outside world anywhere, then we’ve got a good chance of it being there.”
The grin was infectious and I allowed myself a brief look away from the windscreen to share it. Even Nigel was smiling. Maybe he didn’t mind George having the best suggestion, as if he was beginning to realize our survival was not some kind of boyish competition.
“Sounds good.” Hanstone was north of Milton Keynes, just across the border of Northamptonshire, pretty much back the way we’d come, maybe five or six miles from Stony Stratford. I’d been idly heading south, so we’d need to turn round. “Shall I go back through the city, or take the scenic route?”
All of our spirits risen, I think I wasn’t alone in not wanting to invite depression by going back to such familiar territory, and so despite the treacherous weather, we opted to take the country roads and work our way through the villages. As I came to the next T-junction I veered to the left to start our circle back. Behind me, the other two cars followed like obedient children, no questions asked, but I had no illusion that it was me they had the faith in. George was the quiet, calm leader of our assorted band, and I was happy with it being that way.
Despite the slightly renewed energy granted to us by having a destination, within fifteen minutes the weather was so bad that our speed dropped to about ten cautious miles an hour. The wind had picked up, driving the rain into us, making visibility worse, and the deluge of water collected rapidly beneath the wheels, occasionally sending us sliding heart-stoppingly out of control towards the fields on either side. It was getting darker too; the twilight was almost unnatural. My eyes began to hurt from squinting.
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“Perhaps we should have gone back through the city.” Nigel’s murmur sounded like an accusation, and I bit my tongue to stop the angry retort that burned there. George said nothing and we slipped into silence once again as we crawled through the miles. It was a relief when we drove under a small pool of light given off from a lone street lamp about half a mile outside the village of Pickford, the metal pole guarding a solitary one-story building, my vision for a brief second given a moment to relax.
We were about thirty yards past it when behind us Katie flashed her headlights several times, her own vehicle stopped. Carefully reversing back up the dark road, I came to a stop in front of her bonnet, and jumping out of the car, ran the few steps to her driver’s window. The water soaked me instantly, but the shock was its warmth. I felt as if I were standing beneath a hot shower, and the wind was barely cooler than the liquid. As the force of air threatened to push me over, I felt a vague inner disquiet at how tropical the world around me felt. Not like England at all.
Katie wound down her window, her tired face looking thin and even younger. “We’ve got a flat, rear left. We’ve had it for about half an hour but there didn’t seem to be anywhere safe to stop.”
She was right. Standing outside alone in the darkness, with this wild weather cutting through my clothes, I didn’t feel safe at all.
“You want to change the tyre here?” My heart sank, but she shook her head.
“No. I thought we could rest up a bit here, in the scout hut. It seems far enough away from any houses or anything.”
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I looked behind me at the building we’d just passed and saw she was right. It was a solid old stone building with a thick oak door, small and secure. A worn wooden sign proclaimed it the Pickford Scouts Meeting Place, but from the state of the chipped lettering, it didn’t seem to me that the scouts were a thriving business in the little village. Staring at it, however, the idea of a rest was appealing. At the rate we were going it would take us half the night to get to Hanstone, and we’d still need to sort out Katie’s car. If she drove on it much longer she’d damage the wheel, especially with all the weight in there, and then we could be stuck in a much worse situation.
She was still waiting for an answer, and I nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ll tell the others.”
Behind the wheel of the third car and on his own, I could tell John was relieved even though he was trying not to show it. He pulled his Land Rover up onto the verge and turned it off before stepping out.
“Shit, it’s warm out here.” He protected his face from the wind, but his surprise was obvious.
Nodding, I led him past the street lamp and through the small gate. Away from the immediate light, the gloominess crept in threateningly.
“Let’s worry about the weather later. How the hell are we going to get in?”
John pointed up at a small window just above his head. “Can you give me a leg up to there? I think I could get through and see if I can open the door from the inside.”
