Hurst by Robin Crumby (the reading list book TXT) 📖

on his hands and knees and got awkwardly back to his feet behind the bar. He needed to keep moving fast and stay unseen. Keeping low, he ducked through a doorway that led to a corridor stacked with boxes. Empty beer kegs lined the far wall. A notice board fluttered with staff notices, and fliers for visiting bands. Stairs to the right led up to where he imagined the landlord and his daughter lived above the pub. She had been good to her word. A brick blocked the fire door from closing.

Outside it was pitch black. Will blinked into the darkness. He could just make out a rusting iron gate that led to the car park. Over his shoulder he heard a woman’s scream, raised voices and a glass smashing on the ground. He only had a few moments to get away.

As quietly as he could manage in all the excitement, he put his weight against the heavy iron gate. He half expected a loud screech of rusted metal, but the mechanism operated silently on well-oiled hinges. Beyond was a small staff car park at the rear of the pub, leading to a cobbled alleyway.

Taking the most direct route was a big risk, but he simply didn’t have time to backtrack through side streets. With a final look over his shoulder he raced up the cobbled hill to the bottom of the high street, his hands still tied behind his back. He darted left and jogged along the narrow lane lined with rows of whitewashed cottages and town houses running down towards the waterfront marinas. Turning the corner, a forest of masts and rigging lay ahead. To his left, a boatyard full of yachts and vessels lay in various states of disrepair, waiting their turn for the huge crane to cradle them back into the slow running waters of the Lymington river. Beyond the boatyard and yacht clubs lay open fields and country lanes. Will craved the darkness and solitude of the asphalt footpath that led back towards Hurst.

Chapter Forty-two

Tommy and the others left guarding Hurst Castle had still not received word from the scavenging team. It was not the first time that their distance from the castle had required an overnight stay, but when they still hadn’t returned by dusk on the second day, the members of the council met in emergency session. Protocol dictated that a search party be mounted but with Jack, Terra and Sam also not returned, they could ill afford to further weaken their defences, when in all likelihood they could all be back at any moment. Unknowingly, the castle was at its most vulnerable in some time, and its occupants were dangerously unaware of the imminent threat to their security.

In the courtyard, Tommy tossed another log into the firepit. The red-hot ash spat sparks at his bare ankles. He kicked at a few wood ends with the toe of his boot where the logs had burned through, sending smoke and embers curling up into the night sky. Long shadows danced on the steep walls of the castle that towered over the small group as they sat round in a semi-circle, telling stories and enjoying each other’s company.

Tommy stared unblinking into the heart of the fire. With a sigh, he reached behind and grabbed another log from the pile of wood they had unloaded earlier from the trailer. He resumed his seat next to Liz. She handed him her half-empty can of lager, toasting the assembled company: “Here’s to our new American friends. May they bring us better food: hamburgers, pizzas and hot dogs.”

“And save us from Liz’s cooking,” added Tommy.

Scottie and Greta raised their cans while Liz delivered a two-fingered response, adding, “Very funny.”

Scottie’s lilting voice from the other side of the fire added to their toasts. “To Hurst. May Jack and Terra bring us good fortune, and, aye, better food.”

“Remind me what we’re really celebrating?” asked Greta, toasting her toes against the blazing fire.

“Oh, don’t be such a grouch,” joked Tommy. “Do we really need a reason? We’re alive. Isn’t that enough?”

“I suppose. When the cat’s away, the mice will play,” added Scottie, lounging back against Greta’s bare legs. She stroked the back of his head affectionately.

Tommy scowled at their quiet intimacy. It bothered him that Scottie, of all people, had scored the best-looking girl at the castle. A slightly effeminate Scotsman at that. There was no justice. Greta had her eyes closed, her head turned towards Liz. It looked almost like she was seeking her friend’s approval.

“Come on, Liz. What do you miss most about the way things were?” asked Scottie.

“The Internet, for one. The world seems so much smaller now. We’re so cut off from the rest of the world. I kind of like that,” answered Liz.

“Are you not a wee bit curious to know what’s going on out there?” added Scottie. “Don’t you miss that feeling of being connected? Being part of something bigger. I don’t know, the scope and scale of the way things were.”

“I miss the people, that’s for sure,” said Liz. “My family, my friends. I miss stupid stuff like Sunday newspapers, taking the day to read all the supplements. I miss sitting in a pub next to a roaring fire, drinking Ringwood ale pumped by hand. I miss the Colemanballs column in Private Eye. So many things we just took for granted. What about you?”

“I miss going to the Rose Bowl to see Test match cricket. I appreciate that’s a wee bit odd for a Scotsman but I loved it. What’s not to like? Beer snakes, Mexican waves and the barmy army. Anyone remember stewards wading into the crowd to grab ten-feet-high stacks of empty plastic glasses? What a sight. Ridiculous.”

They all laughed, lost in memories. Tommy was silent staring into the fire, as shapes and figures danced in the flames. He let out a deep sigh and lamented, “I miss summer holidays to Spain with Laura.” The others shouted catcalls in his direction, mocking his sentimentality.

“More like holiday with your mum,” derided Liz.

Tommy spun round and scowled in her direction before continuing undeterred, unable to suppress a smile. “No, seriously, we went this one time to Palma, Majorca. Sandy beaches, sunburned Brits, beer bellies and cheap cocktails. It was brilliant.”

