The Bombs That Brought Us Together (24 page)

‘One, Pav is Old Country, and two, his mum and dad are Old Country,’ Mercy said.

I looked at the rubble outside the window. ‘Yeah, you might be right.’

‘People here are beginning to really hate Old Country folk, Charlie.’

‘You think?’ I said.

‘Haven’t you noticed?’

‘It’s hard
not
to notice, Mercy.’

‘And what about you?’ she asked.

‘What about me?’

‘Do you hate them?’

‘Old Country people?’

‘Yes. Do you hate them, Charlie?’

It was an important question. A vital one. I thought hard about it. In the depths of my innards I had good cause to hate them. Mum and Dad had good cause too. Even Max and Bones had cause. The blasted buildings that surrounded us had their cause too. Time to play the cards close to my chest.

‘Do you hate them, Mercy?’ I asked.

‘Ah, I see what you’re doing, Charlie Law. Answering a question with a question. Very clever. Very clever indeed.’

‘Well, do you?’ I asked.

Mercy turned away to gaze out of her window. Thinking time.

‘It’s complicated, Charlie. But the short answer is, no, I don’t. I think it’s counterproductive to hate. It blurs the real issues and distorts an understanding of the possibility of progress.’ Last year Mercy was in the school debating team. She was its youngest member. Always a straight-A student. Some of us needed to scrap like dogs to get As, but for others, like Mercy Lewis, it was a breeze.

‘Which are?’ I asked.

‘Which are what?’

‘The real issues?’

‘Well, people have got to ask themselves if the life they had under the Regime was better for them than the one they could have in the future under Old Country rule. Say, in five years’ time.’

‘Look around you, Mercy. What do you think?’

‘Yes, Charlie, but one day all this rubble will be swept away to reveal some kind of future. What future did we have under the old Regime? Tell me that, eh?’

‘You call this a future?’ I said, pointing out at the piles of brick hills.

‘Sometimes you have to take major steps backwards in order to take a giant leap forward.’

‘This is a leap forward for you, Mercy? This is progress?’

Mercy placed her bag on her lap, slapped her two hands on it and shook her head as if she was disappointed in me.

‘Charlie,’ she said, in her teacher voice. This was a girl destined for a job that required tons of speaking.

‘Mercy.’

‘What are we doing?’

‘When?’

‘Now, what are we doing now?’

‘Erm … talking?’

‘Exactly, Charlie.’

‘And?’

‘And what are we
talking
about?’

‘Life. Old Country haters. Pav. Max and Bones. I don’t know. You tell me, Mercy. What are we talking about?’

‘We’re talking about politics.’

‘Oh, is that what you call it?’

‘We’re basically talking about understanding our life, our surroundings, our environment.’ She indicated towards the world outside the window. ‘And what our place in all this means to us.’

‘Are we?’

‘Yes, we are.’

‘OK, I’ll take your word for it then.’

She slapped her two hands down on the bag.

‘And
where
are we?’ she said.

‘Eh, hello, we’re on the school bus. At least I think we are.’

‘Right. So here we are on the school bus, which is a public place, right?’

‘Right.’

‘And we’re having a chat about politics and other stuff, agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ I said.

‘Let me ask you something then, Charlie,’ she said.

‘Go ahead, Mercy.’

‘Could we ever do that under the old Regime?’ I tightened my lips. ‘Think about it, could we? It was only a few months ago. Could we sit on a bus and chat openly about how good or bad life was?’

‘I guess not, no.’

‘No guessing required. We categorically couldn’t.’

‘OK, we couldn’t then.’

‘And why was that?’

‘Too dangerous, maybe,’ I said.

‘Far too dangerous, Charlie. Far too dangerous. For you. For your parents. For people who knew you. Everyone was scared out of their wits to open their mouth in case someone’s lugs heard something they didn’t like and ran off to blabber it to the Regime or their Rascal lackeys. We spent our time in silence or looking over our shoulders.’

‘I know, Mercy. I was there.’

‘Yes, you
were
there, you experienced it. You lived it.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘But now look at us sitting here chatting about things we actually decided to chat about. It’s great, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, terrific,’ I said.

