Nuclear Midnight (8 page)

‘What type of work?’

‘Digging, repairing,’ he shrugged. ‘The point is, it’s a golden opportunity to find out how the military operates. What their weaknesses might be. Maybe we can even smuggle some weapons we find back into the camp.’

The two young people nodded politely, neither willing to commit themselves until they had had more time to think.

Cliff studied their faces for a moment, then leaned back with a disappointed expression. ‘We can't stay here and let these bastards work us to death,’ he exclaimed. ‘Surely you must agree that escape is our only chance.’

‘Hey!’ a guard called out. ‘Move along, this isn't a place for a social chat.’

Looking around, Alex noticed the place was almost empty.

‘We'll talk more later, when you've had time to chew it over,’ Cliff smiled, the confidence returning to his voice as they dutifully joined the now rapidly diminishing washing up queue.

At seven, Alex and Tina assembled for the work parade with the other new arrivals, as instructed. A sergeant ordered them into three ragged lines. When assembled, a tall, hawkish man in his early fifties came out to address them.

‘I'm Major Hayes,’ he announced, starting to wander slowly along the first rank. ‘I'm in charge here. I think you know the ground rules already. If you do as you're told, you'll be fairly treated, if not, the penalty will be death.’ He paused to let this statement sink in. ‘Now, I know that for many of you caught looting, the choice was simple: steal or starve. Most of you are perfectly respectable citizens who have lost everything; your homes and your livelihoods. You are not common criminals and you won't be treated as such. That is why we don't segregate men and women or make you obey rigid rules outside working hours. This is a camp that allows the homeless to work for the food they need instead of stealing it. This gives the government the manpower for recovery and stops homeless people roaming the countryside. However, in order to maintain an efficient camp a minimum of rules have to be obeyed. Every day, except Sunday, you will be woken at five thirty in the morning. At seven you will be assembled ready for work. By seven thirty you should have reached your respective work place where you will continue to labour until twelve thirty. Half an hour will be allowed for lunch; the afternoon shift continues until six. Any person claiming exemption through illness must report to the sick bay to obtain written permission excusing them from work. Extra clothing can be obtained at the office if you need it. You will now be sorted into work details according to the skills you possess. If you settle in well, you have nothing to fear. Sergeant!’

And he turned on his heel and strode off.

The sergeant now came forward, strutting and arrogant. ‘You heard the Major, you're going to be here till you rot and it's my job to keep you in line.’ He walked along the first row of prisoners, hands behind his back, inspecting them as though they were on parade. Reaching Alex, he looked him up and down slowly. He had a pallid, almost sickly complexion, with tiny features, which looked as if they had been squeezed into the centre of his face, leaving vast expanses of white cheek and forehead. He stared at Alex for some seconds, his face very close and intimidating. Then he moved on, repeating the same display as though deliberately trying to frighten the prisoners. ‘A’ EASE!’ he yelled. The prisoners responded sluggishly. ‘ANY TRICKS AND ONE DAY YOU MAY BE DIGGING YOUR OWN GRAVES, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD!’ he bellowed.

He ordered his men to write down the pre-war occupations of each prisoner. Within fifteen minutes everyone had been assigned his new task. Cliff was taken off to join a building repair detail as Roy had predicted. Tina was sent to the kitchens and Alex was given a shovel and marched through the gates, along with about twenty other men.

The leader of the party, Alex noted with some regret, was the sergeant. He kept them moving at a brisk pace until they reached the outskirts of town. There the party was ordered to a halt while the escort took up defensive positions on their flanks and behind.

Alex soon understood why the guards were being so cautious. The military had lost control of this area. Gangs of youths and packs of starving dogs roamed the streets at will. The locals watched the work party in silence, neither screaming abuse nor shying away. Alex sensed an air of confusion amongst these people. It was as though they hadn't yet decided whether the military presence was a sign of an end to the chaos, or just another threat to their lives.

