The Girl with All the Gifts

53

Parks calls a meeting in the crew quarters, but it only has four attendees.

“Where’s Melanie?” Justineau demands, instantly alarmed, instantly suspicious.

“She left,” Parks says. And then, in the face of Justineau’s ferocious scepticism, “She’s coming back. She just had to go outside for a while.”

“She ‘had to go outside’?” Justineau repeats. “She doesn’t get calls of nature, Parks, so if you’re saying—”

“She did not,” Sergeant Parks says, “go out for a bathroom break. I’ll explain later if you insist, but she was actually pretty keen that I didn’t tell you about it, so it’s your call. In the meantime, we’ve got some other stuff that we need to discuss, and we need to discuss it now.”

They’re sitting on the edges of the ground-floor bunks, precariously balanced. The sleeping berths are in vertical stacks of three, so the four of them have to lean forward to avoid bumping their heads on the middle cots, whose steel frames are at exactly the height best calculated to smack someone’s brains out. There would have been more room in the lab, but apart from Caldwell, they all seem to prefer not to spend too much time in a space where the potpourri is formaldehyde.

Parks indicates Caldwell with a nod. “From what the Doc says, this thing we’re sitting in was some kind of research station, designed to move around freely in inner-city areas and to be secure against attack from hungries or anything else it came up against.

“Which was a great idea, and I’m not knocking it. Only at some point, a couple of things happened – can’t be sure in what order. The generator blew. Or something in the power feed blew, maybe, since the generator mostly looks okay to my admittedly shit-ignorant eye.”

“Maybe they ran out of fuel,” Gallagher hazards.

“Nope. They didn’t. The fuel is a high-octane naphtha–kerosene mix, like jet fuel, and they’ve got about seven hundred gallons of it. And the tanks for the flame-throwers are full too – at a pinch, they would have been able to jury-rig something out of that. So most likely it was a mechanical failure of some kind. They should have been able to fix it, because they’ve got multiple spares for every damn part, but… well, for some reason they didn’t. Maybe they’d already taken some casualties, and the people they lost were the ones who were the best mechanics. Anyway, when we get that generator stripped down, we’ll see what’s what.”

“And we are definitely going to do that?” Justineau demands.

“Unless you can think of a good reason not to. This thing is built like a tank. It’s everything the Humvee was, and a whole lot more. If we can ride it all the way to Beacon, it could save us a world of heartache.”

Justineau can’t help noticing that Dr Caldwell’s face is wearing a sly, smug little smirk. That makes her push against the idea, even though it’s obvious good sense. “We won’t exactly be inconspicuous.”

“No,” Parks agrees. “We won’t. People will hear us coming a mile off. And it’ll be up to them to get the fuck out of our way, because once we start, we won’t be stopping. Hungries, junkers, roadblocks: we just put our foot down and keep rolling. We won’t even need to stick to the streets. We could drive right through a house and come out the other side. Only thing that will stop big fat Rosie is rivers, and they’ve got maps in the equipment locker that show which bridges can take her weight. I think we’d be remiss if we didn’t at least try. Worst that can happen is one of those bridges will be down, and we have to drive a bit out of our way. Or she slips a tread or blows a gasket or something, and then we’re no worse off than when we started. In the meantime, we get a respite from forced marching, which was taking its toll on all of us and the Doc most of all.”

“Thank you for your solicitude,” Caldwell says.

“I don’t know what that is, but you’re very welcome.”

“Two things,” Justineau says.

“Sorry?”

“You said two things went wrong. The generator was one. What was the other?”

“Yeah,” Parks says. “I was coming to that. They ran out of food. The cupboards are completely bare. As in, not one damn crumb. So my disaster scenario goes like this. They lose the generator, and they can’t fix it. They sit here for a few days or weeks, waiting to be rescued. But the Breakdown’s still raging, and nobody comes. Finally one of them says, ‘Screw this,’ and they pack their bags and hit the road. One of them stays back, presumably on guard duty. The rest walk off into the sunset. Maybe they make it somewhere, maybe they don’t. Most likely they don’t, because the stay-behind kills himself and nobody comes back for the salvage. Which is our good fortune.”