Sorry, Mercy, but I don’t remember ever getting a black eye from the Regime or any Rascal, or being gubbed in the stomach for the deadly crime of WALKING. I don’t remember that bit at all. She didn’t need to know any of this.

‘So there you have it.’ Mercy rested her hands on her bag like she was a hotshot lawyer (she probably would be one day … maybe we could be partners). Case closed.

‘There you have what?’ I said.

‘Progress.’

‘Progress?’

‘We are the embodiment of Little Town’s progression in action, Charlie.’

For the rest of the journey I thought about what Mercy had said. I tried to see her point of view, I really did. It seemed like she was beginning to enjoy our new Old Country existence. Maybe I was down to shoot the wrong person? Erin F would’ve had a fit if she’d been part of this chat.

When the bus pulled into school Mercy turned to me and said, ‘Have a nice day, Charlie, and do tell Pav that I said hello and that I’m thinking about him.’

‘Will do, Mercy. Will do.’

‘I really am, you know,’ she said, then disappeared into the crowd.

Ever since Pav got done for, it seemed that folk were dropping off the face of the earth.

Pav had holed himself up and hadn’t returned to school. And after our chat the day of The Big Man’s plan, I doubted he would ever return.

Erin F hadn’t been to school for almost a week. To say I was worried was an understatement. My body shuddered at the thought of her being face down in a ditch somewhere. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. What’s new?

Max and Bones hadn’t been to school since using Pav as a human trampoline. I didn’t want to think about how Norman or The Big Man had sorted them.

Then Norman hadn’t surfaced for days. I really feared for Norman. The Big Man now considered him to be a rat. I feared big time for him.

Time gathered apace. Everything sped up, pushing me towards the day. D-Day. I didn’t know what the D in D-Day meant though. My D meant death. My D-Day was next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! The words reverberated around my head.

I couldn’t think about much else. All I could do was plan, imagine, visualise and persuade myself that this was for the best. At times I’d catch a glimpse of my bruised face and be convinced that this was the right thing to do. That if I could just eliminate a rank, a captain, then they’d get the message that Little Town wouldn’t be taking this occupation lying down. Old Country couldn’t throw their weight around willy-nilly without there being consequences. Punishment.

I had to do it.

All I needed to do was make friends with the thing. Get better acquainted.

On the Thursday evening I went to the shed, making sure no one was on my tail or watching me. I took it out of its hiding place and carefully removed the bullets – one by one. I held it outstretched for as long as I could. Twenty-two seconds. My arm ached. I sat back in one of the chairs for a breather and thought about my next move, how I’d do it. I held it up again, looked through the aimer. Aimed. Licked my lips. Squeezed the trigger. You have to pull really hard. It’s definitely not like the movies where it’s all bang-bang-bang stuff. You’d need a finger of granite to do that. I’d have to practise the routine of aim, squeeze and fire. It needed to be rapid. Lightning speed. No hovering about to admire the work afterwards.

There in the shed I tried out a few technical moves. I bent down behind one of the chairs, jumped up: pulled the trigger. I walked three paces, swivelled sharply: pulled the trigger. I lay face down, dived up: pulled the trigger. It became more comfortable, less heavy. I practised standing up, kneeling down and lying in the sniper position. The Big Man suggested kneeling down; it’d be easier to make a sprint for it.

After I replaced the bullets and fed it under the floorboards I didn’t want to touch it again. My mouth became dry.

I didn’t want to do it.

But,

I needed to do it.

Mum needed me to do it.

Pav needed me to do it.

The Big Man was making me do it.

But,

I didn’t want to do it.

I was glad when Friday arrived. School was rough. Everyone gawking at my eye. Asking awkward questions about Bones, Max, Pav and Erin F. Such a drag. In reality I wasn’t
glad
about anything. I was wandering around in a daze, thinking: this time next week I’ll have blood on my hands, death on my soul. Those guns sat heavily on my shoulders, weighing me down with all their firepower. The shed was the only place I could go to think. The only place that could provide sanctuary. That’s where I went after school.

‘Just passing and thought I’d pop in.’ I almost hit the shed roof with terror when I opened the door and saw The Big Man perched on the chair, staring ahead at me. ‘See how you were doing; see how the plans were coming along …’

‘Erm … well …’

‘See if you still remembered our little deal, what to do and whatnot.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said all enthusiastically because I didn’t want him to know that I was so consumed by fear. That it was all I could think about.

