A Watch In The Night

A Watch in the Night By

Mark Peckett

For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night. Psalm 90-4

I The battle for Tesco’s was short and savage. Darren’s tribe attacked at dawn, swarming across the car park like shadows, hiding behind bushes and old cars. At a signal they all rose up and charged, screaming, bursting through the barricade of shopping trolleys and killing the lookouts of Rahman’s tribe before they had time to sound the alarm. The fighting, with knives and stones and iron bars, raged up and down the aisles. Darren’s tribe killed all; there were too many mouths to feed already so none were spared. Men, women and children all died. Darren broke his knife killing Shanaz, Rahman’s woman. She turned aside and his blade snapped on her rib. He crushed her skull with a rock and now he was picking over the corpses, trying to find a new weapon. It was then that River, his adviser, came to him. River was the oldest of the tribe, and looked on with great awe, having already lived two more years than most. He was twenty three, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, dinner suit trousers tucked into cowboy boots and an army greatcoat. His face was grim. Darren looked up and grunted. He was hefting a three foot iron spike in his hand. “It’s bad,” said River. “Three days’ food – maybe four if we ration it.” “No.” Darren swung the bar experimentally. “No fucking rationing. We need to be strong.” And he smashed it into a shelf. Useless things – air fresheners, toilet blocks and floor polish – flew everywhere. “Then what?” Darren shrugged. “Sainsbury’s. Morrison’s. Fucking Asda.” “Then what?”

Page | 2

“The fuck you on about, man?” River sighed, said, “It’s all gone, Daz – there’s no food left.” Darren frowned, thinking. It was why he lead the tribe. His mind drove down one track and pulled the tribe along behind him. But when it ended, he didn’t try and force his way on. He changed track. He nodded. “Ok,” he said. “What?” “Come with me.” River took him up to the roof and they looked out over the ruins. The car park was full of cars, windows smashed and sagging on slashed tyres. Some were burnt out and rusting bright orange and black. There were more abandoned cars in the roads beyond. The windows of the houses they could see were broken and curtains flapped through the black holes. Furniture had been thrown into the front gardens. Broken television sets, sofas with the stuffing ripped out. Some had been set on fire, by accident or deliberately; charred roof timbers scratched at the sky. Lawns and hedges were overgrown and spreading everywhere. Beyond, blocks of flats and offices, windows darkened squares. Black smoke from a fire in the distance hung in the sky. There was always something burning. It was very quiet. Birds sang. The wind whistled around them. “Well?” said Darren. “What do you see?” “The city.” “And that way?” River turned and pointed. Darren shrugged. “Nothing. Trees. Grass.” “That’s where food comes from.” Darren looked at him blankly. “Meat. Vegetables,” said River patiently. “They grow out there. In the country.” He studied Darren’s face. He couldn’t see any understanding. “Food doesn’t come from boxes and tins,” he said. “Vegetables grow in the ground like grass and trees. Meat comes from animals like cats and dogs.” Darren grinned. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while,” he said. Page | 3

It was true. Ten years ago, when Darren was nine, packs of dogs roamed the streets, scavenging, carrying off the weak, the young and unwary from the tribe. But the last dog had been trapped and eaten long ago, and there were no fish left in the lakes, ponds and reservoirs. Few pigeons, less eggs. His tribe was starving. Something had to be done. “OK,” he said. “What’s your plan?” “We need to leave the city.” “Fuck off.” “I’m serious, Daz – there are people like us out there. Growing food. We need them.” Darren grunted. “We’ll talk to Savannah,” he said. Savannah was Darren’s woman. Three years younger than him, mother to his son Luka, and stepmother to his five year old son Tyson by Lateesha, his previous woman. She had died three years ago and he had been with Savannah ever since. She was tending the wounded, washing and dressing injuries. Luka was crawling around on the floor near her. Tyson was playing with the other children his age. They were fighting with sticks. She looked up, pushed hair off her face. “Tell her,” said Darren. River told her walk he’d told Darren. When he had finished she looked at Darren and said, “What do you think?” “I think we should do it.” She nodded. “All right. Call the tribe and tell them.” She sent Conor. They gathered the tribe all together in the warehouse. Darren climbed up on a forklift truck and looked out over them. His tribe. They were dirty, dressed in what they could find or what they had stripped off the dead bodies. Their hair was long and matted, their faces pinched with sunken cheeks and large dark eyes. Darren spoke. “I know where there is food,” he said. His tribe stirred, murmuring. “Not in the city. In the ... country. There are tribes who grow food - in the ground – like grass and trees. They grow meat. But they don’t fight. They’re weak. And we’ll take their food from them!” The murmur rose to a roar, fists clenched, weapons raised and shaken.

