pointed out there were precious few of those left, and that the new flock he was gathering would need religious guidance, Tate finally agreed.
Clive was pleased he had, because he enjoyed his late night chats with the holy man, who suggested that there was a rhyme and pattern to all of this, that it was part of God's plans for them.
'Everything happens for a reason,' Tate often said to him, 'even if we can't see what that is right now.'
'You really believe that?'
'Don't you?' the Reverend threw back at him. 'He spared you, spared all of us for some purpose. And I think you might well have found yours, Clive. Your brains, your leadership qualities have saved these people. Saved us all.'
It was true that without him the community of Hope would still be out there, lost. He'd organised them, found out what people's strengths were and put them to practical use. For example, June Taylor was a former midwife, so she had medical knowledge. Graham Leicester used to work in a garden centre, but as well as cultivating flowers he'd also had his own allotment. Clive worked in conjunction with him, at first taking over one of the large greenhouses they found in someone's back garden, but then on more ambitious schemes such as planting crops out in the fields. This is where Andy Hobbs, who used to be a gym instructor, and Nathan Brown, who had worked as a farmhand one summer, came into their own: ploughing the fields so that Hope would have a good harvest this year. It was only recently, in the last six months or so, that Clive had got wind of the markets where food and other items could be traded, so every now and again they would visit these with produce or whatever else they had to offer. Already, the 'economy' – however rudimentary – was getting back on its feet it would seem, society finding a way of rebuilding what had been destroyed. This also proved an opportunity to touch base with other burgeoning communities.
Though they were small in number, maybe thirty people at most (others were much, much smaller), they all got on and were working towards something together. Without Clive's influence and guidance there would have been none of that.
And without his pro-action he would never have met Gwen, who, over the course of time they'd known each other, had become extremely important to him. In the days before the virus, Clive doubted that a woman as good looking and kind – and, let's face it, pretty much perfect – as Gwen would have even looked his way, although she always told him he was wrong. Now, in this bubble, this experiment – a micro community really – he was rapidly becoming her whole world. They'd already 'adopted' a couple of the little ones they'd found on their searches, some no more than five or six, alone and scrabbling about for food or water. But one day, Clive realised, there would come a time when he and Gwen might start a family of their own. They'd even talked about asking Tate to marry them. They weren't the only ones, either. Folk, of all ages, were pairing up, whether it was for companionship, or love, or a human instinct to carry on the species.
Which was why he was out here today, working on turning the tiny village hall into an even tinier school. He was fixing up the place with the help of young Darryl Wade. The lad was barely into his twenties, but had been trained well by his handyman father before he'd died – in the hopes Darryl would take over the family business one day. It was this kind of passing down of skills Clive sought to encourage. The world no longer needed IT experts, estate agents or insurance brokers.
Outside in the sunshine, Clive was sanding down the first set of desk tops. He'd been working hard all morning and was looking forward to the communal dinner they would have outside the local pub, with freshly baked bread (that was one of Gwen's talents) and fresh meat picked up just recently from one of the markets: lamb today, if he wasn't very much mistaken. And as he placed the glasses back on his head, bringing a figure walking towards him into focus, Clive smiled a greeting at Gwen. All things considered, life was good in Hope, and much better than the alternative.
'Hello you,' said Gwen, carrying a tray of blackcurrant juice across from the house they'd picked out together. She looked over at the desks, then at the work he and Darryl had done on the door to the hall. Gwen nodded, suitably impressed. 'Been working hard, I see.'
She placed the tray down and Clive gave her a kiss. She was wearing a flowery summer dress, even though they were barely into the spring, her auburn hair loose, flowing over her shoulders, and Clive thought that he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He slipped a hand around her waist and she placed an arm over his shoulder. They both looked at the hall, knowing that in years to come it would probably become the true embodiment of Hope.
'Who's looking after Sally and Luke?' Sally was their little girl's real name, Luke was the one they'd given their boy when they found the poor mite.
'June's got them; they're happy enough playing out in the garden. Where's Darryl?'
'Inside; he's taking a look at the rafters. Apparently there was quite a bit of rot up in the roof. That's something else which'll need sorting out.'
'There's time,' Gwen told him.
'There is,' he agreed, kissing her again. 'For all kinds of things. Gwen, I-' There was a noise in the distance that made him pause. 'Do you hear that?'
Gwen cocked an ear. 'Sounds like an engine.'
Clive listened again. 'Sounds like lots of engines.'
'Might just be someone passing by up on the main road,' she offered, but her expression told him she was worried. They never had visitors to Hope – not even from the other communities they'd made contact with – and that was the way they preferred it.
The noise was drawing closer.
'Does… does that sound like a motorbike to you?' asked Gwen.
Clive took her hand and ran down the street, rounding the corner. The people of Hope had come out of their houses to see what was happening. Andy and Nathan had heard the racket and ventured down from the upper field. Graham Leicester was approaching from up the street, running towards Clive. 'Men…' he spluttered, out of breath.
But then Clive saw for himself. They rode up the small street behind Graham, just as Clive had done all that time ago when he first came upon this place. There were three on bikes, the rest in jeeps. All wore uniforms, but as they got closer Clive could see they were a mishmash of Army, Navy and Air Force, British and US; obviously stolen. As were the weapons they were brandishing, heavy duty rifles and pistols. Some looked uncomfortable handling them, others looked very much at home. One of the soldiers on the bikes stretched out a leg and kicked Graham over into the dirt when he passed.
It was now that Clive realised his fundamental error. In seeking to gather together people who could make this community flourish, leaving behind the violent and the psychopathic, he'd left this place wide open to attack from the same. Hope had no defences whatsoever, and they'd been too reliant on its isolated location to shield them from the outside world. Now that outside world had found them, and they were about to pay the price.
Several men climbed from the jeeps, their boots stomping the street. And their apparent leader, his paunch so big he only just fit inside, got out too. Andy ran at one of the soldiers, swinging a hoe, knocking the man to the ground. For his trouble he was hit in the back of the head with the butt of a rifle. He went down hard and stayed there.
The man with the belly waved his hand, giving the signal to open fire. There was some hesitation, but then muzzles flashed, spitting bullets at the cottages which housed the people of Hope. These men didn't appear to care whether there were folk inside or not. Windows shattered, walls were pock-marked. The sign they'd made came crashing down to the ground. From somewhere Clive heard screaming, but couldn't tell if it came from a man, woman or a child. Gwen held on to him, and he pressed her head into his shoulder, covering her ears.
How could I have been so stupid?
The fat man gave another signal and Clive watched as small objects were tossed at the cottages, and at the pub. Seconds later, the first of the grenades exploded. There followed two or three more, drawing out the rest of the inhabitants of this place. They fell to the ground, covering their heads. Behind Clive and Gwen, Darryl appeared, his mouth gaping open. Then Clive saw June with the kids; she had Luke in her arms, crying, while Sally was holding her hand.
This isn't what I promised them.
Their leader held up a hand for them to cease, simultaneously pulling a pistol from a holster with the other. 'That's enough,' he shouted. Clive detected a slight Hispanic accent when the man spoke. He walked down the
