There was in fact one other phenomenon of these 'natural' deaths to which only Betty was a chance witness and of which she could not bring herself to tell even Philip: a last-minute return of sanity. It was she who discovered the shelterer in the barn. Philip was a hundred metres away, on armed guard, and Tonia was near him. Betty, needing a bucket, had gone to the barn alone - breaking the rules a little but all was quiet (the madmen were usually heard before they were seen) and she had an automatic in her belt. She came across the man without warning, when she was almost on him, lying foetally curled in the hay. He was unmistakably a madman and her hand flew to her gun, but he did not move, merely stared at her, and Betty (breaking the rules again) hesitated. After a few seconds, the man smiled, said 'Hullo there
!'
in a calm friendly voice, closed his eyes and died.
Betty somehow knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he was dead. She was so certain that she put away her gun and knelt beside him, bursting into tears for the first time since the earthquake. Philip heard her sobs and came running. When he found her with the body, he helped her up, soothing her, saying 'I know, love, it's bloody
...
I know
...
I know
...'
again and again.
No, darling, you don't, she thought as she clung to him; not this new heart-breaking thing. And I'm not going to tell you. I hope you never find out. One of us is enough.
Over the next few days, the number of discovered bodies increased and the number of attacks grew fewer. At last the attacks ceased altogether. The Madness was over. They carted the last bodies off their land and began, warily and a little increduously, to relax.
Even the BBC, in the first of its brief bulletins that had meant anything at all since the flood warnings, announced that 'reports from Government agents throughout the country' showed that the last of the madmen (whom the bulletins called 'afflicted categories') was dead. It ended with a vaguely worded exhortation to 'those of us who have survived' to form small self-supporting communities and live off the land.
'Thanks very much,' Harry said scornfully as he switched off. "We're doing that already and so's everyone else with any sense, I imagine. Bloody so-called Government!
Whose fault was the Madness anyway? Who didn't tell us about the vinegar masks till it was too bloody late?'
'Did you notice the "Government agents" bit?' Philip asked. 'That was deliberate, I'd say, knowing how Beehive thinks. Plant the idea that Big Brother is watching you, wherever you are.'
'You bet I noticed. . . . Why didn't they tell us something useful, like how many people are still alive, and where? Let their bloody spies earn their living.
...
I
wonder how many
are
alive? We've seen nobody for days, except the Robertsons at the farm down the hill and that small bunch we saw on the move yesterday.'
'Yes
...
I wonder why they didn't stop? They saw us, too.'
'Just being cautious, I expect. People will be,
for quite a while. You can't bl
ame them.'
In the sudden empty peace of the land, the Garth Farm group were not, as it turned out, cautious enough.
Half a kilometre from the farm stood an isolated, practically undamaged cottage to which Betty and Tonia had taken a fancy. Sleeping accommodation at the farm
was
a little cramped and if Philip, Betty and Tonia moved into the cottage, the three single men could move out of the dormitory into warmer bedrooms. The
y
could still cook and feed communally but everyone would have more elbow-room. It seemed a good idea to all concerned and the move was made.
Now that they were able to concentrate on the work, they made fair progress. Harry and his wife, Harry's brother, and Tonia all had some agricultural knowledge and were able to direct the efforts of the others; and the farm, though it was not large and seemed to have been under-capitalized, had been well cared for and the land was in good condition. It would be hard work without fuel to drive a tractor or other machinery, but unlike the vanished owners they would be concerned not with cash crops but with feeding themselves, so they could horse-plough enough for vegetables and increase their livestock -their neighbours the Robertsons, grateful for the gift of one of the Army rifles during the Madness, had already promised help with that. The Robertsons also owned more than thirty hives and had offered them half a dozen. Honey would be vital in the absence of sugar and none of them had any idea if beet-sugar production was possible on a domestic scale or how to set about it if it was. Garth Farm had half a hectare of orchard and a sizeable soft-fruit garden, while the Robertsons had virtually no fruit at all, so the beginnings of a mutually beneficial barter relationship already existed.
All in all, for eleven adults and three children, Garth Farm looked a viable proposition; rather a lot of mouths to feed, perhaps, until their production plan had been working for a season or two - but even that was taken care of; the Robertsons' place was about the same size but only had three adults and two children, so they were only too willing to offer food in exchange for help.
'When you look at it, this place is a bloody godsend,' Harry decided. 'It could have been designed for people like us, in a survival situation.'
There were others who thought so, too, and for years afterwards Philip found it hard to forgive himself for their naivete in believing that they could forget defence once the Madness was over. If they had been a little more realistic, a little more quick-witted, Harry and the others might still be alive.
They had even, in a sense, had warning. A man and a girl on horseback had ridden up to the farm one morning, saying they were looking for relatives who had been somewhere in the area just before the Madness set in. Harry and the others had received them politely and given them a cup of their fast-vanishing tea but had agreed afterwards that they didn't like them much. They had been, as Tonia put it, 'too goddamn nosey', asking questions and peering around with a persistence that seemed somehow out of tune with their assumed friendliness. Everyone was relieved to see the back of them and promptly forgot them, instead of realizing the possible implication that the 'friendly visit' was in fact a reconnaissance for a raid.
Luckily, Philip, Betty and Tonia had not yet moved to the cottage when the visitors came, so that piece was missing from the reconnaissance jigsaw puzzle. It was the missing piece which saved not only them but Harry's children, eleven-year-old Finola and seven-year-old Mark.
They moved into the cottage, as it happened, two days later; and three days after that, just before breakfast-time, the raiders took Garth Farm.