Crouching down, I locked my hands and his wet boot stepped into them, jumping up as I pushed. He wasn’t as heavy as I expected, but I hadn’t given anyone a leg up since my teens and the awkwardness of
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it made me wobble slightly, John’s thin hands digging into my shoulder occasionally to steady his own body as we weaved in the wind, a pathetic human totem pole.
“You okay up there?” Warm water sprayed into my mouth as I twisted my neck round and I spat it out, the abnormal tepidity unpleasant.
“Yep,” he called down. “Now keep us steady and keep your face down! I’m going to break the glass.”
Turning my face away from the rain was a welcome relief and I squeezed my eyes shut. My feet slipped slightly as John banged his elbow into the small pane, the shock of the hard contact echoing down his legs and through my body.
“Fuck, that hurt. This glass is fucking tough.”
As his muttered words drifted down from above me, his weight shifted back to central. Despite his slimness, the constant liquid made it hard to grip and I could feel my fingers slipping apart with the pressure.
“Anytime now would be good.” I tried not to make my voice sound too much like a grunt, but it wasn’t working. My teeth were gritted together with the effort of keeping him up.
“Hang on, old man. Here goes.”
I pressed my back against the wall, not wanting to disturb his efforts with my own lack of stability. The idea of having to get back into the car and keep driving was even less appealing now that I was soaked to the skin and my arms ached.
I didn’t have to worry. This time John was taking no prisoners, and his knee involuntarily dug painfully into my neck as he launched his elbow for the second time into the window. Small pieces of glass mixed with
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the rain and showered me from above, but most of the big shards fell inwards into the dry hut.
John tapped out the dangerous jagged edges clinging to the frame. “Okay, Matt. Give me a shove.”
As I pushed and he hauled himself up through the window, his weight disappeared from me, and listening to his clumsy landing on the other side, I rested for a second, letting my aching arms relax. Suddenly I regretted all those times I’d found an excuse not to go to the gym. I was going to have to get stronger quickly if I was even going to start feeling safe in this new terrain.
The handle turned and the door was pulled open in front of me, revealing John holding a key. “Dib, dib, dib. Be prepared. It was hanging by the door. Must be a spare.” He winked. “Welcome home, mate.” John’s face shone with boyish adventure, and for the first time since we’d met I could see the resilience of his youth picking his spirits up, and I gave him a wry smile.
“You need to go on a diet. I think my arms are broken.”
“Whatever.” His hand darted to his side, and he flicked a switch. Dull yellow light ebbed into the building from a single bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling. The boy grinned.
“Well, it’s better than nothing. Come on, let’s get the others.” He slapped me on the arm as he passed, trotting happily back out into the rain. Peering into the room, I wasn’t overly impressed. There was no carpet on the grey concrete floor and the walls had been painted with a similar eggshell colour, the shade and sheen giving the small space the feel of a prison room. Still, on the upside, there was a door marked toilet on the far side and a two bar electric fire pushed
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against the wall, alongside a row of tatty chairs and a dusty bookshelf with a few tattered paperbacks leaning listlessly within.
My eyes came back to the fire. If the lights were working then logic would dictate that the plugs were. But logic could be a fucker sometimes.
George appeared in the doorway carrying a large container of water, putting it down heavily on the floor before slowly straightening up. He sighed, one hand massaging his lower back.
“The girls are digging out the camping stove and Nigel’s getting the sleeping bags from your car. The general feeling is that we just bring what we need in, and leave the rest stowed.”
I nodded. “Sounds good to me. I don’t know about you, but it feels to my bones like it’s been one hell of a long day.”
“Add on another forty years, sonny, then come and talk to me about what kind of day it’s been on the joints.”
I grinned. “Point taken.”
Nigel came past us carrying three sleeping bags and a rucksack with can shapes bulging through the soaking canvas, and I wondered how comfortable that neatly done-up tie and shirt was now that the rain had hit. It didn’t seem to bother him, though, as he dumped his burden in the middle of the room. Beneath the sickly yellow glow, I couldn’t tell whether his exposed forehead was dripping with sweat, as it had been when we’d first met, or just wet from the flood outside. He glanced around without bothering to wipe the liquid from his face.
