Apocalypse Cow (30 page)

‘Dad!’ he yelled. ‘Help!’

‘Moooooooooooo!’ a voice said behind him, strangely muffled.

Geldof whirled round. Behind him stood six soldiers in camouflage, arranged in a loose arrow formation with the
leader
, who was holding Geldof’s wrist, at the tip. They were all wearing disposable masks over their noses and mouths.

‘Moooooooooooo!’ the short, stocky man exclaimed again, throwing his head back and bending his knees for extra gusto. His mates, each of them holding a stubby automatic weapon at an angle across his chest, chuckled behind their masks.

The lead soldier released Geldof’s wrist.

‘Got you there, my son,’ he brayed in a southern English accent. ‘You were shitting it.’

Geldof’s adrenalin was still pumping, and he felt a sudden desire to turn his flight reaction into fight and kick the soldier – Johnson, according to the name tag on his lapel – on the shin. He managed to keep himself in check, helped by the fearsome aspect of the squad before him.

‘What you doing out here then, sunshine?’ Johnson asked. ‘Having a morning stroll?’

Geldof glanced at the taxi, half-hidden in the shadow of the bridge, and searched for a story that would convince the soldiers he was alone and they should let him continue on his way.

The soldier registered his glance. ‘Ah, you’ve got company. Let’s go get them, shall we?’

He motioned Geldof forward with his gun. One of his squad stopped him. ‘Hold on a minute. What’s that on his neck?’

He pointed to the fading scabs around Geldof’s collar line. Suddenly the guns were up.

‘Have you been bitten by an animal?’ Johnson asked, backing away.

‘No,’ Geldof replied, also backing away and trying to work out the acceleration of a bullet fired from an automatic
weapon
and his chances of avoiding the same. He didn’t need a calculator to know they were minuscule.

‘You’re not sneezing? You don’t have an urge to eat or fuck anyone?’

Geldof clicked, remembering the sores on the cows. The soldiers were afraid he had the virus. They looked jumpy, their fingers way too tight on their triggers. He had to defuse the situation and fast.

‘I’m a teenager. Of course I have an urge to fuck everything.’

Johnson laughed. The muzzle of his gun dropped slightly.

‘Look, it’s an allergy,’ Geldof said, pulling down the neck of his jumper. ‘I’ve had it for years.’

Johnson stepped in and peered at the rash.

‘Maybe we should shoot him, just to be sure,’ the soldier who had pointed out the scabs said.

Johnson lowered his gun. ‘Nah, he’s fine.’

The soldiers flanked Geldof and marched up the track, making no attempt at stealth. Geldof’s heart was still hammering in his chest. They had been afraid he had the virus, which meant people had been infected or there was a chance they could be. The crunch of boots as they approached the taxi roused James, who sat up and peered sleepily over the steering wheel. He turned around, said something, and then got out. Lesley and Terry joined him a few seconds later. The trio stood close together and silently watched the soldiers advance.

‘Morning,’ Johnson called. ‘Mind if I ask where you’re headed?’

Terry and Lesley exchanged a look. It was something they had been doing a lot of recently, Geldof had noticed.

‘Just trying to get out of the city and find somewhere to hole up,’ Terry said. ‘Our house was attacked.’

Johnson walked up to the cab and peered in the window. ‘I hope you haven’t left the meter running.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I don’t think your passenger would be too happy,’ he said, nodding in to the still sleeping Mary. ‘Anyway, you’re going to have to come with us.’

‘We’re not looters,’ Terry said in a shrill voice. ‘The taxi was lying open, we just took it to get out of town.’

Johnson grinned. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, mate. I can see you’re not looters. You still have to come to the rest and reception area. Civilians aren’t supposed to be wandering around out here. The clean-up isn’t finished yet.’

Terry and Lesley roused Mary, then they all grabbed their rucksacks and followed the soldiers up the line towards the bushes.

‘So where is this place?’ Geldof asked.

