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Post by garethn on Aug 1, 2018 23:33:34 GMT -6
Here you are, folks, the teaser you have been promised!
I’m stilll editing and pulling stuff together so I reserve the right to change things before I start running the main release
Regards,
GarethN
Chapter 1 Pizza
<SNIP>
I’ve done some editing so I’ll repost this below.
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Post by 9idrr on Aug 2, 2018 17:05:00 GMT -6
Feel free to continue for, oh, say, a couple of hundred chapters. You definitely have my interest.
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Post by texican on Aug 2, 2018 18:43:02 GMT -6
G,
Thanks for the new work....
As 9 stated, 100's of more chapters will help....
Texican....
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Post by misterjimbo on Aug 2, 2018 21:26:09 GMT -6
Yeah! Thanks for coming back.
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Post by garethn on Aug 5, 2018 1:35:24 GMT -6
Yeah! Thanks for coming back. I’ve never been away! Just busy writing!
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Post by texican on Aug 5, 2018 13:07:13 GMT -6
Yeah! Thanks for coming back. I’ve never been away! Just busy writing! G, Don't forget, posting also helps.... Texican....
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Post by garethn on Aug 5, 2018 14:40:44 GMT -6
I’ve never been away! Just busy writing! G, Don't forget, posting also helps.... Texican.... I can’t write straight through from beginning to end. My brain just doesn’t work that way. i jump about, working with the characters and situations and watching them develop... then go through at the end trying to pull things together and try to ensure consistency. The good news is that all the chapters are flagged ‘done’ in my plan an I only have about a dozen ‘todos’: build up Alice’s relationship with her dogs etc. So, a couple more weeks.
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Post by texican on Aug 5, 2018 21:41:47 GMT -6
So, a couple more weeks.
G,
Guess we will wait....
Texican...
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Post by 9idrr on Aug 6, 2018 20:44:15 GMT -6
Nobody's mentioned voodoo dolls lately... probably no need. I'm sure garethn is gonna post ASAP. We're all so patient here... aren't we? Damn, I wish I could simulate Vincent Prices's evil laugh.
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Post by arkansascob on Aug 7, 2018 10:38:57 GMT -6
just sitting here on the front porch with my feet propped up on the railing patienTLY WAITING FOR MOAR.
HELLOOOOOOooooooo !!!
Well now maybe I'll feel better for a bit.
COB
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Post by texican on Aug 7, 2018 19:07:48 GMT -6
just sitting here on the front porch with my feet propped up on the railing patienTLY WAITING FOR MOAR. HELLOOOOOOooooooo !!! Well now maybe I'll feel better for a bit. COB AC, A snifter of JD Black would undoubtedly help extend your feelings of being better.... Texican....
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Post by eyeseetwo on Aug 7, 2018 19:37:23 GMT -6
I love stories from over the pond to my far distant relation. Please write more of your fine story!
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Post by garethn on Sept 2, 2018 0:51:32 GMT -6
just sitting here on the front porch with my feet propped up on the railing patienTLY WAITING FOR MOAR. HELLOOOOOOooooooo !!! Well now maybe I'll feel better for a bit. COB Sorry, I’ve allowed myself to be distracted by a different (non paw) novel. I’ll put it up on Wattpad and give y’all a link when it’s done. Should be back on I-J in a couple of weeks. GN
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Post by 9idrr on Sept 2, 2018 16:51:39 GMT -6
Thanks for the heads up.
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Post by arkansascob on Sept 4, 2018 10:25:24 GMT -6
Thanks for a responce. Not the one I (we) were looking for but better than nothing. Looking forward to reading more of your stuff though.
Thanks
COB
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Post by garethn on Sept 20, 2018 1:37:16 GMT -6
OK! My latest work, ‘To TTrain a Wild Rose’, is available online. It’s not a PAW novel so I don’t think it’s appropriate to post it here so I’ve put it up on Wattpad. Search for GaretN.
The introduction:
Seventeen year old Ro wakes to find herself naked, blindfolded, gagged, and tied to a bed in a dungeon. This can't be good, can it?
It certainly unlikely to be the start of the best thing that ever happened in her life.
This novel contains explicit sexual scenes so I have no choice but to rate it as 'Mature’. By presenting it through the eyes of a relatively naive seventeen year old, I’ve tried to keep it erotic rather than pornogrphic but would appreciate feedback on whether I’ve succeeded.
The whole book depicts an extremely dubious moral situation and I would appreciate feedback on that, too, particularly from female readers.
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Post by papaof2 on Sept 20, 2018 12:32:32 GMT -6
I would have checked your story, but Wattpad never responded to my signup with a confirmation email. Perhaps you need a better platform?
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Post by garethn on Sept 20, 2018 14:18:27 GMT -6
I would have checked your story, but Wattpad never responded to my signup with a confirmation email. Perhaps you need a better platform? Strange. I didn’t have any problems there. I assume you checked your junk mail folder G
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Post by garethn on Oct 1, 2018 3:14:57 GMT -6
I would have checked your story, but Wattpad never responded to my signup with a confirmation email. Perhaps you need a better platform? Ive also put the novel up on the Inkitt site - also under the name GarethN. See if that works any better. Heres my homepage www.inkitt.com/GarethNG
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Post by garethn on Oct 1, 2018 3:21:13 GMT -6
OK, I’m pretty much done. Release from now on will be governed by final checking and the availability of t’Internet.
Note: Some of the dialogue is conducted in a Yorkshire dialect (a more extreme version than my own accent). If anyone has difficulty understanding what’s being said then let me know and I’ll fettle it!
Chapter 1 - Pizza
I knew at once that something had gone badly wrong. The lights in the restaurant flared briefly then we were plunged into semi-darkness. There was the smell of burning electronics. I'm a electronic engineer and I recognise that ozone smell.
