Breakdown, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
London 2084
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part Two
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Part Three
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Afterwards
Also By Sarah Mussi
Acknowledgments
Sarah Mussi
Copyright
To B.
May you escape from the underworld and find your road.
LONDON 2084
PART ONE
The force behind being is the bee. Without this little creature, all life on our planet would cease to exist.
Unknown
1
The light fades. I crouch and peer into the blackness. I can’t see anything. Can’t hear anything. But it won’t be long. They’re out there. They’ll catch our scent soon.
‘Nana?’ I whisper.
My arms ache, my eyes itch with tiredness and I’m so hungry. So cold. I can’t carry her any further.
‘If you lean on me, could you hop?’ I ask. I don’t know why I say that. It just makes things worse. She can’t hop. She’s doing the best she can.
‘I know, I know,’ I say, ‘but it’s only one more street, if we could just get down to the water’s edge.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
I know she is. I know she didn’t mean this to happen. I know she thought she’d be OK. She wore a blanket over her coat, took a stick. I know.
‘I just wanted to get you something.’
‘I know,’ I say.
‘For your birthday,’ she whispers. ‘You have so little.’
Through the paling dusk I see her lips drawn tight against her teeth. See her eyes: dark hollows.
A yowling echoes from afar. Still streets away, but they know we’re here.
‘Nan,’ I say. ‘You gotta stand up. On your good leg. You’ve got to.’ I snap at her ’cos she’s got to.
She tries, staggers, clutches at me. We both nearly go over.
‘Let me lift you.’
She whimpers. I don’t listen; I lift anyway. We’re nearly there. If I could get her to a row boat.
‘Melissa,’ she whispers. ‘You go.’
I don’t answer. I try heaving her up onto her feet.
I check the street. Still nothing. Quickly glance at the steps down to the water. We can make it.
Nan struggles to keep her balance. Groans. Her face, ghastly grey. I keep watching the street. Only the burnt-out city. Broken buildings. Sour smell of river. Please, God, don’t let them find us.
I know what they’ll be doing: sniffing the air, trying to locate us, howling out to their numbers. Gathering themselves together. Waiting till they are enough.
I turn my head back to Nan. She looks at me. She knows.
I look away. Look at her ankle.
The fracture is so bad I can see the bone glistening in the dusk.
‘Melissa … ’ Her hand reaches out, her fingers clasp onto mine. I swallow and try to unclasp them. We must move.
She pushes the package at me.
‘Here. Go. While you can still outrun them.’
I heave and somehow get her balanced against me.
‘Melissa.’
I take as big a step as I can. Nan lurches, unsteady.
‘Please,’ she says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘We can make it. They won’t come yet. We still have time.’ Please, God, let us make it.
‘Even if we make it,’ she says, ‘this break won’t heal.’ She draws her breath in. ‘We’ve no reserves left.’
‘We’ll see,’ I mutter.
I try to think if I could get help. The patrols, maybe? I scan the street again. Nothing but derelict houses. Graffiti. Piles of rubble. Candlelight showing in a window.
The army won’t help. They’ll either leave us or take us to the camps.
‘Take the shoes.’ She pushes the package at me again. ‘Harvest the rest of the crop. Stay away from the soldiers.’
They’ll probably just leave us. What use would we be?
‘Here’s the rest of the coupons. You know what to do.’
I see she’s slipped her arms from her coat and is struggling to give that to me as well.
‘Why the hell did you go out?’ I say. ‘Why the hell didn’t you wait for me?’
‘I’m sorry.’
And I am too. I don’t need the shoes. I don’t need her coat. I need her.
And why didn’t she wait? That’s the rule. Never go out – not when it’s getting dark. Just wait. But I knew why, as soon as I got in. I knew as I checked the flat, saw her coat gone, saw the food on the table.
‘They’re good shoes,’ she whispers.
The yowling is closer now.
If we can make it to the river. We can jump. The tide will carry us. They won’t follow.
I take the shoes. I try to smile. I can’t swim.
