Louise Welsh - Death is a Welcome Guest

The boy was tucked in the bunk below. Magnus did not need to see him to know that he was either sleeping, or staring into space. He had coaxed him to eat almost half a bar of chocolate that morning before they had set out, but neither of them had eaten since. He wondered if he should go below and check on him, but stayed where he was, feet anchored to the rolling deck, hands grasping the wheel. There were moments when he felt awkward around the boy; a representative of an adult world that had screwed everything up.

Jeb had given his guard the slip in the confusion of Raisha’s shooting and hidden beneath the execution platform, concealed from view by the Union Jack skirt draped around its edge. ‘I thought I was seeing things when I spied you running across the grass with that rifle in your hand and then I realised you’d been there all along, ready to take out those nutters for me. That was a bit of a fucking suicide mission, wasn’t it?’

Magnus had not disabused him, but he caught Jeb watching him once or twice during the drive and wondered if he suspected the truth.

The horizon was coming into focus. It was definitely land. Magnus tried to suppress an electric leap of excitement. He had come too far to get shipwrecked on treacherous rocks. He traced a finger along the route to South Ronaldsay marked on the chart.

Belle had persuaded them to take a detour somewhere near York, following a series of colourful banners that led to what looked to Magnus like a folk festival. The boy had already elected to sit squashed next to him in the front seat. He had edged closer to Magnus at the sight of the small cluster of tents and camper vans, worried by the prospect of strangers.

‘It’s all right, Shug.’ Magnus was driving but he had given the boy’s small hand a quick squeeze. ‘They’re hippies. They smoke the pipe of peace.’

Paul said, ‘I bet that’s not all they smoke.’

Jeb was sitting on the other side of the boy. Magnus glanced at him, wondering if he was remembering his time among the environmental activists whom he had betrayed, but the big man kept his eyes on the road.

Belle said, ‘Why did you call him Shug?’

‘It’s short for Shuggie.’

‘Ah, that makes perfect sense — not.’

Belle took a comb from her bag and started to pull it through her hair. She had been subdued since their escape from Tanqueray House, but now Magnus sensed nervous excitement crackling from her, like electricity before a thunderstorm.

‘It’s another name for Hugh.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘I had a best friend called Hugh. This wee lad reminds me of him and as we’ve got to call him something, I thought Shug might do the trick.’ He looked at the boy. ‘What do you think?’

The child’s face remained impassive, but he leaned his head against Magnus.

Magnus smiled. ‘Aye, I think he likes it.’

Belle had found a mirror and lipstick in her bag. She looked at her face and dabbed her lips red. ‘You’re becoming more Scottish.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes, the further north we go, the stronger your accent gets. You’ll be speaking Gaelic soon.’

Magnus said, ‘The only Gaelic I know is uisge beatha .’ He guided the van to a halt. People from the camp were walking over to greet them. Belle opened the door and leapt to the ground, not bothering to ask for an English translation, her face split by a smile.

Magnus whispered, ‘It means water of life.’

The five of them camped there overnight. Jeb had insisted that now was the time for his cast to come off and, after scouring the small site, Magnus had managed to borrow a craft saw from a man who had been a carpenter before the sweats. Jeb’s leg was pale and had lost muscle. It seemed at first that they had removed the plaster too soon, but then the carpenter turned up with a makeshift crutch he had fashioned and Jeb hobbled a circuit of the camp.

Magnus was packing their gear back into the van the next morning when Belle announced that she had decided to stay. He had not spotted any other children at the camp and some of its inhabitants had a hungry look that made him uneasy. ‘I can see why you want to be with folk your own age,’ he said, making an effort to keep his voice reasonable. ‘But I’m not sure this is the best place for the wee lad.’

Belle laughed when she realised his assumption. ‘I can’t look after a child.’ She was smiling, but there was an edge of panic in her voice. ‘You know me, Magnus, I’m far too selfish. Anyway, it’s you that he’s fallen in love with.’ It was a typical hyperbole, designed to get her what she wanted, but Magnus felt a leap of gratitude. Belle said, ‘Raisha would want you to look after him.’ Magnus hoped that she was right.

Belle was a grown woman, in charge of her own life, but Magnus was relieved when Paul said he was staying too, though the campers were mostly younger than him and he and Belle not an item.

‘He’d like to though, wouldn’t he?’ Jeb had said, with a grin. He smiled more now, Magnus noticed.

It was cold on deck. Magnus rubbed his hands together and blew on them, wondering if there was a pair of gloves tucked somewhere in the cabin below. Something broke the water on his leeward side, huge and black. Magnus swore. He killed the engines, his heart beating a tattoo. ‘Shug!’

The boy must have heard the urgency in his voice because he came up on deck straight away, rubbing his eyes. Magnus was relieved to see that he had kept his life jacket on as he had told him to.

‘Look.’ He pointed at the shining mound of black as it broke the water again. There was another beyond it and another beyond that. Magnus laughed, though there was danger in the sight. ‘Minke whales.’ The boy stood by his side and leaned his body against Magnus. His head rested against Magnus’s ribs. ‘Do you know what they are?’ The boy stared out into the sea. Magnus started to explain, but how did you explain a whale? ‘They’re big sea-beasts. Gentle creatures, harmless.’ Unless they tip the boat, he thought but did not say. ‘We’ll find you a book on them when we get there. I’m betting you’re a good reader.’

He looked at the boy, but Shuggie kept his eyes trained on the school of whales, swimming towards their mating grounds in the North Atlantic, and gave Magnus no clue. The boy had not spoken in the time they had been together, though once or twice Magnus thought he had seen his lips moving when he was playing alone.

‘You speak when you’re ready, son.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair and then, thinking he might be cold, took off his cap and put it on the boy’s head. ‘Most folks talk too much anyway.’

The van had felt quiet without Belle’s chatter and Paul’s attempts to impress her. The roads were quieter too. He and Jeb had stopped three times, lowered the van’s windows and exchanged news that was no news with other survivors.

Most of the world was dead.

There were fires in the cities.

Tribes were beginning to form in the countryside.

Women, guns and food were currency.

It was best to be careful.

Magnus suspected that children might be currency too and so each time they had encountered someone, he had told the boy to hide in the back of the van beneath a blanket. He and Jeb kept their guns loaded and near to hand.

Magnus let out a cheer when they passed the Old Man of Hoy, the skinny finger of rock, narrowed by aeons of wind and rain, pointing tall and steadfast at the sky. The boy caught some of his excitement and jumped up and down on deck, one hand clamped to the too-big hat on his head.

Magnus saluted him. ‘Not far to go now, Cap’n.’ Fear of what he might find when they got there knotted his stomach.

Newcastle had lit up the night sky, a blazing orange glow. Magnus and Jeb had been forced to take a detour and found themselves on a hill above the town. They got out and looked down on the furnace. They were miles away, but the throat-scraping stench of blazing chemicals and charred flesh reached them.