Flare (27 page)

“Fuck it!”  The Secretary swore.  “Do you think they’ll talk?”

“Maybe to you sir, do you want me to see if they’ll agree to a ceasefire?”

He nodded.  “Do it.  But I want their guarantee that I’ll not be targeted.  Remind them that I’m a cabinet member”.

The soldier saluted and hurried off while the Secretary paced up and down in the road, clenching and unclenching his fists as he waited for an answer.

Chapter
42

Ten long minutes later the same soldier came running back, grinding to a halt in front of the Secretary and almost bowling him over.

“Sir”, he threw a hasty salute, “they’ve agreed to talk sir”.

The Secretary nodded, but made no move to step forward.

“Are you sure they won’t shoot?”

The soldier looked aggrieved.  “They agreed to a ceasefire, sir!”

“Yes, but can we trust them?”

“They’re British troops, not terrorists, sir.  You should be fine as long as you don’t upset them”.  I realised then that the Secretary may have the troops’ loyalty, but only because of his position.  They were following orders because that’s what they did, but from what the soldier had just said I suspected that they might just loathe him as much as I did.

I thought back over what I knew of the Secretary since he’d come to power, brought in to replace Phillip Hammond, who had been far too much a supporter of the armed forces and not harsh enough in making the cuts the government deemed necessary to save money.

Terrence Harvey-Smith, however, had had no ties to the people he was brought in to oversee, and had slashed and slashed at budgets until not a single man or woman in the armed forces hadn’t felt the pressure of his reign in one way or another.

“Uh, with respect, I’m not sure you’re the right person to talk to them”, I said, an idea forming as I stepped closer.

Emily glared daggers at me but I didn’t have time to explain anything now.

The Secretary stared at me as if I’d just insulted his mother.

“What do you mean?”  He said, his voice low and dangerous.

I leaned closer, noting the way the men in suits slid hands under their jackets while their eyes tracked my every movement.

“Sir”, I said, hating to use the honorific but hoping it would mollify him, “
do you really think that the man who cut the armed forces almost in half, however necessary, should be the one to step into the sights of an army sniper?”

The angry retort died on his lips, I could almost see it tumbling away as his brain worked through the ramifications of what I’d just said.

He leaned closer, our noses almost touching, and I could smell his fear.

“What do you suggest?”  He asked quietly.

“Send me.  I’m a talker, sir, it’s what I do.  Well, that and writing, but I think they might respond better if I explain to them all the good you’re trying to do.  And besides, if you want it written up afterwards that you did all the talking, I’ll be able to do.  History is written by the victor”.

His eyes searched my face for a long minute, but he finally nodded.

“Do it”.  He said, then waved the soldier over.  “Malcolm is going to talk to them.  Take him up there, but get a squad to move around the back of that petrol station.  If things don’t go the way we want then throw everything you have at it”.

The man gestured for me to follow, and with a last quick glance at Emily’s furious face I hurried away into the darkness after the soldier as he led me around a bend and out of sight of the vehicles.

As we rounded the corner, the petrol station came into view, as did the detritus of battle.

Several soldiers still lay where they’d fallen, pools of blood glistening as they reflected the distorted colours from the sky.  Others were huddled in the hedges and the ditch to one side of the road, while several more took cover behind a bullet-riddled Landrover that blocked both lanes.

Another vehicle, a pale blue people-carrier, was parked next to one of the pumps in the dark forecourt, a hose lying next to it with the other end snaking away into the darkness.

“Permission to approach?”  My guide yelled, making me jump.

“Advance one and be recognised”, came an answering shout from inside the station shop.

“Good luck”.  The soldier clapped me on the shoulder and melted back into the darkness.  I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped forward, raising my hands and walking slowly towards the vehicle as I imagined the scope of a sniper t
rained on my forehead.  Sweat was pouring from me, soaking my back as I approached.

“Stop there!”  The voice came from nowhere but I obeyed it instantly, freezing in place.

“Turn slowly, keep your hands up”.

I did so, performing a slow pirouette before coming back around to face the dark windows of the shop.

“Who are you?”  The voice was male, and sounded tough as old boots, a cold edge to it that sent shivers up my spine.

