Nuclear Midnight (19 page)

‘I didn't report it to the committee because I know how they'd react; they'd have banned me from taking part in any further missions on the grounds that I was taking unnecessary risks. Besides, at the time I only had large numbers of badly decomposed bodies and a series of deserted towns to report, nothing more substantial. I wasn't going to put my whole future in jeopardy for a little thing like that.’

Cliff nodded. ‘So, why are you telling us now?’

‘The one thing I did notice in these towns was rats,’ Alex continued. ‘Quite a lot of them, in fact. At the time I didn't think anything of it, assuming a large rodent population to be normal in a deserted town. But yesterday one of the committee members reported intercepting broadcasts from Europe in which the population was ordered to abandon the cities because of an epidemic carried by rats.’

‘Something like bubonic plague?’ Cliff suggested.

‘Or typhus,’ Alex added grimly. ‘Either way it set me thinking that perhaps that large scale movement of population had been driven by fear of a contagious disease. If so, the key to whether any of them survived lies at the end of that trail of bodies I was following.’

‘So you think there could be another community in Scotland?’ Wayne said quietly.

‘Yes, I do,’ Alex replied firmly, ‘and so does the committee. We’ve lost six drivers in the last few months near the Scottish border. The committee is of the opinion that they could have been kidnapped or killed by this community. And they've asked me to lead a small party of men up there to try and find some answers. And in case you're wondering, the group is to be small because, in the words of Marcus: ‘We want their friendship not another war on our hands.’ This is purely a peaceful mission aimed at making contact and establishing friendly relations with any sizeable community we find. It is therefore important that we start off on the right foot.’

‘So, it will be you and a few others,’ Cliff replied.

‘Myself and three others to be precise.’ Alex looked slowly around the faces of his companions to make sure there was no doubt in their minds as to his meaning.

‘Not us?’ Cliff asked, his face showing surprise and alarm in about equal proportions.

‘I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary,’ Alex said quickly. ‘All our best drivers have been killed. The men Marcus could have offered me would have been untrained recruits, who have never been through the type of situations we have. We can have the best Land Rover the community has and all the arms and supplies we need. Northern England and Scotland were deserted when I was there, so I don't anticipate any trouble.’ He appealed to them more directly. ‘I need men I can trust,’ he added, feeling like a cheap sales commercial.

In the silence that followed, Wayne was the first to speak. ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘I mean, it's so dangerous. Even if we do find another community, who's to say how they'll treat us? They could be diseased or intent on killing any intruders.’

‘I know I'm asking you to take a risk,’ Alex said. ‘But there's another way of looking at it. Each of us has been ill from time to time, but none of us has reported sick, and for good reason, we’re scared of being pushed out. That's the whole basis of this society that we're all expendable, and for each of us, sooner or later, our time must come. But this other community might have more medical supplies, better care or not operate such a harsh system. Maybe that's why the other drivers never returned. They may have decided to stay where they would be better off. It wouldn't mean that you had to give up anything,’ he went on, pleading with them. ‘I only want you for this one trip. In a few weeks we should know what's going on, one way or another.’

It was at this point that numerous questions began to be fired. Alex did his best to reassure them that travelling beyond the community's boundaries was not what it had been. He described what he had seen on his last few trips and how much the land had changed from when they had travelled through it three years before. As the debate continued, he sensed an easing in their resistance. Cliff actually came out in defence of Alex several times. In the end their consent came, if not easily, then at least with a quiet conviction.

Alex was deeply moved; toasts were drunk, Wayne even scrambling in search of a third bottle, but the mood never reached the spirited heights it had before. There was good will, but no sense of exhilaration at the prospect of a dangerous job.

Early the next day Alex and Cliff drove back to the mine. Cliff reported for work on a new administrative block that was under construction, while Alex went in search of Marcus.

He found him hunched over some notes in his small, dimly lit office on the second level. Alex told him the good news at once.

‘Who have you chosen?’ asked Marcus.

Alex reeled off the names and received his approving nod. He realised that Marcus had guessed all along whom he would pick.

‘Now, let's get down to business.’ Marcus opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a sheet of typed paper. ‘The committee have drafted a list of instructions for you. I hope we've covered all the contingencies you may face.’

Alex skimmed through the list.

‘Any questions?’

‘Why are we taking ten kilos of tea and coffee?’

‘Like beads and mirrors in the old days, the committee thought it would be useful for breaking the ice so to speak. A gesture to demonstrate our good intentions.’

‘Does that mean hands off?’

‘We've already gift wrapped it, but I'm sure it would be possible to manage some extra for such an important mission.’

