The Citadel and the Wolves (21 page)

Father wound down his window on his side. “What’s the problem, Officer?”

“What’s your business here?” asked the other gruffly.

“We’re passing through on our way to Kent,” explained father briefly.

“Not this way, you ain’t,” said the VPF cop. “We’re not letting anyone through here. We’ve got our orders.”

Father decided not to argue with him, and we couldn’t afford to bribe them, so we turned back reluctantly.

Although I found an alternative route, it took us to the very edge of the safe area. We didn’t encounter another VPF
road block. We encountered something else on the road, a mass exodus of people who were pouring out of the city. They were the ragged people. They had been driven out of their homes by the gangs. Many were young children. Some carried their few belongings in old, battered suitcases. Others pushed a barrow in front of them with their worldly possessions piled up on it. Where did they all come from? Where were they going? No one knew, and no one cared.

“Refugees,” remarked father, shaking his head sadly.

They were holding us up, and father was worried that
the Roamers
might appear at any moment, making us vulnerable, sitting here. I glanced over my shoulder anxiously. He sounded his horn impatiently. Some scowled at us as they moved aside. I noticed the look in a young girl’s eyes. It wasn’t hatred. It was confusion and fear. I felt for her. We drove by them quickly, leaving this scene from another age behind us. The images lingered in my mind long afterwards.

We hit the Kent countryside by mid-afternoon. Fields and great open spaces appeared before us. It was an exhilarating experience. Cows and sheep grazed lazily on far meadows. I got excited when I spotted a farm tractor on a distant field. Father chuckled, but I’m sure that he felt the same as I. He didn’t always show his feelings. Perhaps he should more often. As we passed more fields and apple orchards, we seemed to be a world away from the big city. I began to wonder if the other was all just a bad dream. This is paradise, I thought. As I soon discovered, it was based on a false premise.

I spotted the sign first:

Buckley Farm

“Daddy?”

“We’ll try there first, sweetheart.”

We turned down the narrow, winding, country lane. A wisp of grey smoke rose languidly from the chimney of a white stone farmhouse that was half-hidden by a large oak tree, gently nudging it reassuringly. There were still cows out in the fields. This was a dairy farm. When I spotted someone striding across the pasture land with a big stick, I pointed him out to father. Was he the farmer?

We stopped outside the front of the white farmhouse and climbed out of the Land-Rover. I was feeling a bit stiff after our long journey down from London. I stretched my limbs. A downstairs curtain moved in the house. Then the front door opened a fraction.

The farmer called out from behind the half-opened door, “What do you people want here?”

“We’ve come down from London. We’ve brought some goods with us to trade for fresh milk and eggs if you have any,” answered father who understood the other’s edginess.

“We don’t want you bloody townies and Roamers coming down here to us peaceful country folk and bringing your troubles with you,” he growled.

“Listen to me, we’re not Roamers. We’re peaceful people. We have produce to trade, that’s all,” said father patiently.

A large man with a receding hairline, many chins, no neck and ruddy cheeks appeared from behind the door with a double-barrelled shotgun, pointing it at us.

“If you don’t clear off now, I’ll let you have it,” warned the fat farmer menacingly.

I was growing anxious. I carefully slid the rifle off my shoulder, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it.

“Just take a look at what we have to offer,” pleaded father once more.

An equally large woman came to the door, barging past the other, the farmer’s wife. She obviously wore the pants around the place. She had kinder eyes.

“What are you trading?” asked the big woman, ignoring the glare on her husband’s face.

Daddy opened the back of the Land-Rover. “Produce.”

The other, who was curious, came out.

She looked at it, shaking her head. “Spuds and the like? That’s like taking coals to Newcastle. We don’t really need it.”

The big man spotted them under the blanket. “What’s in the jugs?”

Father took one out. “Why don’t you try it and see.”

He gave the jug to the fat farmer who unscrewed the cap and took a large swig, which was a big mistake, as he soon found out. He looked surprised as his eyes glazed over, and he lost the power of speech momentarily.

I smiled inwardly.

