Stephen Baxter - Flood

In the camps in the Chilterns, among the London evacuees, it had been a scary time. Everyone knew that the rising flood was pushing more waves of people inland from the valleys of the Severn and the Trent and the Humber and all the sea coasts, some of them driven on from camps to which they’d already been evacuated once, millions on the move.

At last, under pressure to accommodate still more refugees from the Thames valley, the authorities had started to break up the Aylesbury camp and move people westward. Wayne had invited Amanda and the kids to throw in their lot with him, and come to a community he knew of being established on Dartmoor. Amanda hadn’t been sure of Wayne, if she was honest. But she couldn’t see she had much of an option.

“So how did he know about this place?”

Amanda took a breath. “OK. Here’s the part Mum wouldn’t have approved of. When he was a kid, Wayne used to run with a gang of Charlton fans. The football, you know? I won’t pretend I like it. I mean, it was just lads being lads, but they were rough. Wayne grew out of it. But he kept in touch with the lads in his gang. And some of them, in later life, formed links with, well, fringe groups.”

Lily nodded. “Hence the flags. The far right. Like the British National Party.”

“Not the BNP… Similar, I suppose. Look, Wayne isn’t a thug or a neo-Nazi. But he says he found ideas being floated among these people that he wasn’t hearing discussed anywhere else.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, how would the world cope when the oil ran out? I suppose it’s all moot now, we have other problems, but back then people feared anarchy. There was talk of bolt-holes. Wayne says one group looked at locations in places like Croatia, close to the coast, where you could use local rivers for fresh water and live off solar energy. Some of them started planning seriously. Making caches of stuff.”

“Survivalists with swastikas.”

“If you like,” Amanda snapped. “Anyhow when the flooding came they dug up all those old plans. Wayne got in with a group that had considered setting themselves up closer to home.”

“Dartmoor.”

“Yes. Devon and Cornwall were a peninsula even before the flooding; I think there were vague plans to block the main roads and cut it off. It was more pub talk than anything else. But they had the location in mind. So when we got moved on from Aylesbury, at least we had a place to go. Wayne got hold of a Land Rover and a caravan, and-well, here we are.”

“Um. Complete with barbed-wire barriers and surface-to-air missiles.”

“It’s the same all over, and don’t tell me it isn’t. People have lost so much they’re frightened of losing even more. But I think it will calm down. We’re not going to live through some survivalist horror show, Lily.”

“We’re not?”

“You’ve been away. It’s not so bad.” She believed that, actually. And she believed she had found strength and resilience in making a home for herself and her kids in a situation she would once have found completely unacceptable, and she resented Lily coming along to demolish it all with a word. “It might get better,” she said defiantly. “They say that if it gets any warmer we’ll be like the Greek islands here. Remember when Mum took us to Cephalonia when we were kids? Olive groves and sea food and that flat, glittering blue sea.” It was a fantasy she entertained in her head, especially on dark winter nights or when the storms shook their crowded little caravan, a fantasy of a sun-drenched future in an archipelago England.

Lily said nothing. She looked extraordinarily sad.

Amanda said, “That isn’t going to happen, is it?”

“No.” Lily took her hands.“I’m sorry, sis. I really do have to take you away from here.”

There was a sudden roar of an engine. A motorbike came bolting along the footpath. Benj was riding it, with Kristie clinging to his waist. Neither of them wore helmets.

Benj brought the bike clumsily to a halt. Kristie clambered off, tearful, and ran to her mother. She had her battered old pink backpack on her back.

Amanda launched in on them. “That’s Wayne’s bike! What the hell do you think you’re doing? He’ll be furious!”

“He already is,” Benj said. “Hi, Auntie Lily.”

“Hello, Benj, Kris.” Lily looked wistful.

Amanda saw her kids through Lily’s eyes. They had grown so much, filled out, changed. The pasty, fashion-conscious, Angel-obsessed teenagers of the days before the flood would have looked like peacocks beside these sturdy rustic laborers.

But Kris was crying. “Mum, it’s my fault. I know you said not to go back, but I had this feeling we were going away for good-”

“ I had a feeling,” Benj said, “when you said Auntie Lily was here.”

“I didn’t want to go without my stuff.” Kris tugged on her backpack straps.

Amanda glanced at Lily, exasperated. “It’s the last of her London things. Accessories, you know, sparkly bits, her string of amber beads. And her teddy!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lily said quickly.“She can bring it, now she has it. The question is, why did you come on the bike?”

“Because of him,” Benj said. “He saw us.”

And Amanda realized she could hear another engine’s growl.

Wayne came roaring down the track on a big Honda. It was Bill Pulford’s, Amanda realized. Wayne pulled up, killed the engine, and let the bike drop to the ground. He came stalking over, fists bunched.

Amanda forced a laugh, trying to ease the mood. “You know, Bill’s going to kick up a stink if he knows you handled his bike like that-”

Wayne pointed a grubby finger at her. “You shut up.” His hair was wild from the ride; his AxysCorp — durable coveralls were gray with muck, his eyes bright blue. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Off somewhere, are you? I knew it when I saw these two little arseholes running off.”

Benj faced him. “I may be an arsehole, but don’t call me ‘little.’”

Wayne raised a fist.

To her own surprise Amanda grabbed his arm. “If you hit him it’s over. Don’t-you-dare.”

He glared at her. But he backed off, and shook her hand off his arm. “Isn’t it over anyway? Aren’t you all fucking off with GI Jane here?”

Lily said evenly, “I’ve come for my family. I’ve no quarrel with you.”

“Well, I’ve got a quarrel with you, lady. I’ve got rights. It was me saved them when we got kicked out of Aylesbury. Ah, go on, fuck off,” he said to Amanda. “I’m sick of your whining. You can all go. All but you.” And he grabbed Kristie’s arm. She screamed and tried to struggle, but he was overwhelmingly strong.

Benj made a lunge, but Lily held him back.

Amanda advanced on him. “What are you doing? Let her go!”

“No chance,” he snarled. He pulled Kristie against him, his big hand holding her waist, her arm twisted behind her back. “I’ve got what I want, the rest of you can fuck off. Go on.”

Amanda saw it now. “It’s been about Kristie all along, hasn’t it?”

“Of course it has. I’ve only stayed with you while I’ve been waiting for her. Did you think I wanted you, you ridiculous old bag? How many kids could you give me? Because that’s what it’s going to be about in the future. Kids, strong sons, fertile daughters.” Kristie struggled again, but he twisted her arm tighter until she subsided. “Of course it was always about her. While I was shagging you, I thought about her. Couldn’t get it up otherwise-”

There was a soft detonation, like somebody spitting out a seed. Wayne let go of Kristie and fell to the ground, howling. His right boot had exploded.

Benj hurried forward and grabbed his sister. Lily stepped up to Wayne, on the ground, her pistol in her hand.