“My name is Malcolm King, I’m a journalist”.

“What’s a journalist doing here?”

I shrugged.  “Same as everyone else, trying to survive”.

“I’m stepping out now, keep your hands up until I tell you otherwise.  You drop them, we shoot.  You make any signals, we shoot.  Clear?”

“Very”.

A shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows to the side of the building, slowly resolving into the shape of a man in black combat gear with webbing of the same colour over the top, the pouches full to bursting.  I didn’t recognise the type of rifle he was carrying but it looked dangerous, black, stubby and pointed right at me.

Scuffed boots stopped several feet away from mine, and as the man stepped out from the shadows of the forecourt roof, I saw that his face had been daubed in black and green so that the only feature that stood out were his flinty eyes.

“Are you carrying a weapon?”  He asked quietly.

“No”.

“Lift your T-shirt and turn again”.

I did so, and he finally grunted. 

“Ok, drop your arms”.

I did, but held a hand out to shake.  “Malcolm King”.

He stared at it for a moment, then shrugged and slung his rifle, although I noticed he pushed it far enough back that he could reach his holstered pistol in an instant, then took the proffered hand.

“First Lieutenant Chris Rogers, 21 SAS”.  He let go of my hand and took hold of his rifle again.  “Suppose you want to tell me what’s going on, eh?”

“I guess so.  Uh, did I hear right that you’ve got Edwin Collins safe?”

He nodded.  “He was the only one we could find.  Everyone else was either dead in the fires or made their own way out”.

“Whereabouts are you staying?”

Rogers gave me an incredulous look.

“You expect me to tell you that?”

I shrugged and sized up the man in front me.  Although I couldn’t be sure, I had the feeling that he was one of those straight-down-the-line men who would smell bullshit
a mile away.  Taking a deep breath, I decided to risk everything on one throw of the dice.

“To be honest, I’m not sure how this is supposed to go.  Look, I’ll be straight with you.  The Secretary has built a camp over hundreds of acres with an army base as its nucleus.  He’s gathered thousands of civilians and he’s using them as slave labour to fortify the place and start producing food while he sends his troops out to secure supplies.  It’s horrific, and it needs stopping”.

Rogers stared at me, face impassive as he processed the information.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m hoping that the Deputy PM isn’t doing the same thing, and that you’ll understand how important it is that we don’t lose our humanity while trying to save our lives”.

“Where is this camp?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it’s not far away.  It’s an old airfield”.

“What’s the name of the army base?”

I tried to remember the name on the sign but it wouldn’t come to me.

“It’s run by a Colonel Tibbett if that helps?”

He nodded.  “Abingdon Dalton barracks.  It’s a logistics base, how convenient for them”.

“Isn’t it though?”

“How many men has he got?”

I shrugged, wishing I’d thought to bring Emily.  “Three, maybe four hundred, I think”.

“Any idea what his plans are?”

“You mean apart from running the country?  I asked him on the way here if we shouldn’t submit to the Deputy PM’s authority, but he told me the guy was an idiot so I guess he won’t let go without a fight”.

“Well if he wants one of those, we’ll give him one”.  For the first time since we’d met, I saw a flash of emotion in Roger’s eyes and it was all anger.  “There’s a chain of command and he bloody knows it”.

“There’s more”, I said, hoping that I was making the right decision by telling this complete stranger everything.

“Go on”.

“My friend Emily, she discovered something yesterday.  She was working on lists of possible supply sites and she found one that dated back to
two days
before the flare”.

“You what?”

I nodded.  “Someone knew it was going to happen.  If information like that were to reach the government, who would be the first person to find out?”

Rogers ground his teeth.  “Any project advanced enough to know what was going to hit us would be run by the military, so it would go through the Defence Secretary.  No bloody wonder he just happened to find himself at a Logistics base when it all kicked off!”

His hands tightened on his rifle, and for one terrible moment I thought he was going to break the ceasefire right there with me still stuck in the middle, but he forced his hands to relax.

“Thank you Malcolm”, he said, “this is crucial intel.  I need to get back to the PM with it, see what he wants to do”.

