‘I work here,’ the woman said. ‘I’m a radiographer.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know. Fire. An explosion.’
‘How did you and the boy…?’
‘The shield we use, for the X-rays. Aidan here, I was showing him what I do, to calm him down. I was showing him the buttons I needed to press before giving him his X-ray. Then there was this flash. I thought it was the machinery. A malfunction. But there was thunder in the corridors. I thought the whole building was going to come down.’
Jane told them about his own experiences, toning it down for the sake of the boy. The woman shook her head throughout. He thought maybe it was in astonishment, but it turned out to be a rehearsal for her answer when he asked if she and Aidan were ready to leave.
‘I haven’t been out since it happened,’ she said. She gave Jane a loaded stare, gesturing lightly towards the boy. ‘Not sure how good an idea it would be. Maybe best to wait for help.’
Jane drew her to one side and lowered his voice. ‘What’s up with him?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s been having a series of tests. Doctors are worried he might have some kind of blood disease. It’s early days.’
‘And now, what? We won’t know?’
The woman shook her head and turned to regard Aidan. He was flicking switches on the malfunctioned control panel. ‘He’s always been a sickly child, according to his reports. Maybe things will iron themselves out over time. Maybe not. There’s no help for him now, if it’s serious.’
‘It might be that we’re as much help as you’re likely to see,’ Jane said. ‘There’s a lot of… casualties out there.’
‘But we’re fairly safe, secure here. There’s plenty of food and water. Medical supplies. People will come to the hospitals. You proved it.’
‘If there are people, they will come.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m not sure how many people are left.’
Aidan watched them owlishly. He seemed fascinated, as if he were being read some amazing bedtime story. Jane wondered about the boy. About his parents.
‘I’m on my way to London,’ Jane continued, as if that alone might be inducement enough.
‘Long way,’ the woman said.
‘Have you been out at all?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I prefer to stay with what I know.’
‘What about home? Family?’
She shook her head again. He could tell she resented having to explain to a stranger, no matter the extraordinary circumstances. ‘My parents died when I was in my teens,’ she said. ‘I have brothers and sisters, but nobody local. I never married.’
Cruelly, he imagined her shaking her head whenever she was asked.
‘What about you, Aidan?’
‘Mum and Dad. Kerry, my sister.’
‘You tried to get home to see them?’
He shook his head. ‘They’re here.’
Jane felt the air stiffen around him. ‘OK,’ he said. He wanted to move on, but Aidan was making things difficult. He felt perfectly happy about leaving the others to fend for themselves, but Aidan was Stanley’s age. He couldn’t abandon him without making some effort to get him safe.
‘What about looters?’
The woman sighed. She still appeared nervous, uncertain about Jane. Her gaze flickered to Chris and Nance, who were dithering by the door, trying not to look at the stiff, shrouded body in the waiting area.
‘A couple of days after it happened – I think, perception of time all messed up – I heard a bunch of people come in here, running around the corridors. I thought help had arrived, but they were screaming, laughing. We hid. They must have been pissed or drugged up. Plenty of free goodies on offer now, I suppose.’
‘You saw them? They still around?’
‘They moved on,’ she said. ‘I think they were just kids.’
‘What did they take?’
The woman shrugged. ‘The pharmacy has been raided. A lot of uppers and downers gone. The snack machines have been emptied. I saw a lot of empty wallets and purses lying around.’
‘You can’t buy anything, actually,’ Aidan said. ‘Actually, they’re just idiots.’
The woman laughed, a little too breathily, a little too close to tears, but it broke the mood. She realised she was still holding the crutch and tossed it to one side.
‘How’s your head?’ she asked.
‘I think I need an X-ray.’
Jane liked her despite the assault. It wasn’t just the Pavlovian response a lot of his oil platform colleagues displayed when confronted by a woman, although it had been a long time since Jane had enjoyed female company. There was something about her that nibbled at him. Maybe it was the way she had selflessly protected Aidan – the latent mother come to the fore – or maybe it was just the way she was decked out. She wore simple clothes – a short-sleeved white blouse, jeans, leather sandals and a long amber necklace. She had an easy physicality about her. She was slender, long-limbed, but not gawky. He liked the way she turned a rub of her forehead into a slow trawl of her long shaggy hair. He’d always liked girls with a thick mane on them.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked. He was thinking, Jesus, hit me again.
‘Rebecca,’ she said. ‘Becky. Becky Bass. It should be like the fish, or the brewery, but I prefer it pronounced like the guitar.’
A cough from the doorway. Chris said, ‘This is fascinating, really. But we should get back to Angela and Brendan.’
‘Do you know if anybody else survived?’ Jane asked. ‘Anyone from the hospital?’
The shake of the head. She had it down pat – a skill no doubt learned in childhood. You could say no all you liked with eyes as beautiful as that.
Becky agreed to accompany them on their search for supplies; Jane saw it as a start. She looked as though she wanted to go but the professional in her was the anchor. ‘There’s nothing to be done here,’ Jane pressed.
‘Survivors,’ she said.
‘They’d be here by now.’
‘You weren’t.’
‘We’ve been on the road for days. I was thinking of Newcastle survivors.’
Becky turned to Aidan, as if silently canvassing for support.
‘You can’t stay here,’ Jane said.
In the pharmacy she led them to a few of the shelves where stock had been ignored. Painkillers and antiseptic, syringes and penicillin went into Jane’s rucksack, along with bottles he didn’t recognise.
‘Isn’t that for diarrhoea?’ Chris asked, intercepting a phial of potassium permanganate.
‘Yes,’ Becky said. ‘But mix it with this’ – she brandished a bottle of glycerin – ‘and you get fire.’
Jane did his best to shield Aidan from the casualties as they made their way back to the entrance – a quadrangle was heaped with bodies wearing bloodied, rain-scarred hospital gowns – but Aidan did not seem affected by the atrocity. He kept batting away Jane’s hand and asking, ‘Is he dead?’
‘He’s been doing that for a week,’ Becky explained. ‘On the X-ray bed he was asking, Will it hurt? Will I die?’
It was probably the ideal age for a child to be caught up in an extinction-level event, Jane thought. Any younger and it would be non-stop crying. Any older and there’d be catatonia. Five-year-old boys and death were a fine match. In years to come, though, there could be some serious fallout in store for Aidan. Some enterprising young therapist, if there were any left, would get colossally rich on the back of this one day.
Brendan and Angela were in the same position in which they’d left them, holding on to each other as if afraid that one of them might defy gravity. They regarded Becky and Aidan with a naked pleading.