But this was the first time I’d ever experienced all the electronics in a room burning out at the same time. The background noise changed too. We're continuously immersed in a sea of noise: other peoples’ music; the gentle hum of transformers; and the rumble of traffic. You only notice it when it's gone. For a brief moment there was silence but this was brought to an abrupt end by the crunch of colliding cars on the street outside. My fourteen-year-old son, James, was staring at me through a curtain of hair, still holding a slice of pizza which was starting to droop in his hand. "She was right," I said in a quiet voice, not really believing it myself. "It's happened." It was supposed to be a simple shopping trip. Seven-year-old Elizabeth was at a sleepover with her friend Amy, so James and I had taken the chance to visit our favourite outdoor shop in Amberford. James needed new boots and I was looking for a couple of things for our upcoming camping trip. Though it was thirty miles from home, it was owned by Mike, an old army friend of Mary's, who was James’s godfather. Not only did we receive substantial discounts and personal attention from the shop owner, it was a great chance to keep in touch. After finishing our shopping, we had driven on to the climbing centre that I used to use when I lived in the area. It was frightening how out of practice I had become and watching my son scoot up the walls had made me feel quite old. James and I were enjoying a late lunch together when the lights went out. "What's happening?" he asked. "Something's cooked all the electronics," I answered, checking my phone. It was completely dead. He took out his own phone and started prodding at the screen. "It's the sort of thing your mum was preparing for," I explained to him in a low voice. "She was preparing in case our phones packed up?" James asked. "Not just the phones," I explained, lowering my voice and leaning towards him. “It looks as if the electronics in the cars out there is fried too." I nodded at the unmoving cars and busses in the road behind him. "Lorries too... food delivery lorries... and the electronics that run the water... and gas... and what about the police radios?" James was quiet for a long time as he started to understand what I was talking about. "What about Lizzie?" he asked at last. "She should be OK for a while," I answered with more confidence than I felt. "Amy’s parents will look after her. We’ll just have to get back there as quickly as we can." "But you said the car won't work," he said, his voice rising in worry. "How are we going to get home?" "Keep it down, mate," I said. "We don't want to start a panic. Give me a minute." I fought my own instincts to hurry back to our car and instead forced myself to think. For Mary's sake, I had gone through the motions of preparing for the end of the world. Even if you didn't believe in all that 'the end is nigh' stuff, a lot of it made sense: keeping a stock of food at home and buying in bulk meant better prices and less time wasted in supermarkets; her home grown vegetables always tasted better than the shop bought ones; and the Land-Rover was the right vehicle for visiting her parents up on their farm. Even after her death, I'd carried on, though I was nothing like as rigorous as she had been. So, we had all kinds of good things stashed away for just this kind of emergency; and here we were, stuck miles away from home. "We're going to have to walk," I told James. He gave me a puzzled look. "If our car's not going to start, that's the only way we're going to get home," I explained. "But it's miles!" "About forty, if we go through the hills. I can get us up to Mike's house but then..." I thought for a moment. "Then we can go past your Grandma's place; it’s pretty much on the way… in fact, once we’ve collected Lizzie it might be best if we all stay on the farm until this is sorted out." "How long is that going to take?" "We've absolutely no way of knowing," I answered. "If this is just a local thing, the army could arrive tomorrow to sort everything out. If it's worldwide..." We were both silent for a few moments. "All being well, I should be able to get the Landy running," I went on. "It's not got much in the way of clever electronics and your mum made sure we kept a few spare parts. If that works, we’ll be able to get all our stuff back to the farm." As we were talking, the restaurant manager came over to our table. He explained that, because of the power cut, they would not be able to finish serving our meal. He politely asked us to leave so that he could lock up. There would, of course, be no charge. "That's fine," I responded. "We were just about done anyway. Could we have a couple of small boxes for the rest of the pizza, please." "Certainly," the manager replied. He seemed relieved. Some of the other customers had been giving him much more trouble. "And I don't suppose there are a couple of bottles of water we could have?" I asked on impulse. “It looks like the cars aren't working and we might have a long walk home." "Of course,” the manager replied. He was keen to get us on our way. A few moments later we were heading out of the door. There was a strange atmosphere in the street. The familiar hum of traffic was absent and voices were carrying in an unfamiliar way. Half the people seemed to be treating the whole thing as a big joke - half were treating it as an inconvenience aimed at them personally. Nobody else seemed to be treating it as the serious and life changing event that I feared it might be - then again, we weren't exactly shouting about it. Perhaps everyone else with suspicions was keeping their heads down, too, and doing what they needed to do. We had step out into the road to avoid a large crowd that had gathered around the entrance to a supermarket then and made our way back to the car-park. A number of the cars had their bonnets up including the one next to ours. An elderly gentleman was staring into the motor compartment. "Are you having problems?" I asked in as casual a tone as I could manage.
"It won't start," the gentleman replied. "Oh dear," I said as I pressed the button on my key fob and, as expected, nothing happened. "Looks like we might have problems too." James gave me a slightly quizzical look but fortunately kept quiet. I unlocked the door with the key, climbed in and opened the passenger door for James. He climbed in too but gave me another puzzled look. "We're just going to go through a bit of a pantomime here to avoid attracting attention," I explained in a low voice. "Then we can pack up our stuff and get going." He nodded his understanding. "Now have a think - it might be a while until we can get back to the car. Is there anything we should take with us?" I had to smile when he opened the glove compartment and took out the tin of sweets that we kept there. "Good thinking," I said with a smile. "Now, is there anything else in there that might be useful?" I popped open the car bonnet and went through the motion of fiddling with the engine then went round to the boot. I knew that Mary had left a basic 'get home' kit in a small locker in one of the side walls. I roughly knew what was in it and had replaced the food and water a couple of times. It included a lightweight backpack, a very basic tent, four foil sleeping bags, a tiny solid fuel water heater and a compact multi-tool plus, of course, three different ways of lighting a fire. Not great luxury but it would get us home. She had also hinted that there were further supplies concealed below the spare wheel - but managed to make it clear that I should not investigate until I really needed to - plausible deniability. So, after checking that nobody was watching, I removed the wheel and undid the screws securing the panel beneath it. As I removed the panel, I found a long, plastic-wrapped package - my suspicions were confirmed. After rechecking that nobody was watching, I wrapped it in an old blanket that we kept in the back of the car and tied the bundle to the outside of the rucksack so it looked like a slightly oversized bed roll. James's hunting had produced a cheap pocket knife, a pack of tissues and half a packet of Paracetamol. He even found a cheap pair of children’s binoculars which, after a moment’s thought, I stuffed into the pack. I tore out the relevant page from the road map. Though not at a sensible scale for walking it was marginally better than nothing. "Put your new boots on," I told James as I did a last check through the car. “We'd better take your old shoes, though, just in case..."
Then, with a final glance towards the car, we set off to walk home.
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Post by garethn on Oct 1, 2018 3:26:37 GMT -6
Chapter 2 - Walk
The atmosphere had changed markedly as we made our way back across town. There was much less laughing and much more scowling as the first inkling of the scale of the problems gradually dawned on people. The crowd gathered around the supermarket had become positively hostile and I carefully steered James across to the other side of the road to avoid it.
The first part of the route was quite familiar to me. Mary and I had hiked over to Mike's several times when we were first married, returning the next day, slightly the worse for wear, after a night of partying with her army mates. We crossed the ring road at a footbridge and, after looking down on the stationary cars for a few seconds, pressed on towards the East. Leaving the suburbs, we joined a path that climbed up through a golf course and I was surprised to see several people were still playing. I thought about trying to warn them about what was going on but decided there was no point. They were going to find out soon enough It was a chilly afternoon but not too cold. At least the spits and spats of rain that had been about in the morning had dried up. By the time we reached the top of the golf course, a watery sun had come out and we were starting to warm up. Here our path joined a well maintained track and twenty minutes later we had reached the first low hills. At first James forged ahead. Since Mary’s death he had become very protective of his younger sister and he was worried about her. To encourage him to take short rests, I asked him to check to see whether he could see any cars moving in the valleys to our left. At the first couple of viewpoints, there was nothing much to be seen but at the third, James paused for slightly longer. “What’s that?” he asked at last. I looked down into the broad, wooded valley and, a few miles to the north, I could see a column of smoke rising. Taking out the pair of children’s binoculars, I could make out flames at the base of the column and a scar across the wooded landscape. It was not a very long scar. I thought for a moment about what to say and, not seeing any convincing alternatives, decided on the full truth. “It looks like a plane has crashed - probably had its electronics cooked too.” “Shouldn’t we go and help?” “It looks as if it came pretty much straight down,” I told him, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “That’s not the sort of thing people are going to be walking away from.” “Oh,” he said. He stood in silence for several seconds. The sight of the crashed plane seemed to have taken a lot out of James and the spring had gone out of his step as we pressed on. Though he was doing his best, he was starting to get tired and moving quite slowly. I tried to help with a regular supply of the boiled sweets but by the time we reached the ridge above Amberford, the sun had set and it was becoming quite cold. We paused for a while as I looked down on the town. There was a small crowd of people gathered round a fire at a road junction a short distance below us and something about them made me feel uneasy. I thought for a moment then made my mind up. "I think we should stay up here for the night and go into town in the morning," I told James. "It'll be dark soon and I don't know what we're going to do if Mike's not home.” There was just a vague grunt from James by way of reply. I looked round to see he had collapsed on the grass, past caring. "Come on,” I said, rubbing his hair to wake him up. “Let's get some proper food in you and get you into bed." I found a quiet spot, back from the path and concealed by some bushes so we weren't immediately visible. I put up the tent while James ate a couple of slices of the Pizza, almost falling asleep as he ate. “Bed, you,” I said, hauling him to his feet. “Are we going to be alright?” James asked as he climbed into the foil sleeping bag without bothering to undress. “I don't know.” I answered. I didn’t know what else to say. “We’re just going to have to do the best we can." I sat on the grass and ate the rest of the Pizza. Since Mary's death I've generally made sure I had plenty to do to keep the worst of my depressive tendencies at bay but, as I sat there, the worries merged with happy memories and I became quite emotional until I could take it no more. With a sigh and a shake of my head, I took out the rifle and, as dusk gathered, I started to inspect it. It was partially disassembled and had been kept in a sealed plastic bag which, I hoped, had given it at least some protection. I had no way of cleaning it so I carefully inspected all the components then assembled it. I was shaken out of my daydream by the sound of an engine, startlingly loud in the evening stillness. It was obviously old but running beautifully smoothly and the sound alone told me that it was somebody’s pride and joy. I jumped to my feet and hurried back to the path.