“They’ve got a squad moving around behind the petrol station”, I said, remembering, “so if you try to get away then they’ll cut you down”.

Rogers grinned suddenly, making him look surprisingly youthful.

“No they won’t.  While we’ve been talking my men have been slipping out into the woods.  Anyone tries to follow us and they’ll have a nasty surprise.  You’re welcome to come with us if you want?”

I shook my head.  “I’d love to, but Emily is still with them, and I can’t go anywhere without her”.

He nodded and shook my hand.  “Well, if you don’t mind going back and telling the Secretary that we’re considering our options, I’d be very grateful.  It should give us time to get away.  And if there’s anything else we can do, now is the time to ask”.

“I don’t suppose you could create some kind of distraction, could you?”  I asked hopefully, and was surprised to hear him laugh.

“Now that”, he said as he stepped backwards into the shadows, “just happens to be our speciality”.

Chapter 43

“What did they say?”  The Secretary demanded the moment I was within earshot.

“I put our side across”, I lied smoothly, “and he’s asked for some time to consider it”.

“Do you think they’ll come over?”

I shrugged.  “He seemed like a sensible man, I reckon he’ll realise which way the wind is blowing and act accordingly”.

His eyes narrowed at that, and I forced myself to remember that whatever this man was, he wasn’t stupid.

“I explained how important it was that we don’t waste resources fighting each other when there’s so little left”, I said hurriedly, “and he promised to come back to us within quarter of an hour”.

He nodded at that, mollified.  “Well it’s not as though they can slip away, we have the place surrounded”.

He turned to the Major.  “Curtis, assume command.  If we receive no answer within fifteen minutes then we’re going in”.

The other man nodded and hurried away, taking the other soldiers with him apart from the drivers who kept their vehicles idling to prevent the batteries draining.

“Did he say how many men they had?”  The Secretary pressed, but I shook my head.

“He didn’t give anything away, I’m afraid.  He did agree that he didn’t want more violence, however”.

“Well that’s very much up to him seeing the light, isn’t it. We can’t go having rogue units zipping about the countryside stealing our resources, now, can we?”

I could have driven a truck through the holes in his logic but wisely chose not to say anything.

As the Secretary called another soldier over and began detailing orders, I slipped back towards where Emily leaned against the nearest vehicle.

“What the hell was that about?”  She demanded in a low voice.

“Making friends”, I said just as quietly.  “And with any luck getting us away from here.  Their leader promised us a distraction, so if something happens get ready to act”.

“Something being what, exactly?”

I shrugged and spread my hands.  “No idea, but I think it’ll be big”.

I was imagining some kind of explosion possibly, charges set up to go off inside the petrol station or something equally flamboyant, but when the distraction came it surprised us all.

Fifteen minutes came and went, and the Major sent a runner back to the Secretary to confirm the order to storm the building.

The Secretary strode forward impatiently to get a view of the petrol station himself, but only got a few yards when something small and fast tore through the night air, his Kevlar helmet flying off his head as the sound of a distant shot reached us and he fell to the ground, screaming.

“Ambush!”  The cry went up even as the soldiers opened fire, pouring bullets into the surrounding hedgerows with a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, the night suddenly alive with muzzle flashes.

I stood and watched in amazement, unsure if we truly were under attack or if this was the distraction we’d been promised.

“Come on!”  Emily grabbed my shoulder and spun me in a half-circle as she sprinted towards the last Landrover, the driver already turning the vehicle in preparation for a quick getaway.

“Orders!”  Emily snapped through the open window, and the driver, drilled by years of practice to obey instantly, stopped the vehicle and leaned over to hear what she had to say.

She barely slowed as she reached through the window, grabbing his un-helmeted head and slamming it hard into the door frame.  He cried out in pain and she did it a second time, then tore the door open and pulled him, stunned, to the ground.

“Get in”, she shouted over the gunfire as she grabbed his sidearm and vaulted into the driver’s seat.

I jumped in the back, and by the time I had the door closed she was already off down the road, accelerator flat to the floor.

I kept low, expecting shots through the back windscreen at any moment,
but none came and after a few moments I straightened.

