Book 24 - An Imperfect Utopia, page 28
Ten minutes later, Jay bounced up and down on his toes, hands on his hips, his face a study in puzzled concentration. “Yeah, no,” he finally said.
“They don’t fit?” Heppy asked looking down at the pair of gleaming gold and blue sneakers he’d just put on.
“They do,” he said. “I just don’t think I could run in them. I don’t think anyone could.”
“Oh, sorry,” Heppy said. “Four hundred dollars a pair. And that’s before tax.”
“Ten quid from Primark,” Jay said, bouncing up and down again. “That’s how much my shoes used to cost. I’d outgrow them before they wore in. Four hundred quid?”
“Dollars. Before tax.”
“And you can’t even run in them.”
“That’s their world for you,” Heppy said. “Everything was about money, but never about worth.”
Jay nodded as an alternative to replying, a trick he’d noticed Chester do under similar situations. He hoped she wasn’t going to talk about Adam Smith again.
Heppy remembered things that she’d read. Up until their long drive across Canada, he’d thought he had a good memory. He’d been wrong. He might get the gist, like how he remembered Bill explaining that Adam Smith had been a revolutionary for something to do with economics, but she could read a book once and remember it all. Maybe not to quote it line by line, but well enough to carry on a conversation with Bill that lasted from lunch until dinner. Jay had been glad he’d been driving. It had excused him from having to comment. Dating wasn’t supposed to be like this. Wasn’t it all holding hands, kissing beneath the stars, and… well, and? It seemed to be for Aisha and Kevin, for Eamonn and Greta, and, of course, for his mother and Chester.
He’d not even been sure they were dating until he’d asked her last week, and she’d said of course, and he’d felt stupid. He’d tried to talk with Chester about it, but it had been just too awkward, for both of them. Eamonn’s advice had been, whenever you’re not sure what to say, just give her a kiss and tell her how much you love her. Aisha had overheard and said that would be a seriously bad strategy, but she’d not explained why.
He realised he’d been silent too long, so said the first thing that came to mind. “I guess if you see shoes that cost a month’s wages, you feel less bad about spending a week’s worth on a cheaper pair.”
“Yeah, exactly!” she said, dropping the shoe back into the box. “Half this stuff wasn’t even made to be sold, just used as an indicator of comparative value. I don’t know if it sickens me or just saddens me, you know?”
He nodded. She smiled. He relaxed.
“Let’s take stock,” he said, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer ground. He pulled on his sneakers. He had no idea how much this pair cost, but he’d found them secondhand in a boot room of a house in Alberta. They were comfortable, and that was all he cared about. “We’ve got three vans here, all with a full cargo. One with shoes, one with crockery, one with books.”
“I bet they were stolen,” Heppy said.
“Nah,” Jay said. “I mean, yeah, technically they were stolen, but I think the drivers brought them here right after the outbreak because they just wanted to go home. I mean, before Manhattan, you might have stolen one van, but not all three.”
“No, I suppose not. And who would steal a van full of books? It wasn’t as if there was a resale market.” She grinned. “Now I’m picturing a librarian in a trench coat buying a stack of illicit copies of Kafka from a gangster in a dark alley.”
“In that world, there’s no way the outbreak would have happened,” Jay said.
Heppy laughed. Jay smiled. He’d gambled and won. Again! He made a mental note to find out who Kafka was.
“How come all three are here?” Heppy said. “It’s not like they came from the same depot or were heading to the same place?”
“News of the outbreak broke at about seven, New York time, right? So what time was it here?”
“Four, I think,” she said.
“So they’d driven through the night, all coming from different places, and all heading somewhere different, too. They stopped at some all-night diner for coffee. That’s where they were when they heard the news. One fella lived around here. The other two, they lived miles away. So one said they should all head to his place and wait until things settled down. That’s why they came here, and why the vans are still here.”
“Maybe,” Heppy said. “As stories go, it’s a good one, but sometimes I wish we actually knew.”