The car was moving through the town below. Though it was not yet fully dark, the headlights were dazzlingly bright in the shadows of the houses and the engine noise purred through the silent streets. As the car drove towards us, the group below became increasingly excited. I could just make out some of them disappearing into gardens on either side of the road so I knew something was happening. As the car approached the fire, one person walked towards it waving with two arms. It all happened very quickly and the fading light spared me most of the details but, after a short struggle and a few screams, most of the group climbed into the car and departed leaving a tiny-looking crumpled figure on the ground. I thought about going down to see if I could help but, after a short time, he pulled himself back to his feet and, with obvious difficulty, stumbled back towards town. 'Hard lessons,' I thought as I made my way back to the tent in the darkness, 'if you've got it, don't flaunt it.' I didn't sleep much that night. Though they kept you warm enough, the foil sleeping bags from the survival kit were rather noisy and not particularly comfortable and, anyway, there was just too much going on in my head. I was up as the first streaks of dawn decorated the eastern horizon and, working almost by touch, fired up the little solid fuel stove so, by the time I woke James, there was a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him. He was reluctant to get moving but I reminded him about Elizabeth and, with great effort, he hauled himself to his feet. He huddled in the dawn chill with his hands round the mug as I struck camp and repacked our rucksack. Munching on cereal bars, we set off down the hill. As we approached the road, I took the rifle off my shoulder and swung it into a ready position. James, who hadn't noticed it until that point, gave me a shocked look. "Your mother left this for us under the spare wheel of the car," I explained. "I told you she was prepared for this sort of thing." He nodded, still wide-eyed with shock. "I don't know what we're going to find in town - that's one of the reasons we're on the move so early - but I saw a moving car last night, just down at the junction there. A gang of people jumped the driver, beat him up and stole it." I paused for a moment to let this sink in. "So, we're going to be very careful. You're going to walk a couple of yards behind me and keep an eye on what's going on to the side and behind us. Clear?" He gave a scared nod. "And when I tell you to do something, you do it straight away. You don't stop to talk about it, even if you don't like it. Clear?" Another nod. "Any questions?" A shake of the head. "OK, from now on, we move in silence if we can. You remember that special game of 'follow my leader' you used to play with your mum?" He gave me thumbs up and smiled at the memory. Turning round I signaled for him to follow me. When we reached the junction, I signaled for him to stop and I was pleased to see he not only did so without hesitation, but that he also continued to check behind and to the side. There was not much to see there: just the smouldering embers of the fire and some faint blood marks so I signaled that we should go on. I knew the way to Mike's house quite well and, because it was still so early, we managed to get there without being seen. There was nobody on the street as I unlatched the gate and walked into the front garden. I'd not made it two yards towards the house when a casual voice from above me and to the left told me to stop. I did so, glancing round furiously for the source of the voice. "Move your hand away from the trigger guard," the bodiless voice went on. As I did so, I realised that the speaker had to be on the flat roof of the garage, concealed in the shadow of the house. "Now, who are you and what do you want?" "We've come to see Mike. We're friends." "If you're friends of Mike then why don't I know you?" the voice rumbled suspiciously. I wasn't sure how to answer that. "Did you know Mary?" I asked at last. "She was my wife." "Mary Moo?" he asked and, in spite of the tension I had to smile. Before our wedding she had been called Mary Moore but there had been some incident involving scratching paint off a name plate. "If you were really married to Mary you'd know about her tattoo." "She had a butterfly tattoo and I've no intention of saying where it was in front of her son," I said as the tension evaporated. A huge, coloured man appeared from the shadows of the house on the flat garage roof. He was completely bald and wearing camouflaged battledress. He casually stepped down, landing surprisingly lightly and walked up to James. "This Mary's boy," he asked.
I nodded. From close up, it was clear that most of that huge was muscle. He wasn’t carrying much excess fat. What he was carrying was a staggeringly large knife - in fact, it looked more like a small sword - fastened to his belt.
"The name's Samson," he said, looming over James and offering him his hand. James shook it slightly self-consciously. "Your mother was a fine woman," he paused for a moment, "a fine woman. I still owe her big time, so if you ever need anything you know who to ask." "Go on in," he said as he wrapped my hand in his enormous paw. He turned, took three casual steps back towards the garage and, with negligent ease, jumped and pulled himself back onto the roof. As he jumped up I saw he was carrying a rifle over his shoulder. We walked over and knocked on the door.
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Post by garethn on Oct 1, 2018 3:31:38 GMT -6
Chapter 3 - Mike There was sudden burst of activity from within the house and I had the impression that we were being inspected. The door opened and then Mike’s head appeared from around the side.
Mike was quite short but packed plenty of muscle in his compact frame. Since leaving the army he had grown a black bushy beard and above this his eyes were sparkling. “Morning,” he said. “I was wondering when you two were going to turn up.”
Mike led us into the kitchen. “You know Laura and Jimbo, don’t you?" he said, nodding to the others, both of whom I recognised, from the shop and from his notorious parties. They, too, were in military camouflage.
“Sit yourselves down,” Laura said. We found ourselves in the middle of a bustle of activity as the three of them worked around us. It looked as if they were preparing to leave.
James and I collapsed into chairs at the kitchen table.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Yes, Ma’am,” James answered and I had to smile. Though not particularly tall or conspicuously powerfully built, there was something about Laura’s presence that demanded respect. She busied herself at a camp stove that had been set up on one of the worktops.
Jimbo stepped over bearing two mugs of tea. He was of medium height and had a wiry frame that seemed to radiate compact power and endurance. His eyes sparkled and I had rarely seen him without a smile on his face.