“Are we being followed?”  Emily called over the noise of the engine.  I looked back over my shoulder, watching for any tell-tale lights
but saw nothing.

“I think we’re ok”, I said, climbing awkwardly into the front between the seats.  “Thank you”.

“For what?”  She didn’t look over, too intent on keeping us on the road in the dark.

“For acting so quickly.  Had it been down to me I’d probably still be standing there trying to work out what was happening”.

“You’re welcome.  Good distraction by the way, that was one hell of a shot, whoever fired it”.

I nodded.  “I was expecting them to blow the petrol station up”.

“What, and waste all the petrol in the tanks?  Not likely”.

“So what now?”

“We head north again.  Let’s see how far this heap of junk will get us, maybe find some diesel somewhere if we get too low”.  She flicked the fuel gauge and I saw that it was showing about half a tank.  I assumed that was good news, then I remembered how thirsty Landrovers tended to be.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Manchester from here?”  I asked, “can we do it in one run?”

She laughed.  “We’re not on foot anymore Malc, Manchester’s only about three hours away by car”.

After days of walking, it seemed almost inconceivable that we could get halfway across the country so quickly, and I realised how much my worldview had changed in the last week.

The thought that I might have my little girl in my arms before dawn was enough to bring tears to my eyes, even though we still had to find our way back through territory that we now had to consider hostile.

I looked back over my shoulder once more, still expecting to see some sign of pursuit but nothing moved on the road except us.  Perhaps, I mused, the Secretary was dead, and without him the soldiers were unsure what to do.

Emily glanced over at me and took a hand off the wheel long enough to give my arm a quick squeeze.

“You look shattered”, she said, “why don’t you try and get some sleep.  I’ll wake you when it’s your turn to drive”.

I nodded and settled down in the uncomfortable seat, the after-effects of the adrenaline making me feel tired to the bone.

Despite my excitement at the thought of seeing Melody again so soon,
the motion of the vehicle was soon enough to lull me into a deep sleep as the miles rolled past.

Chapter 44

It was still dark when Emily nudged me awake, although the first tendrils of pre-dawn light were mingling with the vibrant colours from the aurora, making them fade as we turned towards the sun.

She’d stopped the vehicle by the side of the motorway, her face pinched with tiredness.

“You want me to take over?”  I said, stretching out a cramp in my calf.

“Please, I’m exhausted”.  She left the engine running as we swapped seats, and I pulled away, almost stalling when I dumped the clutch.

I pulled back out onto the road, wondering where we were.  There were a lot of abandoned vehicles dotted about, some just left where they had stopped, others where they had ploughed into other vehicles or the central reservation.

I looked over at Emily to see that she was already asleep, head tucked into one shoulder, so I kept my attention on the road and kept my speed to a steady fifty, figuring that would give me enough stopping should something unexpected loom out of the darkness.

It was almost twenty minutes before I
saw a sign, telling me that we were approaching the junction of the M42.  That meant we were within spitting distance of Birmingham, and I began to search the horizon for any sign of the fires that had destroyed so many of the big cities.

A few minutes later I saw the slip road and took it, curving around onto the 42 and towards the M6 toll road.  Heading through the city would have been faster, but I had no idea how bad it was and I had no wish to drive into any trouble.

As the sky lightened, I saw a thick plume of smoke rising to the northeast, right above the city centre, and I knew I’d made the right choice.  If anyone was left they’d be starving by now, and our vehicle would be too tempting a target for them to pass up.

We made good time on the M42, then onto the M6 toll past the now defunct electronic tagging system, the tall buildings of Birmingham’s city centre visible to our left.

I could see several different plumes of smoke now, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was still burning after so many days.

My thoughts, as they often did when I had time to myself, turned to Melody.  I wondered if they were at her grandparents’ house, and if so how her mother had coped with the lack of amenities.  She’d always been one for getting her hair and nails done, sometimes as often as three times a week, never daring to so much as open the door to the postman without hours of makeup being carefully applied.

Thinking of Angie made my heart sink. I had to face the very real possibility that she would be coming back with us, her sharp voice harping on at me from the back seat as if the apocalypse were somehow my fault.