“Remember just going on a plane to somewhere far away? Airports? Duty-free? Needing a passport?” said Greta.

Scottie went next. “I miss live music, going to see a rock band at Wembley Stadium. Seeing Rod Stewart, U2, or Bruce Springsteen. Thousands of fans packed together, dancing, cheering, laughing. Those were the days.”

The group fell silent, overwhelmed by a hundred memories, each lost in their own private reverie. Greta’s voice broke the silence, sounding fragile, perhaps fearful of the answer. “Do you think things will ever get back to the way they were?”

“Of course,” responded Scottie, without hesitation. “We gotta believe that. It may take time, but it’ll happen. Maybe, things won’t be exactly the same, but come on, humans are a resilient bunch. We’ve faced similar threats to our way of life. Just think. The bubonic plague, Spanish flu, acts of God like earthquakes, meteor strikes, typhoons. Then there was the Holocaust, world wars, nuclear explosions, the list goes on, and somehow, life finds a way.”

“The dinosaurs didn’t fare too well,” challenged Tommy, smirking mischievously.

“Yeah, but how many times has that happened in, like, a hundred billion years of history on this planet? A true global killer? Once, in like, ever?” continued Scottie. “And we’re only talking about an extinction event for humans, not all the other animals and insects and life on this planet. Life goes on regardless.”

“Who knows? Maybe humans are the next lemming, or dodo, driven to extinction by forces beyond their control?” added Liz.

“I doubt it,” reassured Scottie. “Humankind has a good record of overcoming all odds, triumphing in the face of adversity. It’ll be like that again. Somewhere, somehow it stands to reason that someone is doing better than us. We can’t be the only ones to have survived. Maybe whole populations, whole countries even, have immunity. There might be some gene that protects them from getting it. Or the warmer climate prevented a flu-like virus from taking hold in the first place? There might be a vaccine already, a cure for the virus. You never know, right?”

“I wonder how Jack and Terra are getting on,” said Tommy, changing the subject. “They wouldn’t say much about their trip or why they were going.”

“It’s got to be something to do with the Americans,” reckoned Liz. “Nathan said it was all top secret and he couldn’t breathe a word about it. All sounded very mysterious.” She winked at Scottie. There was playful mischief between them.

Tommy leaned forward, animated and energised by something. “What if there was a whole convoy of ships heading our way right this very moment? Some massive rescue mission. Maybe they’re evacuating Britain and they need our help. Typical Americans, always have to save the world.”

“Right, trust the Americans to turn up two years late.”

“I wouldn’t go getting people’s hopes,” cautioned Scottie. “There’s not going to be any relief convoy. I seriously doubt there’s anyone left to rescue us. The rest of the world is probably in just as much of a mess as we are.”

“No one knows that for sure,” said Tommy, shaking his head. “The Americans always save the day.”

“You’ve been watching too many disaster movies. No way Will Smith is going to save us this time.”

“When the Americans come, they’ll do it in style. It’s normally, like now, when Britain’s on its knees, they show up and turn the tide. Two world wars proved that.” Tommy paused, troubled by something he remembered. It was just a feeling, a hunch really, that had been nagging him. “There was something that felt wrong when they refused to tell us anything. Makes you wonder whose side they’re on.”

“Oh, we’re on the same side all right,” reassured Scottie. The man with a thousand voices and accents affected an Alabama drawl straight from the deep south, reprising the role of Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mocking Bird. He continued in character: “Right now, there’s a whole task force en route from the US of A. Ships filled with corned beef and ketchup. Frozen steaks as big as Frisbees. Cheerleaders with pompoms. Jet fighters streaming red white and blue vapour trails. Ticker tape parades on the docks as they unload crate after crate of good ol’ lite beer, flowing from every porthole.”

Tommy didn’t look so sure. “Yeah, and pigs might fly. If you ask me, I reckon they’re up to no good. It's a land grab or they're here to steal all our supplies before moving on, like locusts. Don’t worry, Liz, I’m sure they’ll leave your stash well alone.”

Liz belted Tommy with the back of her hand and he fell backwards off his seat, clutching the side of his face. “Hey, there’s no need for violence, woman.”

“That’ll learn you, big mouth,” said one of the others.

Tommy glared back at Liz, dusting himself down. Greta stretched her thin arms high above her head, sweater pulled tight across her chest, yawning loudly and very deliberately. She fluttered her eyelashes in Scottie’s general direction. “Right, think I’ll turn in. You coming?”

Tommy made to join her but she wagged her finger. “Not you, Tommy. Scottie?”

“Can’t. Not tonight. I’m on watch, with this reprobate. I’ll come and tuck you in when I’m done.”

“Go on then,” said Liz, getting to her feet a little slowly, clutching her back from a hard day in the kitchen. “Early start tomorrow. Best turn in and leave you boys to it.”

“Night, Liz, night, Greta. See you ladies in the morning,” said Scottie.

The two women wandered off into the darkness towards the old castle keep, leaving the remaining group following them with their eyes. A door slammed and Nathan appeared out of the gloom, jangling a large bunch of keys. Tommy smuggled his can of lager behind a trouser leg. Nathan didn’t