“John Warner was trying to get people farming,” I tell him.
“Was it working?”
“No, but—”
“Well, there you go, then. It’s too soon.”
I could ask him how he ever plans to farm when all the livestock for miles around Lowestoft is either dead, dying, or running wild, and when the soil has been poisoned by radiation … but I’m sure he knows that anyway and so I don’t bother. Instead I try another tack.
“The batteries in my reading lamp are almost gone,” I start to say before he interrupts, laughing.
“Your reading lamp! Fuck me, Danny, you’re turning into an old woman!”
I ignore him and carry on.
“The batteries are going in my reading lamp,” I say again. “What do I do when they die?”
“You come and see me and I get you some more,” he answers quickly. “Same as always.”
“So what happens when you run out?”
“I send people out to find more.”
“And when they can’t find any? When we really have used them all up?”
“You have to stop reading at night,” he smirks. I’m serious, and his grin disappears. “I know what you’re saying, Danny, and you do have a valid point. What do we do? I don’t know how to make batteries, and even if I did, I couldn’t get my hands on the right chemicals and equipment. But the information’s out there somewhere.”
“It’s just that the way you talk about things makes everything sound a lot easier than it’s actually going to be. It’s not just reading, it’s making food, keeping warm, staying alive … Once everything’s gone we’ll struggle to get any of it back again.”
“I never said it was going to be easy. Thing is, if I’m too honest with people too soon, I’ll lose their support. I can’t risk that. I need the numbers right now. It’s still early. When we’re more established here, we’ll start planning ahead. All that matters today is today.”
Hinchcliffe slips all too easily into spouting bullshit and spin. Politics never changes, even after everything we’ve all been through. I guess it doesn’t matter how high the stakes are, to people like him, position and self-preservation are everything.
“The trick right now,” he continues to explain, clearly mistaking me for someone who gives a damn, “is to let the people who matter think they’re in control. I give my best fighters everything they want, and the Switchbacks who work hard, they get most of what they need, too. Compared to the pathetic lives they used to lead, this is something much better. They’re free, uninhibited…”
“For now, maybe.”
“Lighten up,” he says.
“I don’t want to lighten up.”
“Things will improve, Danny.”
“Will they?”
“Of course they will. We’ll get that wind turbine working after the winter. Imagine that, constant power for the whole town again.”
“It’ll never happen.”
“Yes it will.”
“No it won’t. One of its blades is broken, for Christ’s sake. Where are you going to get a replacement from? And how are you going to get it up there? Have you got anyone who knows anything about engineering and mechanics? Got a crane tucked away anywhere? Christ, you’ve just said you’ll be screwed when you run out of batteries.”
“It’s all out there somewhere,” he says, starting to sound annoyed, “and there are bound to be people who used to know about these things. They’ll help if I give them food and—”
“And if you hold a gun to their heads.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“I think you’ve got to get the fundamentals right before you start talking about electricity and stuff like that.”
“Is that what John Warner was doing?”
“Maybe,” I admit, wondering if I’ve gone too far.
“You’re wrong,” he says. “Warner was a thieving bastard who was trying to undermine what I’ve got here.”
“All due respect, I don’t think Warner gave a shit what you were doing here.”
“The fucker was interested enough to want to steal from me,” Hinchcliffe snaps, a hit of barely suppressed anger in his voice. He gets up and pours himself a drink but doesn’t offer me one. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome. That’s a sure sign I’ve pissed him off. Not a good idea.
“Sorry, Hinchcliffe. I didn’t mean to talk out of turn.”
He shakes his head and leans against a dusty window, looking out over the divided streets of Lowestoft.
“You’re okay. Like I said, Danny, you’re not like the others. You’re always questioning, and I need that from time to time. Just don’t let me catch you talking like this to anyone else.”
In for a penny, in for a pound. I’m taking a hell of a risk, but this seems as good a time as any to ask him something that’s been on my mind for a while.
“So what about me?”
“What about you?”
“I don’t have any special skills. I can’t fight anymore. You’ve kept me onside to hunt out the Unchanged, but now they’re gone, what happens to me?”
He thinks carefully before answering.
“You’re not going anywhere, my friend. You underestimate yourself. You’ve proved your worth to me again and again over the last few weeks. There’s a lot of work still to be done to get this place how I want it, and I’m gonna need people like you.”
I make a mental note to start fucking up more often.
“You really think you’ll be able to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get this place straightened out? Keep people in line? You think they’re just going to keep doing what you tell them to?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “They won’t have any choice.”
I stand there and stare at him, still unable to move, and now unable to speak either. This guy’s out of his fucking mind, but I’m not going to be the one who tells him. The whole conversation leaves me feeling empty and hollow. What chance has anyone got if people like Hinchcliffe are left in charge?
Hinchcliffe wraps his arm around my shoulder and walks me back toward the exit.
“I know what you need,” he says. “You’re too tense. You need to relax. Go home, get some rest, then come back here. Meet me outside the front at dusk.”
He shoves me out of the door and I walk back through the courthouse building, relieved to be away from him but nervous about why he wants me to come back. The last thing I want is to spend any more time with Hinchcliffe, but I don’t have any choice.
16
HINCHCLIFFE TOLD ME TO meet him outside the courthouse, but I think he’s stood me up. He’s not inside, and I’ve been out here waiting in the freezing cold for ages now. The wind is biting, and I thrust my hands deep into my pockets, wishing I was anywhere but here. I would go back to the house, but I don’t want to risk pissing him off any more than I think I already have today. He’ll kill me if I’m not here when he’s ready.
The contrast between Lowestoft and what I saw happening in Southwold is stark. Across the way from where I’m standing, a group of Switchbacks are unloading supplies from a cart and taking them into the police station barracks, where most of the fighters live. Others are collecting waste and dumping it over the compound walls for vagrants to plunder. Elsewhere, more of them are working on setting up a rudimentary water supply outside what used to be the library, to replace the previous one, which fell apart. They’ve lined up a series of drainpipes and water barrels to collect water from the gutters of buildings, black plastic taps hanging over the lip of a low brick wall for people to take water from. Lizzie’s dad used to have one of those barrels in his garden. I remember how the kids used to mess with it, and how they used to complain about the stagnant stench and the flies and the algae … and is this the best we can manage now? Still, if it’s bad here by Hinchcliffe’s courthouse, it’s much worse on the other side of the barricades.