The Walking Dead

He said, distracted now, 'No, no…I was thinking that this might be the day when the mistake is made, and when we've gotten lucky.' *

'For what you paid, Miss, what did you expect? A high-performance Alfa?'

The nurse from Accident and Emergency tossed and twisted in her bed as the first light of the day seeped through her curtains. She had not slept and would be a rag doll at work that morning. As it had through the night hours, irritation swarmed in her mind, with frustration over the reception she had faced at the car-dealer's yard at the end of her shift yesterday afternoon. Knackered after another difficult day, Avril Harris had explained the problem: backfiring on deceleration, particularly on the approach to stop lights, sometimes once, sometimes twice, with a gunshot's report. Wasn't it under warranty? She had been told, slyly, that she'd never asked about warranties but if she had she would have been told that they did not apply to a car priced at under a thousand. The problem could be handled but the work would have to be paid for; the dealer had denied obligation. 'Sorry and all that, but it was bought as seen.'

What he was prepared to do, without cost to her, was explain the fault that she had described with a mounting anger. It was about the timing, about the exhaust valve opening as the piston exploded; she knew how to operate a complicated defibrillator, or any of the maze of equipment that surrounded a patient in trouble immediately after admission — but had no comprehension of the workings of the internal combustion engine under the bonnet of an old Fiesta. She was told about the crankshaft, the timing belt, the camshaft and the valves, and she was tired, flushed, and had lost him. He'd shrugged — and she'd hoped the unthinkable: that one day the bastard would be wheeled on a trolley into her care, parked in a corridor and left to sweat — and smiled showing bad teeth. 'It was tried and tested by you, Miss, and you didn't have a complaint then.'

It was like, Avril Harris had thought, the dealer had never seen the damn car before. Until they had a look under the bonnet, he didn't know whether it would be a fifty-pound job or a hundred — work and parts, but for cash there'd be no need for VAT added on top — and she could drop it off any time she wanted and they'd take that look, then tell her what the damage would cost her. She had decided that — whether it made a noise like the gun battle at the Alamo each time she came to red traffic lights — she was damned if he'd get her trade.

Not ever. She'd strode away. He'd called after her: 'You want to go somewhere else and get another quote, well, Miss, that's your privilege.'

She would get it fixed 'somewhere else' in Luton, but not that week. Hadn't the money until the end of the month. Would have to ask round the A and E staff for a recommendation. It had done a double backfire at the lights at the bottom end of the Dunstable road. So damned unfair, and it had kept her awake, irritated and frustrated, but until the money was in the bank she must cut her cloth and live with it.

* * *

The window slammed, and Khalid woke. He heard the water that dripped from the sill. The wind whistled through the gap and the curtain flapped.

Which fool had left the window open? Not himself. Not Syed and not Jamal, because they had both been asleep before him. Ramzi? Ramzi had been reading from the Book, with a side-light when Khalid had faced the wall, sought sleep and found it, dreamless…No, the window had been shut, fastened, when they had gone to the room, undressed, climbed on to their mattresses.

Again, the wind caught the window, seemed to seize it and pull it open, wider, and the curtain was lifted and the spatter of water was louder. Khalid did not understand how Syed, Jamal and Ramzi could sleep unaware of the open window. Could any of them have risen in the night and unlocked it because it was too warm in the room? Impossible, and the cold was against his skin. Syed and Jamal were nearest the door, but Ramzi's mattress was under the window; the noise was beside him and the water from the driving rain would be falling on him. He knew it was the day that the video would be made.

Khalid crawled off his mattress. He hoped — had prayed for it — that after the recording of the video he would be permitted to return to his home and the mini-cab office. He had not been treated with respect. He had driven to Birmingham, had endured a night in a flea-ridden hostel, had driven back and not been thanked. Not a word of gratitude. Silence in the car. No leadership, no exhortation, no inspiration…as if he had no value. He wanted to be gone, to be at home…In the gloom of the room he stretched, and his knees cracked, but none of them woke.