Page | 4

“Is it true?” Savannah asked River. “I don’t know. My father told me when he was teaching me to read. And I found a few books.” “Books?” “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.” It was true. What hadn’t been burnt had been used for toilet paper long ago. “I don’t understand.” River smiled. “It doesn’t matter.” “But we don’t have a choice?” “I don’t think so. The tribes have eaten everything. All that’s left is killing and eating each other.” “If you’re wrong, he’ll kill you.” “If I’m wrong we’re dead anyway.” “He’d rather die fighting than starving to death in the middle of nowhere.” They watched as Darren shouted, “We leave tomorrow at dawn!” and again the tribe roared, then broke up and slowly drifted away. They’d follow him anywhere, thought River. They trust him completely. And he trusts me – but not completely. And they don’t trust me at all. I’m too old. They’re scared of me. They’d kill me if they could – if Darren wasn’t there to stop them. Darren strode up to him. “It’s done,” he said, and he stared at River with hard eyes until River looked away. No words were spoken but the threat was unmistakeable. River had no doubt what Savannah had said to him was true. Then Darren pushed past him, took Savannah by the waist and left the warehouse, leaving River alone. At his age, he was used to being on his own. Everyone he had ever loved was dead. His father, who had lived to be twenty-five, and the three women who had cared for him – his mother and the woman who had raised him when she had died, and then the one who loved him when he grew up – all dead. Maybe it would be better if Darren killed him. No more wondering then when he was going to die – tomorrow or the next day, next week or next year.

Page | 5

The gloom of the warehouse suited his mood. He sat down and pulled his coat around him. It was cold out of the sun and away from the fires but it was better than the silence and the stares of the tribe. Only Darren and Savannah spoke to him. Even children were pulled away from him until they were old enough to run. He thought he might sleep; save his strength for tomorrow. It was going to be a long day. But something caught his eye: a patch of white under the wheel of the forklift truck. It was a piece of paper. Not smooth to the touch like the books in his bag. It was coarser and the print on it was larger. He tried to ease it out, but a corner was trapped and tore off. He could have wept. All those words lost. What was left? He smoothed it out. A red square in the corner where it was torn. White writing, what was left of it, in capitals: “ – LY –

ROR”

Underneath, part of another word, capital letters, big and black: “ – RUS!” He couldn’t make anything of it. And beneath that part of another word: “ – illions” And then the last word. One he could read: “Dead” There were two columns underneath with words he could read. Easy ones: “is”, “the”, “and”, “a”. Then harder ones: “emergency”, “military”, “contingency”. And this word in capitals: “EODS.” It didn’t look like anything he had seen before. Not like the books in his bag, with pictures, about Janet and John or the Famous Five and Swallows and Amazons. He read on. More words, some he understood and some he didn’t. And this: “ ... Early Onset Death Syndrome.” He recognised “Early” and “Death.” Was that EODS? He shrugged and folded the paper, put it into his pocket. It could wait. He went outside to help the tribe prepare for tomorrow.