My father, the scientist and chemist, has secretly set up a still in the cellar. If mummy ever found out, she’d hit the roof; however, daddy isn’t a drinker. He let me in on his little secret sometime ago and explained why he had set up the still in the cellar, producing vodka from his surplus potato crop. He realised in the early days after the comet that money would quickly become worthless once everything started to fall apart. People would trade and barter for the things that they needed. Vodka was the new currency in our brave, new world.

The fat farmer found his voice again: “We’ll take all you’ve got. What do you need?”

The big woman frowned. “But Williams supplies our vegetables.”

“Williams is a cheat and a crook,” retorted the fat farmer.

“You’ve never complained in the past,” she said meekly.

He grunted, taking another big swig of daddy’s homemade vodka.

We stayed to tea with the Crokers and their two sons, Nigel and Arthur, who were even bigger than their parents. Arthur, the younger one, kept grinning at me. He sweated a lot. In fact, they all did.

I stretched my legs outside after tea. Mrs Croker’s steak and kidney pie rested heavily in my stomach. Then I noticed dad talking with Mr Croker. I was curious.

It was getting dark as we left the farm in the Land-Rover. The headlights picked out the gloomy road ahead. The black, starless night remained above us. We came away with a churn of milk, six dozen eggs and a side of bacon from Mrs Croker’s freezer. They had a diesel generator too. Mum would be more than pleased when we got home.

We drove in silence for awhile.

I spoke, “Dad, what were you and Mr Croker talking about earlier?”

“Not much gets past you, does it, Jade?” he said amused.

“No.”

“We struck a deal,” he revealed. “I supply him regularly in exchange for farm produce.”

“Spuds,” I remarked.

He chuckled.

As our Land-Rover turned around the next bend on the lonely, dark, winding, country road, we caught it briefly in the glare of our headlights. It was a big, hairy animal of some kind with red, demonic eyes. It vanished into some bushes.

“What was that?” I gasped.

“A wolf.”

I was astounded. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. “What’s a wolf doing running wild in the countryside, Daddy?”

“I should imagine that it has escaped from an abandoned zoo. It won’t be alone though. Wolves hunt in packs.”

The thought made me shiver.

“Nature has turned the clock back centuries to a time when wolves ran wild in the ancient forests of Great Britain. Man’s expansionism killed them off. Maybe the wolf is claiming back what is his birthright.”

I let a terrifying thought enter my head. “Daddy, if the wolves escaped from the zoos, what about the other animals?”

“Yes.”

I glanced apprehensively over my shoulder. In the dark, a chilling nightmare was emerging that could threaten our very existence. I took my rifle from the back and laid it across my lap. The cold, hard metal reassured me.

London still remained many kilometres away. Father was tired, so we swapped places, and I took a turn behind the wheel. Tired drivers make careless drivers, he was often telling Wendy and I. I noticed the first flecks of snow in the headlights, puzzling me. We rarely got snow in the autumn, but these weren’t normal times. Then we ran straight into a freak blizzard.

It was a terrifying sight. The road ahead became impassable, even for the four-wheel-drive. Father wisely decided that we shouldn’t attempt the rest of the journey back to London till the morning. We found a sheltered spot and stopped. In the meantime, we were stranded in the middle of the blizzard for the night.

The temperature in the Land-Rover dropped rapidly, so we climbed into the back, slipping under heavy, coarse blankets to keep warm. Dad brought out the thermos flask. The hot soup that mum had made earlier for our long journey warmed our insides. It was filling nourishment. We listened to the winds and the swirling snow lashing our Land-Rover. It was a dark, nightmare world outside, but we were safe inside the solid structure of the Land-Rover. I drew closer to dad, who put his large arms around me, like a protective shield, comforting me.

I was concerned. “I hope mum’s okay alone.”

“She isn’t, sweetheart,” reassured father. “She’s got Wendy and Mark there with her, Tommy too. They’ll manage. She’ll worry more about us being caught out here in the middle of this.”

We were silent for some moments.

“Australia,” I commented in the dark.

“Pardon, Jade?”

“It’s very hot there this time of the year.”

He chuckled.

The conversation drifted.

We were exhausted. The long, long day had finally caught up with us. I laid my head in his broad shoulder, nuzzling his neck like an affectionate puppy. I felt safe and secure in his large arms. Nothing could harm me now.