In the cottage, Betty and Tonia were tidying up and Philip was still shaving - ten minutes later, they would have been on their way past the orchard to the farm for the communal breakfast. Philip thought he heard hooves but told himself it was probably Harry and his wife out for an early ride on the two hunters Robertson had quartered with them because his stable was overcrowded and there was plenty of room in Garth Farm's. Or it could be old Bunty (as they had christened the farm's own veteran mare) frisking in the pasture behind the cottage, where she had spent the night after working yesterday pulling the cart which was kept in the cottage's lean-to. Bunty did have bouts of skittishness on fine mornings like this.
Philip rinsed his face and was still drying it when he heard the shots. Ten, fifteen of them, maybe more; in the sudden fusillade he lost count but the firing was over by the time he had run to the upper window from which he could see the farm. Betty and Tonia were hard on his heels.
'Oh, Christ - what the
hell
was
that?'
'Look - six, seven horses, tethered to the rail fence . . .'
There was somebody with the horses, shotgun in hand; it looked like a girl, though it was hard to tell from this distance, as she or he was half hidden by a tree. Almost at once, two men walked out of the farmyard towards her; they too carried guns and moved with the confident ease of victors who need not fear a shot in the back. The girl -it was a girl, they saw now - stepped away from the tree to meet them.
'It's that bitch who came the other day,' Tonia said, grimly. 'God, we were
blind
!'
Philip took a deep breath. 'Look, girls - I'm afraid it's bloody obvious what's happened. They've raided the farm and they've
won.
A hell of a lot of shooting, over quickly, and then those three walking about as though they
know
it's over. The rest - there must be at least four more from the number of horses - they'll be inside, with Harry and the others either dead or prisoners. Question is - what do
we
do? Try a counter-attack, to rescue them if they're still alive?'
'What with?' Betty asked. 'One pistol and a four-ten? We've got some rifle ammo but all the rifles are at the farm.' 'Hell!'
'Our only chance'd be to hide in the woods and wait till dark. We
might
get away with something in the small hours.'
'If
there's anyone left to rescue,' Tonia said. 'That shooting sounded - well, kind of purposeful, to me.'
"We'll have to get out of
here,
that's for sure,' Philip told them. 'That lot know what they're doing - and from their recce they know we three are missing. They'll take a look at the cottage any moment now.'
Suddenly Betty gripped his arm and pointed.
Running through the orchard, obviously keeping out of sight of the farm, were Harry's two children. Finola, awkwardly but determinedly, clutched a rifle. Little Mark, close behind her, hugged a carrier bag.
'Get 'em in - quick!' Philip rapped. 'Tonia, you keep watch here - right? Anyone comes this way - downstairs like the clappers
!'
'Right.'
The two children cannoned into their arms in the garden - Finola white-faced but calm, Mark sobbing quietly, spilling his bag of cartridge-clips on to the lawn.
'They're all dead,' Finola said woodenly. 'Everyone but us.'
Betty put her ar
ms round the two children, tightl
y, and they clung to her. 'Catch Bunty, Phil,' she said over their heads. 'We'll chuck what we can into the cart. We'll at least
try
to get away on wheels. But if Tonia gives the alarm, we'll have to drop everything and run.'
They did get away, the five of them, with a haphazard cartload of possessions and loaded weapons, making as little noise as they could as Bunty hauled the cart down the lane away from (and fortunately out of sight of) the farm. Tonia drove, Betty kept the children under cover behind piled bedding and Philip sat by the tailboard, rifle in hand. They had gone about three kilometres before the pursuers appeared behind them - two mounted men, one of them the man who had come to the farm before. Philip hid his rifle till they were within range and then brought down one of the horses with his first shot; the rider hit the road, either stunned or dead. The other man spurred forward, not pausing to unsling his rifle but firing with a revolver. Philip heard two bullets smack the tailboard before he got the second man in the chest. 'Pull up, Tonia!'
Tonia reined in and Philip jumped to the ground. The first man
had
been stunned and Philip had no compunction at all about shooting him through the head; the man was a murderer anyway, and no report of them must get back to the farm. He collected the dead men's weapons and ammunition, caught and mounted the surviving horse and rejoined the others.
They set off again, moving as fast as Bunty could manage and concentrating on finding unlikely routes to lose any other pursuers.
Mark was still in shock, but Finola, a fiercely intelligent child who had been aware of the possibility of disaster throughout the slaughter of the past few weeks, managed to tell them the story. She and Mark had been upstairs with 'Uncle John', Harry's aggressive younger brother, when the raiders swooped on the farm. Everyone else had been caught unprepared and unarmed in the kitchen or the yard and had been herded into the yard. John had loaded the rifle he always kept beside him, and motioned the children to keep quiet. Then, from the bedroom window, he had tried to shoot the raiders' leader. Somehow he had missed ('the man must have moved just as he fired - Uncle John was a good shot') and as he re-aimed he was shot dead himself. Whether the family tried to seize the opportunity to rush the raiders, or were shot down at once in cold blood, Finola did not know. She was busy dragging Mark into the loft and through the trap-door to the water-tank space under the roof. But as they ran, they heard the fusillade. There was a skylight by the tank and peering cautiously through it Finola had
counted the bodies in the yard
and realized that she and Mark were on their own - unless they could reach the cottage unobserved. She had kept her nerve astonishingly well, quietening Mark as the raiders searched the upstairs rooms and miraculously missed the little trap-door, creeping out when they had gone downstairs to search the outbuildings, finding her father's rifle and ammunition in the bedroom, leading Mark down the back stairs and hiding with him in the fruit bushes till the raiders were indoors" again. ('I'd have used the rifle if they'd found us,' she declared and Philip for one believed her.) Then they had slipped away through the orchard.