Interrupted Journey

Chapter 9 - Thug Disposal

After many hours of mostly frustrating effort, and by cannibalising various other bits of equipment about the farm, we had managed to get the old tractor running. Then we had a couple of days of frustrating wait until the ground was deemed dry enough to work. At last, under Ned's guidance, Gary had been able to plough the expanded vegetable plot. That left us with the minor matter of clearing stones.

"Well done, Ash," I said to her at the end of a day of backbreaking work which had not been made any more pleasant by a chilly wind and the occasional light shower. "I'm really pleased with the effort you've put in today."

I was rewarded with one of her rare smiles.

"If we all keep this up, we might just manage to avoid starving to death by this time next year."

She gave me an uncertain look. "That wasn't a joke, was it?"

"No, it wasn't. I've done the sums. Looking at the year ahead and the stockpiles of food we've managed to build up, from Ken's place and from the lorry and so on, we're on about 500 calories a day. You can check my numbers if you like."

"But don't you need about 1500?"

"Well spotted. We're not playing games here, Ash. In a very real sense, what we get out of the land here is the difference between living and dying."

I could see the colour draining from her face.

That's assuming we're not going to get any help from outside... but I think it's probably best to assume that, don't you?"

She thought about this then nodded.

"And as I say, I'd really like to have somebody go over the numbers with me. Would you do that?"

"OK."

Though Ashley had always been an annoying kid, she was very bright. I knew that showing her my calculations would convince her like nothing else and, besides, I really did want someone to check my work. It wasn't an area where I wanted to make any mistakes.

We stood together as the sun sank towards the fells in the east watching Alice who was still working with her dogs down in the lower field. She was separating the sheep to be culled from those - mostly the ones with young lambs - to be kept. The little valley echoed with the harsh, guttural calls that the folks hereabouts used when working their dogs - a reminder of the Viking heritage of the area.

"What do you think is happening out there?" Ashley asked, nodding down the valley and towards the rest of the world.

I thought about this for a while. I'd been so tied up in day-to-day matters, I'd not given much thought to what was happening beyond threats and opportunities for our little community. "I'm fairly sure there's no sort of effective government in this country any more," I told her. "If there was, I think we'd have seen something by now. So that means in every town and city in the country there is complete anarchy. In the lucky ones, one big gang has taken over, grabbed all the food that's left, and is feeding a small, select bunch of their own members whilst everyone else starves to death."

"That's lucky?" Ashley asked incredulously. "What's unlucky?"

Nothing organised whatsoever," I told her. "Neighbour killing neighbour over a can of beans; food being spoilt as people fight in the supermarkets. The first situation might see five percent of the population surviving for a year. In the second, pretty much everyone will be dead."

Ashley's face took on a haunted look.

"How did you manage to get out of town?" I asked her to take her mind of this as we turned and started back towards the farmhouse.

"Oh, Dad made us get up stupid early and we just walked out." I could hear the familiar stroppy Ashley reemerging.

"Ashley!" I said in a warning tone and she briefly acknowledged the reprimand with her eyes. "So why did your father make you get up 'stupid early'?"

She thought about this. "Trying to keep us out of trouble?" she asked.

I nodded. "If you get up early enough, most thugs and bandits are still in bed. Also, it was already pretty late by the time you arrived. You would have had to do much more walking in the dark."

We hurried back to the house together as another shower swept in, driven by the freshening wind. I noticed that Ashley put away her shoes and coat without being asked. "Let's go and get washed," I told her, "then we can go and look over those numbers."

Unfortunately she couldn't find any fault in my calculations. We really were badly short of food.

The evening meal had been relatively relaxed but again I saw James and Rebecca sitting together so, after the meal, I casually asked if he would take me down and show me the new bridge defences. "A gentle stroll will stretch out your muscles and help you relax," I told him.

He looked at me as if I was mad but grabbed his shoes and coat and joined me.

By the light of the moon, we walked down the lane in silence for a while and then I tried to broach the subject that had been on my mind. "This is going to be embarrassing," I said, "so I'm going to come right out and say it... You know there are problems when first cousins get married and have children don't you? I know nothing's happened but I just don't want you to start thinking about Rebecca in that way."

"Are you lot ganging up on us?" he almost exploded in response.

I gave him a look that reflected my confusion.

"Laura's already had a 'quiet word in my ear' and we got the full lecture on genetics from Susan this morning."

I had to laugh. "I'm sorry James, I didn't know. It's a case of too little coordination, not too much. I guess, because your mum's not about, we all thought we'd better keep an eye on you!"

I put an arm round his shoulders and, though he tried to remain grumpy, he started laughing, too, by the time we reached the turn in the lane above the bridge.

We froze when we heard voices below us and when a shot rang out, James threw himself to the ground. "Dad, get down!" he hissed. I hurried to do as I was told.

He crawled over to the side of the dry stone wall on our right then moved down it until we reached a firing position containing Jimbo and one of the Drummond lads. The two had rifles pointing down towards the bridge.

"James and my dad," James called as we crawled in next to them.

Below us, clustered at the far end of the bridge, was a gang of the sort of individuals I would make a point of avoiding - lightweight thugs. One of their number lay sprawled on the bridge, very much dead.

"You shot psycho!" Another of them was spluttering.

I heard Mike's voice before I saw him. He was down below us, concealed in a trench to the right of the bridge. "Which part of 'anyone stepping onto the bridge will be shot' did you not understand?" he was saying.

"We're going to fucking cream you!" one of the thugs shouted.

"The only reason you're still breathing is because I don't want to waste ammunition," Mike said in a frighteningly calm tone, "but any more threats like that and you're dead. I don't want to dispose of your crap so one of you can walk onto the bridge and grab shit for brains. You have one minute to piss off. This conversation is now closed."

"I hate those people," Mike observed casually to the world as the gang were trudging back up towards the road junction, dragging the body behind them. "They think they're so hard and give themselves stupid names like 'Killer' and 'Psycho' and they've no idea." His voice broke in a raw shout. "They've no fucking idea."

"Coming down, Mike," I shouted as I walked down the road towards the bridge.

"No fucking idea!" he was muttering quietly as I joined him in a small trench off to the right. His eyes seemed to have a strange sort of shine about them.

"Easy, mate," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and trying to break into the adrenaline fueled storm. "They're gone now and, anyway, they're not worth the shit you're putting yourself through."