“Could be worse.” The sneer that twisted his lips hinted that as far as Nigel Phelps was concerned, the
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likelihood of actually finding somewhere less pleasant was almost an impossibility. He peered at the broken window. “How are we going to block that up?”
George and I both turned to it as Katie and Jane came into the hut beside us, the first carrying a camping gas stove and the second barely visible beneath a final bundle of sleeping bag holders. Both managed a wan smile before adding their loads to Nigel’s pile. Dave followed behind them, a bag of aerosols slung over one shoulder and his good hand carrying the first aid box. A fresh bloom of pink was visible through the layers of bandage coming loose on his injured wrist.
“It’s not cold out there and the window’s pretty small. Can’t we just leave it? We’re only stopping overnight.” George must have been tired, because it wasn’t like him not to want to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Not where our safety was concerned. Leaning forward, Dave grimaced as he twisted his upper body, letting the bag slip onto one of the chairs against the wall.
“Well, I’m as shattered as the rest of you, but that window is going to be sealed before I relax. I don’t care how we do it.”
Looking at the pain etched on his face, I agreed with him. No matter how far we were from other houses, I didn’t fancy trying to sleep with one eye on whether any of those awful legs were silently creeping in. Dave’s face had paled since we left Milton Keynes, and the redness in his eyes suggested that his temperature was rising. He was running a fever and I hoped it wasn’t going to get any worse, but for the first time since the attack I wondered if there may have been some kind of poison in that bite. The thought made
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my skin cool and I shivered some of my tiredness away, focussing on the source of our unease.
“Yeah, you’re right. We can’t leave it like that. But what can we use? This place is hardly teeming with two-by-fours.”
Katie opened the rucksack that Nigel had come in with, searching the tins for something we could heat up quickly.
“What about the parcel shelf from the Range Rover? I almost threw it away since it was taking up most of the backseat. That’d probably cover that space, don’t you think? Do we have any tools?”
“Yes. There’s some in the Animal.” I said another silent prayer of thanks for George and the list of necessities he’d sent us shopping for. “A box of the basics at any rate. Hammers, nails. Plenty to do the job. Chuck me the keys and I’ll go and get it.”
Katie smiled gently at me, one can of Sainsbury’s all-day breakfast in her hand. “It’s not locked. I didn’t exactly see the point. I doubt there’s too many joy riders out tonight. Especially not for a car with a flat tyre.”
I grinned back, glad that we seemed to have reached a kind of truce after this morning in the pub, and risked a joke.
“Get my dinner on, wench, while I do the man work.”
One delicate eyebrow raised at me. “Let’s just take a moment to remember who was stuck in the car not so long ago, and who was killing the nasty monster.”
Swallowing another couple of pills from the first aid box, Dave laughed. “She’s got you there, mate.”
“Okay, point taken. You win. I’ll just get out there and do the manual labour and hope for some crumbs
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when I get back. That’s if you heroes can spare me a bean.”
“We’ll see what we can do. Now go!” She shooed me away with a can opener.
With a slightly lighter heart, I headed back out into the night rain, breaking into a trot.
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Chapter Twelve
We ate our dinner of beans, sausages and bacon on paper plates, and then finished off with tinned peaches, evaporated milk and coffee, all of us huddled round the fire, sitting on our sleeping bags, listening to the wind that was building up outside, mostly too tired to speak. It felt to me as if we had travelled back in time to the second World War, just a group of ordinary people holed up in their air raid shelter, waiting for the worst to pass over their heads, not knowing what the blackness of the night held in store for them.
Jane was virtually asleep sitting up, and Katie took her plate and gently eased her into her padded bed, still fully dressed, the little girl putting up no resistance. George opened a bottle of expensive red wine and the rest of us sipped it quietly, letting its rich warmth soothe and dull our heads a little. By the time I was halfway through my first glass John had drifted off, emotional and physical exhaustion claiming its second victim and reminding us all just how fucking tired we were.