Alex raised his eyebrows; this indulgence was an indication of just how eager the committee was to please him. ‘In that case,’ he continued, studying the list again, ‘I want one hundred and fifty litres of extra fuel, not hundred; two months’ supply of food instead of one month and I'm picking my own guns and ammunition.’

‘Hmm. The committee were a bit dubious about giving you so much authority, Alex, but since I sign the requisition forms I see no problem in obtaining the extra. There, then.’ Marcus took the list from Alex and amended the figures. ‘Which brings me to a rather important point,’ he continued, returning the corrected list across the desk. ‘The number one priority of the committee is to establish relations with any community as soon as possible. In the event of such a meeting taking place, it may be that one of your party will have to stay behind with them in exchange for one of their representatives. Now, the feeling was that a committee member should accompany the expedition to do any negotiating. However,’ he added quickly when he saw Alex was about to object. ‘I managed to talk them out of the idea, providing you volunteer to stay behind and handle the diplomatic side of things.’

Alex weighed this up, but not for long. It was not a development he had foreseen, but on reflection, staying as the guest of another community might be quite interesting.

‘We urgently need a breakthrough here,’ Marcus continued. ‘If both communities are allowed to become too autonomous, it will make co-operation between them that much harder.’

‘Okay,’ Alex agreed. ‘If it comes to that, I'm prepared to trade places with someone, at least until a more suitable candidate can be found.’

‘Good.’

Marcus gave a satisfied nod. ‘And I must add that if you don't return within the time allowed, we will assume that you have been killed and act accordingly.’

‘In what way?’

‘Prepare for an attack, Alex.’

‘You'd send an armed force up there?’

‘We would seriously consider it. Just to find out once and for all what's going on.’

‘So, I'd better get back in time to stop you from starting World War Four.’

Marcus grinned. ‘Something like that.’ He leaned back in his chair again. ‘So, when do you think you'll be ready?’

‘If the Land Rover is operational, I propose the day after tomorrow.’

‘Excellent. I'll see to it personally.’ Marcus stood up in his place and extended a hand. ‘Good luck, Alex.’

Roy and Wayne arrived from Anglesey the following morning. Together, having collected the Land Rover from the workshop, they began loading the supplies. They spent their last night in the community in the dormitories and rose well before dawn to run a final check. Then, as the horizon began to turn into shades of purples and reds, they scrambled aboard and, Alex driving, started on their long trek north.

CHAPTER 8

For the rest of that day they made slow, careful progress eastwards. The roads leading out of the community were often watched by exiles, so Alex had fallen into the habit of leaving the track as soon as possible and continuing across country. Since much of the country was now quite dry and covered by grasslands, cross country driving usually proved only marginally more uncomfortable than the cracked and overgrown roads from the pre holocaust era.

By dusk they had spotted a number of small communities centred around petrol driven generators on farms. The land behind wire fences and guard posts was under cultivation. The people, however, kept to themselves, showing no interest in the noise of a passing vehicle. An attitude, Alex reflected, that had become increasingly more common over the past year as self-reliant groups had started replacing the starving and frenzied mobs.

It was nearly two years now since Alex and his co-driver, whilst returning from a mission, had been ambushed by such a mob. This had been in northern England and in hilly country. The road had been dipping and climbing for ages as it etched its way south from Sheffield. Alex had been driving, his companion dozing beside him. The Land Rover had just crossed a shallow trough between two hills and was descending into a valley when a large fallen tree blocked its path. This was not an unusual sight. Many trees had died in the first winter after the holocaust, and when the sap dried in the roots, the trees easily fell victim to high winds. Alex had assumed as much in this case, and was about to climb down to see what could be done when he noticed several sharp cuts around the base of the trunk. He remembered the sudden alarm that had swept through him, his quick, frightened glances at the hill above. The tree lay directly around a sharp bend in the road so that anyone approaching would be nearly on top of it before they realised it was there. The slopes were steep and craggy, a perfect place for an ambush. In a wild panic, he had thrown the Land Rover in reverse and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Immediately, arrows, spears, rocks and a series of huge boulders burst from the crags above.

His co-driver had woken with a start and began demanding to know what was happening. Even now Alex could remember the man's clumsy attempts to shoot back at the attackers while screaming in fear as more boulders landed on the cabin roof. Then the whole vehicle shook and the screeching sound of tearing metal tore at their ears. Huge steel rods, sharpened at one end, crashed through the roof. Alex knew that one of these rods had impaled his co-driver, but he could do nothing to help him. He barely managed to weave his way through the mounting boulders still tumbling all about him. Finally he found a place wide enough to turn around, several hundred metres further up the road. By that time his co driver's twitching and squirming on the end of the rod had ceased. He hung suspended from the roof, the rod driven through his abdomen and into the seat. His head rested on the dashboard as though he had gone to sleep rather than died.