Page | 6

II They left in the pearl-grey light of early dawn, carrying everything they could. Some were bundled up in layer upon layer of clothing. They crept from the supermarket down the edge of the road, keeping close to hedges, fences and walls. They followed Darren and River. No one spoke, the children were silent and the babies did not cry. They didn’t like this. Their world was protected by walls and barricades. Open spaces scared them. Their weapons were at the ready, their eyes darted to and fro, and at the slightest sound they all froze. Darren kept them going all morning. At midday he found a school and ushered them all inside. He posted lookouts and wouldn’t let the tribe light fires. There was some grumbling and sullen stares aimed at River. Ever since Darren had stared him out yesterday he had felt the touch of death on him. The rest of the tribe seemed to feel it too. He went to look for Darren to lift the feeling – the curse - and found him on the roof. He was with his right-hand man, Cody. Cody was sixteen years old, dressed in a lilac shell suit, a parka and Doc Martins with a keffiyeh wrapped round his head. They were squatting behind a water tank, sharing a pair of binoculars, staring intently through them. They did not hear him until he was right behind them. Cody leaped to his feet with a curse, his hand darting to the bread knife in his belt. River backed away, hands raised. Cody grabbed him by his shirt front and pressed the knife to his throat. “You fucking freak. I ought to kill you.” River could feel the teeth biting into his flesh. “Daz!” he gasped, looking at him over Cody’s shoulders. Darren sighed. “Leave it, Cody.” Cody cursed again, shoving River in the chest and he staggered back. Cody stalked back to the water tank. River touched his hand to his throat and it came away bloody. He wiped his hand on his greatcoat. “What’re you looking at?” he asked. “There’s a tribe out there.” Page | 7

Darren handed him the binoculars. River scanned the buildings around the school. At first he saw nothing, just ruins, broken windows, overgrown gardens. And then something. In that dark window. Behind that crashed car. The bus shelter. “We’re trapped,” said Darren. “Like fucking rats,” said Cody, glaring at River. “We never should have come.” “Shut the fuck up, Cody.” He turned to River. “What d’you think?” River looked again. They were strung out along the road, hiding. There were about thirty of them. Not enough to surround the school. They could escape tonight across the fields. Or they could send some of the tribe out under cover of darkness and then attack with the rest at dawn on the left flank, pushing them down the road into an ambush and kill them all. Or ... “Well?” said Darren. “We could try talking to them,” said River. They stared at him, Cody’s mouth open and Darren’s shut in a grim line, then they both started talking at once, swearing. “The fuck you talking about?” “Think about it, Daz. They’re just like us. Tired. Hungry. They don’t want to fight. We should go and tell them that we’re just passing through and we’ll be gone by morning.” “Are you listening to this shit?” “Jesus! Will you shut up and let me think.” “You can’t be serious! I say first we kill this fuck – “ he had his knife out again and he pointed it at River. “ – and then we go and kill all those fuckers out there.” And he waved it in the direction of the road. “Shut the fuck up, man,” said Darren, holding his hand up to him. He turned to River. “You think they’ll go for it?” “No way!” screamed Cody. “No fucking way. He’s going to get us all killed. And if you listen to him you’re as crazy as he is.” His eyes wild and glaring he swung on River. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” Page | 8

He lashed out with the knife and River flung himself backwards, stumbled and fell. Cody dropped on top of him and raised the knife above his head. The sun glittered wickedly on its jagged edge. River brought his arms up in front of his face and the knife slashed down. There was a sound like a stone landing in a mud puddle and Cody toppled onto him. He felt very heavy. Something hot ran onto River’s face. He thought it was his blood and yet he felt no pain. Perhaps he was dying at last ... Then the weight was gone and he could breathe easily. Darren had Cody by the collar and was dragging the limp body off him. Blood and brains from Cody’s head dripped onto River and he wriggled away on his back in disgust. Darren dumped the body and wiped his iron spike on Cody’s parka, leaving dark stripes. He tugged Cody’s scarf off and threw it at River. “Clean yourself up.” River climbed to his feet and dabbed at the red stuff on his hands and face, turning away from Cody’s crumpled body. He dropped the keffiyeh guiltily. He turned back and found Darren watching him. He squared his shoulders. “Okay?” asked Darren. River nodded. “Right, let’s do it.” They left Cody’s body on the roof – “For the birds,” said Darren – and went to find Savannah. Darren told her the plan and she glanced sharply at River. “You better not be trying to get us all killed because you want to die yourself,” she said. As her eyes narrowed, his widened in shock. He knew he was waiting to die but until that moment he hadn’t thought he was looking for it. “Will you shut up about dying?” said Darren. “There’s been enough fucking death for one day.” “What do you mean?” “Cody’s dead. I killed him – had to. He challenged me. The body’s on the roof. Tell his woman. We got to go and talk to that tribe out there. Let’s go, River.”

