Paul Grzegorzek - Flare

Once the last piece of wood was in place we were herded together and marched back towards the mess tent. I squirmed and elbowed my way into the middle of the group, using their bodies to hide my hands from the searching eyes of the guards. Those hands worked frantically in the few seconds I had, using the nail to scratch and re-scratch two symbols into the wood-shaving before I pushed it as far into the crease of my palm as I could.

As I’d hoped, Emily was in the serving area again, her eyes catching mine the moment I stepped into the tent. The long, slow shuffle towards her was torturous, my hands sweating as I worked out how I was going to pass the shaving over to her. Of course I could have tried whispering to her, but if anyone overheard there was a risk that they would pass that information on, and after my talk with the Secretary I had to assume that everything I might say or do was being observed, and most likely the same for Emily. Why else would they have an Engineer, and a sergeant no less, serving in the mess tent?

As I approached, I kept looking down at my hand and then back at Emily, hoping she would get the idea, but if she did then she gave no sign.

Finally it was my turn, and I lifted my plate towards her, the shaving on my very fingertips under the plate. She took the edge of the plate with her left hand while the right shovelled food onto it, and for a split second I felt her fingers brush mine before she pushed the plate back towards me and I moved on. I could no longer feel the shaving against my fingers, and I prayed that she had it rather than it having fallen to the floor in my clumsy attempt at a pass.

It was all so cloak and dagger, so old prisoner-of-war movie, that I would have laughed had it not been so horribly real. Instead, I tucked my head down, went to my seat and ate mechanically, knowing that what happened next was now out of my hands, and hoping that Emily had more freedom than I. If not, I suspected that we would both be stuck here for a very long time.

The next morning dawned without any night-time interruptions, despite my staying awake most of the night to listen out for even the barest scratch against the canvas.

I’d been given my own blanket and pillow, but even with the added comfort they brought it was still uncomfortable. Of greater concern, however, was my worry over what had happened to Emily. Perhaps she was on a curfew as rigorous as mine, or maybe she’d been caught sneaking out to find me, or had even been locked in.

I hoped to catch a glimpse of her at breakfast, but only one woman was serving this morning with ill grace as she slammed scoops of already-loathed baked beans onto our plates. We ate in the usual silence, but as we formed up to head out to the fence, a pair of soldiers appeared from around the mess tent and spoke quietly to the corporal. He conferred with them for a few seconds and then scanned the group, his eyes coming to rest on me.

“Malcolm King, front and centre.”

I stepped forward as the others melted away from me, hoping not to catch whatever bad luck was pulling me from their ranks.

When I didn’t move fast enough the corporal grabbed me by the arm and shoved me towards the waiting soldiers.

“Come on, don’t dawdle. Just because you’ve got somewhere else to be doesn’t mean we’ve all got time to stand around. There’s a world to rebuild, you know.” Chuckling to himself, he led the crew off, a few of them throwing curious looks back over their shoulders.

“Where are we going?” I asked, and to my surprise one of the men answered.

“The Secretary wants you.” He pointed towards the building, just visible above the sea of tents that now covered the field, and without further prompting I set off, the guards trailing me.

It felt good not to be shoved, grabbed or otherwise manhandled, but the walk was still far from pleasant. There was a churning in my gut, a fear that Emily had been discovered on her way to find me last night and now we were both going to pay for it. Bile rose in my throat at the thought, and my overactive imagination ran through scenarios that all ended with me being placed up against a wall and shot.

By the time one of the soldiers knocked on the door to the conference room, I was pouring with nervous sweat and could barely stand still. A voice called us in from the other side and the door was opened long enough for me to be pushed through before closing again.

Inside, time seemed to have stood still. The room was exactly as it had been two days ago, except the pile of paperwork on the large table was now threatening to spill over onto the floor. The Secretary sat in the same chair, wearing the same rumpled suit, although he’d managed to find a clean shirt from somewhere.

He didn’t look up as I entered, merely gesturing me towards a seat while he carried on reading the report in front of him. I sat, more to stop my legs from shaking than out of any desire to be at the same table with this man, my inherent dislike of him amplified a thousand fold by the experiences of the last forty eight hours.

“Have you changed your mind yet?” He said finally, looking up from the paper and frowning at me from behind his glasses.

So that was it. He was hoping that by now I’d had enough to crawl into his pocket and accept my place. Damn him if he wasn’t a hairsbreadth away from being right.

“Why me?” I asked plaintively. “There must be a hundred other people out there who could do the job. What have I got that they haven’t?”

He pushed the report away and stared at me for a long time.

“I’m sure you recall me saying that I’m not a people person,” he said at last, “but I do pride myself on being a fair judge of character.”

He poured himself a glass of water, letting me watch as he drank it slowly before topping it up again.

“You’re right,” he continued, “there are other people here who could do it, but they’ve only seen a hint of what might happen. You’ve been travelling for days, and I think you realise just how bad it will get out there without order, without some kind of structure to rebuild. Am I right?”

I nodded reluctantly, coming to a decision. If I continued to say no, I’d remain in the work group, spending my days shuffling to and fro while Melody was subject to her mother’s dubious care. If I said yes, however, it would give me more freedom and therefore a greater chance at escape.

“Ok,” I said, knowing that if I sold myself too cheaply he would be suspicious, “but I want a couple of things.”

He smiled triumphantly, sitting back and waving a hand for me to continue.

“Such as?”

“First, I want my, uh, girlfriend back, Emily.”

“I suppose I can arrange that. What else?”

“As soon as I can, I want leave to go up to Manchester and find my little girl. She’ll be safer here.” I bit the inside of my lip while he considered this, and sighed with relief when he nodded.

“Fine, but I can’t promise you how soon it will be. There’s a lot of work to do here.”

He leaned forwards and stuck out his hand for me to shake. I leaned in and took it, suspecting that I was making a deal with the devil, giving it as brief a shake as I dared.

“So,” he said, “let’s get you a proper room and some clean clothes, then we’ll get you started. I think the first order of business is for you to write me a speech, something that tells everyone what we’re trying to do, and how important they all are to rebuilding what we’ve lost. Do you think you can do that?”

“I’m sure I can scratch something up,” I said, trying to sound keen.

“And once that’s done,” he said grandiosely, “I’ll want you by my side as much as possible, to, ah, chronicle events as they happen. Future generations need to know what happened after The Fall.” He stopped and sounded out the words, then smiled. “The Fall. You can use that if you’d like.”