And then, of course, we couldn’t just leave Angie’s parents behind, and what had been a simple grab and run mission in my head was suddenly laid out for what it really was; a nightmare in which I carted my ex-inlaws halfway back across the country to the small cottage just outside Redhill.

It was almost enough to make me stop the car, but it would be worth it, all of it, just to have Melody safe.

I kept going as the sun climbed into the sky, fluffy white clouds dotted here and there like cotton wool.  It was another beautiful day, and had I not been so tired and worried I might have enjoyed it a little more.  Instead, I made and discarded plans for routes that would get us back to Ralph and Harriet while avoiding the whole Oxford area, realising that we would most likely have to drive the long way around the M25.

I was so caught up in my musings that I almost didn’t see the roadblock until it was too late, assuming that it was just a pile of cars strewn across most of the road.  It was only when a figure with a rifle stood on the roof of a truck and aimed his weapon at us that I realised what it was.

“Shit!”  I slammed the brakes on, causing Emily to bang painfully into the dashboard.

“Ow!  What the hell?”

I said nothing, but simply pointed at the two figures that approached us from the scrub at the side of the road.  Neither of them were armed, but the one with the rifle pointed at the windscreen was more than enough for me to discard any thoughts of trying to drive away.

“You have
got
to be shitting me”, Emily muttered, easing back the slide of her stolen pistol and making sure a round was chambered.  “What the hell do they want?”

The men approaching the car didn’t seem threatening, one of them even waving at us once he had our attention, but there’s something about having a gun pointed at you that makes you feel at a disadvantage, no matter how friendly someone seems.

Both men were dressed in police uniform, right down to black Kevlar vests and handcuffs sitting proud on their belts, but after the last week I knew we couldn’t take anything at face value.

The men were within a dozen feet of the vehicle when Emily rolled down her window.

“That’s close enough”, she called, “what do you want?”

One of them took a last step and shrugged.

“Just checking who you are”, he said with a smile, “we’ve not seen many working cars, and those few we have seen tend to be trouble”.

“Are you really police officers?”  The question was blunt but fair, and the man nodded.

“That we are.  We’re out of Stafford, a few miles up the road.  We’ve managed to get a fair sized group of people together, so we’ve got men on all the major roads making sure we turn trouble away before it gets to us, if you get my drift”.

Emily nodded.  “Yeah, I can understand that.  Look, we’re trying to get to Manchester, my friend’s little girl is up there.  Are we ok to go through?”

The man smiled again.  “Well you two don’t seem like trouble.  You’d be welcome to stop at the camp if you want a bite to eat to see you on your way?  It’s about a mile down the road”.

My stomach rumbled at the thought of food and Emily thanked him as he waved to the man with the rifle, who promptly jumped down off the truck.

I waved as I pulled away, and Emily took the pistol from where she’d had the tip of the barrel pressed against the inside of the door.

“That was unexpected”, I said as we drove through a narrow gap in the barricade, having to steer around another car set just back from the main group of vehicles.

“You’re telling me.  I automatically assumed it was an ambush, bloody good job I didn’t shoot him just to be on the safe side!”

“How close were you?”

“You don’t want to know”.

The camp was indeed only a mile or so down the road and visible from the Motorway.  A shantytown had sprung up around several old farm buildings that were enough like Ralph’s cottage to make me suddenly homesick.

I pulled onto a slip road and then took another left, finding a large metal gate at the top of a dirt track with a man and a woman guarding it with shotguns.

I wound down the window as they approached, guns held loosely but ready should they need them.

“Morning”, I said with a smile, “the police let us through, said it would be ok to stop for some food”.

“Where you headed?”  The woman asked
, blowing on a stray lock of hair that fell across her face.

“Manchester”.

She nodded as if I’d passed some kind of test, then gestured to her companion who opened the gate and waved us through.

We bumped down the farm track and into the yard, slowing as a group of kids ran past shouting with  pleasure as they chased a bright red football across the concrete.

The sound of the vehicle brought more than a few curious faces to windows and doors as I pulled up.  A sea of tents had been set up just behind the main house, and more bright canvas could be seen inside a nearby barn, giving the place an almost festival air.