“What bunkers?” challenged Keelan.
“We weren’t prepared for anything like this,” added Salt as he threw another piece of wood on the fire, the sparks jumping out causing Keelan to curse.
“Fucking watch it Doug, you’ll set fire to us.”
“Sorry Stan. Anyway, the Cold War was supposed to be over.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, mate.”
“Yeah, and what I ain’t got here,” Salt flexed his bicep, nowhere near as powerful as Keelan’s but still quite pronounced, “I make up in here.” He pointed to his head.
“Sorry, I meant to say smart arse,” laughed Keelan. He accepted the bottle that was handed to him and finished off the last mouthful. Rubbing sleepy eyes, he lowered his head to the pillow at the end of his mattress. “I need some kip. We can worry about tomorrow in the morning. Chuck some more wood on the fire, Milo mate. But no bloody sparks.”
Milo obeyed, placing two bits of wood carefully, which had been picked up from the grounds of the two cottages, spitting a few sparks, onto the red glowing fire.
“Yeah, I’m busted as well.” Salt kicked off his trainers, tucked his stocking feet beneath a blanket, and also settled down on the double mattress dragged down from an upstairs bedroom.
“Sounds good to me,” assented Milo. “I need a piss first.”
“Go round the back of the house,” asserted Keelan. “Toilets don’t work, and the last thing we want is the prison stink in the house.”
Milo got up to go out. Todd just rolled onto his side on his single mattress and was, like Keelan and Salt, snoring in a contented sleep within a matter of minutes. On his return, Milo took a swig of water from one of the canteens and stepped over Todd to get to his own bed space. Like the other three, he was asleep in moments.
CHAPTER 11
Tom shot up in bed, his wife quickly following. He checked his watch: it was two fifty in the morning.
“What is it, Tom?”
“It’s Sam. Something has disturbed him.”
She too could now hear the deep growl coming from the throat of their collie downstairs. Tom threw his legs out of bed and hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans, followed by a sweatshirt dragged over his head and shoulders. His wife was also in the process of getting dressed, recognising the potential threat and needing to be ready for whatever might occur.
Tom picked up his shotgun that lay on the floor next to the bed, checked that the two shells were in their respective chambers, and closed the side-by-side double barrels with a soft clunk, applying the safety immediately. He headed out of the bedroom and was met by Andrew on the long landing. He too was armed and ready. The candle on the landing, always left alight, flickered as Tom moved past it.
“You heard it too then?”
“Yes,” responded Tom. “We live on a farm, and it’s not like Sam to get spooked easily.”
Sam’s growl picked up and his snarl grew stronger as they made their way down the curving stairs. Tom looked over the rail to the right and down into the hall below. The dog was not visible.
“You take the front of the house, Andy. I’ll take the back.”
“What about us?” asked Tom’s wife.
Tom looked back up the stairs to see the dark shadow of his wife, backlit by the candle, with Andrew’s wife, the broader shape of Madeline, looking over her shoulder.
“Arm yourselves. Then wait at the top of the stairs. You know what to do.”
They had planned for a possible intrusion, knowing that there was a good chance that someone would want what they had. The two wives, Lucy and Madeline, knew what was expected of them. Tom and Andrew continued their way down the stairs. Once at the bottom, Andrew headed for the front door which was visible before they hit the bottom step, and Tom headed for the kitchen and the back door. Keeping the beam low, Tom flashed the torch across the door to the kitchen, which was half open. As he made his way through the gap, Sam ran over to him, and a quick stroke revealed the dog’s hackles were stiff. Tom crouched down next to the dog, stroking his coat, calming him down, listening. The collie licked his lips, and then peeled his mouth back over his teeth as something brushed against the outside of the back door.
“Steady, lad, steady,” Tom whispered, straining his own ears to pick out any identifiable sounds coming from outside.
He turned around sharply as a head torch flashed around the room, and his friend crouched down next to him. “There’s movement outside the front door.”
“Same here. You’d best get back.”
Andrew returned to his position at the front of the house, and Tom moved round the large kitchen table, avoiding the chairs, sidling along the still warm Aga until he was crouched at the base of the back door of the kitchen. He reassured Sam with a gentle pat on his coat to stem the grumble that slowly rose in the dog’s throat again. A thump next to the solitary kitchen window caught his attention. Glassless, but boarded up for security, it was still a weak point in the farmhouse’s defences. Tom stood up, moved and waited silently next to the window, but it went quiet again. He then heard a scuffle next to the door and changed position, moving to the door, placing his ear up against the thick oak, straining to pick out individual sounds. Whispers could be heard outside and another strange noise he couldn’t quite make out. He was sure he had heard the sound of water splashing. Someone must have knocked over a bucket.
He reflected for a moment, and then turned to his dog. “Stay, boy, stay.”
Sam wagged his tail, and then sat, tongue flicking as he went to lick his master’s hand. Tom left his dog and, keeping his torch low, moved as quickly as possible to the front door where he found Andrew with his ear up against the door, and dropped down next to him.
Andy turned towards him. “Clumsy bastards, whoever they are, just knocked over a container of water. Did we have some stocks outside?”
Tom jumped up. “Get Lucy and Madeline down here now. Get all the supplies you can gather and start moving it to the side room.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. I need to do one last check. Now go, Andy.”
Tom sped back to the rear door of the house to find Sam still growling and sniffing at the door. He placed his ear up against the wood again: there was a slight thump on the door and the sound of dripping water. The dog stopped sniffing and suddenly scooted backwards, wrinkling his nose as another splash of liquid hit the door, followed by a similar sound up against the boarded up window. Tom checked the window, then moved back to the door, sniffing around the gaps at the edges. Now it was his nostrils that wrinkled: a distinctive smell burnt into the receptors of his nose.
“Petrol,” he hissed to himself. Or something similar, he thought. His mind raced. The bastards are going to burn us out!
“Stay, boy.”
The dog sat down obediently, and Tom raced out of the kitchen and across the main hall to the front door just as his wife came downstairs.
“Get the children to the snug now. And move the supplies for a quick exit.”
“What is it?”
“Just do it, Lucy, please.”
She ran back upstairs, meeting Madeline halfway. “Grab Patrick. We need to get the kids to the back room now.”
“What’s happening?”
Lucy couldn’t see the fear in Madeline’s eyes, the head torch her friend was wearing blinding her slightly. But she could sense it in her friend’s voice.
“I don’t know, but Tom’s instructions were explicit. We need to move the emergency supplies to the room as well.”
“Oh, Lucy, are we running?” Madeline, the weaker of the two women, whimpered.