Afterlight (41 page)

Better still, to have faith that God was looking down on Jacob and Leona, keeping them safe and well on the mainland and would one day soon lead them back home to her.

Her tired knees creaked on the second deck landing as a fresh gust of wind toyed with her cardigan and tickled the untidy tufts of her shorn hair.

She could hand the reins over to Valérie Latoc, let him organise things from now on; assign, rotate and shuffle the work schedules so that everyone was kept happy, the sleeping arrangements, the water runs, arbitrate over all the petty disputes and squabbles, make sure everyone was turning up each mealtime and getting a fair food allocation, as well as taking his turn shovelling human shit, scooping up bird poop, carrying heavy water butts from one terrace to the next, endlessly watering and nurturing their valuable crops.

She grabbed the guard rail and pulled her way to the top of the final flight of steps, stepping onto the top deck, cluttered with snaking lubeoil pipes, sump tanks and the flat-topped cooler units; a lunar landscape of blistered white paint and seam lines of rust. He was on the flat top of one of the cooler units, using it like a small stage. He was standing in the shadow of one of the towering twin vent stacks, the breeze playing with his long dark ringlets as he engaged an audience of listeners, perched amongst fat pipes, exhaust outlets and gauge panel cabinets, hanging onto his every word.

My God . . .

She realised it could be a scene from the Bible; that’s how the wily bastard was staging it. She was reminded of some old movie; a sermon on the mount, a young Robert Powell as an implausibly photogenic Jesus promising the meek that they’d inherit the whole shebang. She recognised young Edward amongst the audience, perfectly cast as the meek, smiling contentedly, perhaps even understanding some of what Latoc was saying.

But the scene transformed into satire as she recalled one of Andy’s favourite movies:
The Life of Brian.
She recalled one of the Pythons in the audience mis-hearing the phrase ‘peace-makers’, and asking what was so bloody special about the ‘cheese-makers’. Why the heck
they
should inherit the earth.

She looked again at Valérie Latoc and this time he didn’t look like Jesus. In fact he looked no more like a prophet than any number of orange-tanned television evangelists she’d seen on cable. No more like a prophet than any number of self-improvement gurus peddling their own brand of psychological snake oil. No more like a prophet than some oily timeshare or kitchen salesman.

‘Mr Latoc,’ she called out, her words whipped from her mouth by the stiff breeze.

Heads turned to look at her. So many familiar faces she was used to being greeted by, now distant and guarded - strangers to her.

He shaded his eyes from the sun as he turned to look at her.

‘Jennifer,’ he smiled pleasantly. ‘I presume you’ve come to discuss the sleeping plans?’

‘You’re damned right I have.’

 

 

 

V
alérie stared at her across the pile of blankets and cushions. He’d only been using these rooms on the top deck for the last few days, but had already managed to make some grubby rooms that had once been labelled the ‘System Monitoring Suite’ into a space that looked comfortable, inviting even - almost like some Bedouin tent.

‘We need the room,’ he replied. ‘There were too many coming to pray with me on that small rig where you were keeping me. Here we have room for as many as want to come, yes?’

She suspected his calm, even voice and that supercilious smile was his attempt to goad her.

‘Yes. But you’re kicking people off this platform, you can’t do that. Where people are bunked is down to me. And the way I do it, is to consult with them. See who wants to be where and—’

‘Those who need my guidance,
need to be right here,
Jennifer. And those who don’t, well . . .’ he spread his hands, ‘there is lots of room elsewhere, yes?’

Jenny could quite easily have slapped that face. No, not slapped, she’d bunch her hand first and hope to knock out a couple of teeth.

She took a breath. ‘The thing is, that’s
their
choice. I’m not having you throw out people you don’t want around you and moving in those you do.’ Despite her best intentions, she could hear anger creeping into her voice. ‘I’m not having that, do you understand?’

He smiled. ‘The thing is, Jennifer, you are losing them.’

