Brother in the Land Read Online Free

pipes. ‘You don’t want to see her, lad. Think of her as she was. She’s wrapped up anyway.’
    I gazed at him. Grey, stubbly face and pinkish eyes.
    ‘Wrapped up?’
    ‘Aye.’ He wiped his palms on his coat and looked at the gutted houses across the road. ‘It says in the booklet to wrap ’em up and tie a label on till they come to collect them. I had some polythene in the cellar but I can’t find anything to write with so there’s no label.’
    I stared across at the counter. ‘Who’s coming?’ I whispered. ‘Them at Kershaw Farm?’
    He shook his head. ‘I don’t know lad,’ he said dully. ‘It’s been over a day already and I’ve not seen anyone. You can only do what it says and wait, can’t you?’
    I nodded, seeing the corpses on the hillside. Wondering who’d wrap them up and stick the labels on.
    ‘Come on down.’ He moved towards the steps. ‘You must be starving. I’ll get you some grub.’
    The cellar was lit by two torches; one hanging from the light-flex and one clamped between two bags of sugar on a shelf. Dad had put down a strip of linoleum and Ben lay on it under a pile of blankets. He looked so peaceful, I wished I was seven.

Seven
    Dad heated up a tin of sausage and beans for me. He’d made a cooker by cutting the top off an oil drum, filling it with sand and pouring paraffin into it. When he put a match to it, the surface of the sand burned with a blue flame. It stank, but it heated the food.
    I ate ravenously, spoon in one hand and a hunk of stalish bread in the other. It didn’t occur to me just then to wonder if the food was safe; I suppose I was too hungry.
    It was no picnic though, all the same. The paraffin fumes stung my eyes and made me feel sick. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mum. At the back of my mind lurked the question, ‘How shall we live?’ and, sub-consciously, I was saying, ‘We won’t. We’ll die, every one of us, it’s only a question of time.’
    It was three nights since I’d slept properly and while I was eating a fantastic tiredness came over me. I said, ‘I think I’d better turn in now if that’s okay, Dad.’ He was rummaging in a drawer and nodded without turning.
    ‘All right, lad. I’ll wake you about midnight so you can take your turn on guard.’
    ‘What?’ I thought I hadn’t heard properly.
    ‘Guard.’ He pushed the drawer shut and straightened up with a stub of pencil in his hand. ‘There’s a lot of stock down here, Danny, and a lot of hungry people out there. We’re lucky, but we’ve got to take care of our luck.’
    There were two cellars; one for food and one for dry goods. Both were chock-full of stuff, enough to last three people years. I nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Midnight then.’
    I took my trainers off and got down beside Ben. It was hard, but there were plenty of blankets. Dad fetched a pick-handle from the other cellar and brandished it, grinning briefly. ‘Had these in the army,’ he growled. ‘Guard duty. If it’ll do for the army, it’ll have to do for us. G’night, lad.’
    He reached up and switched off the torch that dangled from the flex, then clumped away up the steps.
    The beam of the remaining torch hit the white-washed ceiling and filled the cellar with a soft, reflected glow. Ben hadn’t stirred: he lay with his mouth open, breathing gently. I envied him, but although I was utterly shattered I couldn’t sleep. I lay gazing up at the flaky, cob-webbed ceiling while thoughts and speculations chased one another like the Keystone Cops across my mind.
    How would we live? Who were those guys up at Kershaw Farm? Was that old fellow still sitting in his armchair under the stars?
    It seemed like hours before I dropped off, and about five seconds later that Dad shook me. The torch still burned between the sugar bags. I found my shoes and tugged them on; the laces danced before my hot eyes as I fumbled with them. I stood up and Dad handed me the pick-handle.
    ‘Been quiet,’ he said. ‘Too damn quiet.