Max stood with Geordie in the middle of the street until they had disappeared from view. "Bloody rum bunch," Geordie muttered.
"No, mate, heroes," Max said. "They might not know it, but they are. They just need writing up. Some of the rough edges taken off them so people can see the wood for the trees."
Geordie grunted dismissively. "Not my kind of heroes."
"You're not seeing it right, Geordie. We're at war now. Under siege. In times like this the people need someone to look up to, someone who'll give them courage to keep fighting." He smiled tightly. "I reckon that lot fit the bill-if their story is told in the right way. And I'm just the man to tell it."
As they passed the outskirts of the village, Laura glanced up at the scarecrow which had unnerved her so much on her way in. She was surprised to see it looked different, although she at first wondered if it was a trick of the glaring sun. Squinting, she tried to pick out what had changed; gradually details emerged. It was no longer just a scarecrow. Something had been tied to it. She squinted again. Another scarecrow appeared to be hanging at the front of the original in the same crucified position, only the bottom two thirds of it was missing. And the head of the second one didn't look very good either.
But something was still jarring. Curious, she took a few steps forward so the sun was away from it. And then, in a moment of pure horror, she realised what it was. It wore a white shirt splattered with something dark near the collar. Instead of straw, something gleamed in the sun; bone that had been picked clean by the creatures in the fields.
Unable to mask her queasy thoughts, she snapped round at Veitch, suddenly aware of the dark, hidden depths of his character. She knew from his body language he realised she was watching him, but he never turned to meet her gaze. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, his expression cold and aloof.
Chapter Fourteen
The clear blue sky was so near they felt like they were in heaven, the air so clean and fresh it burned their throats, which were more used to the particles and fumes of city living. There, high up on the dinosaur-backed ridge of the Pennines, they felt like they had been sucked into the thunderous heart of nature, or into the past where no chimney belched, no meaningless machine disturbed the stillness. Amidst outcropping rock turned bronze by the unflinching sun they picked their way through swaying seas of fern, down sheep-clipped grassy slopes, across bleak upland moors where the wind cut like talons.
Tom navigated by the sun and the stars, leading them on into the remotest parts of the land where the sodium glare had never touched. At night the vast spray of stars looked like a milky river leading them back to the source. They made their camps in hidden corners, dips below the eyeline, behind boulders and in low-hanging caves; all except Ruth took turns keeping watch over the dying campfires.
At times they saw things moving away in the dark or heard sounds that had little to do with any animals they knew; one night Shavi had a conversation with someone unseen whose voice switched between the mewling tones of an infant and the phlegmy crackle of an old man. When the sun began to rise, Shavi heard the mysterious stranger scurry away on many legs, an insectile chittering bouncing among the rocks.
Their decision to steer clear of any centre of population meant finding food was a constant problem, though they were thankful that Tom had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the roots, plants and herbs which grew in secret places where no one would have thought to look. He taught Veitch his many skills at catching rabbits and the occasional game bird, and how to snatch fish from the sparkling streams and rivers they crossed. When cooked on the campfire, the fare was mouth-watering; even so, they soon yearned for a richer and more varied diet.
"This feels like Lord of the Flies," Shavi remarked one calm morning as he watched Veitch carve a spear with his knife; he refused to use his crossbow for hunting.
"Let's hope it doesn't end the same way," Church replied; he attempted to take the edge off his words with a smile.
"Say, why don't you focus on the black side?" Ruth chipped in with cheerful sarcasm. After the initial shock she had put them all to shame with her bright mood, refusing to be bowed by what had been inflicted on her. Church kept waiting for her to crack as the black despair he was sure lurked within came rushing to the surface, but it never did, and as time passed he came to think it wasn't there at all.
"Look around," she continued. "This is the best there is in life. Stars you can see, food and water you can taste, air you can breathe. I've never felt as much at peace. You know, despite everything. Back in London, with work and all that, life had a constant background buzz, like some irritating noise that you force yourself to get used to because it's always around. Now…" She held out her arms. "Nothing. It's not there."
"It always takes a disaster to show you what you're missing in life." Laura's voice dripped with irony, but they all knew she was speaking the truth.
Ruth's health continued to be up and down: morning sickness as if she had a normal pregnancy, which always made her laugh darkly, aches and pains in a belly that continued to grow by the day, then times when she felt as robust as she usually did.
Despite the urgency they all felt with Lughnasadh approaching rapidly, they hadn't been able to reach any decision on what to do next. It was almost as if they were paralysed by the enormity of the task before them, and the certain knowledge that the repercussions of one wrong step would be more than any of them could bear. Instead, most of the days and nights passed in the denial of reality that was small talk, as if they were on a pleasant summer hike. If they could have brought themselves to examine what was in their hearts they would all know they felt there was only going to be one awful, unbearable option.
It was always Tom who was expected to find a solution; he was, after all, the one with the most knowledge of the new rules that underpinned reality. After five days of brooding and weighing of options, of trying to read the stars and muttering away in the thick groves, he thought he had a plan, but the others could tell from his face that he didn't give it much weight. He refused to discuss it there in the open, dangerous high country.
"Talk of such dark matters needs somewhere secure and comforting, where energies can be recharged and preparations made for what lies ahead," he said. Any questions were simply met with a finger pointing towards the horizon.
That night they made their camp in a sheltered spot on the southern slopes of Pen-y-Ghent not far down from the summit. It was a clear evening and after they had eaten they sat looking at the brilliant lights of the West Yorkshire conurbation spread out to the southeast.
After a long period of thought, Ruth said, "It's too big, isn't it?"
"What are you on about?" Veitch put the finishing touches to another spear; he was becoming expert in the construction of weapons.
"Look at it." She outlined the extremes of the lights with a finger. "They used to be just a few settlements. Then they became villages, then towns and cities, and now they're all merging into one. They're driving nature out completely. There's no human scale at all. People need to feel close to nature to be healthy, psychologically and physically."
"I thought you were a city girl," Veitch said.
"I was." Ruth closed her eyes for a moment. "I've changed."
"Perhaps this whole disaster happened for a reason," Shavi mused.
Ruth eyed him, her eyes bright, waiting for him to say what she was beginning to think herself.
"We have had Government after Government concreting over huge swathes of the countryside," he continued. "How many acres have been lost since the Second World War? How much of the ancient woodlands have been cut down? How many hedgerows torn up by greedy farmers? How much moorland destroyed by Army firing ranges? How many rivers polluted, chalklands debased, coastal floodplains disrupted? There was a relentless advance of urbanisation, of what was laughingly called progress-"