David Moody - Them or Us

Just keep the conversation going for a few more seconds, I tell myself. I’m close to the edge of the crowd now.

“I ask questions because I don’t want to fuck up. I’ve been on the road for weeks, and this is the best place I’ve found in a long time.”

“You’ve no more been on the road than I have. I know you’re lying, Rufus, but I understand. You don’t need to. We all have things we need to keep hidden. I’m on your side.”

“On my side? You don’t know what you’re talking about. Who said anything about taking sides?”

“It’s all about taking sides now.”

“Is that right?”

“Okay, then, tell me the name of the last place you passed through before this one. How long were you there for? And the place before that…?”

I don’t bother answering. This guy’s a fucking crank. Probably had one too many bangs on the head on the battlefield and now he’s finally lost it. No matter. Not my problem. We’ve reached the crowd, and when Jill, the woman from the working party earlier, appears in front of me, I take the opportunity to use her as a distraction.

“Jill,” I say, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her closer. “This guy wants to talk to you.”

I push her and Peter Sutton together, and before either of them can react I shove my way through the rest of the bodies and slip away into the darkness.

13

I SPENT ANOTHER HALF hour walking the streets in the late-evening subzero gloom, checking buildings and looking for somewhere where I could report back to Hinchcliffe and then sleep. I eventually found an upstairs room in an empty bank, and from there I looked down onto the square below through a window covered with strong iron bars like a prison cell. From my position up high I could see the entire square down below. By then the place was virtually deserted, just a couple of people left standing guard, warming their hands over a fire burning in a metal trash can near the hotel, and nothing else happened for as long as I watched. A while ago my curiosity was overtaken by my exhaustion. I tried to read my book for a while and forget where I was, but I was too tired. I lay back on the hard floor, made a pillow from a pile of papers and spare clothes from my backpack, covered myself with my coat, then closed my eyes and tried to get a little rest before reporting back to Lowestoft.

That little rest turned itself into a lot of sleep. I’ve been completely out of it for hours, and I sit up quickly when I realize it’s late and I still haven’t called in. Hinchcliffe’s going to be fucking furious. I grab the radio from my bag.

“Hinchcliffe, it’s me,” I whisper, keeping my voice low. I cringe and fumble for the volume control when a sudden burst of loud static deafens me and fills the entire building.

“Jesus Christ, Danny,” his distorted but distinctive voice immediately answers back. “Where the hell have you been? I was starting to think they’d done you in. Either that or you’d defected.”

Defected? Is he serious or just trying to be funny? His voice sounds slurred, like he’s been drinking. He probably has.

“Nothing like that,” I tell him, wiping the sleep from my eyes and trying to sound more awake and alert than I actually am. “I was just biding my time. Wanted to find out as much as I could before I got back to you.”

“And…?” he asks.

I hesitate. “And I don’t know what’s going on here. Warner’s got these people well and truly on his side. He makes it look like all he’s trying to do is organize them according to his rules and to get them to—”

“That’s half the problem,” Hinchcliffe angrily interrupts. I’m surprised by the strength of the alcohol-fueled venom in his voice.

“What is?”

“His rules. Don’t you see, Danny? Warner’s rules aren’t my rules.”

“Suppose not,” I quietly agree, suddenly feeling like I’m walking on eggshells and wishing I hadn’t bothered calling in.

“You’ve heard the old story about two boats in the harbor, haven’t you?”

I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about. “Remind me.”

“They start next to each other and they’re both supposed to be following the same course. One gets it wrong by just a fraction of a degree. They set off together, but the longer they’re at sea…”

“The bigger the gap between them.”

“Exactly. You see what I’m saying? I can’t afford for that to happen, Danny. Not when Southwold is so close.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I can’t speak for Warner, but I don’t think the people here are looking to pick a fight. They think he’s just—”

“Don’t get me wrong, that’s not what I’m looking for, either,” he continues, not listening, “but everybody there needs to understand that things run the way I want them to around here. You play ball or you fuck off, that’s your choice.”

“Have you tried telling them?” I ask, only feeling brave enough to confront Hinchcliffe because he’s ten miles farther up the coast. “You could come down here, try a little diplomacy first and then—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah … Fuck, Danny, it seems to me there’s only two options these days, full-on or fuck all. Why can’t these people just do what I tell them?”

“I know, but—”

“What happens in Southwold is important,” he interrupts again, his voice sounding even angrier now. “I can’t risk having a rebellion on my doorstep, you know what I mean?”

“But are you sure Warner’s a threat?”

“Everyone is a potential threat. I thought you’d have worked that out by now.”

“I still think you should talk to him. Try to find out why—”

“What’s the state of the place like?” he interrupts.

“What?”

“What kind of condition is Southwold in?”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty much like everywhere else. A little less damaged than most places, but—”

“And what about supplies?”

“Now that’s the thing. Warner’s got them getting the fields around here ready for planting. On the face of it he seems to be planning for the future. I’ve been working all goddamned day digging goddamned holes…”

“Nothing’s going to grow. Everything’s fucked.”

“We don’t know that for sure. It might be that—”

“I asked you about supplies, Danny. I’m not interested in next year, what are they eating today?”

I pause, knowing that Hinchcliffe will hit the roof when I tell him about the delivery.

“I saw a truck arrive.”

“A truck?”

“Great big army thing. It wasn’t one I’d seen before. They unloaded a stack of stuff out of the back.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Couldn’t tell. Food, weapons … I couldn’t see what they—”

“Fuckers. That will have come from my stores. Fucking Neil Casey, I bet he’s got something to do with this. Bastard’s told them where I keep my supplies. Cunt’s sold me out.”

“I haven’t seen Casey. He wasn’t with the truck. They buried a few bodies this afternoon, and I thought he might have been one of them, but I don’t know if—”

“You said weapons?”

“A few rifles, that’s all, nothing any bigger than that. Look, Hinchcliffe, I really don’t think that—”

“I’m not interested in what you think. All I want to know is what you’ve seen.”

“And I’ve told you everything. I’ll find work again tomorrow and see what else I can find out.”

“I don’t think you understand the importance of this, Danny. There are implications for all of us if Warner starts getting support and if people here start hearing what he’s doing. The grass is always greener on the other side, remember that expression?”

“The grass is yellow everywhere now,” I tell him. “What’s happening here is on a very small scale, Hinchcliffe. If Warner’s stealing from you that’s one thing, but I don’t think it’s worth…”