*
Ten minutes to departure. McCormick dragged his legs behind him into the attic. It was time to say goodbye to Barbara again, this time probably for good. Even if he were lucky enough to survive tomorrow’s hellfire, it wouldn’t be Polly’s house he’d come back to.
He rose to his knees, and found his box of memories straight ahead next to the boiler. But, first things first, there was something in the attic that would have to go wherever the Underdogs went. He reached to his left, opened the thin box of sealed envelopes, and started to flip through them.
‘Jack… Mark… Simon… Gracie… Shannon…’
The sixth envelope in the pile, the one he had flipped through to find, sank his heart.
‘…Raj.’
McCormick took the envelope in both hands, and tore it to pieces. The information inside had been for Raj’s eyes only, now to be left unread forever. He stuffed the remains into the pocket of his combat uniform, planning to dispose of them somewhere along the journey. The River Lea would churn them up well.
With one less envelope in the thin box, he crawled over to his favourite part of Spitfire’s Rise. When he removed the aged photo frame from his memory box, Barbara McCormick’s smile seemed to have grown.
‘This isn’t goodbye, Barbara,’ he began. ‘I’m just moving house again. Like I did from Durham. Only this time, my physical memories won’t be joining me.’
McCormick smiled at the realisation that he was talking to a photo. But that was OK. He had spent three years not minding.
‘Tomorrow I’ll be heading to New London. Only the second time I’ve ever been. And you know what, Barbara? There’s a chance I might actually come back. I’m prepared for the worst, but I’m hoping for the best. I don’t think my work’s done yet.’
There was a moment of heartbreak as McCormick thought about what ‘his work’ truly meant. He had used a lifetime of experience to build up his housemates to be the best versions of themselves they could be, and he had also led two thirds of them to their deaths.
Then again, he could have just let them stay at home and wait to die, like the group Shannon and Lieutenant Lambourne had found in the clinic.
‘But either way,’ he finished, ‘I hope you know about your part in all this. I was never leadership material. It took the most wonderful woman in the world to turn this adult male into a man. And I hope I’m living my life in a way that honours what you did. You deserve my best, and I hope I’m giving it.’
‘McCormick?’ came a child’s laugh from the top of the ladder.
McCormick bit his lip.
‘Hello, Thomas.’
‘They’re waiting for you downstairs.’
‘I’m coming. How much did you hear?’
‘Something about you needing a woman to make you a man. What does that even mean?’
McCormick smiled, mainly with relief.
‘I was just talking to myself,’ he answered. ‘About my wife. She turned me into the person I am. Before I met her, I was just a kid in an adult’s body.’
There was a laugh, followed by a noise on the floorboard beside him. Thomas, uninvited, had joined him in the attic.
‘Even though she died too early,’ he continued, ‘her influence lives on in the people she loved. And she changed me for the better, little by little, all the way up to the day she died.’
‘She sounds awesome.’
‘She was!’ answered McCormick with a hearty laugh. ‘Really, really awesome.’
‘I hope…’
Thomas’ voice trailed off. When McCormick looked over at him, he had sealed his mouth shut.
‘You hope what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘It wasn’t nothing, Thomas.’
‘OK…’ Thomas started, his voice trembling. He seemed to already feel guilty for the words that would come. ‘I was about to say that I hope… I hope Mum did that to Dad before they split up. I know they hated each other by the end, but… I hope she changed him for the better too.’
Thomas began to shake, and McCormick knew why. He had known Beth well enough to know why. Thomas knew he had said something good, but his upbringing had restricted his freedom of thought. He was not supposed to talk about his parents’ break-up, and it must have been drilled into him from before Takeover Day. His mother had even complained about their last name still being Foster: if the divorce lawyers had been quicker, her son would have started the war with his ‘real name’.
Nonetheless, Beth’s overprotection had never stopped her son from saying kind words.
‘That’s a very mature thing to say, Thomas.’
‘Really?’ the boy asked with genuine surprise.
‘Yes. And you know what? I’m going to trust you with something.’
Brushing his memory box out of Thomas’ line of sight, he drew the boy’s attention to the thin box of envelopes. He pushed them over, and lay a soft hand on Thomas’ shoulder.
‘Wherever our new home is, take these with you.’
*
McCormick watched Thomas’ face as he stood among the crowd in the cellar, at the front so he could see the Memorial Wall one last time. The boy had been uncomfortable with the reason behind McCormick’s instructions, but he had understood.
‘We’ll never be properly home unless we take the whole family with us,’ said Jack.
‘You’re welcome to carry it if you want,’ replied Mark.
McCormick adjusted his helmet for the fourth time that minute. It had been a long time since he had last needed to wear one, and it would take the whole evening before he acclimatised to the feel of it again. He stood in place in front of the Memorial Wall, and held out his hands.
‘Everyone ready for this?’
Wordless, the Underdogs linked hands, and McCormick began.
‘To honour those who gave everything they had, we will give everything we have. To honour the dead we will free the living, united by our differences.’
‘United,’ answered the group. McCormick had expected a subdued, saddened response, but instead his friends were loud. Evidently, they were taking the opportunity to make their last meeting before the Memorial Wall mean something.
One by one, the crowd started to leave. Some were carrying weapons, others were carrying food. Nobody could carry the generator, so they had left behind everything that would require electricity. Their standard of living was set to dip dramatically. Before Jack walked out with a rucksack full of batteries, McCormick noticed the thermal blocker in his hand: the miniature-football-sized object which kept their body heat off any scans Grant could perform. Ewan’s father had stolen it from his barracks on Takeover Day, and that impulsive act had kept them alive for a year. It was by far the most important piece of luggage carried by any of the crew – including all their weapons combined.
McCormick kept himself at the back of the group, and was the last person to leave Spitfire’s Rise.
‘Thank you, Polly,’ he whispered into the air, before he walked into the tunnel, took a final look at the Memorial Wall, and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 14