Aftermath

“You don’t have to. You’ll have the rope to help you, remember?”

Harte looked up at Harry, way above both of them now, scrambling up the sheer face of the wall at lizard-like speed and without a damn care. It had all sounded deceptively simple when they were back in Chadwick making plans—get across the dead by foot, scale the wall and get into the castle, round up everyone who wants to leave, find a vehicle big enough for them all, then get the fuck out of the castle before anyone notices. But plans like this always sound okay until you’re there, he said to himself. Crossing the dead had been a nightmare in itself, and as for climbing the wall … he honestly didn’t know if he could make it. If Harry slipped and fell … it didn’t bear thinking about. There’d be no way he could survive and no way they could help him. He remembered Steve Morecombe who’d died as a result of an accident he should have made a full recovery from.

Bloody hell, and this was the easy part of the plan. He was seriously doubting if they were going to make this.

*   *   *

Harry was more than two-thirds of the way up now. His arms ached—he hadn’t done anything like this for a while—but he was able to ignore the pain because he knew it wouldn’t last much longer. He felt for another handhold, and managed to find a narrow gap between two huge chunks of stone which had been carved and dropped into position hundreds of years ago. Now’s not the time to get distracted, he told himself as he thought about how many years these massive blocks had remained in place and all that had happened to the world around them in that time. Even if he made it through tonight and lasted another fifty years, his entire life would be little more than the blink of an eye in comparison to the centuries this place had been here.

He eventually reached the top of the wall, peering over at first, then pulling his legs over, keeping low so that he wouldn’t be spotted from inside. He lay flat on his stomach and looked down into the castle grounds. There was the cesspit Harte had told him about—he could smell it from up here—and near to it lay an unmistakable shape wrapped in a tarpaulin. It was a body, no question about it. He glanced back in the other direction and gave Michael and Harte a quick thumbs-up to let them know he was okay and he hadn’t been seen. Bloody hell, all that talk of James Bond … he was actually starting to feel like a spy. But spying was yet another redundant profession now there were so few people left alive.

Harry looked along the inside of the wall in bothons. Several trucks had been parked a short distance behind him. They’d make this immeasurably easier. As well as giving him something at a convenient height to lower himself onto, one of the trucks would also be a perfect anchor for him to tie the rope to. More than that, if he could get hold of the keys, any of the vehicles he could see would be perfect for getting people out of the castle compound. He looked back at Michael and Harte again, still standing in the same place, still waiting for his signal, then gestured in the direction in which he planned to move.

38

Between them, Harry and Michael helped Harte down onto the roof of the truck. The three of them lay flat, so as not to be seen. It was past eight, although the day had been long and tumultuous and it felt like the middle of the night. The moon was still out, but vast swathes of the camp inside the castle remained hidden in shadow, the tall encircling wall blocking out what little light there was. The only other illumination came from the windows of a couple of the caravans at the far end by the gatehouse, and from the glowing remains of a small, untended fire. Fortunately the bitter cold seemed to have kept everyone inside their shelters tonight, hiding away like hibernating animals.

“Do you know who wants out and can you make them known to us somehow?” Michael whispered. “Problem is, we don’t know who’s who.”

“I’ve got a good idea.”

“So where are they likely to be? In those caravans?”

“I guess so,” he replied. “There’s a classroom, a cafe, and a few other rooms over by the gatehouse, but I don’t see much activity up there. They must be in the vans. We need to be careful, though. Don’t want to find ourselves knocking on Jas’s door by mistake.”

“We should split up,” Harry suggested. “Go recce the place out, then meet back up over here and decide on a plan of action when we know where everyone is. Just stay out of sight and don’t get caught.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Harte mumbled. Did they think he was stupid?

The three men climbed down off the truck, lowering themselves as far as they could then dropping the last meter or so onto the gravel. Dressed in dark clothes, and with hats and scarves intentionally obscuring their faces, they moved off in different directions. Michael took the long way around to the various prefabricated rooms near to the gatehouse, but found no one there as Harte had suspected. He thought the place looked surprisingly well organized. If it hadn’t been for the wreck of the bus in the middle of the courtyard and the signs of fire damage to one of the caravans, all would have seemed well.

Harry went in the opposite direction, checking out the area around the cesspit. He noticed there were two bodies—the one wrapped in cloth he’d seen from the top of the wall, and another buried in a shallow grave with a rudimentary wooden cross hammered into the ground at one end. So despite everything I’ve heard, Harry thought, these people aren’t total savages. He ducked ot of sight when he thought he heard someone coming, hiding behind a wall where a trench urinal had been dug, the smell so strong it made his eyes water. Satisfied no one was there, he crept back out into the open and worked his way back around to the trucks where he’d first come in.

Harte made a quick dash across a patch of open space and slipped between two of the caravans. Inside one he could hear voices—it sounded like Kieran and several others, but he couldn’t be sure. He turned his attention to the van next door and stood up on tiptoes. Through a crack in the curtains he could see Lorna curled up on a narrow bed, but this wasn’t the van she usually slept in. And there was Zoe, sitting in a corner with her back against the wall. There was Sue, and Driver too. Bingo. This was what he was after. He turned and ran back to find the others.

Harte found Harry hiding in the back of one of the trucks. Michael returned seconds later.

“Well?” Harry asked.

“They’re in the caravans like we thought,” Harte explained.

“Easy to get to?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“So once we’ve got them,” Michael said, “how do we get them out of here.”

Harry tapped the side of the truck and dangled a set of keys in front of him. “They were left in the ignition,” he explained. “Very convenient.”

“So what’s the plan? Just get everyone we can loaded into this truck and drive out of here?”

“It’ll work as long as they don’t start shooting this time.”

“Shooting?” Harry said. “What kind of weapons have they got.”

“A couple of hunting rifles,” Harte explained. “Nothing too serious.”

“Nothing too serious? Jesus.”

“All right,” Michael said, “there’s nothing we can do about it, just be on the lookout. So assuming we get everyone together, how do we get out of this place? I didn’t want to get too close to the gate. I thought they’d have guards there.”

“There probably is someone watching,” Harte agreed. “Up in the gatehouse, I expect. We should leave it till the last minute. There’s no lock or anything like that, just a wooden crossbeam. Get rid of that, then you just pull the two sides of the gate open.”

“Cool,” Harry said. “Sounds straightforward. Are we ready then?”

Harte immediately began to backpedal. “What, now?”

“Yes, now,” Michael sighed. “What did you think we were going to do? Wait for the sun to come up so we can see what we’re doing? Bloody hell, Harte.”

“Okay, okay…”

“You and I will go and see if we can get these people out. Harry, you get in the front of the truck and wait for us.”