‘Strathclyde Park. Just the other side of the trees.’ Johnson nodded his head in the direction of a wood at the far end of an open field.

Once through the bushes, they crossed the field. It had been cut up into muddy clumps by hooves, making progress difficult. The soldiers had their guns up and at the ready. Once they had gained the tree-line, the soldiers relaxed a little, although Geldof remained on full alert. While the trees were sufficiently close together to discourage large animals from entering, Geldof had been on enough forest walks, or rather forced marches, with Fanny and her nature buddies to know terrain such as this was usually crawling with smaller wildlife, much of it sporting rows of sharp little teeth.

Occasionally there was the crackle of leaves, or a soft thump deep in the trees, and the soldiers would tense up, pointing
their
weapons in the direction of the noise. After five minutes of tramping, they came to a copse littered with chunks of flesh and grey fur. Floppy ears, paws and heads were scattered amongst the carnage.

‘Did you do this?’ Lesley asked.

‘Yes,’ Johnson replied. ‘Vicious little bastards, these fluffy bunnies.’

His men snickered. One of them bent over to pick up a severed head, but the squad leader snapped at him, ‘Cut that out! You’re not supposed to touch that shit.’

Soon the trees thinned out and gave way to a grassy plain that led into Strathclyde Park, which was essentially a lake surrounded by a wide, oval strip of grass. The last time Geldof had been here was when he was six. He had wet himself out on the boating lake.

The transformation of the once tranquil park to what looked like a permanent refugee camp in the two weeks since the virus had broken out was remarkable. About ten metres away lay a makeshift fence constructed from sandbags and barbed wire. Towers were dotted along the perimeter every fifty metres or so, each one sporting a machine gun and a bored soldier. They were allowed entry through a manned gate and meandered through the complex, which presented a scene normally reserved for the evening news beaming in images from a conflict-hit country overseas.

White tents grubby from the rain and mud were pitched in rows along the length of the lake. Smoke from cooking fires spiralled up from numerous spots within the camp. Children ran between the tents, bare feet plastered with mud. Their parents stood, or sat on upturned buckets outside their tents, their faces drawn and defeated. Down by the lake, rows of
women
– one of them still dressed in a business suit – scrubbed their clothes on the rocks.

‘Holy crap,’ Lesley said.

‘Not quite what the government had in mind when they dreamed up these camps,’ Johnson said. ‘Too many people to handle. Ah, here we are. Registration.’ He shouldered his gun. ‘We’ll leave you here. Enjoy your stay at Butlins.’

He took off his mask and sauntered off into the maze of tents with his squad.

Geldof’s group turned to face the woman who had come bustling out of the tent. She was ruddy-faced with wide eyes and a smile that almost split her face in two, making her look remarkably like a cartoon character. She radiated a cheerful-at-all-costs vibe. No doubt she was busy totting up all the positives of the horrendous situation they were in, such as the chance to meet new and interesting people, lots of fresh air and plenty of overtime.

‘Morning all!’ she trumpeted, rubbing her hands together. ‘It’s a bit chilly today, isn’t it!’

‘It’s Scotland,’ Geldof said. ‘It’s always chilly.’

‘Very true, young man. I’m so glad you could join us. My name is Karen Allen. If you would like to just follow me, we can get started.’

She turned to lead them into the tent. Terry cleared his throat. It was lost in the bass hum coming from the diesel generator behind the tent.

‘Excuse me!’ he called.

Karen turned round.

‘If you don’t mind we’d rather just be on our way. We have other plans.’

Karen laughed. ‘Don’t be silly. You can’t leave.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’ll get killed by all those nasty animals. Once you’re in, you’re in. Policy, I’m afraid.’

Karen entered the tent. After a pause, the others followed, Terry in the lead. He sat down where Karen indicated, in a plastic chair in front of a folding table. A computer sat on the table with a camera and what looked like a mini scanner attached to it. At least a dozen identical stations were ranged along the room, all of them unattended.

‘Business slow today?’ Terry asked.

