I walked along a path following the stream downhill, through a wooded area bounded by garden fences. The fences drew closer together until I was walking down little more than a narrow green passage between houses, then the water disappeared into a culvert and the path ended at a locked gate. I made my way back to the mini waterfall, crossed over, using the flat stones at the top, and followed the trail of discarded rubbish back towards the main part of the cemetery.
The trail soon reached the edge of the trees and the carpark. Parked in the car park was a massive green army truck. It was enormous, and dwarfed the small transit van next to it. I couldn’t imagine what it was doing there. It didn’t look like the truck the soldiers had brought previously, but it did look familiar. I couldn’t place it though, so after a bit I turned my attention to the cemetery in front of me. The grass stretched away to the road and garden centre and was dotted with tents and barbeques, with camping chairs scattered between. From the occasional trees, lines were slung that supported plastic sheets and tarpaulins to create more shelters. There weren’t a lot of them, maybe between fifteen and twenty, but they were large family sized structures. Nothing moved in the peaceful morning, and after staring at it all for a while, I quietly crept back home.
I sat at my kitchen table, eating porridge made with water; even with pieces of sliced apple and a lot of sugar, it tasted thin. I couldn’t imagine how the camp was feeding that many people, and I was sure I recognised the truck. I went online and searched for video footage, and eventually found the answers.
It was a food truck, from the first attempts at delivering food to the city. It must have had immense quantities of food. Those first trucks had delivered army survival rations, because they were sent out before the government had reached an understanding with the large supermarkets. I read that there were twelve ration packs to a case and 48 cases to a pallet. A truck that big could easily still be feeding the hundred or so people in the camp. But it wouldn’t last all winter. I couldn’t imagine my amateur attempts at concealing my food would be proof against a more rigorous search. I sent up a quick plea to the universe asking that they would leave soon, and then tacked on another; that mum and Vik were safe.
Chapter 9: Waiting
I built the periscope. Using some scavenged mirrors, drainpipe, and a lot of black gaffer tape. I used it to watch the comings and goings. There were disturbances pretty much all the time now. During the day, it wasn’t so bad, but at night, there were people running down the street, glass smashing, screaming and yelling as different groups met up. At night, I sat in my loft, curled up in a ball, listening to the noises outside; trying to decipher what was going on. During the day, I carried on with my gardening, listening out for the interlopers, trying to stay invisible. I was grateful for the abundant growth that hid me from view.
They made it hard for me to tend to the garden and I sometimes daydreamed of poisoning the stream or at least blocking it further up. Then they would move on and life would go back to normal. The man and boy were regulars every morning, but there were also others; a trio of teenage girls would come by every afternoon, pursued by a gang of boys, all of them laughing and joking around. Lone women, looking bedraggled and tired would sometimes pass, searching for supplies or just wandering the estate. There were very few older people, or small children. In the evenings, the voices were often that of men, loud and rowdy. I guessed they were drinking the pub dry.
I really wanted to find out where these people had come from and why they were here and eventually I became curious enough to risk talking to someone. I set it up carefully, prepping one of the houses down a cul-de-sac, which backed onto an alleyway. One sunny morning I waited as one of the women wandered down the road, poking desultorily at the items in the gardens and trying the front doors of the houses. As she approached, I stepped into view, carrying a watering can, and started to water the flowers in the front garden.
When she ducked down behind the next-door neighbour’s hedge, I pretended I didn’t see her and began weeding the garden… a bit of a marathon task to be honest, but I wasn’t doing it for real. I hummed softly to myself and eventually she stood up slowly. I started as if in surprise and then greeted her as if we weren’t in the middle of the apocalypse.
‘Hi,’ I said, ‘lovely weather today, isn’t it?’ brushing myself down as if to make myself presentable. I was wearing an old blue t-shirt and beige capris trousers, easy to run away in, but a very unthreatening outfit.
‘Um, yes’ she replied half turning.
‘Are you part of the group camping in the cemetery?’ I asked, crouching down and continuing to pull weeds.
‘Yes,’ she replied, inching forwards in order to see me over the bushy plants ‘do you live here?’
‘Yep, but I’ve not been here for long… I’ve come over from south Oxhey,’ I pointed vaguely west, ‘…from over there… where did you guys come from?’ I asked, returning the query.
Very soon she was talking along nineteen to the dozen, It turned out she was from inner London.
‘We did fairly well on our own; we found food and stuff… we’d go into the back of shops and restaurants and get pasta and stuff we could cook at home, it was sometimes tricky because if you were unlucky you’d meet other people doing the same thing, who would sometimes nick your stuff off you.’
I nodded in sympathy.
‘But later on, it was too dangerous to go out because of the gangs. We joined up with a couple of others; we had to contribute to get in, but they protected us… you just had to know the right postcodes to stay in… and make sure you got enough extra food to keep Xavier happy.’
‘Xavier?’ I asked raising my eyebrows slightly.
‘Yeah, he runs our group, makes the decisions, people don’t argue with him, he can be…’ she shivered slightly.
‘So why did you leave London?’ I asked, turning the conversation away from the upsetting topic.
‘People got ill, lots of people… about a week after the water went bad. We had a couple of nurses in our group, but even they got ill. They were sick and had diarrhoea. People called it crypto, but I don’t know exactly what it was, only everyone started leaving, to try and find clean water.’
I nodded.
‘Someone suggested the reservoir in Brent… the Welsh Harp; but there were already loads of people there, so we just kept going.’
‘What made you stop here?’ I asked.
‘We saw the fields… we were going to turn off earlier, but then we saw the cemetery. Lots of people thought it would be spooky, but Xavier said it was perfect’
‘To hide the truck’ I said, nodding as if it was common knowledge.
Either she didn’t realise that I knew more than I was letting on, or she didn’t notice, because she answered without pause; ‘Yeah, the truck was the big thing, Xavier didn’t want anyone to see it.’
‘So… are you staying…?’ I said it with a friendly smile, but I didn’t really care, I just wanted to know if they planned to leave soon.
‘No,’ she said, ‘When they’ve finished the booze, we’ll probably move on.’ she sounded pretty dejected about it, but I was elated. I had found out everything I wanted to know and best of all they were leaving soon!
I stood up, dusting off my clothes and sighed, ‘I wish I could make a find like that,,’ I said, ‘it’s just so hard, always searching for something to eat…’
‘You could join us,’ she said unexpectedly, ‘I’m sure Xavier would take you in, there are a couple of guys who are always looking to hook up, more girls are always welcome, and if you’re cooking for someone, then you always get fed. Not much sometimes, but it’s enough.’ She said it earnestly, as if offering a good deal… as if hooking up to get food was perfectly acceptable.