Page | 9

Darren ignored Savannah’s open-mouthed stare and strode off. River could not meet her eyes and looked away. She laid a hand on his arm. “What happened up there?” she asked. Still looking at the ground, he shook his head and pulled away, turning to follow Darren outside. He met him at the door, peering through the broken glass. “So how does this work?” he said. “We out with a white a flag.” “A white flag?” “It means we’re not going to fight.” “Do they know that?” “And we put our weapons down.” “Fuck off!” “There are some things you can’t do with a weapon in your hand.” “I didn’t hear you complaining on the roof.” River sighed. “To everything there is a season, Daz.” “What?” “I don’t know. Something my dad used to say ... a time to every purpose – something something – a time to kill and a time to something - “ He shook his head. “I can’t remember.” Darren dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, well – it doesn’t matter. Let’s get this done.” They pushed through the door and Darren slowly put down his iron spike and River shook out the piece of white sheet in his hands. They stood there feeling as big as the school behind them. It was very quiet. Nothing moved. “Now what?” whispered Darren. “Say something.”

Page | 10

Darren cleared his throat, raised his voice. “My name is Darren. This is my tribe. We don’t want any trouble.” The silence grew around them. “We’re just passing through.” They waited a long time, but nothing happened. Darren scowled at the smashed windows and broken doors, daring something to happen. “This is a waste of fucking time.” “Just wait.” River sounded more confident than he felt. In the silence they could hear their hearts pounding, their blood rushing, their breathing. The wind, birds, a rattle of stones falling. A shout, the voice reedy and cracking. “What you want?” “Leave us alone. We’ll be gone – “ Darren glanced up at the sun. “ – in a couple of watches.” A thinking silence. “You got one.” Darren didn’t stop to think. “Done.” And he turned on his heel, leaving River to follow behind him.

Darren gave his tribe barely an hour to rest, eat what little they had and drink from the water tank on the roof. Then they struck out across the fields at the back of the school, all the time ready for a tribe to come screaming at them. When they reached the overgrown woods they expected stones and spears from behind the trees, but nothing happened. He drove them hard and they left the city behind them. The going wasn’t easy. The roads were broken by grass, weeds, trees and shrubs. The few houses were in ruins. Towards evening, the tribe hungry, with no shelter, he asked River: “Where’s the food?” “We’re too close to the city,” said River. “Tomorrow, or the day after.” “Or the fucking day after that,” growled Darren. Page | 11