‘And you need them.’
A great gap opens up in my heart. I catch my breath.
‘If you put them on, I’ll try,’ she says.
I know she can’t make it. I know what’ll happen. I want her to know that I know.
So I squat down beside her on the kerb, pull off the rags tied round my feet, quickly slip on the shoes. They’re warm. They’re soft. They’re beautiful. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
‘And the coat,’ she says.
My chin is trembling. I adjust my headscarf. Hesitate, then thrust my arms through the coat sleeves. Button it up. I dig my hands deep into its warm pockets. Her door key is still in one. The coat smells of her. I know what it means. I accept. I know what it means to accept her coat.
She nods her head. ‘Good.’
And then I see them, at the end of the street. They’re there, sizing us up.
‘Now you try,’ I say. ‘Please try.’
She tries. Her teeth clenched, her face knuckle-white. I gather her to me in the failing light. Support her with one arm. Hold her hand in mine with the other. Try not to crush her brittle bones. She takes a first little hop. She makes a half-swallowed noise. I hold her hand so tight.
They’ll delay a little longer. It’s dangerous even for them. They know that. They’ll be inching forward on their bellies, waiting for one to be bolder than the rest, waiting for one to lead the charge.
‘Keep trying,’ I say.
She whimpers again.
We reach the quay. Reach the steps. I hear the river slapping against brickwork. Smell its sour tang. We’re nearly there.
‘Keep going,’ I say. I glance behind us. Shapes edging closer. There’s a lot of them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says.
‘Shush.’ I hold her very tight to me. ‘Just keep trying.’
How to manage the steps? No handrail. If they don’t attack straight away, if a row boat comes, if I can get us both down to the water …
I didn’t eat the food, even though I’m starving. I didn’t need to check her coat twice. I saw she’d taken all of the coupons. I knew the shoe boat was coming. I knew they’d rip her off. They’re crooks. I heard they had blades. I’d tried to hide their arrival from her. Like I try to hide my thinness, like I try to hide the fact the potato crop was stolen. And that I’m burning Dad’s books to keep us warm. Nan won’t burn books, not Dad’s. They’re all she’s got left. Except me, Melissa, her little honey. Her sole survivor. Left orphaned with her. ‘Your parents starved themselves to feed you,’ she said. ‘My child of Greek myth. My little honeybee. Why should I not give you everything I can too?’ Yes, I hide things. I have to. And I hid the news of the shoe boat because I knew she’d try to get me a present. And I knew she’d
Again.
‘Please try.’
And I try. I try to lift her. We’re so close. But months with only shrivelled potatoes have left me weak. My arms slip. She jolts to the pavement. She cries out.
And then they come.
2
There are ten or so of them. Big thickset pit bulls, cross-bred Staffs. All of them feral, survivors of the streets, eating whatever they can. They creep towards us.
The lead dog is squat and dirty white. An old warrior. His muzzle scarred, jaw drooling. He snarls. Huge yellow teeth. Flecks of spittle pepper his chest.
‘Stay back.’ I step in front of Nan, heart racing, suddenly dizzy. But I know how to fight dogs. Everyone learns that, sooner or later.
I crouch and wait. Nan tries to give me her stick, but I prefer my bare hands. I wedge my foot against a crevice in the pavement. I stare at the dog. And I wait.
This one doesn’t care. He’s so hungry. He doesn’t care about my crouch. He doesn’t care about the staring. The smell of blood has made him bold. He doesn’t even try to turn his head to meet my gaze, doesn’t waver. He just lets out a short series of snaps, cranks his tail round, emits a low, long growl, hackles raised.
I crouch lower and shake my head in that strange sideways warning motion, like a bull before a charge. The dog hesitates, stops. He flicks his eyes away, notes my stance. He barks, edges back. My shaking head worries him. Good. Dear God, let him back off. Behind him the pack jerks to a halt. If he goes down, they’ll back off. Maybe.
