Surviving The Evacuation (Book 4): Unsafe Haven (3 page)

“Yes, we do. There’s enough here to last us until the end of May, but we’ll need more. At least enough to get us through until autumn.”

“Why autumn?”

“Well, my dear,” she said in a sweetly patronising tone she knew he hated, “that’s when we can harvest anything that’s been planted in the farms hereabouts. You see here?” She pointed at the map. “That’s Crockett’s farm. You know, the place we used to go to just after we moved in?”

“No. Not really.”

“They had that old tractor for kids to climb on. You used to love sitting in that thing. Always said you were going to be a farmer when you grew up.”

“Did I? I don’t remember. Why did we stop going?”

“Because you got older. You decided you didn’t like it after they got rid of the animals,” she said with a wistful sigh. “But the fruit trees there should keep us going for a few months. Maybe.”

“If the birds don’t eat the fruit first.”

“Yes,” she said, “and that’s another thing, we’ll have to work out how to trap them.”

“Trap birds?”

“Yes, if you want fresh meat. After autumn we’ve got to think about winter, and then there’s next spring. But that’s a problem for tomorrow, or next month. As is going out to the farms and seeing what’s already been planted. Today we need to find all the food that’s been left behind. I think, with the two of us, we need about four times what we’ve got at the moment.”

“What about the things Mr Baker left us?”

“That was mostly carbohydrates and coffee. We need vitamins and fibre and protein.” She saw his blank expression. “Fruit, vegetables, fish, and meat,” she added.

“We could get some vitamin tablets,” he suggested.

“We probably will, if we can find some. But food is better. Now, come here and look at the map. Where would you start?”

He glanced at the map but found it was an unfamiliar way of viewing the town. The glance turned into a glare.

“Why don’t we start with the houses around here?” he asked.

“Because we know they’re empty.” As she had watched people join the evacuation, she had crossed her neighbours’ names off a list. “We can go through these houses in the evenings when it’s too dark to go to further afield. But today, we want to start with the places other people might go. Places we might find more than just the scraps left over after the rationing.”

“Like one of the supermarkets?” he guessed, then changed his mind when he saw his mother’s expression. “No. Not after the rationing.” He turned back to the map, as if willing it to reveal its secrets by concentration alone. Then he smiled and stabbed his finger down in triumph. “Packard Street! The camping shop that Mr Baker talked about.”

Packard Street was off a side road at the unfashionable end of the town centre. The shops there sold the essentials, often in bulk, but without the profit margin to afford the higher rents afforded by somewhere with a greater foot traffic.

“Good. That’s what I was thinking. They said they’d cut off the power when the evacuation began. I’m surprised they haven’t done it already. Either it couldn’t be that easy disconnecting the homes from the grid, or with no businesses or industries running, there’s more than enough capacity. Whatever the reason, the power will be cut, or a transformer will blow, or a tree will fall on an overhead line. We’ll be without electricity soon, and we need to be prepared.”

“So we start by getting the fuel for cooking.”

“And heating and boiling water. But fuel is just our starting point. They’ll have other things in that shop. Maybe there’s some energy bars or dehydrated meals. We need things that have a long shelf life. There’s a cake supply shop next to it. Here.” She pointed at the map.

“Won’t the cakes have gone off?”

“They didn’t sell cakes. Mostly they sold tins and moulds and utensils, but they also had a range of icing and decorations. That’s just coloured sugar stamped into shapes. I don’t think anyone would have thought to loot there. And if they have, it’s only a short walk to the high street.”

“But if the supermarkets are empty, won’t the butchers and bakers be cleared out as well?”

“Yes, but think about all the other places you find food. Think about the offices above the shops. They have break rooms, and those always have biscuits. Then there’s the cinema. There aren’t many calories in popcorn, but some is better than none. It might be worth looking in the Salvation Army place. They were running a food-bank over the winter. I doubt they’ll have much left, but it’s worth trying.”

“I dunno,” Jay said sceptically.

“Well, we won’t know until we check for ourselves. Now, listen. This is important. It’s possible that we’re the only people left in town, but there might be others and there might be people out in the countryside who come looking for food. And there’s still the government. Perhaps they’ll have patrols roaming around to deter looters.”

“You think they might?”

“I don’t know. They’ll probably need everyone they can get to keep those enclaves in order. But it’s possible. So if we hear an engine, then we hide. If we get into any trouble, then we run. We definitely don’t try and fight. Understand?”

“You think we might have to?” He spoke with blithe unconcern, but she could see the worry in his eyes.

“Not yet. But we should be prepared for it.”

“Then we should take the sword Mr Baker left.”

“Really? And you know how to use it, do you?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s the pointy end first.”

“It’s not a joke, Jay. A sword’s like a gun. You have to know how to use it, and more than that, be prepared to stick it in someone’s gut, and turn and twist the blade, and—”

“Mum!”

“I’m serious. If you go around carrying a weapon like that, then you need to be ready to use it. Otherwise someone will take it from you and you’ll end up on the other end of it. So, we’ll leave the sword here, but…” She hesitated, then stood up and walked over to the small cupboard under the stairs. She opened it and took out two cricket bats. One new, the other well-worn, both mementos of Jay’s brief dalliance with the sport before she’d run out of money to pay the fees.

“These’ll do. No one will want to steal them, but should give someone pause. Now, get your shoes on. And don’t forget your scarf. It’s cold out.”

He grunted a pro-forma protest before pulling down the red and blue striped scarf from its peg.

The streets were empty, but they weren’t clear. The instructions on the emergency broadcast had been explicit. Bring clothes, a blanket and food. Beyond that, evacuees were allowed to bring whatever they could carry. Judging by the bric-a-brac of discarded electronics and clothing, prams and pushchairs, walking sticks and suitcases, people had left their homes carrying far more than they were able.