They spent the night huddled together, scared by unfamiliar noises, and awoke early in the light of pre-dawn. They moved on, slower now, driven by Darren and persuaded by Savannah. At noon he came to River again. “Well?” “We’ve got to find a farm,” River said. He told the blank look, “It’s where the food grows.” “And how the fuck do we do that?” River looked around. “We find high ground and look for signs of life.” He nodded. “That hill.” Darren grunted. “We’ll take Savannah.” It was a steep climb and half way up River said he felt unwell. “I’m going to sit by this tree.” He rested his head on the trunk. “Tell me what you see.” And he shut his eyes. At the top of the hill they looked down on a farm. There was a house, with a roof and windows, smoke curling up from the chimney. The gardens at the front and back were dug over with rows of green stuff growing and there were big brown birds wandering about. There were other buildings, small brick ones with fat pink animals in, and others as big as the house with no sides. Inside were big animals, some brown, some black and white. There were more of the animals in the fields beyond the house, and others, smaller, like clouds. Everywhere he could see small figures moving out, poking the earth with sticks or throwing things at the birds, tipping stuff into the pens of the pink animals, shaking dry grass around the big animals. There were others on guard with spears and – He looked through the binoculars. Bows and arrows. The weapons looked well made. He hadn’t seen a bow and arrow since the battle at the shopping mall. He’d lost four of the tribe before they got to the archer and then they had beaten him to death and smashed the bow. Around the house and garden was a high wooden fence made of logs pointed at the top, and then a ditch six feet deep and wide. “We’ll never get in there,” said Savannah. “We could try talking to them,” Darren said.

Page | 12

They went back down the hill to tell River, but he was already dead.

III Darren was on his knees thinning carrots with his son. “For fuck’s sake, Tyson,” he said, noticing his son’s dirty face. “You’re supposed to be picking them, not eating them.” And he slapped the boy’s head. The boy glowered at him and ran off. Darren threw down his fork. “Fuck this.” And he strode down to the farmhouse. Savannah was in the kitchen with Susan, who ran the farm. She was stocky with a red face and hands, her hair held off her face with a head square. She was wearing a woollen jumper, jeans and wellingtons, a brown cotton apron over the top. They were sitting at the scrubbed wood table. The range in the corner warmed the kitchen and made it smell of wood smoke. A large pot was bubbling on top. “Susan’s been teaching me about crop rotation,” said Savannah, looking up. “She says we can feed both tribes if we clear two more fields.” “You finished with the carrots?” Susan demanded. “Tyson ran off.” “Did you hit him again?” said Savannah. “He was eating them.” “He’s not used to having food when he needs it.” “He needs to do as he’s told. He’s a warrior.” “We’re not warriors, we’re farmers,” said Susan. “And if you want to stay with us, you need to learn to be a farmer too.” “Nobody complained before,” said Darren. Page | 13

“That was then,” said Savannah. “This is now.” It was true. A lot had happened since they had walked down the hill two months ago with River’s white flag in their hands. Covered by bows and arrows they had been marched into the kitchen to meet Susan. Darren’s offer of warriors to protect her tribe had been turned down; Savannah’s suggestion of extra hands to work on the farm had been accepted. And so Darren’s warriors had learnt to plough the land, milk cows, shear sheep and slaughter pigs. They took to the new life easily enough and grew solid and muscular on a diet of meat and vegetables and hard work. They even had to go back to the city on a raid for some bigger clothes. Darren stared from Savannah to Susan and back, swallowed his words and stormed from the warm, sweet-smelling kitchen. He went to River’s grave at the top of the hill. Grass was growing over the earth they’d dug two months ago. “You were right to bring us here,” he said. “Right for them. Not for me.” He looked down at the farm. He could see the crops and the animals and tiny figures moving with purpose tending them. “I’ve got to get out. I’m losing my edge. Maybe I could take Savannah and the kids, and some of the tribe and move on – find a new town. There must be one out there. One with shops that haven’t been raided, houses that haven’t been destroyed. Somewhere we could settle down.” He hadn’t said that much in a long time, and he was saying it to a dead man. He smiled. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you. You’ve finally got what you wanted – you’re dead. I should be talking to Savannah.” He must have heard the murmur of voices long before he noticed it, but by then it was already too late. He was surrounded, in the open with no weapon, nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He didn’t recognise the leader of the tribe until he spoke in a cracked voice, breaking between high and low. “Well, look who it ain’t – the passing fru guy.” He was a skinny boy of fourteen or fifteen with bad skin in a leather jacket and jeans that were too big for him, turned up and held up with string. In his hand was a katana,

