Free The Guardians by John Christopher Page A

“Blankets and a pillow. I think I can get a camp bed up eventually but for the present it will have to be a hard lie. You won’t freeze to death, though. No sheets, I’m afraid.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œHow are those feet?”
    â€œNot too bad.”
    â€œLet’s have a go at them.”
    He watched while Rob gingerly removed shoes and socks. The rubbed blisters had been bleeding again.
    â€œOne snag is that the nearest water is ten minutes away,” Mike said. “They could really do with bathing properly. But I’ve got some antiseptic tissues which will clean them up. May smart a bit.”
    It did. Rob found himself involuntarily drawing his foot away as Mike dabbed at the raw patches. Mike did not apologize but gripped the foot more securely and carried on. When he had finished the cleaning he applied adhesive dressings. He took a rolled pair of socks out of the bag and tossed them to Rob.
    â€œPut those on.” He looked at the discarded pair which were worn into holes. “No point in keeping these. I’ll ditch them somewhere. Are you feeling hungry?”
    â€œI had some stale bread and moldy cheese last night, and a few raw potatoes today. Yes, I’m hungry.”
    â€œWell, you’re going to have bread and cheeseagain. It was all I could lay hands on. But at least it’s not stale or moldy.”
    He produced a loaf and a hunk of cheese, wrapped in a muslin cloth.
    â€œHave you got a knife?” Rob shook his head. “You didn’t come as well prepared as you might have done for an expedition like this, did you?”
    The comment, though amiable in tone, was a bit scathing.
    â€œI didn’t have a lot of time to prepare anything,” Rob replied. “And I ran away from school on Sunday, when the shops were closed.”
    â€œDon’t you carry a pocket knife?”
    â€œIn the Conurb? Not unless you want trouble with the police. They’re called offensive weapons.”
    Mike shook his head, uncomprehendingly. “Better have this.” He unclipped a heavy bone-handled knife from his belt. “Keep it. I’ve got another at home. I’ll nip along and get some water while you’re eating. I’ve brought a jerry can.”
    He took it and went off through the wood. Rob started hungrily on the food. The bread was brown and crusty, soft and white inside. Both smell andtaste were new, and far better than anything he was used to. The same was true of the cheese which was golden yellow, smooth and strong. Rob ate half, and half the loaf, and wrapped up the remainder. He heard Mike’s whistle and saw him appear carrying the jerry can full of water. He drank thirstily.
    â€œI’ll get cups and stuff in due course,” Mike said. “Let’s get the gear inside and out of the way.”
    In the near darkness of the concrete cell they put things down. While Rob was unpacking blankets, Mike fiddled with something like a portable lumoglobe but with a different, less regular shape. He brought out a pocket lighter and lit it with a naked flame. A soft light bloomed. Rob asked him what it was.
    â€œThis? Oil lamp. No, I don’t suppose you would have them on your side. I’ll have to bring oil up, but it’s full at the moment. You’d better have this lighter, too.” It was not very different in principle to those sold in the Conurb, but heavy and silvery in color instead of being light and brightly patterned. “Look, it will be better if you use the inner room as your base.”
    A low doorway at the back led to another slightlylarger cell. In the corner were steps leading upward. Mike held the lamp forward.
    â€œThat’s the way up to the main part I told you about. It’s blocked with rubble. Stay here. I’m just going outside to see if the light shows.” Returning, he said: “I’m fairly sure it’s O.K., but you’d probably better recheck after dark.