I nodded my thanks and sipped cautiously at the tea. As I suspected, it was teeth tinglingly strong and I heard James gasp when he tried to drink it.
As two bowls of porridge appeared in front of us, Mike strolled casually over, hooked a chair out with a foot and sat down backwards on it with his elbows resting on the back rest. "What can I do for you?" he asked.
"A couple of things, first of all, do you have any idea what's going on?" "Most of the electronics seems to have gone up in smoke but you're the electronics wizard - you tell me! I had a radio in a special box and it seems to have survived..." "Faraday cage," I said quietly but he ignored me. "... but when I powered it up last night there was nothing but static." "That's not good," I said, "not even a carrier?" "Not a thing," he answered. "That's really bad," I told him with a sigh. "That means it's not just a local thing. Doesn't change anything for now, though." "What are your plans?" Mike asked. "We've got to get home as quickly as possible to collect Lizzie," I told him. "But even with this baby," I nodded at the rifle, "I think we need to stay off the roads as much as possible. Do you have a map we could have?" "Sure. You’ll need to come on down to the shop with us. There are another couple of bits and pieces we can let you have too." I hesitated. "It's not that I'm not grateful," I said at last, "but we really need to get going...." "You're worried about Lizzie and want to get back as quickly as possible." "It's going to be at least another two days," I answered with the worry I had been suppressing creeping into my voice. “Even if we..." I trailed off. Mike wasn't listening. He was staring into space, deep in thought. "OK," he said after several seconds. "There are a couple of problems: first James is knackered. He’s just going to slow you down. He needs to stay here." I glanced across at the lad who had fallen asleep with his head on the table and nodded. "Secondly, you're not going on your own. Laura, you're OK to manage things here and at the shop, aren't you?" It wasn’t really a question
“Of course.” And that wasn’t really an answer.
“Then I’ll be coming with you. And lastly,” he carried on without giving me a chance to interrupt, “we'll be much quicker by bike. We stock paratrooper bikes at the shop so we can grab one of those for you.” “I don’t know what to say,” I managed to stammer at last. “‘Thank you’ is sort of traditional,” Jimbo commented from the corner where he was wrapped around his own mug of tea. “Mary’s kid’s in trouble. We’re there. It’s what we do,” Laura said in an unemotional, flat tone. She was a woman of few words but those she used tended to be to the point. “No, I mean, how do you manage to see things so clearly?” “It’s why we were paid the big bucks in the army!” Mike answered with a dry laugh. “OK, folks, we’re moving out in ten! I told the staff I'd see them at the shop first thing.” "You know which end of that thing to point at the bad guys?" Laura asked me, nodding at my rifle. "Do I get two guesses?" I answered. "Mary taught him to shoot so he's safe and more or less competent," Mike told her. "I'm out of practice, though, and the thing's been hidden in the back of the car for years so I don't know what sort of state it's in." "Give it here," Laura said, taking the rifle from my hands. She started to clean and adjust it with practiced competence. Nine minutes later she gave me back the rifle then went over to James. “Come on then, sleeping beauty,” she said, gently waking him with a hand on his shoulder. “Time to move out.” When he was awake enough to listen, I told him Mike’s suggestions. He didn't much like the idea of being left behind but he could see it made sense. “Are you good to give us a hand down at the shop this morning?” Laura asked him. “You can rest up this afternoon.” James nodded then got to his feet and stretched as Mike collected his bike. The trip along the suburban streets and into town was uneventful. This was not surprising as six people moving in obvious military formation with two rifles attract an awful lot of uneventful - particularly when one of them looks like Samson. We gathered in front of the shop and, as Mike unlocked the door, Laura borrowed my rifle. Then the door was thrown open and she and Samson exploded into the building as if they expected armed resistance. Within a couple of seconds, the shout of 'clear' came back. Mike ushered the rest of us in then followed as Samson took up an unobtrusive position just inside the door, his eyes constantly scanning the street for signs of trouble. Mike led me across to a rack and handed me some trousers and a pair of the new boots I had been admiring when I had been in the shop with James the day before. “Put ’em on, then,” he told me when I stood there with my mouth open. “We’re going to be traveling across rough country," he explained, "and if anything goes wrong, we could be stuck out there for a couple of days. We’re both going to be using the best technical kit we’ve got.” “But I've no way of paying for this!” I answered as he handed me a camouflaged jacket. "This place is going to be ransacked in the next couple of days by people looking for food," he explained. "We might as well take anything we can use.” “You sound remarkably calm about it.” “There’s nothing we can do about it so why worry? It’s just stuff. We’re planning on moving anything we can use out to my place today.” As I changed, he collected a small pile of lightweight gear and, while James and I packed it into a rucksack, he went to the back of the shop and collected a small bag. Five minutes later and the extraordinary bicycle that had emerged from it was ready to ride. By now all the staff had arrive so Mike and I went over to talk to them. Together we explained, as best we could, the situation and the possible implications for them. Mike also made them an offer. “If things are as bad as they look then a fair bit of our stock is going to come in very handy for you and your families. We’re talking freeze dried food, stove fuel, water filters, that sort of stuff. The food, we’ll split nine ways. Help yourselves to anything else, Let Laura know what you take and we can sort it out if this turns out to be a false alarm. When you’re done, you can go on your way and… the best of luck to you all” “Oh, Kat and Gary,” he called as a crowd gathered round Laura. “This is the very last thing!” he promised me as the two came over; neither of them looked much over eighteen.
“The two of you still living in that shared flat down in Priory Fields?” he asked.
They both nodded.
“That end of town is going to go bad very quickly,” he warned them. “You got any plans?”
“I’d like to get back home but…” Kat began.
“Birmingham?”
She nodded.
“You don’t want to go anywhere near the place,” Mike told her. “It’s going to go south there even quicker than here.”
“How about you?”
“My folks aren’t even home,” Gary answered. “I'd be much happier if the two of you moved in with us.” Mike said.
“Are you sure?” the boy asked, though they both looked relieved. “I wouldn't have made the offer if I wasn't,” he answered with a smile. “Don't worry, there'll be plenty for you to do to earn your keep with your share of the household jobs plus a security watch.” The two briefly looked at each other and accepted the offer with thanks. “OK,” Mike said. “Sort out the details with Laura. We need to get going” We collected our bikes and rucksacks and, after I had given James a quick hug, we were on our way.
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Post by garethn on Oct 1, 2018 3:32:33 GMT -6
Chapter 4 - Bike
Mike led me a few yards down the road then turned left through a narrow gate that took us into the back of a churchyard. We walked past the church and emerged onto a main road where we mounted the bikes and, crossing the road, we rode into a park. There was nobody about and we made rapid progress.
We emerged from the park into a leafy suburb near Mike's house. Here there were a few people but the looks they gave us were more inquisitive than threatening.