‘Oh, we’re not getting so many people now, but let me tell you, the first week was chaos. We had tens of thousands. Now it’s tailed off. I suppose we’ve managed to get most people from the area.’

‘Or maybe they’re dead,’ Geldof muttered.

Either Karen didn’t hear him or she was applying a selective filter to block out anything that might cloud her sunny disposition. ‘Let’s get down to business, shall we? Do you have any ID?’

‘No,’ Terry replied. ‘We had to leave in a hurry. We were attacked by rats.’

‘Oh, what a pain,’ Karen said. ‘That must have been awful. Name?’

‘Pepi O’Flanagan,’ Terry answered.

A tiny frown crossed Karen’s face. ‘Is that Spanish?’

‘Spanish-slash-Irish,’ Terry deadpanned.

He looked significantly at the others as she typed. Karen asked him a string of other questions about his date of birth, town of residence and family connections. Terry lied through his teeth in response to them all. Then Karen popped her head up over the monitor and unleashed a
cheesy
grin that displayed every one of her perfect teeth.

‘Watch the birdie!’

The flashbulb popped.

‘Now put your thumb into the scanner.’

‘You want my fingerprints?’ Terry asked, looking worried.

‘Standard procedure. We need it for your ID card, to make sure you don’t register twice and try to get more food.’

‘Who would do that?’

‘I’ve worked in refugee camps all over the world and believe me, they all tried it on.’

‘This isn’t a refugee camp. It’s a “rest and reception” area.’

Karen giggled again. ‘Absolutely correct. But rules are rules, and I must insist you put your thumb in. If you don’t, no pudding for you!’

‘Just put your thumb in before I strangle her,’ Geldof said under his breath.

Terry acquiesced and pressed his thumb, then each finger in turn, onto the scanner.

They each took their turn to register, taking Terry’s lead to conceal their true identities. Lesley became Anthea Carruthers. James became Gavin McManus. Geldof awarded himself the title of Grant Baron McManus, a slight modification from his original idea of Grant Baron DeStewart the Third, which he thought might be laying it on a bit too thick. Mary became Trisha Thomson. Finally they were all issued ID cards and taken outside. Karen led them through a labyrinth of identical tents.

‘Where did you get Pepi O’Flanagan from?’ Lesley asked Terry, her voice low, as Karen forged ahead. ‘It sounds totally fake.’

‘It was the first thing that came into my head,’ Terry said in response.

‘If that’s the first thing that popped into your head, I’m worried about your mental health,’ Lesley said.

‘It’s my porn name.’

‘Your what?’

‘You take the name of your first pet, then your mother’s maiden name. Voilà, you have the name you would use if you were a porn star.’

Lesley smiled. ‘You had a pet called Pepi?’

‘Yes. A poodle.’

Geldof stifled a laugh. ‘Pepi the poodle?’

‘It was my gran’s!’ Terry snapped. ‘We had to look after it when she died.’

‘Well, I think it’s cute,’ Lesley said. ‘You should use it more often.’

Karen stopped abruptly.

‘You’re here.’ She indicated a tent that had absolutely no distinguishing features whatsoever. ‘We don’t have much room, so you’ll all have to squeeze in. There will be a food distribution this afternoon at one p.m. You are registered as a five-person group, and you, Mr O’Flanagan, are designated head of the group.’

‘Please, call him Pepi,’ Lesley butted in. ‘Everybody else does.’

Terry stood on her toes as Karen beamed. ‘OK, Pepi. This means you are responsible for picking up rations for everyone. You can get your non-food items – blankets, cooking utensils, water container – at the same time.’

Karen gave them directions to the food distribution point and then marched back down the path.

‘I really hope we don’t see her again,’ Geldof said.

‘OK, everyone. Into the tent for a confab,’ Terry said.

The five of them ducked through the flap and surveyed their new home, which was as welcoming as a utilitarian canvas tent could be expected to be. They squatted on the groundsheet, shivering at the cold seeping up from the wet earth below.