World War Moo (34 page)

Peter said something then, although it was impossible to make it out through his chunky air filter.

“For God's sake, just take the bloody mask off, heh?” Scholzy snapped. “If Mick can get it on with one of these people and be fine I'm pretty sure you can breathe a bit of unfiltered air.”

“Did he tell you?” Fanny said.

“No,” Scholzy replied. “He's a gentleman that way. Let's just say you were both rather loud. Impressive stamina, by the way.”

Fanny blushed as Scott gave her a sly little nudge. By this point, Peter had unstrapped his mask. It was strange to see him without it. His features looked pink and naked, in much the same way as the freshly shaved face of a lifelong beard wearer. “That interlude gave me an idea. It's a bit wacky, but I think it's our only shot.” He paused, as though unsure whether to continue.

“Spit it out,” Scholzy said. “It's not like we've got any other bright ideas.”

“Do you remember that time in Somalia, when Kenya's military accused the insurgents of planning to use donkey bombs?”

“I remember. I also remember the terrorists quite rightly took the piss out of them for coming up with such an idiotic accusation.”

“Maybe they were too quick to dismiss it. It would've carried the element of surprise. Who's going to run away from a donkey?”

“So you want to storm the base with suicide donkeys?”

“No,” Peter said. He pointed to the steaming ginger corpses of the cattle. “I've had some bovine inspiration. We use cows.”

 

ONE
DAY TO EXCISION

 

29

This
, Ruan thought as she prepared to open the gate that led into the field of cows behind Arrochar,
may well be the stupidest thing I've ever done.

They'd ridden into Arrochar in the old truck, authorized for use since if this didn't qualify as an emergency nothing would. There must have been women and children left in the village, since the Noel invasion was exclusively male—unless there'd been bearded ladies in there as well—but they didn't show their faces. The truck had undergone some modifications: a hatch just big enough for one person to scoot through had been cut between the storage space and the cabin. The truck now sat idling at the bottom of the path leading to the main road in the village. A ramp led up into the back.

The plan was simple. She was to serve as bait to lure the cows down from the field and into the back of the van. Once in, she would jump through the hatch and Scott and Tom would slam the rear doors shut, capturing the herd for use in their upcoming assault. It was the quickest way to round up the cattle. They couldn't afford to waste a whole day of infected members of the commune chasing them around the field and trying to herd them toward the truck. They had preparations to make. Ruan had been chosen as the bait by virtue of a foot race with Geldof and the mercenaries—a battle she won with five meters to spare over the bulky Scholzy. Even though Geldof trailed in last, he still tried to convince her to hand the responsibility over to him. She knew he was still smarting from his ineffectual role in the battle, which had only confirmed his fears that he would be useless in the final assault. While she felt sorry for him, she'd refused to step down. He wouldn't make it ten paces.

She also knew that Fanny was working up to denying Geldof an active role in storming the base, largely because Ruan herself had suggested his participation would result in him at best being a burden and at worst getting killed—a thought that curdled her stomach. The way she understood it, the old Fanny would have had no problem in delivering this message. The new Fanny was agonizing over how to reconcile her decision to give her son freedom of choice with the fact that this freedom could lead to his death. Still, that was for Fanny and Geldof to worry about. Right now she had her own large and meaty concerns, which were grazing at the far end of the field. Unfortunately, she was upwind from the cows, which meant she would need to get dangerously close to give them a whiff of her scent and set them on the hoof. She started off by jumping up and down and shouting, hoping they would be able to detect her purity by sight alone. The cows merely glanced in her direction and went back to chewing at the grass.

They're just like bloody men
, she thought.
The ones you actually want to chase you aren't interested, and the ones you don't won't leave you alone.

“Try insulting them,” Scott called from beside the truck.

“How d'you insult a cow?”

“Tell them they've got saggy udders,” Tom replied.

“No, tell them the grass isn't greener on the other side,” Scott said.

Tom screwed up his face. “That's not an insult.”

“No, but it's an unsettling thought. It might make them lose hope.”

