The Village King (3 page)

S
tephen
heated up
a large
tin. It was marked beef stew and the smell filled the small room. Karen sat in
front of the fire, staring at the pot as the contents started to bubble. Alana
sat next to her. She had been put off by the rumple of covers on a mattress in
the corner and sat with her back to the mess. Through her eyes, Stephen saw it
for what it was; a hovel.

“It’s not much of a place,” he
said, and stirred the stew with a metal spoon. It scraped along the bottom of
the pot. He and Gary had arrived separately but each had taken over one of the
wash-houses. Handily, the designers had put in old ranges; fires with metal
plates for cooking food. The pot rested on one of the plates, while a battered
old kettle sat on the other, heating some water.

“It’s warm,” she said.

He could tell she was trying to
be pleasant and he noticed her glance again at his bed. “I’ve not lifted you
out of there, just to bring you somewhere worse.” He picked up one of the small
plates, spooned in some of the stew and handed it to Karen. “Or the same.”

Alana eyed him. “So why did you?”
She watched Karen eat, and kissed her on the head. Stephen handed her a plate
of stew. She bowed her head in gratitude, closed her eyes, moved her mouth as
if saying something, then opened her eyes and ate.

Stephen used the big spoon and
ate straight from the pot. He was careful with it, chewed each piece, and
licked the spoon clean. He thought of Ellen and Jack, but never answered her.
She noticed that, so asked him something else. “What is this place?”

“Just a village,” said Stephen. “They
live pretty quiet, but they’re menaced by the soldiers and the folk in the
forest make it a pain in the arse to get wood.”

Alana put her arm round Karen.
The girl just stared into the fire. She was very protective of her younger
charge, he thought, and he had just cursed the room out. “Sorry.”

“I swore first,” said Alana.
“It’s just having something hot to eat makes it seem, dunno, normal.” She’d
searched for the last word. Stephen knew what she meant. Their life was tough,
had been since the virus, and it had made them tough. Domesticity showed how
coarse they had become.

Through her eyes again, he saw
himself. He was filthy. His hair was knotted and his beard was unkempt.
Tomorrow, he would sort himself out. There was a great big porcelain sink in
here after all. The water system still worked.

The kettle boiled and Stephen
used a tea bag for the three of them. He had some chipped mugs. Karen was
fascinated by the process but she pulled a face when she tasted some of it.

“It’s better with some milk and
sugar,” Stephen laughed. He handed Alana her mug and she breathed in the steam.
She sipped gratefully.

“Where did you find tea bags?”

“Trade secret.” He sipped at his.
It was hot. He’d found them in an old B&B outside Jedburgh and had been
hanging onto them ever since, doling them out to himself and Gary.

Karen crawled over to the
mattress and slid in between the covers. Alana went to stop her, but Stephen
said, “It’s okay. You can use that too if it’s not too disgusting. I’ll kip
here.”

Alana sipped her tea and sighed
in approval. When she’d finished, she slid in beside Karen, but not before
she’d artfully positioned the loaded shotgun within reaching distance. She
quickly dropped off to sleep.

S
tephen
woke up
as the door
closed. Alana had closed it gently but it lifted him out of sleep all the same.
He was sore from having slept on the hard floor. It was just getting light. The
bed was empty. Alana and Karen, and the shotgun, had gone but they had left
their coats.

He managed to stand up and sucked
in cold air and blew it out again. He leaned into the fire. It was still warm.
He’d thrown a log on in the middle of the night to keep it going. He reached
for a few sticks he kept in a wood basket and hoped they would catch. He
grabbed the kettle and filled it in the sink, pulling the curtains back.
Outside, he could see Alana, looking around with the shotgun crooked over her
arm. Stephen scratched his head and felt grateful she hadn’t shot him during
the night. Karen looked like she was bursting and bounced up and down on the
path.

Stephen rapped his knuckles on
the window and caught Alana’s attention. When she turned, he pointed towards
her left and crooked his finger round like he meant for her to go round the
corner. She looked at where he was gesturing. When she saw what he was pointing
to, she turned back and gave him the thumbs up and a surprised look. He had
sent her to the public toilets, originally built for the tourists.

Chuckling, he filled the kettle.
It made him need to visit the toilets too, conveniently sited at the end of the
wash-house. Placing the kettle back on the hob, Stephen saw the sticks were
starting to catch. He poked around with another stick then built it up a bit,
placing wood carefully to keep air flowing through. It started to spark and
catch.

The door opened again. Alana
breezed in, followed by Karen who looked more at peace, and quite subdued.
“Toilets? You’ve got everything here.”

Karen skulked over to the
mattress and plonked herself down on it. Alana placed the shotgun down on the
floor, well away from Stephen.

Stephen gestured to the shotgun.
“You won’t need that walking about the village.”

Alana looked at the gun, then up
at him blankly. He added, “Not unless you step on their grass, though.”

She burst out laughing. Karen
looked at Alana with a puzzled expression. Stephen excused himself and stepped
outside. Gary’s billet was still quiet. It was still early, but he thought he
better check if everything was okay. He banged on the door and nipped to the
toilet.