Jay shrugged.
“Time to move out,” Tom called from the neighbouring house. Jay gave the van one last and dissatisfied glance and closed the rear door. He collected his bike and headed back to the road.
“Did you find anything?” Heppy asked as she and Jay rejoined Minnie and Tom on the secluded street.
“A lot of dust,” Minnie said.
“We can talk as we ride,” Tom said.
“Each van was full of shoes, books, or saucepans,” Heppy said as they, once again, cycled east. “All store-ready, on their way to be sold. We think the drivers took shelter there after they heard about the outbreak mid-delivery.”
“If so, they didn’t shelter long,” Minnie said. “There were no barricaded windows, living room log piles, or any water barrels. The kitchens had been raided, but I think that was later.”
“You didn’t find any diaries, then?” Jay asked.
Minnie laughed. “Those notes Maggs and Etienne left for each other spoiled you. Not everything is a mystery needing to be solved.”
“And very few mysteries ever do get solved,” Tom said. “That’s the sad truth. We’re unlikely to find any more news of Maggs.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t have given up,” Jay said. “And I know Etienne won’t stop looking.”
As they continued cycling through the city, Jay wondered if they could repair the vans. Sure, the Australians were short of shoes, but so were the returning exiles.
“How many pairs of shoes were in that van?” he asked.
“About five hundred,” Heppy said.
“So enough for a plane and a half of evacuees,” Jay said. “We’re going to need more. A lot more.”
One million people a year? It was impossible, but he understood what Sholto had been saying. They’d have no say in how many came. It could be a million a year, or only a few thousand, and they wouldn’t know until after the planes had stopped flying. However many it was, the returning evacuees would need shoes and so much more. Maybe that was the answer. The Australians could send them people or have the treasure, but not both.
“Someone started painting that house,” Heppy said as she rolled to a stop.
The house was small, though the plot was large. The road-facing wall was smeared with white paint, an almost rectangle that ran from the wall to the single window on that side.
“The paint looks fresh,” Minnie said. “Relatively fresh, anyway. What could they have wanted to cover up?”
“Jay, Heppy, keep watch,” Tom said. He and Minnie leaned their bikes against the low fence and made their way into the yard.
Minnie pushed at the front door, then kicked it open. Tom took a moment to inspect the wall from up close before following Minnie inside.
“I guess we wait,” Jay said, looking around, his eyes settling on the neighbouring property and a low screen of pine saplings. They couldn’t be more than three years old, but the natural conical shape made them look neat, especially in comparison to the swirling, sun-baked grasses in the yards, gutters, and cracks. He supposed they’d been planted to block the noise from the nearby road. Now, the only sounds came from the birds chirruping and squawking among the taller trees nearby.
“I don’t think it’s going to work,” Heppy said.
Jay’s heart plummeted. “What do you mean?”
“Sending salvage to Australia,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, relaxing. “I was thinking about that van. The exiles need shoes and clothes, and everything else. It doesn’t feel right sending it away when they’re arriving in rags.”
“And how do you fairly distribute five hundred pairs of shoes among all the people in the Pacific? There’s just no way. We’ll upset people if we try, and end up with less time for farming. Did he really say a million a year? That’s impossible.”
“I think that was just to make the maths simple. Sholto doesn’t know how many, or how often, or for how long.”
“I’m glad I don’t have his job,” she said. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be easier just to leave and set up a farm somewhere far away from this.”
“Out near Cooking Lake, maybe,” Jay said.
“Or further east than that,” Heppy said. “We could take some chickens.”
“And some music,” Jay said.
“And books.”
“And a dog,” Jay added.
“It’s abandoned,” Tom said as he came outside. “Someone slept in there a month or two back, not for long, but they set up a fire inside. On the wall, in the same white paint as they used to cover that slogan, they daubed Don’t trust the general.”
When Minnie came out, she detoured via the painted wall, examining it obliquely, and then up close.
“Ah. Got it,” she said, and went to collect her bike.