Mike suddenly turned down a track that seemed to lead to somebody's house but there was a gap in the hedge at one side which allowed us to reach a farm track. This took us down through a field, under a railway bridge then, after dropping down a steep slope, we crossed a wide, shallow ford. I followed him up the track along the side of the stream until it met the main road at a gate. When Mike held up a hand, I rolled to a stop next to him and he took the rifle from the side of my rucksack. As I held his bike, he moved silently forward and climbed the gate. He carefully scanned the roadway then returned to me. "There's a gang of kids who seem to be breaking into empty cars," he said in a quiet voice as he replaced the rifle. “We could deal with them if we had to but there’s no point." He led me back a couple of yards then picked up his bike and carried it down the steep bank into the stream bed. I managed to follow him, though it was not as easy as he made it look. As I stumbled out at the bottom, he put out an arm to steady me. "Try and keep the gears out of the water," he cautioned me with a smile. We picked our way up the stream and crossed under the road in a concrete pipe. By walking at the edge of the stream I managed to avoid filling my new boots with water but I was already glad I was wearing them rather than my old trainers. "Lucky you spotted the culvert!" I said as we emerged on the far side of the road and carried our bikes up to a rough track. "Luck?" he responded with a smile. "This is one of three routes we worked out to get out of town without having to use main roads!" "We think we'd even manage to get a four by four through," he added, "but we'd have to drive it all the way up the stream from the ford." I told him about my hopes for my Land Rover and he nodded. “That’d be handy,” he observed.
We followed the track up a wooded valley then across fields, up onto the ridge where we had spent the previous night, though further to the East. It was turning into a beautiful clear spring day and it was easy to forget the problems in the world. The birds were singing and there was not a cloud in the sky. There was also not a vapour trail. Mike quietly observed that he had not seen a single plane in the air since the lights went out. We followed the ancient, rutted trackway along the ridge for a few miles then it went into woods and began to climb quite steeply. We were both sweating by the time we emerged into open fields. From here it was only a short way to the highest point on the ridge where we stopped for a drink. Looking to the North East we could see the mountains for the first time. There was a long downhill stretch along a country road. It was tempting to let the bike run and see how it would handle at speed but the thought that there could be threats - or even just stationary cars - round every corner, kept me on my brakes. At the bottom there was a long ride on quiet roads across farmland. Here the few people that were about seemed to vanish as soon as they noticed us. Gradually the mountains drew closer and soon we were climbing up a wide valley alongside a bubbling stream. The country lane crossed the stream and began to climb more steeply and we arrived in a tidy, little village called Greenings. There was a small crowd of people gathered in front of the church and, as we were passing, an elderly gentleman in an ecclesiastical collar stepped forward and politely asked us to stop "Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said. "My name is Graham. Are you from the government... the army?" "No," I answered. "We're just on our way home. I left my daughter at a birthday party..." I had to do some mental arithmetic before continuing, "yesterday morning and I need to get home to make sure she's alright." “I understand,” he responded, as the crowd gathered around us, not in a threatening way, simply interested in what we have to say. “We won't keep you long but could you possibly tell us what's going on?" "All unprotected electrical circuitry appears to have burnt out," I explained. “It's probably caused either by a nuclear explosion high up in the atmosphere or by a big solar flare.” “Nuclear explosion?” the gentleman repeated in horror. “Are we in danger?” “Yes, but not like you think,” I answered. “If it was an explosion it’ll have been much too high to give radiation problems.” “The problem,” Mike went on, “is that, without electricity, society as we know it will break down. If what we said is true, and if we do not receive significant help from outside, over 90% of the population is going to die in the coming year."
There was uncertain muttering from the crowd. “Very soon,” I tried to explain, “there are going to be millions of people with no safe drinking water, no food, no hospitals and nobody stopping them from doing exactly what they want. It’s going to be carnage.” “But it's only ever a tiny minority of people who cause trouble,” Graham said. “Your kids are starving to death. What wouldn't you do?” Mike responded sharply. There was a short stunned silence then he went on. "I'm sorry; I was in the army. I've seen both the best and the worst of people." "I understand," the gentleman said with a smile. "You're not the first person to point out that I can be rather naïve. I do like to think the best of people.”
A rather intense looking young man came out of the church, carrying two mugs. "Good afternoon," he said. "There was tea in the pot. Can I offer you two gentlemen a mug?"
"This is Anthony, my curate," Graham said as we accepted the mugs with thanks. He briefly repeated what we had told him.
“God will provide!” the young man said with the glow of faith in his eyes.
“In my experience,” Graham responded, clearly not one to miss a teaching moment, “God usually works by giving us the strength to overcome our problems under our own steam.”
“Put your trust in the Lord and he will provide,” Anthony said.
Graham gave his curate a look of slightly weary resignation then returned his attention to us. “And while we’re trusting in the Lord, what should we be doing?” he asked.
“The first thing you need to do is accept… really accept that, from now on, you’re on your own. There’s no help coming…”
“What about my chemotherapy?” an elderly lady asked.
"And my heart tablets,” Graham responded with a surprising degree of calm. “If what these gentlemen suggest is correct then it appears that we are to be part of that 90%. I’m afraid, Margret, that we will have to content ourselves with having lead largely happy and fulfilled lives.”
Mike and I looked at each other, impressed by the equanimity with which the vicar was facing the news of his imminent death.
“Do, please, carry on,” Graham said. “You were saying about what we need to do.”
“The classical survival priorities are security, water, shelter and then food," Mike said. "You've all got shelter for now and, with a few extra blankets you should be warm enough until next winter. Your first priority is establishing a reliable source of fresh, clean water. Then you need to give some serious thought to your security." "You think we'll have a problem out here?" somebody asked. "There are over a million people, soon to be starving people, within three days walk of here," I answered. "They all know that food comes from the countryside." "Did you have any trouble on the way here?" "We've managed to avoid trouble so far," Mike told them. "Of course, this," he tapped the gun strapped to the side of my rucksack, "helps." Some of the people reacted with surprise. They had obviously not noticed the gun.
“After that, it's food. You'll need to collect as much as you can from wherever you can. Everybody who wants to eat will need to work on the farms, in vegetable patches, foraging in the countryside. You need to eat anything perishable straight away - empty your fridges and freezers. But then cut the food right back. We can all stand to lose a few pounds now but a few extra tins next winter might make the difference between life and death.”
"And, of course, those of us who are already dying of a heart condition should give very careful thought to eating the food others might need to survive,” Graham said in a resigned tone.
This idea was met by a stunned silence from the listeners.
"But that's murder," somebody said at last.
"It's certainly not murder," Graham insisted. "It's not even suicide. There is a long and honourable tradition of self-sacrifice within the Christian ethic. If things are as bad as it appears, I could not, in all conscience, eat food that would allow others to survive."
"It's what the military call Triage," Mike said, his tone cold. "Sometimes you need to make difficult decisions about who can be saved."
And on that rather sombre note, I think we need to be on our way," I said, returning my mug to Anthony with a nod of thanks. “I need to get home to my daughter.”
"Thank you for delivering your news and advice, even though it was not what we wished to hear," Graham said as we mounted our bikes. “You will be in our prayers.”
Leaving a silent and reflective group behind us, we carried on up the valley.
“You think they might survive?” I asked Mike as we left the village.
“Not a chance,” he answered. “This place can’t be defended. They’ll be overrun in days.”
The little country road we were on was mostly smooth with the occasional short, steep section to keep life interesting. It finished at a car park and from here, we followed a track that branched off to the left.
After an area of open moorland, we dropped down slightly and crossed ‘The New Road’ which swept up the valley towards the pass at the top. From the narrow bridge, we could look down on the stationary cars and lorries below us. There were still some people milling around on it, too, waiting for help to arrive - or maybe just not knowing what else to do. To our left we could see the village of Grasswell.
