Out of Time (32 page)

Rob and Margaret try to break their bonds but they have been firmly tied. They are too weak to struggle effectively.

‘Perhaps they’re going to leave us to starve to death. Perhaps this is the end,’ Margaret says.

They lean close to one another for support and fall into an uneasy slumber.

They are woken by the sound of footsteps outside, a fumbling at the lock of the door and moonlight outlining the silhouette of a large man, the same one they saw in the dungeon. They shrink back. He puts his finger to his lips to indicate they should not speak. Then he kneels down beside them, cuts their bonds and whispers,

‘Don’t be afraid. I’ve come to rescue you and take you to the others, Ian and Susie and two other children.’

Rob and Margaret can hardly believe what they are hearing. They had long ago given Ian and Susie up for dead but they dare say nothing. Is this man really going to help them or is he laying a trap?’

‘I am William,’ the man whispers, ‘and I am a friend. Look, I’ve brought you some food and water. Don’t eat too much in one go, you’re not used to it.’

The two children look at him suspiciously. No one has been kind to them for a long time and they are uncertain how to react but the tempting look and smell of the food is too much for them. Despite his warning they wolf down what William has brought. He does not have the heart to stop them. He is talking quietly and explains that they cannot stay where they are for long, another day and a night at the most. He will come back for them tomorrow night and take them to the house where the others are. They must rest and be very quiet. Getting them through the town without being discovered is going to be hazardous.

He produces more food and water from a bag and leaves as silently as he came.

*

Joe noticed for the first time the drawn and griefstricken looks on the others’ faces and with a jolt of guilt realised he had been self-indulgent, had isolated himself without considering that Kathryn’s death meant not just that of a loved and cherished person but a death-knell to the community. Only four people remained of the brave band that had first settled here. One more attack by the townspeople and none would be left.

One night he surprised himself by asking,

‘Why don’t you leave here and settle somewhere else, further away from the town?’

‘We’ve thought about it,’ Otto said.

But they no longer had the will. Too many years, too many deaths, their sense of defeat following Kathryn’s loss too severe. The energy, Joe realised with an ache in his heart, had gone out of them. Even Meredith had lost his forcefulness and enthusiasm and no longer immersed himself in abstract studies. Randolph absented himself as often as he could and Otto sat in the kitchen, shoulders hunched, eyes half closed; Belinda had gone mute, speaking only when necessary. She and Randolph had drifted apart again. They were all in a parlous state of inanition and Joe feared that they were sinking into one of their sleeping periods; but they struggled on.

Conversely, their weakness became his strength for it seemed to him that he alone could save them from terminal decline; but he was frequently overcome by a sense of alienation, a rising doubt that hovered over every action. It reached its peak one windswept day as Joe walked behind the oxen, a firm grip on the double bladed plough, holding it to a straight furrow. This was a skill of which he was inordinately proud and, looking back at the long, shiny rows of upturned earth, birds scavenging in its rich profusion for worms and insects, he experienced a dislocation which tore him from the landscape. He felt the past two years slipping away as the smell of fresh, upturned earth assailed him with its somber memory. He left the row unfinished and fled from the field. Randolph was nearby, for they never left him too long alone, and he finished it.

He could no longer stay. This was no voluntary decision but a compulsion to flee, to leave this section of his life behind, consign it to the past; but the past, as Kathryn had once said, is not so easily shed. It had not finished with him.

In the long hours of sleepless nights, looking back, from his sudden expulsion from the known world to the present, his life took on the guise of a predetermined journey, himself as a wanderer on a quest, not for the Holy Grail as in days of old, but for a more indefinable prize. What it was he could not tell nor where to find it but he had come to believe in destiny and an irrational but fortifying sense that there was a purpose to be served.

Increasingly, the image of the skipping child returned, teasing him again with the possibility of her rescue, once planned on his intended foray for the drug. It became now an end in itself. A new, vibrant life might restore the community and bring back the energy that had abandoned the group since Kathryn’s death.

Otto said to him one evening as they sat alone in the kitchen,

‘You want to leave.’

‘Yes.’

Otto nodded.

‘Your business is no longer with us.’

‘It is in a way.’

Joe explained his plan.

He told the others of his intention, pointing out the necessity of augmenting the community with new members. To do nothing but wait for the next attack, even if it were several years away, anticipated defeat. He had elected to spearhead action before it was too late. He would bring the skipping girl back and other children and young people if he could.

‘Others have been and not returned,’ Randolph pointed out.

‘I know the risks. One man alone may have more chance of infiltrating the town. I am not planning to attack, just find the girl and bring her here.’

Though of this he was not even sure. His sorrowing had turned into a deep and bitter anger, a burning desire for revenge. This too, like the rescuing of the child, was in the realm of fantasy, but it possessed him with overwhelming force. He was not master of his actions but their servant.

They had all known of the inevitability of his leaving. They had no hold on Joe. His world, his fate, lay elsewhere and they understood the urgent need for alteration to his life; but they mourned his going. They had travelled a long way together.

The parting from Meredith was going to be the most painful. There was so much to say, but it was impossible to say any of it. Joe admired Meredith, respected him, loved him. They had drawn close long before Kathryn’s death and since, in the desolate days that followed, Meredith had been unobtrusively at his side, sharing his suffering with an empathy not available to the others. They were bound by their love for Kathryn and for one another. Joe feared that, when the moment came, all the emotion he had been suppressing would burst its bonds and he would weep again.

