Outside

Chapter Ten

As soon as the Perimeter becomes a distant blur behind us, Luc gives me the all clear to come out of my hiding place. I unfold my body and slide back into the passenger seat. The heater’s warm air is now exchanged for a refreshing blast from the air conditioning. It may be September but it’s as hot as midsummer outside, even though it’s still early in the day.

I take in the unfamiliar scenery – uneven scrubland, deserted shanties and packs of skinny, mangy dogs, lying in shady spots, their pink tongues lolling. The openness of everything unsettles me. I feel like an insignificant gnat about to be swallowed up by the vast landscape and I realise how much confidence and security the Perimeter provides. The genteel fuzzyfelt lawns, immaculate houses and straight roads of our everyday enclosed world that keep me safe.

It’s just over four miles from our Talbot Woods Perimeter to the Wessex Way, a sporadically-maintained road that will take us up to Ringwood and then on to Warminster. But we’re currently travelling on rough terrain. The Wessex Way used to stretch much further into the heart of Bournemouth, but as the years go by, the army is less-and-less inclined to bother with its upkeep. Consequently, the road has got shorter and shorter. Nature is winning the battle.

The AV is well-equipped to deal with the scrub and overgrown woodland, but our progress is still snail like. Rabbits bound and zigzag across our path with more speed than we’re able to muster. I look across at Luc with what must be a doubtful expression on my face, because he laughs at me.

‘Don’t worry,’ he reassures. ‘We’ll pick up some speed once we hit the Wessex Way. It’s mind-blowing out here, isn’t it?’

‘Mm, amazing,’ I reply, too wired to really enjoy the surroundings. A million thoughts and worries flash through my mind.

‘Do you think the riots are still going on at Ringwood?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know. I’ve been worrying about that. If I knew a safer route I’d take it but I don’t know any other way. We don’t have to go directly through the town, so I’m pretty sure we’ll miss any trouble. And we’re safe enough in here. I’m sure it’ll be fine as long as we’re not there at night.’

We bump along across vast tracts of heather and gorse scrub and negotiate our way around dark stands of conifers. I’m riveted by the dramatic shape of a wind blown pine – stunted and hunched as if frozen in fear.

Old bomb craters, reclaimed by nature, now blend into their natural surroundings as mossy banked dips and marshy pools. In less than two decades, the landscape has more-or-less reverted back to its natural state, most of it now scrub and overgrown woodland.

All the buildings making up the various Bournemouth conurbations have long since been destroyed; the remaining rubble and debris removed by scavengers either to sell on or re-build elsewhere. Somewhere safer and less desolate. Not a single brick remains.

It’s an ancient wilderness with only the odd violent nod towards civilisation – the shell of a burnt-out car, an upturned bus, a frayed rope hanging from a tree with a pile of bleached bones beneath it. I feel exposed and vulnerable, glad for the daylight. I don’t want to think about what it will feel like later, in the darkness.

A lone horseman materialises from nowhere. He gallops past, about two hundred yards from our AV. His head’s down low and his bay horse is slick with sweat. As he passes, he turns to look at us but Luc activates the blackout mode, so all he’ll see is his blurred reflection in our windows. He has a young face. He thunders off in the direction from where we’ve just come.

‘Probably a messenger,’ says Luc.

There are no telecommunications these days. We’re privileged to have access to the Donovans’ radio communication system which links up to the Guards Houses across the country but this sort of device is a rarity. Most people have to rely on asking the army for news, or the travelling horsemen who earn great sums to deliver mail to loved ones around the country and to pass on important messages.

I think about the dangers these riders face. They’re surely armed, but have nothing like the security we enjoy in our AV. They’re prime targets, for who knows what important information or goods they might be carrying.

After forty minutes or so, the huge walled Charminster Compound looms ahead, sitting incongruously in the barren countryside. The outside wall must measure about twenty five feet high. Topped with razor wire, it’s made up of a mish-mash of different bricks, some parts rendered and some parts exposed. It looks like a strange medieval town. A wide deep ditch runs around the outside and a sloping metal ramp at the entrance lies across the ditch, passing under two steel gates that have just swung open.

A convoy of metallic grey armoured buses crawls out of the compound, the sunlight glinting off their roofs. They’re the same as those that deliver the workers to the Perimeter and, sure enough, I recognise some of the faces behind the windows. Not all of the buses head in the direction of our Perimeter though and I wonder where the others are going.

‘The road we want is a couple of miles past the other side of the compound,’ says Luc.

I stare, open-mouthed at the huge circular structure, awed by its size. I never imagined it to be so enormous. I always assumed our Perimeter was much bigger than the Compound. But I see now it’s the other way around. I can’t conceive of the number of people who must live behind its walls. What do they all do?

‘Have you ever been in there?’ I ask.

‘A few times, but not on business. They use their own guards. Your Pa goes there a lot though.’