He draws back his maw. Fangs shine in the gloom: short, stubby upper jaw; long canine incisors.
I grind my teeth, bare them at him, growl softly. I have to get this just right.
He springs towards me, paws reaching, muzzle open.
Then I grab his front legs and rip them apart.
With a cracking sound, he goes down.
Despite his wide-shouldered stance, his ribs are just as narrow as a greyhound’s. I hear them break. But he’s heavy and I’m weak. I can’t hurl him away, back towards the pack, where they might stop to gorge on him instead.
He drops like stone. I slide down. I’m not crouching any more and the pack can’t reach him without reaching me. And I can’t fight them all. Even before I hit the pavement, I know I’ve failed. I’ve survived so many dog fights. But I’ve failed.
The next dog lunges.
I raise my arm to guard my throat. It’s well wrapped. I’ve taken precautions, but he sinks his teeth in. And I feel them. Don’t pull away. Don’t lower your arm. He won’t let go. Thrust forward into the jaw. Grab the back of his neck. Push down on his spine. Body slam into the bite.
Jab at his eyes.
Break his neck.
But a third is at my side and as I slam down onto the second, he strikes.
Get up again. Hold your ground. Don’t let them wear you down.
But I can’t get up. I can’t hold my ground.
And then I see Nan.
She’s raised herself up. For a second she’s poised against the wharf, like the great Goddess Hera: arm raised, lotus-tipped staff in hand, the dark water behind her. Then she brings her stick down. The dog at my side howls.
The stick breaks. Nan falls. The dog jumps back.
I roll free.
I struggle to my feet. Two dogs have hold of Nan. One has sunk his muzzle deep in her ankle. Another is dragging her along the dock. I hear her cry stop suddenly. Two dogs are at her throat.
Like lightning I’m up, screaming, jumping towards her, kicking, punching.
I stamp on the dog at her ankle. I kick and kick at the dogs at her neck. But pit bulls never let go.
And I catch the terror in Nan’s eyes. I’m trapped. Smaller dogs are dragging the big, dirty male away; the rest are closing in.
No time to crouch. No time to wait for one to spring and use that trick again. Instead I pick up a rock, a piece of loose concrete. I turn back to the dog at Nan’s neck. I raise my arm to strike him dead. Nan lashes out.
I don’t know if she meant to.
Her blow catches me by surprise. I spin back. I’m toppling on the edge of the wharf and everything is caught in slow motion. I can’t hold my balance. I can’t get back to her. I’m falling. I’m falling off the edge, off the quay, into the river. I kick out. I paddle the air. I scream: ‘NANA.’
My call hangs on the air. The river beneath.
No answer. No scream. No growl. No crunch of teeth on bone. No sound of dragging.
The impact of water.
A distant howl cut short.
Icy waters closing over me.
3
I’m going down.
I can’t stop.
I don’t feel the water, or the air cut off.
I thrash my arms.
I kick.
I flail, force my legs. I’m held under by the drag of water. I must breathe. I drive myself back up through the pressure pushing me down.
I kick and kick and hold my chest in tight. I reach up with my arms. There’s only water. I open my eyes. Only water. I breathe.
Only water.
So cold. I can’t kick. Can’t thrash. Can’t swim. I’m going down.
This river has no bottom. So very cold. But I stop. I don’t hit anything.
The coat’s heavy. It tangles around my waist. Where’s the surface? I open my mouth. I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
And I think of my life and how much I loved it even through the fear and the poverty and it flows before me playing out my days and hours and minutes … Nan’s embrace I can smell her I feel her arms around me holding me I see the empty streets and the ragged people and the gangs and the dogs and the coupons in the ration book all blue and faded and no food in the stores and the rats and the army trucks and hiding and there’s no time to wonder how I can remember such things and days spent with Nan trying to pollinate the tomatoes that she’d grown from an old seed packet that she’d traded for a bowl of potatoes and using a feather that I’d found at the bottom of the garden and trying to tickle the pollen dust from stamen to stigma … her little honeybee …