He looks from face to face. “Except that we run the risk of going the same way,” he concludes. “I don’t know how long it will take to fix that generator, if we can fix it at all. But until we can do it, or until we give up, we’re staying right here. So we need food, just like the original crew did. We used up the last of the tins we took from that house in Stevenage, and we didn’t pass any place coming down here that hadn’t been looted, torched or flattened. Still got a fair amount of water, but we have to drink it sparingly because there’s no place to stock up between here and the Thames. So we need to forage, and we need a quick score. Ideally, a supermarket that no grab-bagger teams or junkers ever found, or a house where the homeowners stocked up big-time for the apocalypse and then got taken out early.”

Justineau winces at that cold-hearted calculation. “We’d be looking in the same places the original crew looked,” she points out. Parks turns to stare at her, and she shrugs. “I mean, it’s safe to assume they took a good look around before they abandoned this super-fortress and went out on the open road. If there was food that was lying there waiting to be found, they would have found it.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Parks says. “So the supply problem might be a serious one. Serious whether we move on or not, of course, but certainly more of a problem if we stay put here, for a day or two days or whatever, while I mess with that generator. So it’s a big decision, maybe life-or-death, and it affects all of us equally. I’d be happy to make the call, but as you were keen to remind me a couple of days back, Miss Justineau, you’re not under my command. No more is the Doc. So I’m happy, just this once, to put it to a vote.

“Should we stay or should we go? Show of hands for trying to fix the generator and ride home in style?”

Caldwell’s hand is up in a moment, Gallagher’s slightly slower. Justineau is in a minority of one.

“Okay with that?” Parks asks her.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Justineau says. But the truth is she was already on the fence. Her wariness about Rosie has a lot more to do with Melanie’s visible tension and the events of the last day at the base than with any rational objection. She can certainly see the attraction of making the rest of the journey in the safety and comfort of a humongous tank. No more ambushes. No more exposure. No more starting at every sound or movement, and looking over your shoulder every couple of seconds to see what’s coming up behind you.

On the other hand, Caldwell is still wearing her cat-that’s-anticipating-the-cream expression. Justineau’s mind and stomach rebel against the thought of being stuck in an enclosed space with the doctor for any longer than she has to. “I’d like to be on scavenger duty,” she tells Parks. “I mean, assuming you don’t need me to help with the generator. I’ll go with Gallagher and look for food.”

“I had you both down for that,” Parks agrees. “Can’t start on the generator until I know what I’m doing, so right now I’m mainly reading through the manuals so I can identify all the bits and pieces I need. Still got three hours of daylight left, so if you’re up for it, I think the two of you should go ahead and use it. Keep in touch via the walkie-talkies. If you run into any trouble, I’ll get to you as quick as I can. Dr Caldwell, I’m letting you off that duty because your hands are still in a bad way and you probably won’t be able to carry very much. Plus, we’ve only got the two packs.”

Justineau is surprised that the sergeant bothered to justify himself. He’s looking at Caldwell thoughtfully, like maybe there’s something else on his mind.

“Well, there are plenty of things I can do here,” Caldwell says. “I’ll start with the water filtration system. In theory, Rosie was able to condense water from ambient air. Once the generator’s working, we might be able to get that up and running again.”

“Good enough,” Parks says, and turns back to Justineau. “You better hit the road if you want to be back before dark.”

But she’s not ready to head out just yet. She’s worried about Melanie, and she wants the truth. “Can I speak to you,” she asks Parks, conscious of the echo, “in private?”

Parks shrugs. “Okay. If it’s quick.”

They go back into the engine room. She starts to speak, but Parks forestalls her by handing her his own walkie-talkie. “In case you and Gallagher get split up,” he explains. “Rosie’s cockpit has a full comms rig, and it’s a lot more powerful than these portables, so you can take one each.”

