Authors: Dominic MIles
Though I was glad of her closeness, all in all I did not sleep well that night; my dreams were distorted echoes and pictures of that war that Dai had described. These were things that I had not known of before, things that had been hinted at, but never really understood. Now it was real to me and unwelcome. Knowledge is not always a blessing. I had not really lived in Eden, but innocence had almost made it thus.
So it was that I was dozing in the Land Rover, when we got to the Rock and Fountain staging post in the late afternoon of the next day. The weather had cleared, but the roads were still clogged with mud, so we’d made heavy going of it.
The Land Rover suddenly stopped and I woke up abruptly, seeing Cal and the Constable in the front seat, both trying hard to see why the convoy had halted. The Constable got out, cursing the mud he landed in, and went up the line to find the answer. He came back, just as Cal started the engine again and the Land Rover fell back into line, moving off slowly in the wake of the old truck in front of us. It was burning some sort of vegetable oil in its engine and Mrs. Sharma said it smelled like a chip-shop. The others laughed, even Nes, but I didn’t know what she meant.
As we inched into the compound, the Constable told us that the marshal who ran the trading post had his guards on alert. A road-train had been attacked further up the valley and everything was a chaos of preparations for imminent attack. As we chugged into the old car park, we could sense the panic and see the shock written on the faces of the people already there, the survivors of the attack.
“It’s really shaken them up,” the Constable said, talking quietly not to attract unwelcome attention, “nobody’s attacked a road train for years. Bandits will pick off stragglers or steal what they can, but this was a full-scale attack.”
As we followed the vehicles of our train through to its assigned camping place, I could see that the place was full of people. We passed the big tractors from the other road-train and saw where shot had peppered the sides of the cabs and where fire had blackened some of the wagons. The tractors formed a gathering point for those who had got through the attack and people were still attending to the wounded. I saw bodies too, covered up in old tarp, like dolls tossed aside, the living going on about their business besides them.
There were others there also. Refugees, Cal called them, fleeing down the valley. But when I asked him, he was unsure what they were fleeing from. I could see the Constable anxiously looking at them, examining them to see if any of our people were amongst them and whether we had, in the end, just been on a vain journey.
As we lit our fires and set out our camp, you could almost feel the fear and panic of the place like some beating heart underlying all those petty, little things people were doing to get their supper ready, while all the time thinking and worrying about maybes and what-ifs. You could almost taste it too, like a metallic flavour on your tongue, which may have been the acrid tang of the cooking fires or was perhaps more.
Cal and I went for water, as Mrs. Sharma was tired and her legs were playing her, as she put it, an unfair game. We had thought Nes was coming with us, she was growing more communicative by the hour it seemed, but she disappeared just before we got the cans together. As we walked to the water tanks, it was clear to me that the fear that they felt had loosened people’s tongues, as gossip and rumour seemed the order of things all through the camp. People were constantly asking you where you came from and seeking news. Cal was too taciturn to be good at this sort of thing, but even he played along, as we sorely needed news too and it would benefit us to find out the state of things up-valley.
By the tanks we fell into talking with a family of travellers. Cal told me afterwards that these people were also called gypsies or Romany and they had always moved about; nomadic he called them. They were still wanderers, but now there were lots of other people who’d joined them, not real gypsies, but people who had taken to the roads out of need or despair. Cal knew a lot of things, more than you’d think of a mechanic, and there was a mystery about him and what he’d been before he came to us.
The travellers - or rather a middle-aged woman who seemed the talkative one of the group - told us that they had come down the valley just behind the road-train. They had taken a circuitous route, clinging to the old paths that threaded along the valley sides. They’d smelled smoke and burning and it seemed that the precious few villages and hamlets that had still clung on up until now, had all but disappeared, buildings burnt and looted and the people gone. The woman seemed remarkably cheerful as she told us this, as if it were no more than passing interest to her. She bade us goodbye with a cheerful wave and a broad smile.
Cal and I had not talked much in the last few days, there’d been little opportunity to do so, and besides we were always with other people. As I said, he was not a great one for words, so I was more than used to his companionable silences and his accustomed calmness and quietness served to re-assure me. Though the traveller woman seemed unaffected by events, as we walked though the camp I could feel that there was an almost palpable sense of dread hanging over the place and the fact that Cal seemed worried by these developments, as was plain from his face, worried me also.