Incidentally, ‘The New Road’ was built before Mary was born but everybody in the valley still called it that. At a lonely farmhouse, the track ended but a rocky and broken footpath led on up the hillside. We had to resort to pushing the bikes and in one place, where there was a short scramble, we had to carry them. It eventually reached the main moor where the path was much smoother though rather boggy. We bore left when the track split, working our way round the moor as the main path headed towards the summit and, after a couple more miles, we reached a rough, walled track.
We were standing, looking at the map and having a drink when a small group of hikers came trudging across the moor towards us. Their phones and GPS had stopped working and they were trying to navigate down off the tops without a map and using a tiny button compass that, by chance, one of them had clipped to his rucksack. After a brief conversation about directions, we found ourselves in an increasingly heated conversation about which way was North.
“Look!” one of them said, showing us their compass. He was right; the compass was resolutely pointing in the direction that Mike and I both knew to be East.
“That’s your problem, then,” Mike said with a smile as he whipped out his own. “Broken compass.” His smile rapidly vanished, however, as he looked at his own and it agreed with theirs.
“It’s still not North,” I insisted. “Look, you can see the sun.” It was visible as a slightly lighter patch in the heavy overcast. “It’s about noon so that must be south.”
“There must be some sort of magnetic rock about,” one of them concluded. “That explains why we’ve been going round in circles.”
We agreed that was the only explanation, though Mike and I was still unhappy. We’d both done a fair amount of walking in these hills and had never encountered any problems of this kind.
We briefly described what we thought was going on then directed them down the way we had come. However, up here on the moors, it was still much too cold to be standing still for any length of time. There were still patches of snow about and I was glad that Mike had thought to include a pair of gloves in the kit he had provided for me.
We set off again, following the walled track. It was rutted and very muddy but stayed mostly level as it made its way round the eastern side of the moor. As we followed it, the higher hills to the north came into view. Many still had snow on the tops which glinted in the late afternoon sun.
The track began to descend steeply along a spur towards a road that I could see below us. It was here that I took a tumble, losing my front wheel in a water filled rut, and, though unhurt, I was badly shaken. From then on I handled the descent much more cautiously. I didn't want to think about what would happen if one of us had a serious accident.
At last we reached the road and crossed it, following a forestry track on the other side. I was already feeling tired as we started on what was, Mike assured me, the last climb.
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Post by garethn on Oct 1, 2018 3:33:22 GMT -6
Chapter 5 - Farm
There is something almost magical about the moment that an unknown trail transforms into a familiar one. Mary and I had walked up onto this ridge many times from the farm but I must have missed the turnoff we would normally take to a lookout spot and it only gradually dawned on me that I knew the path quite well.
When the farmhouse came into view around a shoulder of the ridge, I paused and looked down on the place that had always felt slightly foreign to me even though it had been Mary’s childhood home. It was a substantial house made of the local limestone with a slate roof. To the right was a barn where supplies were kept. It also had a large open space usually occupied by the working dogs. Across the yard was a workshop where the farm machinery was stored.
The farm was nestled into a narrow, flat bottomed valley with steep sides. The fields always looked particularly green, highlighted by the high, white drystone walls and the white flashes of sheep. There was a small stream along the bottom of the valley bordered by a couple of low bushy trees. A narrow lane ran down the valley past the six small farms to a bridge where it joined the main valley and a slightly wider lane.
I stood there, wondering whether this place would offer us the sanctuary we were going to need in the coming months. But, gradually, I became aware of a familiar but unexpected sound from down below and I called out to Mike. There was an engine running. I listened carefully: it was a diesel engine and, though it sounded pretty rough, it was, nevertheless, running.
Looking down the valley I was not surprised to see the flash of Ken's old van and I immediately had a bad feeling. Ken was Mary's younger brother and had always been something of a problem for the family. He had been encouraged to leave the army - I never really found out the details of that - and now his ex-wife was living up on the farm with their daughter while Ken lived in a tumbledown cottage a couple of miles away, near the town of Greenings down the main valley on the ‘New Road’.
We were rolling carefully down the rutted pathway when the early evening calm was shattered by shouting then a single shot.
Mike braked sharply and was rolling to the ground before the bike stopped. I tried to do the same - though much less elegantly.
Abandoning the bikes, we crawled over the crest of the hill then, crouching low, we made our way along the ridge towards the house to a dry stone wall. From here we could make our way to a point just above the house without being seen. We looked over the wall and surveyed the scene below.
Tom, Mary's father was lying on the floor clearly badly wounded. Ken was kneeling over him and crying. He was holding a pistol in his hand and, though he was waving it around alarmingly, he did not seem to be threatening anyone.
"I’ll take the shot," Mike said as he took the rifle from my rucksack. "But you'll have to tell me who and when."
"I was only coming for our Angie," Ken was shouting at his father. "You should have let her come with me." "I've told you before, Ken," a voice rang out from the farmhouse door just out of sight. It sounded like Alice, his mother. "She ain't goin' with you no more. You just 'ave to..." She was cut short as somebody with a rifle jumped up from behind Ken's van and fired a shot towards the house. "You're not going to hurt my Mam!" Ken said, climbing to his feet and walking towards the van, waving his pistol menacingly. You are not..." Ken was spun around and hurled to the ground as a bullet smashed into him from close range. That clarified the matter for me. I gave the slightest of nods and the shooter was thrown into the air and, I suspect, was dead before he hit the ground. The other man jumped back, exposing himself to Alice who instantly shot him. "It's me, Mam," I called down to Alice after a few seconds. "Is that all of them?” "Ay," she answered. "OK, we're coming down then," I told her. "There's two of us." Alice came out of the house with a shotgun pointed towards the two men who were lying, unmoving on the floor. She walked down towards them, flinching slightly as she walked past her husband and, without taking her gun off them, kicked their weapons away. "Dead or close enough," she said in a flat, emotionless tone. She returned to Ken who was lying on the ground, whimpering. "I'm sorry, Mam," he mumbled between his tears. "I never meant to ’urt ’im. All I wanted was to bring Angie back home." "I know… quiet now," she answered, kneeling down next to him and gently taking his hand. "Now close your eyes and tell Jesus you're sorry for all the bad things you've done." After a few seconds she released his hand, stood up, collected his pistol and smoothly put a bullet into his head. "You killed him," I said, astonished, as I walked down towards her. "’Appen," she replied in her familiar terse tone. “There weren’t nowt we could do for ’im any road.” She went over to where her husband was lying, checked for a pulse then closed his eyes. I let her have a few seconds then went over and put my arms round her.
Alice, or Mam to everyone in her clan, was a short, slightly dumpy woman though the never ending house and farm work meant that there was a considerable amount of muscle packed into that dumpy. Her most striking feature was the piles of curly hair on top of her head. When I had first known her, these piles were brown but now they were a uniformly dazzling white. Of course she would never do anything as vain as dye them.
After a few seconds, Angela came out of the house with her fifteen year old daughter Rebecca. They both had tears streaming down their faces. She came over to join us and I pulled them both into the hug.
“I'm sorry,” Angela managed to say at last through her sobs. “Don’t be soft. Ain't your fault,” Alice snapped. “Ain't mine neither. Ain’t nobody’s fault but our Ken’s and it's just a shame as ’ow my Tom ’ad to pay for it.”
We stood together for a short time but Mam was never one for that sort of emotional nonsense. “That’s enough of that,” she said, breaking out of the embrace, “time’s wastin’.”