Something in Alex had snapped after that incident. He was no longer scared of running missions for the committee. In fact he even volunteered for more, but he always laid down one condition   the committee wouldn't make him take on an inexperienced replacement. This went against their policy of always sending out drivers in pairs for protection; but since volunteers for such missions were next to impossible to find, they had been obliged to accede to Alex's demands. The last four missions he had completed by himself.

‘We’ll stop here for the night,’ Alex announced.

They had reached a group of cottages nestled along one side of a broad, grassy valley. A stream was tumbling and bubbling past, dropping noisily from cleft to cleft before disappearing round a sharp bend. Alex stopped the vehicle and a rapid but cautious search of the area was carried out. As he had suspected, the picturesque cottages were nothing more than shells. They had all been stripped long ago, so that only the stone walls were left.

They laid out their beds inside one of them and cooked dinner. By the time they were finished the last of the twilight was gone.

Alex set six-hour watches and placed himself on the first one, until midnight. Not so much to set an example to the others, but to avoid sleep for a few hours. He always had nightmares the first day out on a mission. Only when he was completely exhausted would he submit to lying down, knowing that then his rest would be deep and peaceful, and not haunted by bad dreams.

Some of these dreams went back to before the war. Snippets of boyhood memories flashed before him, always of times when he had been afraid, bullied perhaps by older boys, but with the reassuring presence of his brother in the background. But sometimes the images were far more frightening and vivid. They would trouble his thoughts for days. Often an enemy he couldn’t see or hear was chasing him through a forest at night. He only felt him drawing closer, a presence that filled him with such terror that he threw himself over ledges and into raging torrents to escape. There was no brother to protect him, no comforting presence of Tina. And he would wake up terrified, drained, screaming, soaked in sweat. For hours after he would still be shaking. He used to climb into the Land Rover and lock all the doors like a little boy scared of the night. Then the sun would rise and the day would pass, maybe without incident, and gradually he would forget. Somehow he always found the strength to continue, throwing himself into scenes of danger, careless of what became of him. It was only in the night-time that he was afraid.

The next morning they steered a course between the ravaged cities of Manchester and Leeds, hoping to link up with the M6 motorway heading north. They were making faster progress now. For every dozen or so of derelict villages, they might pass one community trying to build itself up, protected like the Welsh community with two metre high fences and many guards.

By the morning of the third day they had reached the M6. The fourth day brought them to Carlisle. Alex had travelled through this town on his previous trip north and had no wish to repeat the experience. At that time the streets had been littered with bodies and grey rats, some the size of small cats. Thousands of them were picking the last remnants of flesh from the corpses. He remembered cruising the streets in a sort of dazed horror, the loathsome creatures clambering over his Land Rover and across his windscreen as he drove. Some type of rioting or power struggle had clearly taken place only weeks before. Every shop window was smashed, cars were overturned and whole terraces burnt out. In some streets the corpses lay too thick to count. The smell had made him vomit. He could only think the military had something to do with a massacre on this scale. Maybe some renegade company of soldiers had attacked the town for their food, then moved on to avoid the disease that this number of bodies would attract. Whatever the cause, he had wasted no time in looking for survivors. He couldn't remember wanting to leave any place so badly.

He parked the Land Rover on a vantage point overlooking the town. To the right the motorway continued on its way in a wide, skirting loop.

‘I've been down there before,’ Alex said, watching the others peering through the windows. ‘Most of the population were out on the streets at the time,’ and he went on to explain what he had seen, leaving out none of the horror.

‘And you saw nothing living?’ Roy asked.

‘Only rats. The survivors from here headed north. I tracked the ones that didn't make it for another seventy kilometres. They ended up as a long trail of festering corpses lying by the roadside.’

While he was talking, Wayne had been searching the town through a pair of binoculars. He finally climbed out of the Land Rover and pointed to a spot a few kilometres out from the centre of town. ‘There's a fire burning. I can see people gathered around it,’ he announced, handing the binoculars to Alex.

Alex could see four figures tending what looked to be a cooking pot.

‘It's a perfect opportunity to know once and for all what went on here,’ Cliff said, after taking a turn at the binoculars.

