The Fall of Man

Part II chapter 18

Chapter 18

It is September. Noah is out in the city again. He doesn’t go to the gym anymore. His legs have been hardening from near-constant walking. In the rain, Rover struggles to keep up; his single castor skidding on the slick wet streets.

For the first time, they stand on southernmost stretch of the Wall; a five mile journey from the hospital sanctuary following the broken path of the city’s one watercourse. Part river, part canal, the grey water surfaces fitfully in-between subterranean sections as it sluggishly bisects the city, on its rambling journey to the South Gate. At the gate, boats of all descriptions clutter each of its corrugated steel banks. As the virtual city illustrated, this part of the Wall runs along the coast, and was clearly built as a flood defence to protect the city. Inside, the river flows up to a final chamber contained at top and bottom by a pair of giant toothed steel crescents. The lock is framed to either side by churning turbines, through which water thunders and froths.

Now, from the uppermost deck of the lofty perimeter fortification, Noah looks out of the city and onto the great ocean of shifting water beyond. Its waves wash with effortless pressure against the rough concrete face of the Wall. Noah squints further out into the heaving swell. Somewhere on the horizon is another land mass, lost for the most part in the hazy morning light. In between, a forest of masts and turbines bob, sway and spin. The wind picks up and a white crest gathers on some of the choppier waves, which slap against the Wall with irregular consistency.

A light, cool, wetness settles gently on his exposed skin. Snow would have been unthinkable just a week ago. Over the last few days, however, Noah has noticed a sharp change in the air. It is moving much more freely than the sluggish haze that was so common earlier in the year, and carries a cold bite. The Indian summer of over-bright days and balmy nights has suddenly been replaced with the early onset of a much more aggressive winter. Noah’s attention is drawn to the murky waters that wash at the foot of the Wall two storeys below. Each flake pauses briefly as it lands on the oily meniscus, before disintegrating. Beneath the rainbowed undulations, the shadowy outlines of sunken ruins are fleetingly visible. The waves dip periodically to reveal a high tide mark, long since forgotten, notched into the harbour Wall. Rusted steel reinforcement and rotten timber posts break the surface occasionally, in varying states of decay. Water sloshes through openings in brickwork where windows used to sit, and drunken lamp posts lean wearily against one another - now all but lost beneath the advancing tide.

Back in the city centre, the streets are suddenly awash with people. As Noah picks his way back through the shadows towards the hospital campus, agitated crowds are congregating on each corner and gather at every shop-front window he passes. In the demeanour of the assembled mobs, Noah senses panic – and an escalating fever. He hangs for a moment at the rear of one such throng, in front of a small bakery. Shoulder to shoulder, the wayward shoppers jostle and rut against one another like penned cattle. Those at the front hungrily snatch up anything they can lay their hands on. Trays of baked goods are emptied as soon as they emerge from the kitchens. Those at the back continue to push forwards, pawing over the scraps in futile desperation. Noah is reminded of the pigeons scavenging on Geoffrey’s window cill. Amidst the melee, someone stumbles and disappears from view. A shouting competition begins, and the voices lose all meaning in the ensuing din.

Alongside the bakery is an electrical store. Noah joins a small group of onlookers who are gathered watching the many screens on display in the shop window. They are all tuned to the information channels, each of which is flooded with the consequences of the latest polar melt. Against a backdrop of outraged cries and scuffling sounds, the small audience reads the tickertape information bar at the base of each screen.

“NASA report less than five percent of icecaps remain. Ongoing monitoring of ocean movement indicates Gulf Stream has faltered. Significant cold snap predicted for Western Europe and UK...”

Around him, chuntering voices regurgitate the information over and over, trying to break the headlines down into palatable bites. Changes in the weather are damaging crops. Chronic food shortages are predicted. In Britain, an ice age approaches…

Just a week later, Noah stands shivering in the same thin, worn clothes. His grey woollen overcoat hangs heavily from his shoulders, waterlogged and encrusted with sleet. He wrings his fingers into fists to keep them warm, while the glass lift carriage ascends the north gate. When the door slides open, an arctic blast slaps him in the face – bringing tears to his eyes and snapping him out of his reverie.

Taking care not to slip on the treacherous slush gathering on the ground, he approaches the Wall’s low parapet. Out in the fields, the wind carves swirling cartwheels across the tattered remains of the crops; long, dry stems are buffeted first one way and then the other. Nothing else moves out in the fields. There are no farmers, no livestock, and no vehicles. A ghostly frost covers the ground that lies in the shadow of the Wall. The dark ribbon of road runs empty out towards the tree-lined horizon.

Beyond the fields, the wilderness is unmoving. It looks vibrant by comparison. For the first time in a while, Noah thinks backs to the conversations with his father, to the lengthy planning of their great escape. He wonders where they might be now, if not for the black Range Rover.

Noah decides that he must make an expedition outside the city Wall, to see what - if anything - is left of the world he knew before. This is what his father would have wanted; to make a break for freedom, before the human machine grinds to a halt. But there are a few things he must do first…