Page | 14

curved and three feet long. He tilted his head and looked critically at Darren. It reminded Darren of how Susan picked a pig for slaughtering. “You look fatter than last time I saw you.” Ringed by spears and knives, Darren stared back at him. “Bet you’re wondering what we’re doing here.” The skinny boy puffed out his chest. “I ain’t stupid, you know. I knew somefink was up when you didn’t fight ... and your tribe’s twice the size of ours. You could’ve taken us easily. When you didn’t I sent someone to follow you.” A boy of ten in a cub scout uniform stepped forward and grinned. His teeth were brown and black with gaps. “I know everyfink about the house with all the food. I been planning this for months.” “It’s a farm,” said Darren. Then he heard his own words come back to him in a cracked and broken voice: “We’re gonna kill them and take the food.” “No fucking way,” said Darren. “They got bows and arrows and shit.” “You fink I’m stupid or somefink? I told you I been planning this. We got ladders, see. After dark, we come from the woods, use the ladders to cross the ditch and climb the fence. They won’t know what hit them.” His shining eyes turned hard. “But first, we kill you.” The sword pointed at Darren’s throat. “Wait!” he shouted. “Wait a fucking minute. Why’d you think I’m out here, man? They threw me out, for fuck’s sake!” The sword wavered. “I can help you. Your plan’s shit, man. They got dogs – fucking great animals with teeth. Huge, sharp teeth. They let them out at night. They tear you to pieces. I know how to get you in.” The sword came back up and the sword pricked his throat.

Page | 15

“Maybe you do. Or maybe you’re playing us. But I know how to find out.” The sword’s tip pressed into his flesh and warm blood trickled down his neck. “Tie him to the tree.” The night was long, and before dawn Darren, torn and limping, lead them down the hill. “When they open the gate,” he mumbled through split and bloody lips, “ that’s when they’re weak. They’re driving the animals out. Sheep and cows. They’re all over the fucking place. It takes all of them to keep the things under control. That’s when we hit them.” They hid behind bushes and trees and waited for daylight. The dew soaked through their clothes and around them the world came alive. From behind the fence they heard animals and humans waking up – noises they didn’t recognise and ones they did. A baby crying, an angry shout, a laugh. Above them birds started singing and things rustling in the undergrowth made them tighten their hands on their weapons. Then the gates creaked open and the animals started wandering out. Sheep first, then cows, herded by dogs that ran and stopped and ran again, and by men and women on horses. “Now?” asked the boy. “Wait.” Darren wanted all the animals through the gate. “Now!” The tribe rose up, howling. The animals panicked and scattered, bleating and bellowing, crashing into the tribe. Some were knocked down and trampled without a sound. Some fell screaming. Others broke and ran. Arrows fired by the guards on the horses thunked into them and they dropped, twitching, or staggering on before collapsing. The rest were ridden down. None escaped. They found Darren standing over the body of the boy with the breaking voice, holding the bloody katana. “You didn’t plan for that, did you, you dumb fuck?” he was saying. They took him back to the farmhouse and put him to bed. They nursed him back to health. Herbs soothed his injuries and food strengthened his body.

Page | 16

Three months had passed and his wounds had turned into scars. He was sitting in the garden, warmed by the sun. Savannah came to him. “You’re looking better,” she said. “You’ll be able to work soon.” “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m not a farmer, Shazza.” Savannah looked away, at the kitchen garden and the hen coops and the pig pens, the barns filled with hay, and beyond to the fields where the cows and sheep grazed and the crops ripened. “I think I am,” she said. “I know. I been thinking about this a lot. I’m better now. I need to move on.” They called a meeting of the tribe. Most chose to stay – good food, regular meals, somewhere warm and soft to sleep after hard work. Against sudden violence, hunger cold nights on hard floors. Only five took up their weapons to go with Darren. And his son, Tyson. There was nothing else to say or do. They left at dawn on the following day. Little was said. Susan saw they had food to take with them. Savannah watched them from the gate, but they did not look back. Susan spoke to her, and when she looked again they had vanished from sight.

Page | 17

Page | 18