“Do you want to give it to anyone else?” Tom asked.
“It’s a large black cross,” Minnie said.
“Just like at Bangor Base?” Jay asked.
“The new paint covering it up is a couple of months old,” Tom said. “Hard to be more precise than that.”
“Tippy’s been out here that long?” Heppy asked.
“Or some of her people have,” Tom said. “Or they were locals she recently recruited, or we got it wrong, and these crosses have nothing at all to do with Tippy.”
“Yeah, none of her people seemed religious,” Jay said.
“And who’s the general we need to be wary of?” Heppy asked.
Tom shrugged and got back on his bike. Once again he led the way, but they’d barely made it to the end of the street when Jay stopped.
“Did you hear that?” Jay asked.
“What?” Minnie asked.
“Do you mean the birds?” Heppy said.
“No. Sorry. It’s nothing,” Jay said.
They made it another block before he heard it again, but this time it was Tom who stopped. “That was music.” He pointed ahead where a distant flock of birds were swooping and circling. “That’s our new destination. Call Sholto.”
When Sholto finally answered, it was with a question. “Is that music?”
“Yep,” Heppy said. “We’re northwest of the airport. Maybe two kilometres from it. We can hear music. It’s loud.”
“Music? We just found a letter left here by Maggs.”
“You’re kidding? What did she say?” Heppy asked.
“We’ll tell you when we see you,” Sholto said. “What do you want us to do?”
Tom took the radio. “It’s Tom here. Head north until you can hear the music. It can’t be more than a couple of kilometres from the airport. Keep your eyes open and the radio to hand.”
“It’s Maggs, it must be,” they heard Etienne say.
“Well, maybe,” Tom said. “But we’ve come across some IEDs which we think were set for zoms. If it seems at all dangerous, rendezvous back at that last farm.”
Chapter 35 - The Requiem
Olympia
A left, a right, an alley, a road; Jay, Heppy, Tom, and Minnie cycled slowly through Olympia while the music grew louder, though there was still no sign of its source. Jay began to feel unsettled. It was dangerous playing music that loud. He’d learned that in London. When you absolutely had to blast something so you could dance and sing and shake away the stress and fear, you went to a thick-walled dungeon, where you were sure the sound wouldn’t carry. Whoever was playing this had clearly led a sheltered outbreak.
Another turn, and they appeared to be cycling down a dead end, but with the music coming from ahead. No, not a dead end, at least not one approved by the long-vanquished city planners. A sheer wall lay ahead of them, about two storeys high. Nearer still and he saw they were cycling towards a T-junction. A metal wall encased an entire block straight ahead. Someone had built themselves a castle, but no horde had come down this street with its intact windows. Not yet. In which case…
“It’s a trap,” he said. Between the music, the rattle of the bicycle chain and rumbling swish of the tyres, no one had heard him. “It’s a lure,” he said, turning to Heppy. She gave a nod and shake of her head, and as his bike began to wobble, he turned to face forward. Why else play music that loud except to lure zombies? It was the same as the road on which they’d entered the city with the truck, the IEDs, and the speaker. Traps to lure the undead. Except there were no zombies in sight.
At the junction, Tom turned right, and they followed, riding parallel to the wall. It was made of metal rectangular sheets, one metre by two. Tom took a left, cycling around the perimeter of the wall, slowing his pace. Ahead of them was a giant but unlit bonfire made of haphazardly stacked pallets. Was it intended as a funeral pyre for the undead?
Beyond the bonfire, the wall ran for another four hundred metres, maybe a little less; distance was hard to judge with the pounding music distracting him. At least he could now see where it was coming from. About halfway along the wall was parked an ancient red pick-up, the type with no electronics and a simple engine whose parts could actually be replaced. It was a real prize. Clean, too, though it needed a splash of paint. The music came from the back of the truck. Probably from another of those giant Bluetooth speakers.
