“Perhaps. Just get Patrick, and we’ll find out when we get down there.”
They didn’t have to go far. The two children, Mary, seven, and Patrick, thirteen, were outside their respective bedroom doors, the shuffling and disturbance outside waking them both.
“Mum,” moaned Mary sleepily. “Why are you up?”
“You need to get dressed now. You too, Patrick.”
“But, Mum, I’m tired.”
“Me too,” piped up Patrick.
“Just do it. Get dressed now. Quickly!” snapped Lucy. “Madeline, you see to the kids and I’ll start on the provisions.”
Her friend just stared at her, holding her dressing gown close to her chest for comfort.
“Maddie, now!”
Madeline snapped out of it and turned to follow the two children to ensure they dressed quickly, and then she too would need to get her own clothes sorted. Lucy, who had dressed earlier, ran back down the stairs and headed for the room next to the lounge, a room they referred to as the snug. She met her husband again on her way through the hall. Tom’s torch flashed in her eyes.
“What’s happening, Tom?”
“They’re dousing the house with fuel.”
“Oh Tom, what do we do?”
“Get out of here, that’s what.”
Andrew joined them. “I can smell it by the front door as well. They’re not hiding the fact now. They’re slopping it on.”
“We’ll watch the two doors while you and Maddie get everything ready. Some of the emergency bags are in the snug, as you know, but we need to shift as much food and water as we can carry. The kids will have to load up as well.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, honey. The doors are oak, but once the fire takes hold we’ll be choking on smoke in a matter of minutes.”
“It’ll be an inferno with the amount of fuel they’re sloshing on the doors,” added Andrew.
They heard a thump on the front door.
“Move now,” commanded Tom.
While Andrew ran to the front door, Lucy headed for the snug, and Tom ran back towards the kitchen and the rear door. He got a whiff of burnt fuel as soon as he entered the kitchen. A thin film of smoke was filtering beneath the edge of the door, a tinge of burning fuel added to the mix. Sam began barking.
“Shush, lad. Shush.”
Tom shone his torch around the edges of the door. The trickle of smoke was steadily increasing in volume as the petrol-fuelled fire caught hold. The crackle of flames could be heard eating into the solid wooden door. Tom was confident the door would hold for at least ten minutes. But the boarded up windows were another matter. He turned left, the beam of light tracking his movement, confirming that the window frame and chipboard that had replaced the shattered windowpane were also alight. White wisps of smoke, visible in the beam, filtered through any gap it could find. Tom moved closer to the window, placing the palm of his hand parallel to the board. He could feel the heat. Soon it would burn through and smoke wouldn’t be their only enemy. The crackling of flames grew louder, and Sam began growling again. Tom patted the dog between his ears. “Come on, boy, let’s go.”
Tom weaved around the table, the dog close at his heels, and both entered the hallway, his torch lighting up the bulky form of his friend crouched next to the front door. “It’s started,” he called.
“Here as well, Tom. How long do you reckon we have?”
“Ten minutes tops. Probably nearer five for the windows.”
Andrew coughed slightly, a layer of smoke starting to weave its way around his legs, gaining height as the heated tendrils made their way towards the ceiling.
“Wait here.” Tom ran back into the kitchen, the dog sticking to him like glue. Flames were licking around the edge of the window frame now, and there was a glowing blackened hole forming in the centre of the door. He yanked open the drawer in the side of the large kitchen table, and grabbed six tea towels.
Returning to the hall, picking up a plastic container of water on the way, he handed a tea towel to Andrew. “Douse this with water and wrap it around your face and neck. It’s not much, but it’ll help a little.”
“Thanks.”
Andrew dropped his tea towel on the floor, Tom doing the same. The container of water was opened, and Andrew soaked both pieces of cloth which they then quickly wrapped around their mouths and noses, tying the ends into a knot at the back of their heads.
“The window in the kitchen will burn through any time soon. We need to make our way out. Go and chase Lucy, Maddie and the kids. I’ll wait here and cover. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
“You sure you’ll be OK, Tom?”
Tom held up the gun and then pointed at the collie. “They’ll not find it easy.”
“Heading for the Land Rover as planned?”
“Yes. Have everything we’re taking put next to the door. We’ll go out together. They shouldn’t see us, but strength in numbers, eh. Anyway, they’ll be coming through there or the kitchen.” He pointed at the front door and then indicated in the direction of the kitchen.
Andrew left and went to help the two wives who could be heard shuffling between rooms, moving the items that would be needed once they made their escape. Tom moved closer to the kitchen where he could keep an eye on the back door as well as watch the front. The kitchen was the weak point, with both the door and window now well alight. The window in particular was burning well, flames flaring on both sides now, with glowing red lines forming along the edges where the wood was breaking down. The door too was weakening, with all sides of the frame ablaze. It wouldn’t be long before the men outside lost patience and kicked their way through a door or window, or both.
He instinctively knew who it was. He’d hoped that the Reynolds family would think their brothers and cousins had come across some looters like themselves and come off worse. But, clearly, they believed that Tom, and the rest of the group at the farm, were responsible for killing Brian and his brother Ryan. Unless, of course, it was hopelessness. Losing two members of the family would put pressure on the rest to hunt for food. Maybe it was starvation and desperation that was urging them to go to these extremes. Why don’t they just ask for help? he thought. He knew the answer before he’d finished the question. If they had asked, he would have responded with a resounding ‘no’.
Tom moved away from the kitchen, closely followed by Sam, and headed for the snug, their route of escape to the outside. Andrew waited by the door for Tom’s appearance. The front door, and the entrance to the kitchen, was out of sight now, but the crackle of flames coming from both was clearly audible and getting louder. Smoke was billowing into the hall and steadily scaling the stairs, seeking out higher ground.
“Are we ready, Andy?”
“Nearly. Lucy is fetching the last of the medical kits from the lounge.” His voice was muffled by the damp tea towel.
Thump… crack… thump… crack. There was a loud crashing sound as an axe wielded by Ryan’s enraged father smashed through the weakened kitchen door. A shower of sparks billowed around the cooking area as the giant of a man shouldered his way through, oblivious to the clouds of sparks singeing his hair and beard, alcohol-fuelled rage closing off all thoughts but one: revenge — to kill the man who took his two sons from him. He wasn’t certain it was the farmer, but there weren’t many other families still in the area. Bernard, head of the Reynolds family, had been in and out of institutions and prison since he was nine, and the rest of his family, his four sons, one daughter and two cousins, who lived with him and his wife, followed in his footsteps. Even his wife, Charlene, originally from North London, had been convicted many times for prostitution and drug handling. Her birth certificate had her down as Barbara, but that didn’t quite have the right ring for the punters in Ponders End. Many blamed the family’s deprived education and limited intelligence for their poor start in life. Tom, on the other hand, knew they were just lazy and plain mean. Ready to commit whatever crime or atrocity was necessary to impose their will on others and enhance their way of life. The youngest son, Brian, killed by Tom two days previously, was believed to have been responsible for the deaths of seven cats in the area over a ten-day period. At least two had been found hanging outside their owners’ front doors. As usual, the police were unable to prove his guilt. But everyone in the area, including the police, knew the culprit was Brian.