‘This is your work assignment for the next few weeks,’ the sergeant grunted, halting the prisoners in front of a huge pile of twisted rubble caked with thick ice and snow. From the remaining walls, Alex judged, it had once been an office block. ‘Sift through the rubble for bodies, and we'll bury them by the roadside,’ he ordered.

The job was hard and gruesome. The block must have been full when it collapsed without warning, for the rubble held many bodies, mostly crushed and mangled beyond recognition. The sergeant drove on the work with abuse and threats all day. By five, the workers could hardly stand; two had actually fallen and lay exhausted where they were, the sergeant not bothering them when it was obvious they would not work again.

Finally, as the light began to fade, the party dragged themselves back to the camp. At the gate, each man was searched for concealed weapons before being dismissed by the sergeant with a few sarcastic comments.

After dinner Alex collected his ration of blankets from the Art School and joined the others sitting by the fire. Tina had spent the day preparing food and Cliff and Roy had been repairing buildings for the military's use near the centre of town. Alex recounted his day, feeling equally as despondent as the others.

‘Your sergeant sounds like he needs a lesson in manners,’ Cliff said.

Alex frowned. ‘I wouldn't want an escape to misfire with that bastard in charge.’

‘Hmm,’ Cliff wrapped his blankets around himself more closely. His expression was troubled for the first time, as though the day's work had tempered his spirit somewhat.

‘One thing that today has taught me,’ Alex continued, ‘is that with guards like the sergeant, any attempted breakout must be a planned, precise exercise. If they catch you, you'll not get a second chance.’

‘I agree,’ Roy said. ‘The day before you arrived the Major showed us the bodies of three men who were shot trying to scale the perimeter fence at night. The fourth member of the escape party was executed in front of the whole camp while we assembled for morning parade.’

‘All right, so we bide our time and plan an escape that can't fail,’ put in Cliff, after a moment’s thought. ‘But we can't afford to wait too long; otherwise none of us will have the strength left.’

He got up and wandered back toward the Art School, watched by the others. Patience was not Cliff's strong point.

In the days that followed, both the health and morale of the camp took a steep dive. The rations seemed barely enough to sustain life in the face of such heavy workloads. Many prisoners, already weakened by radiation sickness and physical injuries, could drive themselves no further. The small sick bay could do little except administer basic first aid and hand out its small supply of antibiotics. By the fifth day even this store had dried up and diseases quickly spread. Septicaemia became a problem and dysentery swept through the camp until stricter washing precautions were taken in the kitchen. There were darker rumours, too, of a fatal disease, which were fuelled when the sick bay commandeered a nearby storeroom for its patients.

Tina, however, was able to slip the men some rations she had taken from the kitchen. After assuring Alex that she wasn't putting herself in any danger, he took his share gratefully. Each day she managed to skim off enough rations to ease their hunger and sustain them while others succumbed.

Alex witnessed several ill planned escape attempts over the next few weeks. Usually they occurred late at night, and the inevitable sequel was a neat line of corpses laid in front of the camp, like prizes from a turkey shoot. These failures simply hardened the resolve of the group to plan their escape carefully.

Alex's work detail was down to half strength after three weeks. The sergeant seemed to take a sinister delight in this fact. Unlike the three guards who stood their distance, the sergeant liked to move amongst the workers, prodding and goading them, driving them to the limits of their endurance in a sadistic game to see who would collapse first.

Alex's face had become gaunt, his bony shoulders supporting his clothes like a coat hanger, but hardship had strengthened his will. The battle to survive was fought again on each succeeding day.

‘Come here, Carlson!’ the sergeant shouted. He had been terrorising this small, balding man since he had joined the detail a week ago. His chosen victim dropped the shovel on which he had been leaning and slowly trudged nearer.

‘Feeling a little weak, are we?’ the sergeant asked.

Carlson didn't answer. He never did, being totally submissive. It was precisely this type of creature that the sergeant enjoyed bullying most. The weaker and more defenceless the prey, the more he relished it.

‘Well, Carlson, what do you say?’

‘I feel sick and exhausted,’ came the reply, mumbled miserably.

