don’t mind.”
“Did you not hear her?” Field sighed. “Fucking moron.”
“I said I’m fine,” Lorna snapped, panting with the effort of the dig.
“Just trying to help, that’s all,” Ainsworth said.
“Well, I don’t need any help. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the 1970s. Women are able to dig holes, you know.”
“Bloody hell, you’re touchy today, aren’t you?”
“Leave her alone, Mark,” Harte said.
“And what are you, her boyfriend?” Ainsworth sneered.
“Get a grip,” Harte said and he carried on digging. Lorna dropped her shovel. “You okay?”
“Going to get a drink,” she said. “Back in a minute.”
The three men watched her disappear. Ainsworth caught Harte’s eye and grinned at him.
“She’s great, isn’t she? Cracking pair of tits.”
“Damn right,” Field sniggered.
“For fuck’s sake,” Harte sighed, “is that all you’ve got to say about her? Lorna’s got me out of more scrapes than I can remember. She’s a fucking diamond. Bloody hell, the whole world’s fallen apart and all you can say about her is she’s got nice tits. There are better ways of assessing a person’s worth, you know.”
Jackson watched Harte and Ainsworth from a short distance away, feeling unexpectedly uneasy. Their conversation sounded alien and out of place. Ainsworth was talking the way people used to talk, back in the days when trivialities and appearances seemed to be all that mattered. The stakes were much higher now. There was no room here for petty arguments and superficial romances. Maybe in the future things would be different, but not yet. Not for a long time yet.
“Hold it steady,” Charlie grumbled.
“Sorry.”
Jackson had been supporting the top of one of the A-frames, trying to keep it steady as Charlie attempted to drill through a wooden post with a hand-drill which looked so old it could have come from the museum. They’d had to cannibalize and improvise to find enough materials, lashing the sections of wood together with tow ropes they’d found in the back of a truck.
Charlie grunted with effort, changed his grip and his stance, then began drilling again. His round, childlike face was an uncharacteristically flustered red, and sweat poured from him. He was almost through, though, and he kept working. Another few minutes’ effort and the tip of the drill bit finally poked through the other side.
“Bloody hell,” he said, wiping his brow. “Half an hour, that took.”
“I know,” said Jackson.
“Used to be able to cut a hole like that in seconds.”
“I know,” he said again. “We need to source some generators when we next get out of here. Try and get a decent power supply.”
He looked up again and saw that Jas was walking past, heading in the direction of the kitchen. He stopped and looked at what they were doing—the digging and the frame building—then shook his head and walked on.
“You’re not going to help then?” Jackson shouted after him.
“Nope,” he replied, stopping again.
“But you’ll be happy to use the water if we get this working.”
“You won’t get water out of there.”
“We might.”
“Come on, Jackson,” he said, “get over yourself. You know as well as I do, you’re only doing this to keep yourself busy. Same as all your bloody cleaning rotas.”
“We have to start somewhere, Jas.”
“Do we?”
“Of course we do.”
“Well I think you’re overcomplicating things. And I think you’re doing it intentionally. Water flows down, not up. It’s easier to collect rainwater than to try dragging it up from the ground. We need to build rain-catchers, not climbing frames.”
“Okay, okay…” he said, walking up to Jas so their conversation couldn’t easily be overheard. “So I’m trying to keep people busy. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Except it looks like you’re the one doing all the work.” He nodded toward Harte, Field, and Ainsworth, who were now leaning up against their shovels, watching
“Did you not hear her?” Field sighed. “Fucking moron.”
“I said I’m fine,” Lorna snapped, panting with the effort of the dig.
“Just trying to help, that’s all,” Ainsworth said.
“Well, I don’t need any help. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the 1970s. Women are able to dig holes, you know.”
“Bloody hell, you’re touchy today, aren’t you?”
“Leave her alone, Mark,” Harte said.
“And what are you, her boyfriend?” Ainsworth sneered.
“Get a grip,” Harte said and he carried on digging. Lorna dropped her shovel. “You okay?”
“Going to get a drink,” she said. “Back in a minute.”
The three men watched her disappear. Ainsworth caught Harte’s eye and grinned at him.
“She’s great, isn’t she? Cracking pair of tits.”
“Damn right,” Field sniggered.
“For fuck’s sake,” Harte sighed, “is that all you’ve got to say about her? Lorna’s got me out of more scrapes than I can remember. She’s a fucking diamond. Bloody hell, the whole world’s fallen apart and all you can say about her is she’s got nice tits. There are better ways of assessing a person’s worth, you know.”
Jackson watched Harte and Ainsworth from a short distance away, feeling unexpectedly uneasy. Their conversation sounded alien and out of place. Ainsworth was talking the way people used to talk, back in the days when trivialities and appearances seemed to be all that mattered. The stakes were much higher now. There was no room here for petty arguments and superficial romances. Maybe in the future things would be different, but not yet. Not for a long time yet.
“Hold it steady,” Charlie grumbled.
“Sorry.”
Jackson had been supporting the top of one of the A-frames, trying to keep it steady as Charlie attempted to drill through a wooden post with a hand-drill which looked so old it could have come from the museum. They’d had to cannibalize and improvise to find enough materials, lashing the sections of wood together with tow ropes they’d found in the back of a truck.
Charlie grunted with effort, changed his grip and his stance, then began drilling again. His round, childlike face was an uncharacteristically flustered red, and sweat poured from him. He was almost through, though, and he kept working. Another few minutes’ effort and the tip of the drill bit finally poked through the other side.
“Bloody hell,” he said, wiping his brow. “Half an hour, that took.”
“I know,” said Jackson.
“Used to be able to cut a hole like that in seconds.”
“I know,” he said again. “We need to source some generators when we next get out of here. Try and get a decent power supply.”
He looked up again and saw that Jas was walking past, heading in the direction of the kitchen. He stopped and looked at what they were doing—the digging and the frame building—then shook his head and walked on.
“You’re not going to help then?” Jackson shouted after him.
“Nope,” he replied, stopping again.
“But you’ll be happy to use the water if we get this working.”
“You won’t get water out of there.”
“We might.”
“Come on, Jackson,” he said, “get over yourself. You know as well as I do, you’re only doing this to keep yourself busy. Same as all your bloody cleaning rotas.”
“We have to start somewhere, Jas.”
“Do we?”
“Of course we do.”
“Well I think you’re overcomplicating things. And I think you’re doing it intentionally. Water flows down, not up. It’s easier to collect rainwater than to try dragging it up from the ground. We need to build rain-catchers, not climbing frames.”
“Okay, okay…” he said, walking up to Jas so their conversation couldn’t easily be overheard. “So I’m trying to keep people busy. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Except it looks like you’re the one doing all the work.” He nodded toward Harte, Field, and Ainsworth, who were now leaning up against their shovels, watching
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