“I told you not to have that third joint,” Tom said. “We need to get them angry, not depressed. They won't chase her if they've lost hope.”

“Maybe they'll want to take their frustration out on somebody.”

“They don't speak English, so how could I insult them?” Ruan said.

“That's what you think,” Scott said. “This cow whisperer bloke I used to know organized a stand-up gig in a field for the cows. Got a comedian to tell them jokes. He swears they all laughed.”

“What's a cow laugh sound like, then?” Tom said.

“I wasn't there, so I can't rightly say. A bit evil, I imagine, like: Moo-ha-ha!”

They both laughed until Ruan glared at them. “You do know I'm about to risk my life, don't you? You could at least try to be solemn or tense or something.”

“Sorry,” the two men said in unison.

Ruan shook her head. These were the people who were supposed to be saving the world tomorrow. She would need to ask Fanny to ration the dope supply. She trudged up the hill, noting points where hillocks, potholes, and piles of dung might trip her up on the way back. She was now worryingly close to the cows and still they hadn't clicked. At this rate she would have to go right up to them and stick her armpit in their noses. Then she had an idea. Fear sweat slicked her armpits, producing dark rings on the gray fabric of her jumper. She pulled it off, along with her T-shirt. Goose flesh rose on her bare skin. She picked up a rock, wrapped the garments around it to give them some weight and chucked them at the animals. The clothes bounced off the flank of the largest cow and came to rest amid their snuffling snouts. They abandoned their chewing with angry snorts and began banging heads as they all tried to get their teeth into the bundle. Two animals got a hold of it and engaged in a tug of war, which ended when it ripped in two. Still they ignored her.

“Sod it,” Ruan said under her breath and sprinted the rest of the distance.

She booted the closest cow up the arse and, before it had even swung its head around, bombed back toward the truck. There was no need to look back to know their tiny brains had finally got the message that there was something tastier than grass and cud in the vicinity. The collective moo swelled and dipped as the out-of-sync individual voices came together and broke apart. It sounded like the kind of noise an emergency vehicle would make in a world run by cows. She focused on this thought, transforming the beat of hooves into the chug of an engine, and imagined an ambulance, flashing blue horns protruding from its roof, rushing a cow with an udder blockage to hospital. That turned out to be a bad idea, for the image was so daft she momentarily forgot the mortal danger she was in. Her adrenaline levels dipped and so did her pace. Only when she felt the wet slop of a snout on her back did she snap out of it and accelerate.

She leapt up the ramp and dashed through the truck. She'd spent hours the previous evening practicing diving through the hatch, resulting in bruised forearms and shins and a black eye from the one time she nailed it and sailed through to thump her head on the dashboard. This time she managed to force most of her body through before her feet caught on the opening. The truck shuddered as the cows mounted. Something snagged her trouser leg and started to pull. Scholzy, who was in the driver's seat, grabbed her hand. The rear doors slammed, which meant the cows were now trapped—just as she would be if the cow managed to haul her back in. Scholzy's grip was slipping on her sweaty hand, and she felt herself sliding backward. Just as she was sure she was about to disappear into the back to be trampled to death, cloth ripped and she shot forward.

A massive cow head rammed through the hatch, eyes rolling and tongue lolling. Scholzy punched it square between the eyes. The cow didn't budge, snapping left and right. Fortunately its neck and shoulders were too wide to allow it to push its way through farther. It looked like a necromancer truck driver had mounted a head on the wall of his truck and brought it to life.

“That'll have to do,” Scholzy said.

He rolled down the window to talk to Scott, who was peering in. “You guys are going to have to walk. We've got an uninvited guest in the cabin.”

Scott nodded and Scholzy put the truck into gear. “Let's get this lot back to the camp and then come out for the second run.”

His voice prompted an ear-splitting moo and increased snapping from their trophy head.

“Second run?” Ruan shouted over the din.

“We're going to need more cows than this,” he said. “There must be some in the other fields around here.”

“Fantastic,” Ruan said. “Another chance to have a cow chew on my backside.”