As we came back to our fire, laden down with the water cans, we could see the two brothers, whose names I had by now learnt were Geraint and James, sitting a little apart talking to an old man, whose face and hands seemed blackened by soot. Nes was standing by the fire, making tea for Mrs. Sharma, who was still feeling unwell. For once, and to my surprise, she did more than just nod an acknowledgement when she saw us. She actually apologised for not helping us with the water.
“I got distracted,” she said, though what there was to distract her in this place was hard to make out, as she wasn’t the type to chat with the neighbours.
Cal made no comment, but nodded towards the two brothers, and I could see by the set of their faces that something was amiss with them.
“That old man,” Nes said, “they seem to know him. He’s brought them news of their village and it’s not good.”
That evening Nes took on the cooking, which was quite a task as we were feeding ten people now. We still had some flour, though we were fast running out with the extra mouths, and there was the inevitable soup. No-one complained as we were all used to going to bed half-hungry. Before the supper was cooked, while Nes was baking flat cakes of bread on the warm stones, the Constable came back with Sergeant Summer in tow, and they sat by the fire. They then started on a whispered conversation with Cal and they included Nes, who coming out her shell had now become one of their circle, and though I was not supposed to be part of this, I stayed quiet by the fire and heard what they were saying.
“There’s something happening ahead,” the Constable said, “it’s not just the usual series of raids you’d expect at this time of year - bandits stocking up before they go into winter quarters - there’s something more organised about this. Whether it’s that band that came to our village or not, I can’t be sure. But it looks like some force is making a serious attempt to lay waste the valley and take control of all the roads.”
From what had been said, what the Constable and the sergeant had gleaned, there were bands moving across the country burning, looting and taking captives. It was as if someone had declared war on all those little enclaves that had held on through the Big Cold and the years of the flu. The places that hadn’t gone under, when the roads were full of people fleeing the cities, that had fought off the scavengers or taken in the refugees.
“You probably heard that the sailors have had bad news,” Cal said, “it looks like their home village has gone and from what they said it was a big enough place.”
He hesitated, then, realising the sergeant was there, but carried on anyway in a lowered voice.
“To be frank with you, they seem quite shaken by it, and I’m not surprised, but I don’t know how reliable they are going to be, or how useful, in a fight.”
This did not seem news to the Constable. He nodded and spoke up:
“No offence to them, they are decent enough lads, but they were always a bit of an unknown quantity. I was sure that they’d shape up enough in the end, but things have changed …”
He trailed off and I knew that his eyes were on the sergeant. They were all waiting for him to speak, but he took his time, finishing his tea first.
“I thought this was too easy a job so far,” he said, just the ghost of a smile visible on his face in the firelight, “but don’t worry on my account. I signed up for this and I intend to see it through. If things are all stirred up, we’ll probably have little enough time to prepare when we get to your village and we may have to fight to get through.”
He threw the dregs of his tea onto the hot stones at the edge of the fire pit.
“But we’ll talk more of this on the road. We’ll need to make preparations.”
He mumbled a good night and stalked off into the darkness, leaving the Constable and Cal staring into the fire. I drew off a short way, to where Nes was still busy with pans and food stuffs, stowing things for the morning. I asked her if she’d heard what had been said. She nodded.
“Will you go back?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“No,” she answered, “I think I’ll stick with you for a time.”
She seemed to be smiling, or so I thought from what I could make out in the darkness, though there was little warmth in it.*
By late afternoon the next day we were hidden in woods above a crossroads just at the foot of the mountain. We’d cut through here on our way down to the Rock and Fountain on our journey out, dropping down off the mountain tracks onto what had once been paved road, then through the crossroads, picking up the main road down this side of the valley. Then, the houses at the crossroads had been empty, or at least, had showed no signs of life, but now from where we had halted we could see the smoke of two fires and what seemed to be some kind of barricade drawn up across the road.
“They’ve chosen well,” Cal said, “we can’t take the vehicles past on the land-ward side, the country is too broken up and the river meadows on the valley side are too sodden to take any weight.”
We did not know who they were. They seemed to be organised into some kind of band. The sergeant scanned the barricade though his binoculars and told us that he could see a junk heap of old carts and other vehicles pushed into an old lime quarry just off the road and under the slope of the hill. The sergeant did not choose to guess at the fate of the former owners of these, but even I had little hope for them.
“It looks like they’ve set up some sort of customs post,” the sergeant went on, “as if they’ve staked out territory.”