“Jade, you’ve got a cold, wet nose,” complained father after awhile.

I giggled.

We lapsed into silence.

“I love you, Daddy,” I declared.

“Ditto.”

I smiled.

When I woke in the back of the Land-Rover, it was still dark outside. Morning was some hours away. Father slept. I listened to the silence. The freak blizzard had passed us by. It had stopped snowing. I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard the loud, frantic scratching on the side of the Land-Rover. Something outside was trying to get in. It lasted some moments. I slid deeper under the covers, hiding behind father. I was dreaming!

I woke before father in the morning, feeling stiff, having slept awkwardly in the back of the Land-Rover. I preferred my own bed. I gazed out of the window. The land was white. It reminded me of an old Christmas card. The winter had arrived in the autumn. We had got our garden crops up in time. I stirred without disturbing father who slept under the blanket. When I tried the passenger side door, it wouldn’t open. Something was blocking it, tons of snow. The overnight drifts had half-buried us in it. We would have to dig our way out of it with our spades. I tried the driver’s door next. It gave way after some hard pushing. There was less snow blocking the driver’s side. As I climbed out of the Land-Rover, I immediately sank 20 centimetres or so into the deep snow. I’m having fun, Mum, wish you were here, I thought ruefully. A thought occurred to me. Had it snowed in London too?

I made my way through the crisp, virgin snow, looking for a suitable bush, as I crossed a field. I spotted some woods on the other side. I was going further and further away from the Land-Rover. I was making a big mistake without realising it then. I’d not taken my rifle with me. I found my suitable bush.

As I returned across the field, retracing my own footprints in the deep snow, feeling much better, I spotted something in the corner of my eye. When I turned, I saw them for the first time. WOLVES! They were running towards me in the snow.

OH, DROKK!! ZOOTWOSOME!! VENUS PEBBLES!!

I started to run desperately, half-stumbling through the deep, heavy snow. One was sprinting ahead of the pack, trying to cut me off. I couldn’t outrun them. In fact, I could hardly run in the thick snow. Then I slipped and fell in the snow. The wolves were going to tear me to pieces. I was going to die in the white snow.

I heard a sharp crack that echoed in the stillness of early morning. When I looked up, I saw the leading wolf lying dead near me. He had paid for it with his life. Father’s rifle cracked twice more. Two others fell, staining the white snow red. The rest turned and scattered.

When I tried to get up, I screamed and fell down again with a shooting pain in my left ankle. I’d twisted it…or worse, broken it. ZOOTWOSOME! The giant reached down and picked me up. I was as light as a feather in his strong arms. He carried me back to the Land-Rover. He gently laid me in the back. After he had packed some snow around my ankle, he covered me with a blanket.

It took daddy some minutes to dig us out. I wanted to help, but my ankle had rendered me useless. I was annoyed with myself, even embarrassed. I blamed it on my own carelessness. I’d forgotten about the wolves. I wouldn’t again. After daddy had cleared a path, he climbed back into the Land-Rover.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I whispered.

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” he said reassuringly. “It’s not your fault. You just lie there and rest your leg. We’ll get you home in no time at all.”

He turned the engine over. It started second time. It was a beautiful sound.

I don’t recall the rest of the journey back to London.

When I woke up, I was lying in my own bed in my own room. I was back home and safe inside the walls of
The Citadel.
Someone had bandaged my ankle. I felt a dull throb there. I turned my head puzzled when someone opened the shutters in my room. Mum turned and smiled. She sat with me for awhile, holding my hand.

“How are you feeling this morning, Jade?” asked mum concerned.

“Much better, Mum,” I answered weakly.

“Jade, you’re extremely lucky.”

I didn’t feel lucky.

She revealed, “You twisted your ankle, but you didn’t break it.”

That’s good news, I thought.

“Your father’s first trip to the Kent farms has been very successful,” said mother, tucking in the covers. “He went out with two sacks of vegetables and returned with a churn of milk, a side of bacon to last us weeks and several dozen eggs.”

I murmured, keeping dad’s little secret in my head.

She paused in the door with the empty mug in her hand. “Jade, I do know about your father’s little secret in the cellar.” She laughed softly, quietly closing the door behind her.