The truck’s driver had been busying himself by the castle’s wall. Relieving himself, Jay bet. He was shirtless and carried no weapon, but had a bag slung over a shoulder. Halfway to the vehicle, with their bikes now only two hundred metres away and closing, he took off his green cap, wiped a hand across his brow, turned, and saw them. He froze.
Tom didn’t. He raised a hand in greeting. Green-cap raised one in return, then dashed for the truck, jumping into the back. Jay had been wrong. Green-cap wasn’t the driver. The truck shot forward. The music cut off. The truck accelerated, then braked hard, stopping at a junction where the road ran right, southward.
“You think that’s Maggs’s people?” Heppy asked.
“Could be,” Tom said as he slowed. He didn’t stop, but he did look around. “They aren’t shooting at us, which is a good sign. If things go south, ditch the bikes and disappear into the buildings.”
“Um… did he just stick on his turn signal?” Heppy asked.
The truck had, and began to turn down the road, driving slow. In the back Green-cap was waving them on.
“Um…” Jay began. Now the music had stopped, he could hear something else. A low-level background noise that was familiar but which he couldn’t place.
“I suppose we follow, at least for now,” Minnie said.
“Guys! Everyone! Listen!” Jay said. “Behind the wall—”
The ground seemed to jump sideways as a wall of pressure threw him and the bike across the road. He tumbled free, scraping his leg and hand on the cracked asphalt. He staggered to his knees as the incoherent ocean of sound began separating into its terrifying components. His ears were ringing, so he felt as much as heard the dull thud from his left. And again. Again. The dust cloud around the wall grew thicker. The pounding in his head grew louder. Another thud came from the wall, but this one was more metallic, and he knew what that sound meant. The metal sheets were falling, one by one. He shook his head and his hands, checking everything still worked like Tuck had taught him, before running over to Heppy, sitting on the ground, a few metres ahead.
“Get up to see that you can,” Jay said. “Come on.” He took her hands, struck, despite the danger, by how soft her skin was.
“I’m okay,” she said, shaking herself free. “I am okay, right?”
“I can’t see any blood,” Jay said. Aside from where he’d scraped his leg, he couldn’t see any on himself. His head hurt, though. “Next time, helmets and shin pads. Get your bike up. We need to get out of here.”
Tom was back on his feet. Minnie was picking up her rifle. They both looked okay. His bike wasn’t. The rear wheel was buckled.
“Oh, no,” Heppy said, her eyes fixed on the metal-walled castle.
The last gong had sounded. No more metal sheets would fall. There was now a forty-metre gap in the wall, and through it lurched the undead.
Zombies. That was the sound he’d been trying to warn them about. Well over a dozen were now staggering through the settling dust, with more just behind. Many, many more. The pick-up’s horn sounded twice, and then twice more.
“This way!” Tom called. “Jay, get your bike!”
“Heppy, go. I’ll catch up,” Jay said. He detached his rifle from his pannier, grabbed his go-bag, and jogged after them. Heppy had stopped a few yards ahead. “Go on! We need distance,” Jay called, waving her on.
Space and distance. That was key when fighting the undead. Tuck had taught him that, out on the road, just beyond a sign for Nottingham. It had been a good day. She’d been teaching him sign language by explaining the importance of terrain when planning a battle. She’d sign something and then write a translation in the notebook. He’d repeat, and the story would go on. They’d even found a box of instant porridge oats in the cab of an abandoned big rig. The open road, a good story, the prospect of a good meal, what more could they have wanted? Yes, it had been a good day. But then the zombies had appeared in front of them as if from nowhere, though probably from a feeder road that had led to one of the death-camp muster-points. He’d thought there were millions. In hindsight, there were fewer than a thousand. Naturally, he’d panicked. Tuck hadn’t. Zombies were unlike any predator humans had ever faced. They didn’t tire but didn’t run, so you mustn’t either. Get away from them and then slow down. Pace yourself. A sprained ankle equals death. Don’t run. Don’t panic. Use the time to come up with a plan. He wasn’t sure what their plan was now.
