Aftermath

Jackson and a handful of others sat on deckchairs around a large bonfire burning in the middle of the courtyard. Behind them, other people busied themselves in their caravans, doing all they could to keep themselves occupied, still struggling to find any semblance of normality within the bizarre surroundings of the castle walls.
    “Well, I’m with you, Steve,” said Bob Wilkins, swigging from a bottle of lager. The drink made the cold night feel even colder still, but he was past caring.
    “Me too,” Sue Preston, sitting next to him, said. A short woman, the amount of extra clothing she had on tonight made her appear round, almost double her normal size.
    Steve Morecombe—a tax inspector until his job had been added to the apparently endless list of now completely redundant vocations last September—looked at each of the others in turn. He zipped up his anorak as high as it would go, then turned back to face Jackson. “You’re the boss. It’s your call.”
    “This is bullshit,” Kieran protested. Jackson silenced him with a glance, then knocked back another slug of whiskey-tinged coffee and winced at the bitter aftertaste.
    “Not bullshit, Kieran,” he said. “Common sense.”
    “It’s got nothing to do with common sense,” Kieran argued. “It’s because this lot are too damn scared to—”
    Jackson glared at him again, and he immediately became quiet.
    “First things first,” Jackson said, returning his attention to everyone else, sniffing back the cold and wiping his nose on the back of one of his fingerless gloves. “I’m not the boss. I don’t want any of you turning around and pointing fingers at me if this all goes belly-up. We’re all in this together, okay?” A few quiet mumbles. No dissention, not even from Kieran. “I think Steve and Bob are right.”
    “It makes sense,” Bob said. “The way I see it, we’ve done all the hard work we need to for now. We’ve stockpiled enough to get us through the winter, and no one new has turned up here for weeks. We need to start focusing more on those that are already here, and forget about everything that’s going on on the other side of the wall until it’s safe. If we think we can batten down the hatches and survive the winter with what we’ve already got here, then I think that’s what we should do.”
    “Agreed,” said Steve, rubbing his hands in front of the fire.
    “I think you’re wrong,” Kieran said. “You’re making a mistake. Things are going to start getting easier out there, not harder.”
    “Maybe in another couple of months,” Bob argued, “but not yet. I think there’s worse to come before things get any better, and if we don’t have to take any risks, then we shouldn’t be taking any.”
    Jackson looked at Bob, then over at Kieran on the other side of the fire, trying to gauge his reaction. The arguments continued, and he stared into the flames, concentrating on the glowing embers and hoping to shut out the noise by focusing on the crackle and pop of burning wood.
    “The risks are minimal, the potential gains are huge,” Kieran said.
    “A risk’s a risk,” Bob replied, “no two ways about it.”
    “We should put it to a vote.”
    “You know you’d lose. Face it, Kieran, you’re the only one who wants to keep going out there.”
    “Bull. Mel said she’d go if—”
    “Way I see it is this,” Jackson said, cutting across all of them, tired of the bickering. “What Bob and Steve are saying makes sense, and Kieran, I think you’re wrong. But the thing is, if we do this, then everyone has to buy in and we all have to follow the same rules. Food and drink will need to be carefully controlled so we don’t run short. Folks have to be free to leave here if they’re not happy, but they need to know that if they willingly walk away, we’ll not be chasing after them. Agreed?”
    He looked around at the people sitting with him.
    “Fair enough,” said Sue, sinking deeper into her seat, her face disappearing into her padded jacket.
    “Kieran? You know you can’t go out on your own.”
    At first Kieran didn’t react. Jackson stared at him until he grudgingly mumbled, “Okay.”
    “I’m in,” Steve said. “I’d rather bloody starve myself for a couple of months than go out there again unnecessarily.”
    “Probably do you good, you fat bastard!” Bob joked, relieved that the conversation had gone his way.
    “So let’s do it,” Jackson announced, “and we’ll see how things go. I say