‘What?’

‘These people. They need a spiritual direction, a guide. They are lost and frightened.’

‘What? They’re not
frightened
! Look, I came here, I led my family and others here because it’s safe. No one’s bloody well frightened here.’

‘Yes, you did that. You made them safe, and trust me when I say God is grateful for all you have done for—’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, cut that crap!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t give me the God thing, because I just don’t buy it.’

‘I am sorry,’ he sighed. Silent for a moment, his eyes studied her intently. ‘The truth is they need more than this. More than safety, more than food. They need purpose.’

‘They have a purpose!’

‘No, what they have is just existence. They eat, they drink, they sleep. That is all. No one can live on that for ever. I have seen other people on my travels, Jennifer. Other communities like yours . . . maybe not so large. People who did not allow God in.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Eventually, they wither and die.’

She thought she saw the glint of a tear on one of his cheeks and wondered if he was so deluded that it was actually genuine.

‘If it was my choice,’ he continued, ‘perhaps God should have come and spoken to
you,
not me. After all, it was you worked so hard to create this safe haven, in fairness it should be you that leads the people. But I am afraid this is how it is, God chose me.’

‘God
spoke
to you, huh?’

He ignored her. ‘Your people are beginning to understand this place is . . . is
special.
That it fits into a grander plan.’

‘Right. Which is what?’

‘The crash, the end of the oil age, the wars, the riots, the starvation, ten years of darkness - it was all part of God’s scheme. To clear away the old and start again.’

She laughed. ‘Valérie, you know and I know that’s bullshit. Shall I tell you what I think?’

He spread his hands. ‘Please.’

‘I think you came on to these rigs and you saw an opportunity. You saw a safe and isolated environment. You saw that we could feed ourselves indefinitely, and that there aren’t a lot of other men, are there? Not a lot of competition? You’ve seen a lot of vulnerable women looking for something more . . . you’ve seen all that and decided to make the most of it.’

He shook his head. ‘You have me wrong, Jennifer.’

‘I think I’ve got you just about right. I don’t fucking trust you!’

‘Trust?’ He smiled. ‘If you want someone
not
to trust I have heard things about your Walter that concern me.’

That threw her. She wasn’t expecting that. ‘What?’

‘Walter,’ he said again.

‘What’s—What about Walter?’

‘He has always been very close to you, yes?’

‘Since I first met him,’ she replied. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Close to you . . . close to your daughter. Close to
Hannah.’

Jenny angrily snatched a cushion in one hand, wondering what she was going to do with it. Throw it at him?

‘What? What’s
Hannah
got to do with anything?!’

‘You remember the day she was missing?’ continued Valérie. ‘You remember he did not want anyone to search that generator room, yes?’

All of a sudden she could see where he was going with that. ‘Don’t you dare say another fucking word! Don’t you even think of trying that with me. Do you hear?’

Jenny dropped the cushion and took several steps towards the door, before turning to face him. ‘Walter’s a bloody good man. I’ve relied on him for years! He’s done so much for us. Don’t try and—’

‘Jennifer, I am telling you what people are thinking. That is all.’

‘I came here to discuss these evictions! And that, Valérie, is stopping right now!’

He said nothing.

‘And the mealtimes will be sat according to work groups. Do you understand!’ she added. ‘We are not splitting this place up into your kingdom and mine!’

He shrugged. ‘It’s too late.’

She turned for the doorway.

‘Jennifer,’ Valérie called out after her.

She stopped in the corridor outside.

‘You are going to lose these people to me, Jennifer . . . and to God. Then you will be alone. Just you and Walter.’

She turned round. ‘There’s four hundred and fifty people here. How many come to listen to you? A hundred?’

‘More each day,’ he replied almost apologetically. ‘Soon it will be all.’

Jenny felt rage bubbling up and out of control. She knew it was going to come out as a shrill bark before she’d even opened her mouth. ‘Right! That’s it!! I want you off this rig, NOW!!’

