'Hey, come on, man,' the engineer protested. Why you talkin' to me like this?'
'Jus' answer the question, pigshit.'
We were below ground in a shelter before the bombs dropped.' He eased the end of the barrel away from his body, afraid the gun might go off. The other man allowed the movement.
What fuckin' shelter? You govmint men or somethin'?'
Jackson realized his mistake. 'No, no, we're just engineers, man. We worked in a telephone exchange, under the streets, that's all.'
'He said it was a shelter, Royston,' the yellow-haired woman volunteered. 'I heard him call it a shelter.'
The dark man's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Yeah, I heard. You one of them crazy bastards who set this up?'
Jackson's eyebrows arched in surprise.
'Are you kiddin' me? I'm a fuckin' maintenance engineer, that's all. We're all telecom engineers, 'cept for...' He avoided looking towards Dealey. 'Come on, what's this about, man, we're all in the same trouble.'
'I figure different. You look kinda healthy, nigger. You all look kinda healthy. A lil dirty, maybe, but in pretty good condition, considerin'. We ain't seen many like you.'
There are others?' Dealey could not help but ask. 'How many have you seen?' He received a warning tap from the handle. 'No, please, this is important. You must tell us.'
'I don't need to tell you shit.' The man called Royston -Christian name or surname, it was unimportant to Dealey, at
that particular moment - strolled over. "What you think anyway, everybody's dead? Well most are, boy, an' them that ain't oughta be. But you still ain't tol' me why you lookin' so plump and healthy. You know somethin' we don't?'
He squatted beside Dealey, the wrinkled plastic mac opening out and spreading around him, and said confidentially, Take a look at us, man. We got scabs an' coughs and cuts that won't heal. We got the shits and some of our brothers have died jus' from bad colds, know what I mean? See that HI sister over there? She got runnin' sores all down her body. See the guy on crutches? His foot stinks so bad we can't go near him.' His voice became almost a whisper. 'Half of 'em is dyin' an' they don't know it.'
'Are there no hospitals, no medical centres?'
‘You don't hear me, mister. There's nothin', no hospitals, no help, no nothin'. The only good thing is there's no law, 'cept in what we carry.' He tapped the rifle barrel with the blade. We take what we want an' we do what we want, you understand?'
Dealey nodded slowly, realizing only brute force governed now. 'Are there no troops in the city?'
Royston allowed himself a short laugh and Dealey winced at the stale breath. 'Nothin'. There's nothin'
left anywhere, not in the whole fuckin' world. We come from th'other side of the river thinkin' somethin'
had to be left over here, but all we foun' was the dead and the walkin' dead. Sure, a few other groups like us, survivin' on what they can, killin' to get it if necess'ry. Jus' law of the jungle, what you might think is right for me, huh? So here am I gassin' an' you ain't answered one question yet.' He touched the top of the knife against Dealey's nose and his voice became harsh. 'How many of you aroun' here an' where do we find this shelter?'
'Look what I caught!' The interruption came from some
distance away and all heads turned to locate its source. Two figures came through the mist and one of them was Kate. Of course, Dealey remembered, she had drifted off with Culver the night before to find their own sleeping space. The other figure, a white man wearing trousers several times too large for him and an equally baggy jacket with just a vest beneath, was propelling her forward with one hand entwined in her hair. In the other hand he carried a curved meat-hook.
The smile behind Royston's eyes was not pleasant. He rose from his crouched position.
The other men in his group looked on with keen interest, while the blonde woman with the silk scarf regarded Kate with undisguised hostility, as though she posed a threat.
'Found her sleepin' just a little way off,' her captor announced with a grin. A red handkerchief was tied around his forehead to keep straggly hair away from his eyes. like the others, he hadn't shaved for quite some time and there were blemishes on his skin that might have been healing burns.
'She on her own?' the man called Royston asked.
'Reckon so. She was sound asleep when I crept up on her.'
Dealey looked off into the mist. Culver, where was Culver?
The big black man stood in front of Kate. 'Not bad,' he appraised, running the back of his fingers down her cheek. 'Not great, but not bad.' He allowed his hand to stray beneath her chin, touching her neck, sliding into the open shirt collar. He felt her breast and squeezed hard.
Kate recoiled from his touch, hitting out with clenched fists. The man still gripping her hair forced Kate to her knees, while the others, wary of the men they guarded, chuckled in anticipation. Over the past few weeks they had learned that everything, anything, they could find was for the taking: food, clothing, shelter, bodies, and lives - all were included. There was no control anymore, just survival.
Royston carefully laid the air-rifle on the ground, but kept the knife blade pointing upwards, and approached Kate once more. She glared angrily at him, but fear was in the expression too. Royston laid the blade flat against her cheek and the cold steel was as repugnant as his touch. His face was only inches away and she thought the smell was from the sores and scabs on his skin and not just his breath; his ulcerated lips moved slowly, as if it hurt to talk.
You need a lesson, white lady. You ain't got the say no more.' He twisted the blade so that the sharp edge was pressing into her cheek. Kate tried to pull away as blood seeped onto the discoloured metal but the hand in her hair held her firm.
"What the fuck you doing?' Jackson screamed, outraged by the reflection on his own race as much as the assault on the girl. He sprang forward and kicked at the other black man, sending him reeling and following through by grabbing the knife-wielding hand. Baggy Trousers let go of Kate and caught Jackson from behind, using the meat-hook to snag his shoulder, and pulled back. Jackson screamed as the curved point sank into a muscle. He was hauled off and he curled up into a tight ball as they attacked him with vicious kicks.
The two young blacks watching over Fairbank, one of them wearing a floppy-brimmed woman's hat, dared the stocky engineer with their stares to make a move. Another, a white man of considerable girth, but of tender years, held a thick arm around Dene's neck and pressed the barrel of an air-pistol into his temple. Ellison was similarly guarded and Dealey remained immobile on hands and knees.
'Stop it, you're killing him!' Kate pleaded.
'Hold it!' The big black man was on his feet once more and Kate sobbed with relief when the beating ceased. Her relief was premature.
Royston stooped to pick up the rifle and said, This mutha's goin' to learn the hard way. An' maybe we'll git some questions answered at th'same time. Bring him over here!'
He strode towards the remains of the fire and kicked at the ashes with his boot. Beneath the white dust, embers still glowed fiercely. 'C'mon, git him over.'
Baggy Trousers and another man caught Jackson by the elbows and dragged him to the wide circle of smouldering ashes.
'Okay, shove his face in there,' Royston pointed at the shimmering embers.
'No!' Kate screamed, rushing forward. Royston barely looked as he slapped her to the ground. He nodded to his men and stood behind the half-conscious Jackson, legs apart and gun butt resting against a hip, barrel pointing skywards.
The faces of Baggy Trousers and his accomplice were grim as they drew the kneeling engineer closer to the fire. At its edge, they leaned him over so that he was off balance. They began to force his head downwards.