‘Can’t have you running scared on me, can I?’ he said.

‘No … no way.’

‘Your mate’s family don’t want any heat on them, do they now?’

‘Erm … don’t think so, Big Man.’

‘Don’t think so? Have you any idea what would happen to them if those Old Country bastards knew refugees were hiding guns in their garden? Some of their own turning on them? Have you a scintilla of an idea what would happen, Charlie?’

‘Erm … I think that –’

‘And imagine if some of our boys found out that info as well.’ The Big Man licked his lips, looked up. ‘She’s a fine-looking woman, that Duda woman. Shame!’

‘They’re not the ones hiding the guns,’ I said.

The Big Man laughed. I could hear the phlegm rattling in his big chest.

If anyone came for Pav and his fine-looking mum and brainbox dad, would I tell them that the shed was mine? That I was the one hiding the guns? Would I admit that to Old Country troops? Would it matter if they believed me or not?

‘I’d start thinking about it if I were you. Get your head in the game.’

‘Right.’

‘Start thinking about the most unimaginable torture techniques known to civilisation.’

‘Well … OK.’

‘Have you any idea what a starved and ravished rat will do to an exposed arsehole?’

‘I hadn’t really thought about it, Big Man,’ I said.

‘Don’t get smart, Charlie. This shit is serious. All it will take is a little word in some Old Country bastard’s shell and they’ll be round here in blink time. All heavy-handed and tooled up. They won’t care if it wasn’t the Dudas keeping guns, Charlie. There’s nothing those bastards like more than a traitor. Everyone saves the worst for traitors. That’s what I’m talking about … so are we clear?’

I didn’t know how to reply because I didn’t know what we were being
clear
about. Was he threatening me or Pav? Don’t be stupid, Charlie, of course he was.

‘I said
are we clear
?’

‘Yes, we’re clear.’

‘Good. I know I can count on you, Charlie. You’ve got something the others never had.’ He tapped his temple with his finger, like he’d done previously. ‘That’s why they didn’t make it.’

DIDN’T MAKE WHAT?

I was too afraid to ask, not because I was interested in the plight of his rascal cronies, but in case he informed me that it was now just me and him against Old Country. I thought about what Mercy had said on the bus, about not looking over my shoulder any longer and how things could be in the future. I didn’t want to return to the days of curfews, searches and patrols. I didn’t want to return to the ineffectual Regime and bullying Rascals. I wanted to walk freely, to study, to learn, to work and be who I wanted to be within the law. I wanted to have mates from inside the border and from outside the border. I also wanted Erin F, but that was a different issue altogether.

If it were just me and The Big Man then we’d be fooked, as Pav would say.

‘How’s your mum, by the way?’

‘OK, good.’

‘Still on these?’ he said, pulling out a brown paper bag from inside his leather jacket. He shook the bag. ‘I’d say all this debris dust doesn’t help with her breathing.’

‘It doesn’t, no.’

He reached inside the bag, took out an inhaler and waved it at me.

‘She must be going through these like they’re water now, eh?’

‘Erm …’

‘Pity that chemist is still not operating.’

I kept my eyes on the bag. It was bulging; must have been at least six months’ supply in there, enough to see her through to the birth of a new chemist. Things were happening in Little Town; shops were slowly getting fixed and services were being resumed. Even my dad said so. Although I’d know it was fully repaired when my stomach didn’t rumble as often.

I switched between looking at The Big Man’s hand, the bag and his eyes. He kept his eyes on mine, twiddling the little plastic inhaler in his fingers.

‘So, Charlie, do we have a deal?’

I didn’t blink.

‘Do we understand one another?’

I didn’t speak.

My head nodded instead.

‘We’re on?’ he said.

I nodded again.

‘I want to hear you say it.’

He glanced at the inhaler and the brown bag.

‘Be a shame to burn all this … I want to hear you say it.’

My mouth was dry. I opened it.

‘We’re on,’ I whispered.

‘Sorry, can’t hear you, Charlie. Speak up a bit.’