He said nothing.

‘I WANT YOU TO FUCKING LEAVE, NOW!!’ Her voice rang off the metal walls beside her, down the passageway and out into the space of the compression module’s gutted main chamber.

His reply was measured and quiet. ‘No. I have work to do here.’

She turned and headed down the passage and out onto a walkway that overlooked the cavernous interior of the module. She saw pale oval faces peering out from a jungle of hammocks and bunks, between washing lines strewn from one side to the other, from the floor, up three storeys to the ceiling. Eyes followed her as she followed the railed walkway to a door that led outside onto an external staircase.

 

 

 

S
noop sat down at Maxwell’s beckon; the leather sofa creaking softly. Through the thick double doors of his quarters they could hear some of the boys whooping with delight as they scored a goal. They were kicking a football around on the arena’s main floor. A game usually ended with a punch-up. So far, it seemed, they’d managed without it turning into a fight.

He could see there was something on the old man’s mind. ‘What’s this about, Chief?’

Maxwell offered him a thin smile and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. ‘The future, Edward. The future.’

Something flipped uncomfortably inside him. The last time he’d seen the old bastard looking like this was last year, when he’d awoken in the middle of the night and wandered into his quarters at the top of the arena, away from the boys. He’d ordered Snoop’s girl to dress and leave immediately. Once alone, he’d casually wondered what Snoop’s opinion on some sort of a collective suicide might be. Something potent stirred into the evening meal; no one need know.

He’d been drinking heavily that night. And it had been the first time Snoop’s confidence in Maxwell had been shaken.

The old fucker had passed out shortly afterwards and he’d had the boys take him back down and put him to bed. Next morning, it was like the conversation had never happened.

‘What you got in mind?’ Snoop asked warily.

Maxwell looked across the coffee table at him. ‘We’re moving.’

‘Moving?’

He nodded. ‘You heard me right, Edward.’

‘But . . . we got our shit sorted here, right, Chief?’

Maxwell shook his head. ‘No, our shit here, I’m afraid, is not sorted.’ He smiled. ‘You know that, Edward. Come on. You’re a smart lad, you know that just as well as me.’

‘We growin’ all types of shit out front and stuff.’ Even as he blurted that, Snoop knew it was empty bluster. What they were growing was nowhere near enough to feed them all. It padded out the tasteless gunk that was served up each day; it was definitely slowing down the rate at which they were eating their way through the countless pallets of tinned and dried food packs, stored down on the mezzanine floor. But it wasn’t enough to feed them.

‘Edward, I did another stock take a fortnight ago. It’s not good. We’ll have to start evicting people soon.’

Snoop was silent for a moment. ‘S’really
that
bad, man?’

Maxwell sighed. ‘Edward, you’ve been downstairs with me. You know what it’s like.’

Snoop nodded. A growing sea of empty wooden pallets, flattened cardboard boxes, tossed aside sheets of plastic wrapping. He hated going down there. He always emerged with a queasy sense of unease in his gut; as if the world’s future was measured by how much of the floor was still occupied by squat towers of untapped polythene-wrapped supplies. He let the Chief do the number-crunching, the worrying. The man had a plan, right?

‘We have about enough food to last into next year. Then we’ll be left with whatever’s being grown outside.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yes, shit. But that can’t be such a big surprise for you, Edward?’

He stroked his chin. ‘Didn’t think it was
that
bad, tha’s all.’

‘It’s not just the food; the fuel for the generators. It’s nearly all gone, Edward. There won’t be too many more party nights for our boys.’

‘But we got fuel in them barges out back, yeah?’

‘No, it’s an entirely different grade of diesel. You can’t pour that in, it’ll clog everything up.’

Snoop folded his arms unhappily. ‘Why the fuck I learnin’ this shit now, man?’

Maxwell stared sharply at him. ‘Talk to me like that again and you’ll be out, Edward, do you understand?’