‘What's that, Carlson? Come closer, I can't hear you.’

The man hesitated. Everyone avoided getting too close to the sergeant.

‘Well, come on.’

He shuffled into the target area.

‘Now then,’ said the sergeant soothingly. ‘That seems to be the trouble?’

‘I feel sick and exhausted,’ Carlson repeated.

‘Ah, so we want to go back to camp and lie down, do we?’ the sergeant mocked.

‘I feel terrible. If I could just rest for a while…just a few minutes.’ The man's pleading was pitiful to watch.

The sergeant's face became hard; his mouth vanished into a cruel line. Suddenly reaching out he gripped Carlson by the collar and started shaking him. ‘You'll rest when I tell you to rest, understand?’

The man struggled weakly to free himself.

‘Answer me!’ roared the sergeant.

‘Go to hell!’ Carlson murmured under his breath, turning his face away.

This was the response that the sergeant was hoping for. He laughed loudly, then his knee jerked up into the little man's groin, sending him reeling to the ground in agony.

A shockwave of revulsion swept through the watching workers. Several men dropped their spades and stepped forward, their advance only checked when the guards levelled their rifles.

‘You sadistic shit!’ one shouted. ‘Bastards like you should be cleaning the latrines, not us!’

This man's name was Anthony Dougan. He was the only one in the party who had repeatedly stood up to the sergeant, and he suffered daily because of it. He had been forced to work harder and longer than the rest; he had been hit frequently and even his lunch ration had been taken away. In spite of this, Dougan's spirit had not been broken. On the contrary, he seemed to grow stronger and more determined with each new cruelty. To plan the sergeant's death was all he ever talked about, the only thing that seemed to keep him going.

The sergeant moved towards Dougan menacingly, picking up a lump of wood as he advanced.

The man backed off, raising his spade for protection, his eyes locked against the sergeants’ defiantly. The guards kept their rifles trained on the other prisoners, knowing full well what the outcome would be. The sergeant was a self defence expert. He handled the wood like it was part of him. Dougan was knocked senseless into the snow without landing a blow.

The sergeant dropped the wood and dusted off his hands. ‘If anyone else gives me trouble, I will personally march them over to those holes you have dug and shoot them. Is that clear?’

In the silence that followed, he smiled broadly, well pleased with the fear he read in their faces.

A few days later, Alex met Tina, Cliff and Roy in a small, seemingly forgotten storage room, tucked away on the second floor of the science block. It was Sunday, kept as a day of rest, and the inmates were allowed free run of the camp. However, the guards roamed around constantly, so it became imperative to find a quiet spot where they could not be overheard.

Tina lit a kerosene lamp that she had taken from the kitchen and placed it on the table before them.

‘It's been over three weeks and we still haven't come, to any final decisions,’ Cliff said, reversing a chair and sitting on it backwards.

‘We can't delay any further,’ Alex agreed.

‘Have you discussed all the details of our plan with your work party?’ Cliff went on.

‘Yes, I have. All that is needed is the word from me.’

‘And they have all agreed to the plan?’

Alex paused before answering. He was thinking of what had happened the previous day. The sergeant had ordered Carson into some ruins that had become unstable, as soon as he started to dig, part of the wall had fallen on top of him, crushing him to death. The sergeant had just laughed.

‘Oh yeah,’ Alex said aloud, ‘They agreed alright.’

‘What diversion have you worked out?’ Tina asked.

‘When we pass through the outer suburbs the guards always take up defensive positions around us, so as not to offer easy targets for any possible mobs. One man falls in on each side of the prisoners and a third is close behind. They are never more than a couple of metres from the group. The sergeant, though, is usually way ahead trying to force us to keep up with him. On the way back to the camp they are less wary, knowing that we are tired and hungry, and therefore unlikely to try anything.’ Alex paused for a moment. ‘On my signal, Dougan, one of the workers the sergeant bullied the most, will start lagging behind. If the sergeant runs true to form he will drop back and start harassing him. When I give the signal, the others will pounce and take out all four of them.’