“What are you doing?” Nilda asked, when Jay dashed across the road and bent to pick something up.

Jay held up a smartphone, “Do you know how much this is worth?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s worth absolutely nothing. Try it. There’s no signal. No Internet. I doubt even the GPS will work.”

“I bet you’re wrong,” he said, flipping his fingers across the screen. “Oh,” he added with disappointment. “It’s locked.”

“The pinnacle of human civilisation,” she said. “More computing power in the palm of your hand than was used to land Neil Armstrong on the Moon, and it’s just worthless junk.”

“Yeah.” Jay made to throw it away, but stopped. Instead, with care, he laid it down on a garden wall. Nilda sighed.

They walked slowly, Nilda listening carefully for any vehicles. All she heard was a low susurrus drifting across the street as the damp morning breeze rustled the refugees’ discarded gear.

“Keep your eyes open,” Nilda said, softly. “Look out for twitching curtains, or tidy lawns, or anything that might suggest someone else has stayed in the town.”

They didn’t see any such sign until, a quarter of a mile away from Packard Street, Nilda grabbed her son’s arm.

“What?” he asked, affronted.

“Tell me what you see,” she said, pointing ahead of them.

“Nothing. Someone’s just cleared some of the road.”

“Right. Someone. People. So keep your ears and eyes open.”

Her heart sank with each step as she realised the cleared path led to directly to the camping shop. A few dozen yards further on, as the road curved, she saw two cars that had been parked in a V-shape to block the street. At a junction a few hundred yards further down she saw another similar barricade. She stopped. So did her son.

“What do we do now?” Jay asked.

“Now we go,” Nilda said. “Come on.”

Before they managed four steps, a man’s voice called out.

“What d’you want?”

As Nilda turned around she saw it wasn’t a man, not really. The speaker was only a few years older than Jay. Certainly he was far closer in age to him than to her.

“We were looking for supplies,” she called back. “For our stove. We thought the shops might be open.”

“Open?” he scoffed. “What? You think the shops would actually be open to sell stuff?”

“We just needed some fuel for our camping stove,” she replied, keeping her tone light and airy as if, despite all evidence to the contrary, it was just another ordinary day.

“Camping?” Now he sounded confused.

“Hence why we came to a camping shop,” she said, adding, “I’ve got cash.”

As they’d spoken the young man had stepped closer, and she was able to see him properly. He was tall and thin but neither wiry nor athletic, just skinny thanks to the fast metabolism of youth. He was dressed in a black leather jacket that looked suspiciously new, black jeans that she doubted had been washed since they’d been blasted with sand in some sweatshop, finished off with bright red trainers that hadn’t been designed for running.

“What’d I want with cash?” he asked, as he climbed up onto the roof of the nearest car. “The shops are closed.” First, he raised his arms above his head, then his voice to carry above the deserted streets. “The world’s ended. It’s all ours now. Ours!”

Nilda nodded slowly. She knew exactly which movie he’d copied that line from. It might even have been intimidating if he hadn’t tried to copy the accent too.

“This is yours, is it? Your territory? You’re claiming it?”

“That’s right,” he said, pulling out a skinny black-papered roll-up from his shirt pocket. “It’s all ours.” He lit the cigarette.

Nilda nodded again, looking around. She’d thought he was too confident to be on his own.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said, breaking the silence a few seconds after it had become uncomfortable. “My name’s Nilda.”

“What?” he asked, the fake accent slipping.

“Nilda. That’s my name.”

“Yeah? I thought you didn’t look like you came from around here,” he drawled in a tone she’d heard many times before, though usually from someone much older.

“What’s your name?” she asked, keeping her tone friendly despite her growing unease.

“Why’d you want to know?”

“I’m just being polite since it seems we’re going to be neighbours.”

“Neighbours?” And again he sounded confused.

“Well, as you say, this is your territory. You’ve claimed it first. We’ve claimed everything west of the railway line. That’s ours.”

“Yours? Just the two of you?”

“Oh no. There’s a lot more of us than that. I could go and get them, if you like.”

The man eyed her for a moment, then half turned around.

“Oy! You lot! Get out here!” he yelled.

Five figures slouched out of a doorway behind him. They all seemed a similar age; all were male, strutting with that testosterone-fuelled invulnerability of the naive-young, and all were armed with a variety of blades that looked like they’d come from the butcher’s shop down the road.

“Is there trouble, Rob?” asked one who was twice the width and at least a third taller than the rest.

“No,” Nilda said. Looking at the men - though youths would be a better description - she guessed they’d been in the same class at school, or had dropped out of it together. “There’s no trouble. We’ll be seeing you, Rob.”

She turned, nodded to Jay, and they walked away.

“That was seriously dangerous, Mum,” Jay said, when they were two blocks away.

“No, not really,” she said. “It would have been dangerous if we did that next week, maybe even tomorrow, but today they still remember the world before. They saw a mother with her son. Give it a few days and they’ll see us as rivals.”

“Is that why you said there were more of us?”

“Basically, yes. Disinformation. When you’re weak, pretend you’re strong.”

“And when he comes looking for us?”

“He’ll be looking over by the railway lines. But he won’t come looking for a while. Not as long as they’ve got food. No, I’ve seen dangerous kids before. Believe me. You were too young. You don’t remember what it was like on the estate back in London. Those kids, or men I suppose, they’re not dangerous. Not yet. They’ll stay safe behind their little barricade, probably stay there until the foods run out. Then they’ll be a problem. For now, none of them want to get hurt.”