They moved off, the truck swaying as the enraged animals blundered around in the back, fighting to reach the source of the enticing smell. Ruan shrank as far as she could against the passenger door and just hoped the truck wouldn't topple.

*   *   *

Geldof moped around the camp, playing hide-and-seek with Fanny. He could tell from the way she kept chewing her lip and shooting him sidelong glances all morning that she wanted to tell him something. He had a good idea what it was. To be honest, after his performance during the attack of the Noels, he couldn't blame her. He hadn't even qualified as bait, which was usually the role set aside for those who couldn't do anything else. Even a blind, wriggling earthworm was useful enough to be jammed on to a hook and plunged into the water to draw in the fish. The same worms would probably be more use than him at Faslane. They could at least dig a tunnel under the fence or something. His mum finally cornered him after Scholzy and Ruan returned with the cows, which were shuttled into the livestock pen by the commune members, growing quieter as soon as the uninfected were out of nostril range.

“I know,” he said before she could even open her mouth. “You don't want me to fight. You're right. I'd just get in the way.”

Fanny looked relieved. “Some people just aren't fighters, Geldof.”

“Some people just aren't anything.”

“You're being hard on yourself.”

“Am I? What have I done that's any worth since I got here?”

“You came here for me even though you knew it was dangerous. You brought the mercenaries. We wouldn't have any chance without them. And the way Ruan tells it, you saved her life.”

“Yeah, right. I flukily shot a pipe and nearly got stabbed in the face. She saved me.”

“If you hadn't tried, she'd have been dead. That's what matters: you always try. Most people would've run away. I'm proud of you. Your dad would've been, too.”

“I wish I was more like him. He'd totally kick arse down there.”

“He wouldn't want you to be like him. He killed a lot of people. It messed him up.”

“What about you? You've killed people, too. You were always a pacifist.”

“I'm not happy about doing what I did or what I'm going to do. But there are bigger issues at play. We do what we must.”

“So, I suppose you want me to stay here and hold the jackets while you fight?”

“Not at all,” she said. “We have a job for you.”

“Really,” Geldof said, perking up a little. “What kind of job?”

“You'll be helping Mick.”

“What, am I going to push his wheelchair?”

“Not quite. I'll let him explain. Look, about Mick…”

“It's okay, Mum. I don't mind.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Deep down, he's a good man.”

“You think so?”

“No. But that's not important. The real question is whether he's a big man.”

Fanny looked puzzled for a second before she got Geldof's meaning. She laughed long and hard. Geldof watched her momentarily carefree face and hoped it wouldn't be the last time they shared such a moment.

 

30

The HMS
Vengeance
looked every bit as deadly as Tony had imagined. The vessel was almost as gray as the water under the floodlights, and the two side fins and conning tower at the top gave it the look of a sleek, mechanical shark—an implacable, imperturbable machine with no imperative other than to kill. He brushed his fingers against the cold metal of the missile as it slid past on the way to be loaded. The accelerated timescale meant Glen's boys only had time to get one ready. One would be all they needed. He closed his eyes and imagined the multiple warheads inside, sloshing with blood. If he ever did have to give the order, this huge metal phallus would spurt its infected load over Paris. He tried to picture how it would be: blood raining onto upturned faces, hands stiffening into claws, shrieks and yells echoing through the streets, people trampling each other as they tried to flee. He could put no faces to these virtual Parisians; he could only see Margot and Vanessa down in the bunker, clinging to each other and waiting for the end.

He could also clearly picture the people who would die in Britain. He'd seen thousands of them streaming along the side of the road as he and Glen drove to the airfield to catch a helicopter up to Faslane that morning. These were the skeptics—those smart enough not to believe a word that came out of a politician's mouth and perceptive enough to see his speech for the gargantuan fib it was. They weren't so smart as to travel light, mind you. Half of them were sweating from the effort of dragging wheeled suitcases or pushing shopping trollies full of all kinds of unnecessary household crap. One individual was even carrying a flat-screen TV on his back. Perhaps he hoped to continue its use as a shield against real life and deflect any bombs that may drop on his head. They were all heading out of London, no doubt hoping to hide out in the countryside when the cleansing began.