John Christopher - The Death of Grass

“Two are enough. We’re going to stay outside. I don’t like the smell in here.”

John nodded. “Just as you want. You can eat out there as well, if you like.”

Ann did not say anything, but led Mary out into the sunshine. Spooks, after a brief hesitation, followed them. The other two boys sat on the old-fashioned sofa under the window. There was a clock ticking rhythmically on the wall facing them. It was glass-fronted, so that its works were visible. They sat and stared at it, and spoke to each other in whispers.

By the time the food was ready, the men had got all they needed. They had found two large rucksacks and a smaller one, and had packed them with chunks of ham and pork and salted beef, along with some home-made bread. The cartridges for the guns were slipped in on top. They had also found an old army water-bottle. Roger suggested filling more bottles with water, but John opposed it. They would be travelling through tolerably well-watered country, and had enough to carry as it was.

When they had finished their meal, Olivia started collecting the plates together. It was when Millicent laughed that John saw what she was doing. She put the plates down again in some confusion.

John said: “No washing up. We get moving straight away. It’s an isolated place, but any house is a potential trap.” The men began picking up their guns and rucksacks. Olivia said: “What about the girl?”

John glanced at her. “What about her?”

“We can’t leave her—like this.”

“If it bothers you,” John said, “you can go and unlock her door. Tell her she can come out when she likes. It doesn’t matter now.”

“But we can’t leave her in the house!” She gestured towards the cupboard beneath the stairs. “With those.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“We could take her with us.”

John said: “Don’t be silly, Olivia. You know we can’t.”

Olivia stared at him. Behind her plump diffidence, he saw, there was resolution. Thinking of her and of Roger, he reflected that crises were always likely to produce strange results in terms of human behaviour.

Olivia said: “If not, I shall stay here with her.”

“And Roger?” John asked. “And Steve?”

Roger said slowly: “If Olivia wants to stay, we’ll stay here with her. You don’t need us, do you?”

John said: “And when the next visitor calls, who’s going to open the door? You or Olivia—or Steve?”

There was a silence. The clock ticked, marking the passing seconds of a summer morning.

Roger said then: “Why can’t we take the girl, if Olivia wants to? We brought Spooks. A girl couldn’t be any danger to us, surely?”

Impatient and angry, John said: “What makes you think she would come with us? We’ve just killed her parents.”

“I think she would come,” Olivia said.

“How long would you like to have to persuade her?” John asked. “A fortnight?”

Olivia and Roger exchanged glances. Roger said:

“The rest of you go on. We’ll try and catch up with you—with the girl, if she will come.”

To Roger, John said: “You surprise me, Rodge. Surely I don’t have to point out to you just how damn silly it is to split our forces now?”

They did not answer him. Pirrie and Millicent and the boys were watching in silence. John glanced at his watch.

“Look,” he said, “I’ll give you three minutes, Olivia, to talk to the girl. If she wants to come, she can. But we aren’t going to waste any more time persuading her—none of us. All right?” Olivia nodded. “I’ll come up with you.”

He led the way up the stairs, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The girl was out of bed; she looked up from a kneeling posture, possibly one of prayer. John stood aside to let Olivia enter the room. The girl stared at them both, her face expressionless.

Olivia said: “We should like you to come with us, my dear. We are going to a safe place up in the hills. It wouldn’t be safe for you to stay here.”

The girl said: “My mother—I heard her screaming, and then she stopped.”

“She’s dead,” Olivia said. “Your father, too. There’s nothing to stay here for.”

“You killed them,” the girl said. She looked at John. “He killed them.”

Olivia said: “Yes. They had food and we didn’t. People fight over food now. We won, and they lost It’s something that can’t be helped. I want you to come with us, all the same.”

The girl turned away, her face pressed against the bed clothes. In a muffled voice, she said:

“Leave me alone. Go away and leave me alone.”

John looked at Olivia and shook his head. She went over and knelt beside the girl, putting an arm round her shoulders. She said gently:

“We aren’t bad people. We’re just trying to save ourselves and our children, and so the men kill now, if they have to. There will be others coming who will be worse—who will kill for the sake of killing, and torture, too, perhaps.”

The girl repeated: “Leave me alone.”

“We aren’t far ahead of the mobs,” Olivia said. They will be coming up from the towns, looking for food. A place of this kind will draw them like flies. Your father and mother would have died, anyway, in the next few days, and you with them. Don’t you believe that?”

“Go away,” the girl said. She did not look up.

John said: “I told you, Olivia. We can’t take her away against her will And as for your staying with her—you’ve just said yourself the place is a death-trap.”

Olivia got up from her knees, as though acquiescing. But instead she took the girl by the shoulders and twisted her round to face her. She had considerable strength of arm, and she used it now, not brutally but with determination.

She said: “Listen to me! You’re afraid, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

Her eyes held the girl as though in fascination. The girl’s head nodded.

“Do you believe I want to help you?” Olivia asked her.

Again she nodded.

“You’re coming with us,” Olivia said. “We’re going across the Pennines, to a place in Westmorland where we can all be quite safe, and where there won’t be any more killing and brutality.” Olivia’s normal reserve was entirely gone; she spoke with a bitter anger that carried conviction. “And you are coming with us. We killed your father and mother, but if we save you we shall have made up to them a little bit They wouldn’t want you to die as they have done.”

The girl stared silently. Olivia said to John:

“You can wait outside. I’ll help her dress. We shall only be a couple of minutes.”

John shrugged. “I’ll go downstairs and see that everything’s ready. A couple of minutes, remember.”

“We’ll be down,” Olivia said.

In the living-room, John found Roger fiddling with the controls of a radio that stood on the sideboard. He looked up as John came down the stairs.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve tried North, Scotland, Midland, London—nothing at all”

“Ireland?” John asked.

“Nothing I can hear. I doubt if you could pick them up from here anyway.”

“Perhaps the set’s dead.”

“I found one station. I don’t know what the language was—it sounded Middle European. Sounded pretty desperate, too.”

“Short waves?”

“Haven’t tried.”

“I’ll have a go.” Roger stood aside, and John switched down to the short wave band, and began to fan the dial, slowly and carefully. He covered three-quarters of the dial without finding anything; then he picked up a voice, distorted by crackle and fading, but speaking English. He tuned it in to its maximum, and gave it all the volume he could:

“… fragmentary, but all the evidence indicates that Western Europe has ceased to exist as a part of the civilized world.”