I can’t imagine Pa doing business there. I always picture him visiting a much smaller, less-intimidating compound where everyone treats him like royalty. But even my impressive Pa would get swallowed up in such a big space.

We carry on, driving around the outside walls towards the road. As we get further away from the main gates, we see hundreds of flimsy cardboard, cloth and corrugated metal huts all around the wall’s base – makeshift houses. They seem alright in this weather, but what happens when it rains? What about the winter months? People have cordoned off small rectangles of land to grow produce. Donkeys, ponies, goats and dogs are tethered to wooden posts. Children of all ages run around barefoot and dirty. Chickens scratch about in small wire pens.

Gypsy-looking men and women sit around on the baked mud earth, cooking whole skinned rabbits and unappetising-looking black flatbread over open fires. They’ve nearly all got shotguns or more primitive weapons on their laps, even the children. Some of the people are horribly maimed with limbs or eyes missing. A lot of them have awful scarring on their faces. Hardly anyone pays attention to our blacked-out AV. One or two people look up with disdain on their faces. No one tries to approach us.

Ron Chambers used to live in this towering compound. I wonder what his house is like. Does he have any friends inside these walls? Suddenly I know it’s vital we go and see where he lived. I need to go inside and see if it sheds any light on his whereabouts. I can’t believe our plans haven’t included a visit to his old place. I know the guards and the army checked it out and found nothing, but now I decide I have to see it for myself.

Luc tries to dissuade me from turning back to enter the compound. Not least because he’s worried about getting past Ringwood before nightfall.

‘Going in there won’t help us to find him. I promise you the guards will have turned his place inside out. And someone’ll recognise us and then we’ll get sent back to the Perimeter.’

‘No, we won’t. And we’ll bribe the guards to let us in. I’ll wear your baseball cap and you can just keep your head down. We’ll be fine.’

‘There’s no point, Riley? He won’t have left a map with an X marking his destination.’

‘Please. I really think we need to. Somebody might know where he’s gone. Aren‘t you even a bit curious?’

I know Luc’s just being rational and thinking of our safety, but he eventually capitulates and turns the AV around. We drive over the noisy metal ramp up to the now firmly closed main gates.

Our first destination was supposed to be the Century Barracks at Warminster. Luc’s parents know the soldiers there and Luc’s sure they’ll offer us hospitality. We’re going to try to find the two soldiers who saw Chambers and get as much information from them as we can. Then we’ll head across to the West Country, stopping at perimeters and compounds, asking people if they’ve seen a man of his description. Luc’s got a copy of the circulated picture of Chambers so we’ll show it to people we meet in the hope they recognise him. But Luc and I both agree that he’d probably have cut his hair and shaved his beard by now, which will make finding him that much harder.

I realise Luc’s speaking to me again, asking me if he should beep the horn to attract someone‘s attention. Before I have time to answer, a small metal door opens and a guard carrying a machine gun walks up to Luc’s window and knocks on the glass. Luc buzzes his window down. As he does so, we get a blast of uncomfortable heat, unexpected after the cool of the air-conditioning. But worse than the heat is an awful stomach-churning rotting smell. I almost gag. It must come from the compound itself, or from the people who dwell outside in its shadow. Luc doesn’t flinch, but palms the burly guard a couple of silver bits.

‘We’re here to barter for produce,’ Luc tells the guard.

‘You’ll have to leave the vehicle here, Sir.’

‘Can I leave it inside the walls?’

‘No.’

‘We’ll only be about an hour,’ says Luc, passing him another couple of bits.

‘Wait here.’ He goes back inside and one of the gates creaks open. Another guard signals to us to park within the compound in a parking space off to the left.

Although we’re now inside the gates, we’re still outside the main walls. We’ve stopped in what appears to be a vast entrance area, a car park. I assume the other large set of gates opens up to the main town. Luc locks the AV and we look around to see where we should go.

‘What’s that gross smell?’ I ask.

‘Shh. Most places outside our Perimeter smell like this. It’s how people live. In squalor mainly.’

I get that feeling of inadequacy again. There are so many things about this trip I’m ill-prepared for. I half-wish I hadn’t suggested coming in here now. The smell of the place makes me think I’ve seen enough and the rows and rows of vehicles are a strange sight, making me feel dizzy. But I can’t change my mind after making such a fuss to come here in the first place.

We don’t see either of the guards, so we thread our way through the cars towards the other set of gates. Most of the parked vehicles are little more than rusted heaps that don’t look as if they’ll be going anywhere ever again.

Luc holds out his hand and I take it, feeling self-conscious. It feels cool and firm. There are several small entrances up ahead with more uniformed guards stationed at each one, but all I can think about is the feel of my hand in Luc’s.

‘I think this is going to be an expensive visit,’ he says, drawing half-a- dozen silver bits from his pocket to grease some more palms.

Finally we’re in.