She stood up, gave Mike a nod then turned to look at me. "What are you two doin' ’ere?" she asked, her bottled up emotions making her tone gruff. I briefly explained our situation then hesitantly went on, "I know this isn't the right time to ask..." "Oh, spit it out, lad," she responded in irritation. "Stop pussy-footing about!" "OK. Can the kids and me come and stay with you ’til this lot is all sorted out?"
"'Course you can. That's what family's fo’."
And then we all sprang into action. The bodies of the two shooters were thrown unceremoniously into a pit where dead sheep were normally dumped, though not before they were stripped of anything that might be remotely useful, including their boots. Mike walked up the hill, returning a few minutes later riding his bike and carrying mine. Ken and Tom’s bodies were carried into the front room and laid on a trestle table for Alice to ‘put ‘em to right’ before they were buried.
As Mike was collecting the guns from behind the car he made an astonishing discovery. "These are military weapons," he announce. "Where did they come from?”
"Nowhere honest, I'd wager," Alice answered. She started to walk back up towards the house but then stopped and looked at us.
"OK, I'm not proud of it but you need to know," she said. "And this never leaves the family," she added fiercely. I met Mike’s eye as we both noted he had been included in the family.
"Our Ken's never exactly been on the straight and narrow but he's been a sight too clever to get caught. They chucked ’im out of t'army for stealin' stuff. They all knew it were ’im but they could never make owt stick so they just chucked 'im out."
She steeled herself before carrying on.
"Then he moved into that cottage down by the bridge with our Angie and he were still up to no good... I know he were stealin' stuff an’ he's been mixed up in them drugs, an’ all."
"That's why I had to leave him," Angela said, tears running down her face. "I couldn't let our Beccy grow up in that."
"Quite right, too, luv," Alice said. "It weren’t no place for a kid!"
"Since our Angie left he's really gone off the rails. He started using them drugs big time and it's really screwed up his 'ead."
She paused for a moment. “Our Ken were out ‘is ’ead ’arf the time but he were never daft. He'll ’ave known what were comin’ and…”
"It might be worth our while going down to this cottage to have a look," Mike suggested, fishing a bunch of keys out of the pile of possessions. “Can we really take that stuff?” Rebecca asked. “I mean… we pretty much know it's been stolen.” “In t’ordinary way o’ things, I wouldn't touch it with a barge pole,” Alice answered, “but there's tough times comin’, luv, and you lot ain't goin’ to go hungry if there's owt I can do about it.” “Is this going to take long?” I asked. “I really have to get back to Lizzy.” “We’ve got a van now," Alice answered. "I can run you down there before t’milkin’ in t’mornin'." "It's not safe out on the roads these days,” I said and told her about the carjacking we'd seen the previous day. "Don't worry ’bout that," she answered. “I know these hills. I can get you to within a mile or two without touching owt as you'd call a road." As we drove down the valley to Ken's cottage, the small country road was completely deserted but I noticed curtains twitching as we drove past a couple of the houses. Alice parked in front of the cottage and unlocked the front door.
The first thing that hit us was the smell. The place was rank. The second thing was a teetering pile of cardboard boxes and plastic bags piled against one wall in the kitchen. They were stuffed with an apparently random selection of foods. "Looks like he's been down t'fillin’ station on t'New Road and ’elped himsen to owt as might keep. You two get it in t’van. I'll 'ave a shifty round."
It only took her five minutes to find what she was looking for. Ned might have been able to hide his activities from the military and police but he could never hide them from his mother.
There were two more rifles, three more pistols and boxes of ammunition.
"Looks like he was getting ready for a war," I observed.
Once we had loaded the boxes I started to search the kitchen cupboards for anything else worth collecting. The kitchen was disgustingly dirty and I tried to avoid even touching anything that was not in a sealed package but I found a couple of tins and packets.
I almost overlooked it but there was an old sports bag in a corner partly hidden by a pile of old coats. Inside there was money - a lot of money - and several plastic wrapped packets of white powder. "You can chuck that out, right off," Alice commented sourly when she saw the drugs. I hesitated before answering, "It might be worth hanging onto. We might be able to use it medically."
Alice looked surprised. She was not used to having her word questioned, particularly by young people - and that included me.
"’Appen you’re right," she answered after a few moments, "but keep it out of my sight. I hate that stuff... hate it."
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Post by garethn on Oct 1, 2018 3:33:51 GMT -6
Chapter 6 - Lizzie It was dark the next morning - pitch black - when Alice woke us and I was still dog tired. In spite of the continuous exercise over the last couple of days, my sleep was being torn apart by nightmares. “Come on, you two,” she greeted us gruffly, though the two mugs of tea she was holding took the edge off the gruffness. “I need to be back in time for t’milkin’.” “How is she managing it?” Mike asked when she had left us to get ready. “Two days ago the power failed, kicking us back by a century. Yesterday she buried her husband and her youngest son. I know they breed ’em tough up here but…” he trailed off. “She's dealing with it in her own way and in her own time,” I answered, as I hunted around in the dark for my boots. I hadn't bothered undressing. “We need to give her space.” Alice surprised us right from the start of the journey. Instead of turning left to follow the only road out of the little valley, she drove across it into the field opposite. Here she dropped down to the stream, fording it by some mildly perplexed sheep, and climbed up the other side, the van wheels slipping on the damp grass. At the top of the field, a disused gate led us onto a forestry track. Alice had promised to take us to a viewpoint just west of town. Though we never touched anything but the narrowest of country lanes, we made good time. It was still dark and quite chilly when Mike and I climbed out of the van. With the briefest of farewells, Alice was off but, as she drove out of the car park, Mike and I paused and looked at each other. Something was wrong. "I can smell burning," Mike said at last. We climbed up to the lookout point and peered out into the darkness. A dull, red glow showed us that a large part of the town was on fire but it was still much too dark to see exactly where. We had an agonising wait as the morning light crept in from the East - was Lizzie safe - had our home been destroyed? I paced around nervously in the dark. As the dawn light broke through the pall of smoke, details began to emerge. Our house was safe; it was well away from any of the burning. A few more agonising minutes then relief. Though closer to the fire, the Culshaw’s house, where Elizabeth was staying, was safe too. We were going to have to use a slightly roundabout route to get there but that was a price I was happy to pay. I quickly planned the new route and we set off. We dropped down to some playing fields then down a footpath that led past James’s school. We hurried across a main road then climbed up a small rise that led us past the front of a row of shops including a small supermarket. We had just reached the end of the row when we were startled by a calm, authoritative voice from behind us. “Please stay where you are, gentlemen.”
We turned, startled, but were relieved to see it was a young policeman. I guessed that he was guarding the place.
“Good morning, officer,” I said. “How can we help?”
The policeman appeared surprised by this response. “You're carrying a rifle,” he managed to answer at last.
“Yes?”
“The laws on firearms are very clear. You can’t just go carrying them about in public like that!” “I think we’re a long way beyond that,” Mike told him. “We need the guns for our own safety.” He had moved slightly to the side and drawn the pistol he had taken from Ken's cache. Though he was not pointing it toward the young officer, it was clear that pointing was an option. “That makes no difference,” the policeman insisted. “You have to hand them over?” “Listen,” I said, working hard to keep my tone calm and level. “I need to go and make sure my daughter is safe and nothing is going to get in my way… nothing. We need the guns for that. We don't want any trouble but we are certainly not going to give them up. We are prepared to use force, if you make it necessary.” I could tell that his resolve was wavering so I made him an offer. “How about we show you some ID and then we can deal with this when it all blows over?”