He packed his few belongings. His Gap jumper still lay under the mattress, the last remnant of his old life. He picked it up and stuffed it in his bag together with supplies prepared by Otto.

He set out early one morning, he shook hands with each one in turn. They kissed him on the cheek, a rare demonstration on their part. Belinda flung her arms round him. To Meredith he said goodbye in as nonchalant a manner as he could muster.

Meredith shook him by the hand. He appeared unmoved.

‘Goodbye. Good luck. You never know when we’ll meet again.’

‘Perhaps. If I find the child.’

He did not count his chances.

They watched him go with sadness in their hearts. They felt dreadfully alone. Joe did not look back. He could not bear their desolation.

It was blustery and cold. High clouds scudded across the sky. He warmed up as he swiftly retraced his steps towards the river, anxious to put himself as far as possible from the house. It was tempting to turn back, not leave Kathryn lying alone in her cold grave.

He reached the river by evening, lit a fire and made camp. He sat by the flowing water and wondered what would happen to him in this new phase of life; or was it death? He thought back on his time with the community for, among those friends, in that rambling house, in the fields and woods, above all with his beloved Kathryn, Joe had begun to understand who he was. It was as though he had always worn ill-fitting outer garments which now he had shed. He owed this world a debt greater than he could ever repay but without Kathryn it had no meaning. And if he was returned to his own? He would be nothing but a stranger. He belonged nowhere.

The clearness of the air made the scene tremble, or was it tears coming unbidden to his eyes? The gentle flow of water, the wild life settling for the night along its banks, birds flying to their nests, were the only sounds to disturb the tranquillity. He could hear the earth breathing to the rhythm of his heartbeats, he felt its harmony, he understood that this landscape had become an indissoluble part of himself, his spiritual home. He knew it would sustain him forever.

He sat for a long while until night settled. When he pulled food out of his bag for his evening meal he was startled by a rustle, too loud for a small animal to make, possibly wild boar. They could be fierce and he whipped out his knife and crouched behind a nearby bush, ready to spring.

‘Hang on a minute,’ a voice said.

‘Meredith!’

Joe was astounded to see him. He had not expected anyone to follow.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Wasn’t going to let you go alone.’

Joe clasped him in his arms. Never had he been so happy to see anyone though he at once assumed that Meredith would accompany him only as far as the cave, perhaps a little further.

Of this notion he was swiftly disabused.

‘I’m coming with you. I mean all the way.’

‘But the risks...’

‘You’re taking them.’

‘It’s different for me.’

‘Why?’

He gave no answer but he knew what it was.

‘What about the others, on their own? There’s only three now.’

‘It’s been discussed. We made the decision unanimously. They’ll manage and you can’t rescue this child single-handed, never mind others. And…’

‘Yes?’

‘I want revenge. We’ve suffered too long.’

‘Yes,’ Joe said thoughtfully, ‘so do I. I’ve discovered the desire to kill.’

They sat companionably round the fire and ate their food, tasting now like a feast.

‘What if we get killed? What will happen to the few left behind?’ Joe asked again.

It was a risk the remnants of the community was prepared to take. They had held a meeting while Joe was out hunting to decide what was to be done once he had gone. It was a dismal prospect, these few survivors clinging to their hold on life. They felt diminished. Their only hope was for Joe to succeed and bring back young people to swell their ranks; but they knew how unlikely this was.

‘We’ve got to hold on,’ Randolph had said. ‘Once we have gone…’

‘There’s a prophecy,’ Meredith had told them, ‘Kathryn had a vision on the night of the eclipse.’

They had listened with rapt attention. They had not scoffed.

‘You must go with him,’ Otto had said.

‘That’s what I wanted to propose to you.’

It was agreed. Joe would be left to set out alone and Meredith would follow. Otto, though he forbore to point it out, perceived that the course of events was impelled by the vision itself, a circular, self-fulfilling prophecy. He did not know, though he may have guessed, the extent to which it had been the author of Kathryn’s death.

They trekked to the cave next day. The thrush had left its nest. Joe missed its song but the tenacious tree had grown, its roots ribbing the small promontory. They cut bracken for bedding, hunted for food and built a fire. Joe was back in his old territory. He felt it enclose him in a warm embrace that made the prospect of leaving difficult. This Meredith understood. He too needed time to recoup before setting out on their expedition. They both had much to think about.

HIS epiphany by the river heralded the end of one section of his life, the beginning of another. Joe needed to adjust. He needed breathing space, a time in no man’s land. The cave provided it.

They were sitting on the promontory on their second morning thinking their own thoughts when Meredith turned to Joe and said,

‘Look at the waterfall behind you.’

Joe turned but found nothing unusual in the steady cascade of water trickling down the cliff face.

‘Now blink your eyes.’

Had Meredith gone mad?

‘I’ve got a theory....’

One of his mathematical conundrums. Joe smiled at him indulgently.

‘About how you got here.’

This brought Joe sharply out of his reverie.

‘It goes like this. The waterfall, it’s not one continuous stream but a succession of drops. OK?’

‘Yeah.’

“So, it’s fragmented. Like time.’

‘Go on!’

‘Between the drops are other drops, hundreds of them, thousands. You can go on dividing them indefinitely. Between each one is the possibility of elsewhere.’

He paused.

‘Look at it another way. You can go for hours without knowing that you’re blinking regularly. Disturb the rhythm and you notice. Between the blinks…’

‘You could move into another world.’

‘That’s it. Time is not what it seems - it lets two worlds share it. Perhaps more than two. An infinite number.’