawn boil, powdery and flaking, rancid and smouldering before it finally burst - coating the double-glazed partition with its residue.

He had been told that the effects would take longer in humans, though death would be expected to occur within twelve hours. If the vaccine was not taken in the first thirty minutes then there would be no reversal.