Justineau pockets the unit without even looking at it. She doesn’t want to be derailed by a discussion of logistics. “I’d like to know what Melanie said to you,” she tells Park. “And where she’s gone.”

Parks scratches his neck. “Really? Even when she told me not to say?”

She holds his gaze. “You let her go out there on her own. I already know damn well that you don’t see a risk to Melanie as worth taking into account. But I do. And I want to know why you thought it was okay to send her out there.”

“You’re wrong,” Parks says.

“Am I? About what?”

“About me.” He plants his butt against the opened cowling of the generator, folds his arms. “Okay, not that wrong. A couple of days ago, I said we should cut the kid loose. She pulled our irons out of the fire twice since then, and on top of that she’s turned into a really good scout. I’d be sorry to lose her.”

Justineau opens her mouth to speak, but Parks isn’t finished. “Also, since she can lead people back to us, letting her wander around on her own out there is not a decision that comes without consequences. But after what she told me, it seemed like the least worst option.”

Justineau’s mouth has gone a little drier than it already was. “What did she tell you?” she demands.

“She said our e-blocker isn’t worth fuck any more, Helen. We put it on way too thin this morning, because we’ve only got half a tube left between the four of us. I thought this rig would have some, but it doesn’t. It’s got the blue goop that Dr Caldwell uses in the lab, but that’s just a disinfectant. It’s not going to kill scent in the same way.

“So the kid’s been smelling us all day, and she’s been going half crazy with the hunger all that time. She was scared shitless she was going to get loose and bite one of us. You particularly. And that was why she didn’t want me to tell you any of this. She doesn’t want you to think of her like that, as a dangerous animal. She wants you to think of her as a kid in your class.”

Justineau feels dizzy all of a sudden. She leans back against the cold metal of the wall, waits for her head to stop spinning.

“That…” she says. “That is how I think of her.”

“Which is what I told her. But it didn’t make her any less hungry. So I cut her loose.”

“You…?”

“Took her outside. Took off the cuffs, and off she went. Got them right here, ready for when she comes back.” He opens one of the lockers and there they are, laid down all neat and tidy next to the coiled leash. “I showed her how to take the muzzle off for herself, like she didn’t figure that out already. It’s just a couple of leather straps. She’s going to stay out until she finds something to eat. Something big. The plan is for her to gorge herself to bursting. Not come back until her belly’s full. Maybe that will keep the feeding reflex at bay for a while.”

Justineau thinks back to the way Melanie was behaving before she left – the violent starts and the general unease. She gets it now. Understands what she must have been suffering. What she doesn’t get is Parks changing his mind about the muzzle and the cuffs. She’s both bewildered and a little resentful. It seems, in some way, to threaten the bond she’s developed with Melanie to have the other members of the party – especially Parks! – extending the same trust to her.

“You weren’t worried she’d bite you?” she asks him. She hears the snide insinuation in her own voice and it suddenly sickens her. “I mean… you think we can keep her with us, even if she’s hungry?”

“Well, no,” Parks says, deadpan. “That’s why I let her leave. Or do you mean was I afraid when I took the cuffs off? No, because I kept my gun on her. The kid’s unusual – unique’s maybe a better word – but she is what she is. What makes her unique is that she knows it. She doesn’t cut herself any slack. Lot of people could take an example from that.”

He hands her his pack, which he’s emptied.

“You mean me?” Justineau demands. “You think I’m not pulling my weight?”

It would feel good to have a stand-up argument with Parks right then, but he doesn’t seem keen to play. “No, I didn’t mean you. I meant in general.”

“People in general? You were being philosophical?”

“I was being a grumpy bastard. It’s what I wear to the office most days. I guess you probably noticed that.”

She hesitates, wrong-footed. She didn’t think Parks was capable of self-deprecation. But then she didn’t think he was capable of changing his mind.

“Any more rules of engagement?” she asks him, still hurting in some obscure way, still not mollified. “How to survive when shopping? Top tips for modern urban living?”

Parks gives the question more consideration than she was expecting.

“Use up the last of that e-blocker,” he suggests. “And don’t die.”