Disintegration

right,” Gordon agreed. “We can make the letters bigger if we do it that way.”
    “Doesn’t really matter which way up they go, does it?” added Ginnie enthusiastically, pleased to have finally found something to occupy her time.
    “Keep your voices down,” Hollis nervously warned. They were almost at the boundary fence, near to the gap he’d gone through with Martin earlier. They could hear snatches of music in the distance and he felt uncomfortably close to the dead. If only they knew just how many bodies he’d seen gathered on the golf course.
    Lorna didn’t speak. Ignoring the others as they fussed and argued, she began laying down the first sheet and opening it out. Using sand, soil, stones, and whatever else he could find, Hollis followed her around and weighed down the edges of the material.
    “Think this is going to do it?” he asked as she unfolded the second sheet.
    “We’ve got nothing to lose by trying, have we?”
    Following her lead, Gordon and Ginnie also started to work. Ginnie lay two sheets down to form the cross of the H, Gordon secured them. Hollis was fetching more linen when a football bounced up off the grass and hit him in the face, knocking him back. Sudden, searing pain coursed through his injured ear. He looked up angrily to see Sean approaching. Webb wasn’t far behind.
    “Sorry,” Sean began, jogging toward him. Hollis barged past.
    “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled at Webb, the blinding pain and anger making him temporarily forget the volume of his voice. “Are you fucking stupid?”
    “No, are you?” Webb goaded. Hollis ran at him but the younger man was too fast and sidestepped his clumsy attack.
    “Come here, you little bastard,” he seethed. “I’m gonna kill you.”
    “No, you’re not. You can’t even catch me!”
    “Leave it out,” Lorna pleaded, running after them both. “Come on, Hollis, this is pointless. He’s just a little idiot. Not worth wasting your time on.”
    “You can fuck off too,” Webb spat.
    Hollis sprinted forward again and slid in the dew-soaked grass, much to Webb’s amusement. He picked himself up and glared at him, breathing hard. Lorna held him back.
    “Please,” she said, “just ignore him. He’s only doing it to wind you up. Come back and help us get this finished.”
    “Fucking idiot,” Hollis shouted, forgetting himself again. “Why can’t you do something useful instead of screwing around all the time?”
    “You call that useful?” Webb shouted back, pointing at the sheets on the grass. “How is that useful? How’s that going to help? Who’s gonna see it?”
    “What’s going on?” Jas asked. He’d emerged from the hotel when he’d first heard the raised voices. “You lot got any idea how much noise you’re making?”
    “It’s okay, Jas,” Lorna told him as she tried again to pull Hollis away. “There’s no problem. It’s nothing.”
    “Come on, mate,” Sean said to Webb, passing the football to him. “Let’s go. No point standing here arguing about—”
    He looked up at the sky. The others immediately did the same. One by one they heard the helicopter engine approaching. Webb was the first to spot it—a small, black, spidery silhouette crawling across the off-white sky several miles north of where they were standing.
    “There it is,” he said, pointing up at the aircraft, “and that’s why what you’re doing is stupid. How are they supposed to see your letters on the ground when they’re not even flying overhead? They’re fucking miles away. They’ll never see it.”
    He was right and Hollis knew it.
    “So what do you suggest?” he asked, sounding uncharacteristically desperate. “What else are we supposed to do? What we’re doing is better than doing nothing at all.”
    “You need a fucking fire or something,” Webb answered. “A great big fucking fire in the middle of nowhere. At least then they’ll—”
    “Shut up!” Jas interrupted. “Listen!”
    Another engine, loud enough for them all to hear.
    “There!” Lorna said excitedly. “Look at that! It’s a bloody plane.”
    “Christ,” Sean said under his breath as they stood and stared at the second, much larger aircraft. “There must be loads of them. It’s a bloody mass evacuation.”
    “That’s not good,” Jas warned.
    “Not good?” he protested. “How can it not be good?”
    “Because you might be right—and if you are, then they’re probably clearing out, aren’t they?