Flare

Chapter 35

I woke, shivering and cramped, from the few hours’ exhausted sleep I’d fallen into on the hard ground. Even with the days being hot, the earth under the tent was hungry for more and had leached most of the heat from my body.

No one met my eyes as the tent flap was thrown back, allowing morning sunlight to stream through the east-facing entrance. Despite the light, the sun was only just over the horizon as we were chivvied out and into the mess tent to be served a breakfast of stale bread, baked beans and black coffee.

As with the previous evening, we were barely given time to finish the meal before being ousted once more, first to the latrine ditch where we all stood or squatted next to each other in embarrassed silence and then on to the pile of wood.

Everything ached, even my bones. I didn’t know how I’d get through the first hour, let alone the day, but midmorning found me still carrying wood and setting it in place while others hammered nails in, making a piecemeal barrier that shut off my view of freedom piece by mismatched piece.

The sun beat down ferociously, making me feel like one of the nails being beaten into the wood, almost a physical force that made my head droop as I walked back and forth.

A little after midday, the pile of wood was finally gone, just a few offcuts too small to be of any use strewn in the grass. I expected us to be put to some other task, but instead the corporal ordered us to sit down and passed out a bottle of water each.

I almost cried as the lukewarm plastic was pressed into my waiting hand, my fingers trembling as I unscrewed the lid and poured water down my parched throat.

“Careful, you’ll be sick if you drink it too fast.” The woman who had given me the warning the day before sat next to me, her bottle still almost full as she sipped at it slowly.

I glanced around warily to make sure the soldiers weren’t too near, and seeing them busy talking to the corporal, I inched closer.

“How long have you been here?” I asked quietly.

“Since Tuesday, I think. What day is it now?” She shrugged. “Not that it matters much.”

I thought back over the days, trying to get it right in my head. I’d met Emily on Monday, the morning after the flare, and then we’d headed off to find Melody the next day. It felt like a different lifetime. We’d travelled together for three, or was it four days since? I was so tired I couldn’t remember, the days on the road together seeming to blur into one.

“I think it’s Saturday, or maybe Sunday,” I said finally, looking up at the sound of a vehicle coming towards us across the field.

It was one of the four tonners, the canvas stripped from the back so that it could hold more wood, taken from god only knew where and piled haphazardly so that bits were occasionally shed like unwanted skin.

It pulled up nearby and the driver jumped out, beckoning us over. With a collective groan, we stood and began to help in getting the load off the truck and into a pile so that we could continue our work.

And so the day continued. I expected to stop for lunch, but the bottle of water was all we were given, so I made it last, pulling it from my pocket whenever my hands were free and taking tiny sips to stave off the hunger. By the end of that day I had decided that whatever order The Secretary was trying to bring to the chaos, I wanted no part of it. I’d seen animals treated better than we were, and as the sun set on my second day working on the fence, I knew that I had to get out of here soon. Every day I was here was another day that I wasn’t on my way to Melody, and I knew that when the fence was completed it would be even harder to escape.

Throughout the day I’d been keeping an eye on the other work groups, tiny figures in the distance that scurried to and fro like ants as they built up their parts of the perimeter. From what I could see, the fence would be complete in another few days so the sooner I acted the more chance I had of winning free.

With that in mind, on my last trip to the woodpile I searched for a few seconds until I found a wood-shaving barely an inch across. Pocketing it, I picked up a large piece of wood and half carried, half dragged it to the fence. While I helped the man with the hammer hold it in place, I crouched to help keep the bottom of the wood against the frame with one hand while the other cast around until it closed around one of the nails. This quickly went into the same pocket. I didn’t dare look up to see if anyone was watching me, although I doubted they’d know what I was intending even if they had seen anything, but no one raised an alarm or came hurrying over.

Once the last piece of wood was in place we were herded together and marched back towards the mess tent. I squirmed and elbowed my way into the middle of the group, using their bodies to hide my hands from the searching eyes of the guards. Those hands worked frantically in the few seconds I had, using the nail to scratch and re-scratch two symbols into the wood-shaving before I pushed it as far into the crease of my palm as I could.

As I’d hoped, Emily was in the serving area again, her eyes catching mine the moment I stepped into the tent. The long, slow shuffle towards her was torturous, my hands sweating as I worked out how I was going to pass the shaving over to her. Of course I could have tried whispering to her, but if anyone overheard there was a risk that they would pass that information on, and after my talk with the Secretary I had to assume that everything I might say or do was being observed, and most likely the same for Emily. Why else would they have an Engineer, and a sergeant no less, serving in the mess tent?

As I approached, I kept looking down at my hand and then back at Emily, hoping she would get the idea, but if she did then she gave no sign.

Finally it was my turn, and I lifted my plate towards her, the shaving on my very fingertips under the plate. She took the edge of the plate with her left hand while the right shovelled food onto it, and for a split second I felt her fingers brush mine before she pushed the plate back towards me and I moved on. I could no longer feel the shaving against my fingers, and I prayed that she had it rather than it having fallen to the floor in my clumsy attempt at a pass.

It was all so cloak and dagger, so old prisoner-of-war movie, that I would have laughed had it not been so horribly real. Instead, I tucked my head down, went to my seat and ate mechanically, knowing that what happened next was now out of my hands, and hoping that Emily had more freedom than I. If not, I suspected that we would both be stuck here for a very long time.