When he came back, he banged on
the door again. Bleary eyed, and squinting in the daylight, Gary cracked the
door. “I’m up, I’m up.” Stephen looked inside and saw Phil stir under a mess of
blankets.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gary, stepping
out onto the path. He had no boots on but had slept in his clothes and he
shouldered on a green jacket. He tiptoed off to the toilet.

“I’ve got the kettle on,” Stephen
called after him. “Phil? Breakfast, son.”

There was a groan of agreement so
Stephen left him to it and went back next door. Inside, Alana was kneeling down
in front of the fire. He saw it had started to go out but she was nurturing it
back into existence.

A
fter
breakfast of
a
couple of cans of beans shared between the five of them, Stephen got them ready
to go for a walk round the village. “I’ll show you about.”

Alana went to lift the shotgun
but Gary motioned to stop her. “They won’t like you walking round with that.”

She gave a look that asked him
why she should give a shit. Gary laughed out loud. “I’m just saying.” Then he
had a think and looked at Stephen, who shrugged agreement. Gary said, “Look, I
like the shotgun. Maybe we could trade.”

“Trade?” Alana was sceptical.
Karen sat on the mattress and folded her hands patiently. Phil was agog.

Gary reached under his jacket to
the waistband of his trousers and unclipped a holster. He held it out to her.
“Trade.”

She paused, reading the
situation. With the shotgun still on the floor behind her, she took the holster
from Gary and pulled out a small pistol. It was a Glock 26 and, like Stephen’s,
it had been liberated from two dead policemen near Morpeth.

Stephen had seen Alana expertly
reload a shotgun, but he still asked, “You know how to use that?”

She ignored him and handed Karen
the holster. She removed the clip, saw it was full, racked the slide a couple
of times to check it was empty then dry fired it towards the fireplace. It
clicked sweetly. Alana held the gun out at arm’s length and checked the sights.
Gary and Stephen looked at each other, probably thinking the same thing.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”
Stephen asked.

She looked at him, the hint of a
smile at the sides of her mouth. It seemed to Stephen that she liked to keep
him guessing. Five years of surviving, he thought, made you keep a few secrets.
She palmed the magazine back in and took the holster off Karen, placing the
pistol carefully in. She came to a decision. “Trade this gun as is for the
shotgun?”

“Oh, yes,” said Gary but Stephen
saw he’d fallen for her trap though he said nothing, amused.

“Well, help yourself” said Alana,
holding onto the pistol but still keeping herself between Gary and the shotgun.
“You’ll be wanting some shells too? Trade?”

“What?” Gary was mad and he
shuffled on his feet, looking to Stephen.

Alana said, “Two more pistol
bullets for each shell I’ve got.”

Stephen saw Alana had her hand on
the grip ready to pull the pistol. “You’re taking advantage of our good nature.”

Phil had shuffled into the back
corner. Karen just sat with her hands folded.

“What makes you think we’ve even
got that many bullets?” Gary had backed off physically but he was just as
angry.

“Oh, I think you boys have got
stuff.” Alana looked at the ajar door. She stepped between the men and pushed
it shut. She looked out the window as if looking for someone. “I think you’ve
got stuff but you need more to get you through the winter.”

Stephen and Gary looked at each
other. Gary’s eyes betrayed she was right. Alana said, “Thought so. Those tins
you brought in. I reckon there’s more of them but you have to leave one person
here while you go out alone. Want to hear an idea?”

Stephen didn’t want to let her
know she was right but when she had tested the pistol he and Gary had both
realised there may be a way round their predicament of having to be here to
guard their stash, while the other went out alone. “I’m all ears.”

Alana shifted her weight from one
foot to another. “You leave me and Karen here to guard your stuff. The three of
you go and get as much as you can carry. We’ll need it for the winter. Deal?”

Stephen looked at Gary. The
younger man had cooled and he looked resigned, grudgingly agreeing it made
sense. Stephen said, “We’ll think about it.”

“Okay, okay,” said Alana. “But
the bullets.”

Gary agreed with a curt nod and a
sigh. “Give me the shells now and I’ll go get your bullets.”

Alana made a show of considering
it but she lifted her head at Karen who reached into her coat and brought out
the tatty box of shells and shook them at Gary. He snatched them off her and
lifted the shotgun. As he left the room, nudging Alana with his shoulder, Phil
went to get up and follow. Stephen raised a hand to stop him. He didn’t want
Phil seeing what Gary was doing and where he stashed the shotgun.

“So,” said Alana, breathing
deeply in relief. “We going for that walk or what?”

T
hey
walked through
the
high street, leaving the wash-houses, the village hall and parish church
behind. Phil and Gary walked up ahead while Karen held onto Alana and Stephen showed
them the sights.

