Flight of the Gazebo

Chapter 4 - King of the Hill

John's honest face worked through a range of expressions as his natural tendency to disbelieve Montgomery-Jones warred with the evidence.

"Hang on a minute," said Dora, who had been watching Montgomery-Jones through narrowed eyes. "If he's against us, why would he tell us to repair the gazebo so we can get back to Earth? Surely, if he's gone to all the effort to bring us here, he wouldn't be telling us how to get back."

"Obviously it wasn't the gazebo that brought us here at all. How can a few bits of wood and metal do something as sophisticated as sending a whole village through God only knows what - some sort of space warp thing - for goodness' sake? No, his alien friends have got the real device that did that. Some kind of super-computer, I expect. What he wants us to do is spend our time engaged in some spurious activity, like repairing the gazebo, so that we're not ready when he comes back with his forces."

"Forces?"

"An army. It's plain he plans to set himself up as king," said Montgomery-Jones.

The murmurs swelled as the crowd digested this. He could hear snatches like "...always did think that boy was no-good.." and "...ideas above his station..." When he judged they were ready, he held up his arms for silence.

"Good people of Amblesby," he announced, pleased all those orating lessons were finally paying off. "There is much we don't know and much we have to do, but it will all count for nothing unless we do it together. I suggest we have a public meeting in the village hall in one hour's time to discuss what we are going to do. One of the prime things, of course, will be to elect a leader until this is all over, and I nominate John Banks for that role. In the meantime, I suggest that we spend the next hour in our homes and shops taking an inventory of food, water, candles, fuel and so on. All the things we will need to survive. And that includes weapons. Bring your inventory to the meeting so we can work out a way of pooling it all and rationing it out."

He could have shouted with glee when he saw the looks of stunned amazement that crept over the faces of the crowd as realisation struck.

Rationing?

Mouths gaped as it dawned that there was no supermarket just a few miles away any longer. He almost chuckled at his cunning: in one swift move he had turned them from an angry mob into a gaggle of idiots all concerned about themselves. He watched their faces, seeing their thoughts take shape as they looked at one another from the corners of their eyes. The last few decades had done away with the old British spirit of pulling together in adversity. Already some in the crowd were scurrying away, no doubt to ransack the village shops and hoard whatever they could.

"One hour's time," he called again. "That'll be 4:15 going by the church clock. Don't forget your inventories."

It was so easy, he could weep with joy. The crowd dispersed, and he hummed a little ditty to himself as he made his way back to his house. Well, strictly speaking it was Hilary's house, but since she wasn't here and since he was going to be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, that didn't matter any longer.

It had been a stroke of genius to call a meeting and nominate John Banks as leader. That would keep the nosey bastard off his back. Banks would be so busy sorting out the supplies and trying to keep the populace calm that he wouldn't have time to worry about Montgomery-Jones. He rubbed his hands together and started planning. First, he would check the supplies in his nuclear shelter. How Hilary had laughed at him for building a nuclear shelter. But he had been right, hadn't he? All right, there wasn't nuclear war, but there was an emergency nevertheless. Events had proved him right to be so prudent. Good thing he had kept it secret - he didn't want to share the three years' worth of supplies in the shelter with anyone else. Next he would get out the plans for the gazebo and start working out how he was going to put it back together.

What a marvellous day it had been. He couldn't believe his luck. Where others saw disaster, he saw opportunity. And he was going to seize this opportunity with both hands.

As for portraying Jerome Watkins as the villain, what a brilliant idea. He chuckled in self admiration. Watkins? King? Ha!

King. Now there's an interesting idea.

******

John looked along the new clifftop that ringed the village. Ahead of him it formed a smooth arc to his left. Parts had crumbled here and there, but mostly it looked like it had been cut by a knife.

"Better not get too close to the edge, John," said someone nearby. "It doesn't look safe. It's only chalk and it might go at any moment."

It was Mr Klammer. He was one of those people who seemed to be eternally old. John had grown up in the village and as far back as he could remember, Mr Klammer had looked exactly the same, with his high waistband, big trousers, a shock of grey hair and bright blue eyes set in a warm, lined face.

John stepped back next to the old man. "Hello Mr Klammer."

"Parts of the cliff are breaking away," continued Mr Klammer. "Like over there." He pointed to their right where a ragged semicircle about the size of a family car was missing from the otherwise smooth edge. It looked like a giant had taken a bite from it.

"My God," said John. "It's unbelievable, isn't it? Here we are, a whole village and everyone in it, on some alien planet. I had to come down here to the edge and see for myself, to convince myself it's real."

"There are a few others doing the same, including me," said Mr Klammer.

"I'm surprised there aren't more."

"Ha," said Mr Klammer. "Most of the village are too busy ignoring it, hoping it'll go away, but some will be thinking of ways they can turn the situation to their advantage."

There were a few other people standing nearby, some staring blankly out at the alien world around them, others talking together in small groups. Mostly they stood on the road, a respectable distance back from where it suddenly stopped and the void began.

Dora was standing with several women over by the house closest to the edge. The owner had found a camping stove and was handing out cups of tea.

"They'll have to enjoy the tea while they can. It'll be just like it was in the war, you know," said Mr Klammer.

"What do you mean?"

"Tea, milk, sugar - it'll all be used up soon unless we're careful. Even water. All the water we've got right now is in the water pipes and roof tanks. I won't be taking any baths for a while, I can tell you. And neither should anyone else or we'll soon have nothing to drink."

John turned and looked aghast at the old man. "You're right. I hadn't thought about water. We're so used to getting it out of a tap we don't tend to think about it where it comes from. I've been worrying about food supplies, but water is even more precious." He looked around the alien landscape. It looked almost Earth-like in many respects: there were trees, bushes, and what looked like grass. Most of the plant-life appeared to have green leaves. Hills that wouldn't have looked out of place on a postcard of the Lake District surrounded the valley in which the village now lay. There were birds flying across the valley, although some seemed to have an odd way of flapping. He was sure a few had more than two wings, but they were too far away to be sure.

"There has to be water down there somewhere," he said, nodding at the alien landscape. "Of course we'll probably have to boil it..." His mind raced. He didn't even want to think about alien bacteria. Better leave that to someone who knows about germs, like Dr Wilson.

"You're going to have to warn people not to flush their toilets," said Mr Klammer. "We'll have to do our business in buckets. And we'll have to dig cesspits too. At least we won't be short of manure."