The Constable told us that there had once been a toll-house there, a few hundred years ago and he indicated a round building on the cross, but for once I paid little heed to him as my mind was on this other thing.
“I reckon there’s no more than a dozen,” the sergeant said. Then he went into a huddle with Cal, the Constable and the others, leaving Mrs. Sharma and I over by the vehicles, while Nes, some way up the slope of the hill, was observing the barricade. I, meanwhile, was watching our new companion, the new member of our party.
She had appeared in the morning, just as we were set to leave the Rock and Fountain, appearing out of the mist that rose along the course of the river, wraith –like, shrouded in a shawl, with a rucksack and a bundle of sticks wrapped in an old torn canvas. She had a quiet conversation with the Constable and he beckoned her over to the embers of the fire. He then announced to us that she had asked to accompany us and he had agreed. The sergeant didn’t say anything, but later, when we climbed in the Land Rover Cal asked:
“Was that wise, Richard?” People never seemed to call the Constable by his first name, so I knew this was a serious question.
The Constable shrugged: “She’s looking for her sister and her niece. What could I say to her? There’s no-one else going up-valley.”
The issue was left at that. Rowena, as the woman was called, had climbed up in the Land Rover with us and sat next to me. She smelled of wood-smoke, moss and wild garlic, as if she’d lived in the forest for years. She slipped easily into sleep, though, sitting beside me, her head constantly lolling on my shoulder.
She sat by us on the ground now. The bundle she carried had turned out to be a bow - which she had strung and was now testing - and arrows, which she meticulously checked. I was wary of her and a little afraid; she seemed almost feral to me, as if she had some animal quality. And she had the habit of watching people when they weren’t looking, as if she was always unsure of them.
When the Constable had taken her up, she had seemed to be a pitiable figure, a woman searching for her family, but now she seemed transformed into some sort of predatory beast. I whispered to Mrs. Sharma, when I got the chance, that I was scared of the woman, but she hushed me quickly and said that I was being silly, letting my imagination run away with me. Her eyes though told the lie; I could see that the woman frightened her too. But, after all, fear was our constant companion in those days.
At dusk they forced the barricade. As the light softened, the sergeant and his two soldiers slipped off like shadows down towards the river and the water meadows below the houses. Cal and the two brothers moved off a little later, set to cover the buildings from the other direction, up the wooded slope. I was left with the Constable, Mrs. Sharma and Nes. I looked around for Rowena, but saw that she had gone. I asked Nes, who was still on look-out, if she’d seen her, but she shook her head.
“Good riddance,” she said.
The Constable’s face was drawn as he stared out into the darkness. We had no fire and, to me, every pool of shadow seemed full of things to fear. Nes, I could tell, was jumpy and she flitted around our vehicles, checking the flanks. There had been no activity on the road all day, but she still continued her watch. Mrs. Sharma was waiting in the Land Rover, alone and silent with her thoughts. I knew that she was tiring and that this journey had taken its toll. She seemed too old and fragile for this uneasy world.
We were waiting for the Sergeant’s signal, three blasts on his whistle. All had been planned that afternoon. Cal, the Sergeant and the Constable had spent most of the time in discussion and then more time to talk over these plans with the others. Only the girl Rowena had held herself away from this, out on the margins of the group. The Constable had thought that there was merit in talking to the people at the barricade, to negotiating our way past, but the Sergeant had disagreed. And I figured that he considered the Constable naïve in this. It was the fact that Cal had agreed with the Sergeant that carried the day and so, reluctantly, the Constable fell in with the plan.
The words of the Sergeant now seemed to hold all the weight, and though he would seek the Constable’s approval before acting, this was more a matter of courtesy rather than anything else. There was some talk of breaking out the Kalashnikovs, but the Sergeant was against this. His group still had their soldier weapons, their SA 80s, though they had to be careful with their ammunition. The brothers were particularly loath to get into a fight with the weapons they had, an old carbine and a shotgun, but the Sergeant won out in the end; as Cal’s party were just a reserve and for support and the soldiers were bearing the brunt of the fighting. Nes told me afterwards that the Constable was worried about the two brothers; they seemed to have lost heart since they heard about their village and had little zeal for the matter in hand. She said it was always like this in fighting, as if she had some deeper knowledge of it.