Alex disagreed. ‘What would be the point? We know already the direction in which the population chose to go. I'm not for running risks unnecessarily. Besides,’ he continued stubbornly, ‘these people probably know the streets as well as the rats do. We wouldn't get within a kilometre of them before they disappeared.’

But Cliff and Wayne argued forcibly that these survivors might be able to tell them whether a large community in Scotland did exist. Even Roy, who rarely offered an opinion, came in on the side of Cliff and Wayne, suggesting that if they were fully armed such a small group would not present any real threat. In the end Alex was overruled, but he insisted they all take revolvers and automatic rifles, and retreat at the first sign of trouble without offering a fight.

An hour later, Alex squatted down next to the dying flames of the fire and picked up one of the many discarded cans lying amongst the coals. They had left the Land Rover several blocks away and travelled on foot, cautiously picking their way between the buildings, never exposing themselves for more than a few seconds in the streets, communicating by signs, but all to no avail. The people had gone and so had the pot, only the lingering smell of cooking remained. Alex nervously glanced around him. The fire had been built on the edge of a small suburban park, surrounded on all sides by shabby terraced houses. They had already searched the area and found nothing, although he was convinced the survivors were not far off. He suddenly found that thought rather disturbing, so he quickly went to join the others who had entered a large stone house on the far side of the park.

He reached the house and gently pushed open the front door. Inside, it was surprisingly dark and cool. The curtains, he noticed, had been drawn. He called out softly, his voice echoing around the Spartan furnishings. No one answered so he tried again. They must be at the back of the house, he told himself reassuringly. If they had run into trouble he would have heard something   shots, some kind of a struggle. He drew his revolver and flicked the safety catch off with his thumb. He had entered a long narrow hallway, lined with dusty paintings and antique side tables. The house was much larger than it looked from the front. It seemed to extend backwards in a series of spacious but mould blackened and musty rooms. The last one was blacker still; indeed it was pitch dark, though some light filtered round the rim of a door opposite. He paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust, then strode forward. Suddenly there was sound and movement behind him, but his reflexes were too slow. He heard the thud on his skull and felt his knees buckle underneath him. By the time he hit the floor he was unconscious...

He was aware of arms gently lifting him onto a chair against a wall. A woman's face came into focus, anxious, concerned, framed by a tangled mop of blonde hair. He reached up and touched a large painful bump near the base of his skull, and when he looked at his hand it was covered in blood.

The woman grimaced when she saw it. ‘They hit you too hard,’ she apologised. ‘They were only meant to disarm you, not knock you unconscious.’ She lifted a glass of water to his lips and he took a careful sip.

Alex studied the woman more closely while he drank. She was younger than himself and tall, with thin arms and legs, deeply tanned, as though she spent much of her time outdoors. Her face had small delicate features, which were set in determined lines. In the first rush of returning consciousness he had dreaded death, but her presence comforted him somewhat.

When he turned his head, he could see that he was in a very large room filled with desks, cupboards and filing cabinets stuffed with books and folders. There were no windows and the ceiling was criss-crossed with wooden beams. The smell of damp and mould was so strong that he had the impression he was below ground. He remembered seeing a wooden flight of stairs curling downwards when he was in the hallway, and guessed that they were probably in the cellar.

His companions were sitting dejectedly along the wall a little further off, with their hands tied behind their backs. All were looking anxiously towards him. Three ragged men and a second woman were also watching him intently.

‘Still a bit dizzy, I shouldn't wonder,’ came a voice from the other side of the room. The owner of that voice, a man in his mid to late fifties crossed over to where he sat. ‘Shame about the head,’ he continued, in a rather offhand tone. ‘We got a bit nervous when you took off the safety catch on your revolver. We thought it would be safer to knock you out than risk confronting you like we did the others.’

Alex stared up at this tall, remarkably elegant man. He had cropped hair touched with white and a neatly trimmed beard, and was formally dressed in a pair of grey trousers and a pink shirt. The shirt even looked clean and ironed. Alex was struck by the contrast of his appearance to that of the rest of their captors. The men had ragged beards and the two women long matted hair, and they all wore torn and patched clothes.

‘I'm Samuel Dunham,’ the man continued in a pompous tone, which Alex did not much like. ‘This is Elaine,’ he gestured toward the woman who had given him the water, ‘and Cathy, Alan, Ted and Jeremy. Our little band’ he smiled briefly. ‘Well, young man your friends have already told me much of what I want to know. You come from Wales, I understand, and are looking for a Scottish community. Is that right?’

Alex nodded his head painfully.

Samuel stared at him briefly, then turned and, with hands clasped behind his back, slowly walked toward the others. ‘And what will you do when you find this Scottish community?’