they’d taken from a working model of a catapult they’d found stored around the back of the museum, the feet of which were to be sunk into the four holes before the two frames were connected to make something that would hopefully resemble a child’s swing. That was the plan, anyway.
“Want a hand?” Ainsworth asked Lorna.
“You’ve got your own hole to dig,” she said. “No thanks.”
“I’m almost done. You’ve barely started.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“We could swap sides if the ground’s too hard over there. I don’t mind.”
“Did you not hear her?” Field sighed. “Fucking moron.”
“I said I’m fine,” Lorna snapped, panting with the effort of the dig.
“Just trying to help, that’s all,” Ainsworth said.
“Well, I don’t need any help. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the 1970s. Women are able to dig holes, you know.”
“Bloody hell, you’re touchy today, aren’t you?”
“Leave her alone, Mark,” Harte said.
“And what are you, her boyfriend?” Ainsworth sneered.
“Get a grip,” Harte said and he carried on digging. Lorna dropped her shovel. “You okay?”
“Going to get a drink,” she said. “Back in a minute.”
The three men watched her disappear. Ainsworth caught Harte’s eye and grinned at him.
“She’s great, isn’t she? Cracking pair of tits.”
“Damn right,” Field sniggered.
“For fuck’s sake,” Harte sighed, “is that all you’ve got to say about her? Lorna’s got me out of more scrapes than I can remember. She’s a fucking diamond. Bloody hell, the whole world’s fallen apart and all you can say about her is she’s got nice tits. There are better ways of assessing a person’s worth, you know.”
Jackson watched Harte and Ainsworth from a short distance away, feeling unexpectedly uneasy. Their conversation sounded alien and out of place. Ainsworth was talking the way people
“Hold it steady,” Charlie grumbled.
“Sorry.”
Jackson had been supporting the top of one of the A-frames, trying to keep it steady as Charlie attempted to drill through a wooden post with a hand-drill which looked so old it could have come from the museum. They’d had to cannibalize and improvise to find enough materials, lashing the sections of wood together with tow ropes they’d found in the back of a truck.
Charlie grunted with effort, changed his grip and his stance, then began drilling again. His round, childlike face was an uncharacteristically flustered red, and sweat poured from him. He was almost through, though, and he kept working. Another few minutes’ effort and the tip of the drill bit finally poked through the other side.
“Bloody hell,” he said, wiping his brow. “Half an hour, that took.”
“I know,” said Jackson.
“Used to be able to cut a hole like that in seconds.”
“I know,” he said again. “We need to source some generators when we next get out of here. Try and get a decent power supply.”
He looked up again and saw that Jas was walking past, heading in the direction of the kitchen. He stopped and looked at what they were doing—the digging and the frame building—then shook his head and walked on.
“You’re not going to help then?” Jackson shouted after him.
“Nope,” he replied, stopping again.
“But you’ll be happy to use the water if we get this working.”
“You won’t get water out of there.”
“We might.”
“Come on, Jackson,” he said, “get over yourself. You know as well as I do, you’re only doing this to keep yourself busy. Same as all your bloody cleaning rotas.”
“We have to start somewhere, Jas.”
“Do we?”
“Of course we do.”
“Well I think you’re overcomplicating things. And I think you’re doing it intentionally. Water flows down, not up. It’s easier to collect rainwater than to try dragging it up from the ground. We need to build rain-catchers, not climbing frames.”
“Okay, okay…” he said, walking up to Jas so their conversation couldn’t easily be overheard. “So I’m trying to keep people busy. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Except it looks like you’re the one doing all the work.” He nodded toward Harte, Field, and Ainsworth, who were now leaning up against their shovels, watching Lorna coming back toward them.
“Maybe I am. Anyway, it’s not just me. I just want to keep everyone sharp and get us ready so we can clear out of here after the winter and make a fresh start.”
“What’s there to be ready for? What do you think’s going to happen? I’m guessing we’ll all just wander off in different directions and forget about all of this. That’s what I’m planning. As soon as the bodies are gone I’m going to find myself a decent-sized house, get plenty of supplies in, then do as little as possible for as long as I can.”
“And you’ll be happy with that?”
“I reckon I will.”
“There’s got to be more to life than that, though.”
“Has there? Sounds pretty idyllic to me.”
“But we don’t all have that freedom, do we? What about Aiden? He’s only twelve. We can’t leave him to fend for himself.”
“He’ll be okay. He won’t have much choice. He’ll grow up fast enough. Anyway, there’s a few mother hens here who’d be more than willing to take him under their wings.”
“There might be other kids.”
“You think?”
“I don’t know, and that’s the point. We can’t just split up and look after ourselves at the expense of everyone else. If we want the human race to survive then we—”
“Who said anything about that?”
“What?”
“All this ‘human race’ bullshit. It isn’t my concern, mate. I’ve tried all that and it doesn’t work. It’s over. We’re too far gone. You should stop stressing and get used to relaxing. We don’t need to dig for water, ’cause there’s millions of bottles of the stuff in the supermarket up and down the country, just waiting to be taken. And there’s plenty more besides—lakes, rivers, reservoirs…”
“So what about food?”
“Same. Just keep looting.”
“But it’ll all run out eventually and then—”
“—and then it won’t be my problem. I’ll be long gone. Dead and buried.”
“Well, not buried, not if you’re alone. You’ll die in your armchair, feet up in front of your TV that doesn’t work.”
“Just dead, then. So what? I won’t care. Point is, Jackson, I’ve already lost everything that mattered. I worked my bollocks off for my family, and I did everything I could for them. They meant more to me than anything else in the world, you know. But none of that meant anything because, in the end, there was fuck all I could do to help them. I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t ease the pain. Bloody hell, I wasn’t even there for them when they died. I was on my own. I was a security guard, looking after a new-built shopping center that wasn’t even going to open for another month, and I should have been at home. Seems to me, the harder I’ve tried since then, the more fucked-up things have got.
“So I’ve made a decision and I’ve stopped. I’m not even going to try anymore. And if you want to waste your time doing stuff like this, then you go for it. Just don’t expect me to help.”
