Most of the gathering nodded their heads. What Bill was saying made sense.
“Are there any questions before I close the meeting?”
A woman in her mid-thirties raised a hand.
“Martha, how are the children settling in?”
Martha had only been with the community for about a week, found wandering the streets with her three children. After being gang raped, she escaped with her three sons while the thugs that had abused her slept in a drunken stupor. Unable to find sufficient water supplies, the five men had resorted to alcohol to satisfy their needs. They had also satisfied a more basic need by holding Martha a prisoner and satisfying their lust. Owen, leading an exploratory team into the city, had come across Martha and her three boys huddled against the skeleton walls of a house, shivering with the cold, dehydrated and hungry. Had she been able to she would have screamed but, such was the shock at seeing the three men and the thoughts of what might be done to her again, nothing left her throat. Philip, her eldest, blocked their way, defending his mother as best he could, a black eye visible where his last efforts to protect his mother had failed and he had paid the price with a beating. However, talking to her softly, plying the family with water and food, demonstrating that they were safe, she eventually came round and returned with them to the tower.
“Very well, Mr… Bill.”
“Martha, just call me Bill please. Your question?”
“I just wanted to thank you for taking me and my family in off the streets. It’s hell out there. We feel safe here, and me and my boys will do whatever to ensure you don’t regret that decision.”
“You’re welcome, Martha.” Bill looked at the larger group. “If we see others in need, and they’re the right fit for us, we will offer them sanctuary here. We don’t want to overdo it and put too much pressure on our supplies, but the bigger we are, the stronger we’ll be.
Right, enough of me talking. Let’s head off to the common room and sample Sally’s hot chocolate.”
The group started to rise to their feet and head towards the door, chatting as they did. There was a lot to talk about. Although there was an element of fear about what the future held for them, there was also the semblance of optimism knowing that Bill seemed to have their future security in his capable hands.
CHAPTER 14
Once the troop had left the devastation and gloom of Hereford, the troop had driven east for about fifteen klicks, keeping to minor roads as much as possible until they arrived at Jones’s Wood, where they hid themselves and their vehicle in amongst the trees for a couple of days. Once the Land Rover and trailer were camouflaged, they felt sure they would be hidden from any prying eyes. It gave the soldiers a chance to grab some food, reflect on the day, then get some sack time, but with someone always on stag. But soon they would be on the move again.
“Ready, guys,” called Rolly as the water came to the boil. He poured the boiling water into four black plastic mugs, the smell of coffee filling the air, displacing the dank smell of rotting vegetation strewn across the forest floor. A sprinkling of powdered milk in two of them, Glen and Greg drank their coffee black.
The fallen tree trunk, used as a bench, rocked as Greg sat down heavily next to Rolly. “Pass it here, mate, bloody gagging for a brew.”
Rolly handed him a mug, and Greg savoured the aroma: Nescafe Gold, his favourite. Taking too big a sip, Greg burnt his tongue and cursed, then spilt some on his knee as Glen sitting next to him nudged him slightly.
“Shit, boss!”
“Don’t tell me Rolly’s made hot coffee again?”
“Wankers.”
Plato joined them, having been the last one to put away his gear and stow it in the Land Rover. Rolly passed the last mug to him.
“I hope to God we don’t run out of this stuff.”
“Plato mate, next time we do a supply run, coffee will be at the top of the list, believe me.”
“Glad you’re watching my back for me, Greg,” he replied with a grin. “What’s the plan then, boss?”
“No change. As we discussed last night, we head south,” responded Glen.
“You OK with that still?”
Glen turned and looked at Plato, his expression blank. “Not sunk in yet. But I was expecting it. I suppose that’s helped.”
“What about your parents?”
“Birmingham.”
“Buggered then,” joined in Greg.
“What about you guys? Any family you want to track down before the move south?”
Greg placed his empty mug on the dew-damp ground and held up a hand and looked at Glen. “Let me see.” Holding his little finger: “Parents are dead.” Holding two fingers: “Only child.” Three fingers: “My ex? Well, I doubt there’ll be a need for divorce papers now, or solicitors for that matter.” Four fingers: “Girlfriend? I’ve moved on.”
“Was that the stripper from Saxones?” asked Plato.
“Exotic dancer. I don’t do strippers.”
“I thought you’d have a go at anything,” chimed in Rolly.
“Bloody hell, if I was as fussy as you, Rolly, I’d still be a virgin,” responded Greg.
All four burst into laughter. Plato also had a wife but, like a number of the regiment, he was estranged from her. Rolly was single, born in Harlow, where his parents still lived. But he knew, as did the rest of the troop, that Harlow, like the majority of the London area, would be a ghost town.
“This is surreal. The entire world is in the grip of a nuclear holocaust, and all we can talk about are Greg’s tarts,” said Plato.
This time, the four men were in stitches, and it was only Rolly passing small packets of biscuits down the line, one pack for each of them, that broke the moment.
“Breakfast is served,” groaned Glen. “Plato, take us through today’s route while we enjoy the luxurious breakfast that Rolly has so kindly provided for us.”
The group became serious as Plato ran through what had been agreed the previous day.
“Our biggest worry today is the River Severn. We don’t know what’s out there and what efforts will be made to gain control of any crossing points.”
“That’s if they’re up to it. It could be they’re in too weak a condition to do anything,” suggested Rolly.
“There will always be someone strong enough and who wants to be top dog,” countered Plato.
“We’ve already come across one lot of wankers playing at being God,” piped up Greg, grimacing as he scratched at the heavy stubble covering his face.
“We certainly have. Hence, we pass around the major conurbations. We head south-east, keeping to minor roads until we come to the M50. We’ll cross that, using an underpass. A link for farmers, it allows them access to their fields either side. After that, we can cross the river just west of Deerhurst.”
“The river will be the trickiest,” suggested Rolly. “How far to the motorway?”
“That’s about fifteen Ks,” continued Plato. “A further sixteen takes us to the River Severn, then ten to Bishop’s Cleve, passing over the M5 beforehand. Still want to recce Cheltenham, Glen?”
“Yes, just from a distance. You never know if we have to come back this way in a hurry. We’ve got fuel and rations, but they won’t last forever. We have to restock whenever possible.”
“Yeah,” added Greg. “If we want to stay mobile then fuel will be one of our greatest needs.”