The young police officer held his ground for a few moments then nodded. “Listen, son,” Mike said adopting a much friendlier tone as he put his pistol away. “You really need to start giving some serious thought to your own safety. Are you in contact with your senior officers?” “No, sir, I haven't heard from anyone since just after it all started.” He seemed to shrink as he said it and it struck me that he didn't look much older than James. “I was told to come here and stay until I was relieved but nobody’s come…”
“Then you need to get off the streets and out of uniform. Leaving aside the normal low lives, who are going to make the most of this mess, there are loads of frightened people out there who are very soon going to be hungry. If you’re standing between them and food...”
“But I can't just abandon my job!” He sounded almost desperate now. “Your job has gone,” I told him forcefully. “The police could only ever operate with the consent of the public and I reckon that went up in smoke with half the town last night. It's time to go home and take care of yourself and your family.” Leaving him with that thought, we turned and went on our way. We dropped down into a housing estate. It was slightly closer to the fire than I would have liked but I couldn't think of any sensible way round. There were people milling about who looked as if they had been out all night but, when they saw our guns, they gave us a wide berth. Only when we turned into a small park did I realise that these were refugees from the fire. There were many more people here and some had even put up tents. As we walked past, I was struck by a horrendous thought: these people were already dead; they just hadn’t realised it yet. Trying to push this idea from my mind, I walked purposely on and avoided meeting anyone's eye. It was a relief to walk out of the park onto the ring road, though this was eerie in its own way. The lines of cars, standing silent and empty, looked as if they had been there for years. The best route to the Culshaw’s led close to our house and, as we approached the end of our road, I was amazed to see that the local corner shop was open. The proprietor was standing outside, keeping a careful look out. "Good morning, Mr Ahmed," I said as I approached. "Good morning, Mr Thomson," he replied. "Are those two lovely children of yours safe and well?" "James is staying with friends and I am just on my way to collect Elizabeth," I replied. "How are things here?" "We had a certain amount of difficulty with troublemakers last night but my nephew managed to make them see sense," he replied nodding toward a young man who was standing just inside the shop with what appeared to be a shotgun over one arm. I was about to go on my way when I had a thought. "Are you still open?” I asked. “I mean, are you taking cash?" “I am,” he answered, “but regrettably, I am obliged to impose a significant surcharge. I cannot know for how long the currency will continue to have value." "What do you mean by surcharge?" "Eight times label price." "Let's say ten," I said. "I've come into some cash and I'd like to turn it into food.” He nodded thoughtfully. "What are you after?" he asked. "Tea and coffee," I answered, wracking my memories for the lists that Mary used to keep, "dried fruit and nuts, peanut butter, cheese, cooking oil, rice, pasta… anything that’ll keep, really, but isn't too heavy to carry.” “This will not be… erm… cheap,” Mr Ahmed said carefully with a surreptitious glance towards my rifle. Are you sure you have the necessary money?” I smiled then, after checking that we were not being watched, removed the bundle of cash that Alice had insisted we take with us. “See what you can do with this,” I said. “I've got to go and collect Elizabeth now but I should be back in about an hour.” “That's remarkably trusting of you,” Mike commented once we were out of earshot. “What have we got to lose?” I answered. “That sounds like an inflation rate of about five percent per hour!” It was with some trepidation that I walked up and knocked on the Culshaw’s front door. There was silence for an uncomfortably long time then I heard Mr Culshaw. “Who is it?” he asked. His tone was distinctly nervous. “It's me,” I answered. “I’ve come to collect Elizabeth.” There was the sound of heavy furniture being moved, then bolts and locks were undone.
As the door swung open, a look of horror flashed across Mr Culshaw's face when he saw my rifle.
“Don't worry,” I reassured him with a smile. “This is just for my protection. It's pretty rough out there in places. If I was going to attack somewhere, it wouldn't be where my daughter’s staying, would it?” I gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
Then the kitchen door exploded open and Lizzie came charging through with a shout of “Daddy!” I grabbed her and, for a while, nothing else mattered.
By the time I had recovered enough to be aware of the rest of the world, I found myself in an armchair in the living room with Lizzie on my lap. She was normally much too big for that but neither of us cared. We had been joined by the Culshaws and Mike was in the kitchen ‘getting a brew on’. He was being observed by Amy, her brother and another girl who I half recognised, though I didn't think she belonged here. The kids were equally fascinated by the tiny stove that had emerged from his rucksack and by the packet of biscuits that had followed it.
“Thank you for looking after her,” I said to the Culshaws.
“We really didn't know what else to do,” Mrs Culshaw answered. “We were starting to get a bit worried, though.”
“What's happening out there?” Mr Culshaw asked. “I mean, when are the authorities going to get here?” I wasn't sure how to answer that. Whilst I was grateful to them for looking after Lizzie, I didn't want to commit to taking care of them long term. “We didn't see much,” I answered. ”We tried to stay away from people on the way here. It seemed safer that way.” I stood up to collect some things from my rucksack from the entrance hall. I tried to put Lizzie down but she kept a tight grip around my neck and I didn't mind carrying her one bit. “We thought you might be running short of food so I brought a few bits along. It's our way of saying thank you.”
“Thank you,” Mrs Culshaw said with obvious relief. She paused for a moment. “In fact, we were starting to wonder where the next meal was coming from.” “I saw nettles and burdock just down the road from here," Mike told them as he carried in the cups of tea. "I’m sure there are dandelions and clover in your garden, too. I bet there are even rabbits about." "You're not serious, are you?" Mrs Culshaw said, obviously shocked at the idea. "It's better than starving," I observed. “Nobody knows how long we'll have to wait for help to come.” There; I'd said it; that was all the warning I was going to give them. “Hang on a sec,” Mr Culshaw said, hurrying to a cupboard to retrieve a notebook and pen. "Let me make a quick note of those things..." So, as we sat there enjoying our nice civilised cup of tea, the Culshaws were given a twenty-minute crash course in living off the land. I wasn't convinced it was going to save them but it was twenty minutes more than most people had.
“Well, thank you, once again, for looking after Elizabeth,” I said as the lesson was drawing to a close, “but I need to get home. We came straight here and I haven't had the chance to check everything’s OK back there yet.” “There is one other thing,” Mr Culshaw said as we started getting ready to leave. “Do you think you could take young Emily home. You've got the guns and things; it'll be so much easier for you.” “Ok, where does she live?” There was the slightest of hesitations. “Her mother has one of the flats in the New Gardens Estate.”
I knew, and I knew she knew, that Emily’s mother was dead. The New Gardens Estate was a collection of high rise flats and was close to the centre of the fire. It was not that far away. If her mother had managed to get out, she would have been here by now.
I wasn't being asked to take Emily home; I was being asked to adopt her. I must have stood there for five seconds. The room was completely silent. “Very well,” I said at last. “I'll take care of Emily.” “Thank you,” Mrs Culshaw replied. "I'll just go and get her bag."
It took slightly longer than expected, but she eventually came down with the bag. "I popped a couple of extra bits in that Amy has grown out of," she explained. There were tears in her eyes.
With the traditional chorus of, "Thank you for having me," my newly extended family was on its way home.
“You’re a soft touch,” Mike observed as we walked away from the house.
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