The three whistle blasts came, sounding tinny and faint in the vastness of the night. I heard the Constable gasp and then looked out towards the cross roads. The darkness had been all but blotted out by the flames that came from the house that flanked the barricade. Dark figures were pouring out of there to be met by a volley from the woods in front of us. I knew that would be Cal and the two brothers. By the light of the flames we could see that some of the figures had been cut down by this fire and the others ran back towards the crossroads seeking other shelter. These were met by other gunfire, the soldiers this time, who had worked their way around behind the houses on the river side and lain in wait.
One or two of the figures had slipped out of the side of the house and, seeing the killing ground that was the street in front of them, had run up the road in our direction. I could hear Nes curse under her breath and then came the metallic clicks as she cocked her shotgun. There was little chance that they would run up into the woods towards our hiding place, but we spent some painful moments in waiting. Soon, though, we couldn’t hear or see them anymore.
As we got the vehicles ready, I heard two blasts of the whistle, which I knew was the signal to stop firing. But then there was another burst of firing, until it stilled after a loud bout of shouting. Then one more blast of the whistle and we bumped off down the track onto the road; the Constable driving the Land Rover with Mrs. Sharma and Nes driving the white van with me as passenger. I could sense how anxious she was, afraid that those fugitives were lying in wait. The shotgun was on the seat between us - a strange blunt thing, heavy and almost morose, if you could say that of such an object - ready at a moment’s notice to take out its ill humour on you by spilling your blood.
The mystery of the fleeing figures was solved as we gained the road. Three bodies lay there, like bundles of clothes or bales of straw fallen from vehicles, lifeless or as good as. I strained hard to see what had struck them down in this strange way, until by a slight flaring of the light I saw the arrow shaft protruding from a figure, a youngish man, curled up at the base of a roadside tree. Rowena had been there, I thought. The man was still alive, but we drove past him. We did not have the luxury of mercy that day.
By the barricade, Cal was waiting. We had to steer though the dog-leg bend it formed with care. The two brothers emerged from the woods besides the round house, looking nervous but elated. From further up the road, the Sergeant came suddenly out of the shadows like a phantom.
“Let’s go,” he said, “quickly!”
It did not seem to be a quick to me. We sat there while the soldiers and the others looted the place of anything of use, particularly weapons and ammunition. The round house, the old toll booth, was locked, but when Cal forced the bolt it was found to be full of prisoners in a pitiful state, some eight in all. The Sergeant was all for leaving them, the idea that he had gifted them their freedom was enough for him, but the Constable insisted something should be done for them and a vehicle was found, an old pick-up truck, and they were loaded for the journey up the mountain. As they were helped out into the air and up on the truck bed, Rowena looked into all their faces, but found nothing there.
All the time the Sergeant was hurrying us, but suddenly Dai called him over to one of the houses and I could hear them oohing and aahing like two old women over a baby. Then they bundled something into the van, their faces stern and secretive. I asked Dai later what they had found, but he shushed me and said that it was a surprise.
One of the prisoners was garrulous with the shock of things and told the Constable, in the midst of a welter of thanks, of how they came to be there. They mostly had been taken at the barricade, robbed of everything they had and locked up for some unknown later purpose. He talked of villages burning up the valley, which made me afraid, and of banners with winged skulls. And I saw these same winged skulls painted on the walls of the houses about the place and on some of the jackets of the dead bodies lying around.
It seemed to take a long time all this, but in truth it was over in a short span of minutes. The fight at the barricade took about ten minutes or so and the harvesting of the place of its food and arms only twice that, so we were off on the mountain road within the hour. Sergeant Summer was avid for us to be on our way, as he feared that relief of some sort would come to the post. We had, all in all, counted few bodies, so we knew a good number of those strangers had escaped. The soldiers could have cut more down, but had been loath to use up so much of their ammunition in one go.
Though the mountain roads could be treacherous after dark, fortune smiled at us with a fullish moon and we took off up an illuminated path. This disquieted the Sergeant’s nerves somewhat, as he knew our convoy - four vehicles now as another truck had been commandeered to carry all our booty - was vulnerable out on the hillside. But nothing attacked us, we saw some fires off at a distance and heard some hallooing in the night, but we must have looked too big a mouthful to bite off and chew for the bands that roamed the broken land around us.
We breasted the last rise as dawn came up, one of the trucks all in and the white van straining through its gears. My heart was beating like some kind of drum, half-expecting to find a burnt shell of ruins where once the village had stood. Instead, as if laid out by some magic, it was still there almost unchanged, as I had left it, and we were ushered in, after a brief anxious challenge, as saviours and special guests. And I was left to face the tearful anger and joyful relief of my aunt.