The old tea-room sat abandoned,
its windows broken and the contents trashed inside; Morgan. Jeff’s Barber’s
shop was still in the business of trading haircuts for produce and cutting
soldiers’ hair. Standing in the doorway, Jeff nodded to Stephen and smiled at
the new woman and child, no doubt calculating Stephen’s business. Iqbal’s shop
was empty but the door lay open as usual, facing the Police Station. Across the
street, the Excise House was quiet but they could see a couple of figures, Dan
and Jackie, tending their plot. The door of the Manager’s House was thrown open
and Suzanne ran out.

“Good morning, Stephen,” she said
pleasantly. “And who do we have here?” She leaned on her knees and smiled at Karen.
The girl hid behind Alana.

Stephen introduced them, pointing
out Phil who had wandered off with Gary behind Suzanne’s place to the other
houses. Suzanne had been the Manager at the distillery and had assumed the
leadership of the village. She shook hands with Alana, whose tough demeanour
contrasted with Suzanne, her larger frame having shrunk inside her casual wear.
Alana said nothing.

After the introductions,
Suzanne’s eyes narrowed at Stephen. “Three more mouths? You can feed them if
you like.”

“Funnily enough that’s what
Gareth said,” smiled Stephen, thinking how much influence she had here. “You
worry about your business and I’ll worry about mine.”

Suzanne allowed her head to lean
back and a corner of her mouth pulled back into a sort of smile. Not for the
first time, Stephen saw the toughness there, the unwillingness to back down. It
was what had helped this place survive five years, he thought.

“Do you think it will rain,
Stephen?” she asked him directly.

Stephen said, “Couldn’t say but it
rained a bit further south yesterday,

“Well, it was lovely to meet
you,” said Suzanne, switching into sweet old lady mode to end the conversation.
She waved at them as they moved on. “You come and see me with a few of your
tins, why don’t you?”

After a quick look at the village
houses behind Suzanne’s place, they picked up Gary and Phil, and went back to
the high street and headed for the path between the Police Station and Iqbal’s
shop. Paul, the only officer of the law left, stepped out the Station door and
leaned on the frame. He was chewing something and he watched them without
saying anything. Stephen ignored him as they walked past him. Karen was
fascinated with his worn and frayed uniform.

Gary and Phil bounded down the
steps which were placed in short bursts in between the longer, twisting, ramp.
Alana and Karen followed Stephen down the gentler path. Alana asked, “What is
the script with this place? It’s so untouched.”

“Believe me, it’s been touched,”
said Stephen. He gestured out to the horizon. The sea was flat calm and it met
the grey sky at an empty thin line. “It looks nice. But the virus got most of
the place, teams of tough guys got some more. People left, I think, but they’ve
picked up other people.”

“People like you?”

“Oh, there’s no-one like me,” he
said. She smiled at him, a reward for trying to be charming. “But Morgan and
his men showed up a year ago and are slowly picking it clean. See here?” He
pointed to where the path ended at an open area of grass land which had three
cows grazing on it. “This whole village was covered with cows seemingly.
Morgan’s men have butchered most of them.”

They arrived at the grassy area,
which sat just above a pebble shoreline. The cows looked at them. Fascinated,
Karen moved towards them. Alana pulled her back. The girl didn’t resist.
Stephen looked over at Gary and Phil loping through the distillery, then turned
back to Karen. “She never says much.”

“She does to me.” Alana kept her
side to Stephen, not meeting his eyes. He tried not to think of what they must
have gone through just to get here. He let it drop. He tapped her on the arm
and they followed him to the distillery.

The plant itself was a few small
buildings inside a courtyard. Tall wooden gates, closed and locked, faced them.
Paintwork flaked at the lettering above: Glen Craobhmore. The three of them
just looked at it like they were tourists on a summer day. Behind them, the
pier plupped on the water as the tide shushed against the shore. To their right
was the road between the warehouses. They heard slow footsteps.

Stephen turned around. Alana was
already reaching for her pistol which was concealed in her coat and she had
stepped in front of Karen. Stephen placed his hand on her arm, which made her
stop drawing the weapon further, but she held her hand where it was. Three men
were walking towards them; one straight on while the two others spread out in a
flank.

Stephen spoke first. “What do you
want, Rory?”

The middle man smiled but he
stopped walking. “To say hello.” He looked Alana up and down. “You’ve found two
women, eh?”

“Fuck off, Rory.” It was Gary. He
had stepped around from the sea-facing wall of the East Warehouse. Phil
followed, and Stephen noticed a sudden difference in him. Gone was the
frightened boy they’d had for two days. In his place was a tough-guy used to
squaring up behind his mates.

Rory hadn’t expected Gary to be
there, let alone have someone with him, but he held his position. Deek and Tim,
the other two, shuffled nervously. Stephen kept his face neutral but he spoke
as if to a child, “You heard the man, Rory.”

This riled Rory, and he sneered,
almost to himself; his top lip curling slightly. He pulled back. “Come on.”
Deek and Tim trotted after him and the three headed off towards the path.

Alana relaxed her hand. “You
better watch him.”

Stephen snorted. “He’s nothing.”

“I’m not sure about that. He’s
had lifetime of indignities. Bullied at school. Pushed around at work. You
watch him.”