“There’s some left. Pass your cups.”
Lucy gathered up the cups and proceeded to spoon in instant coffee, the sound of bubbling water coming from the pan on the portable camping gas stove on the side.
“Kids joining us?” asked Tom.
“No, I’ve given them something they can eat in there. Best they stay warm for as long as possible.”
Tom spooned an extra bit of coffee into his cup.
“Go easy with it.” Lucy smiled at him. “It might need to last a lifetime.”
Cups were topped up and powdered milk added. Tom pulled a face as he took a sip. “Yuk, can’t stand this powdered stuff.”
“Drink it black,” teased Lucy. “Decided our route?”
The four buttered some crackers and added a slice of corned beef. Not the best of meals, but they needed to take care with their meagre supplies.
“So,” asked Andrew, bringing the meeting back on track, “where do we head for?”
Tom, crunching on his cracker and meat feast, ran a pencil across the map. “Between the lakes and Cricklade?”
“Makes sense. Then Minety, Sherston, Marshfield—”
“That’s what I was thinking,” agreed Tom. “My worry is crossing the M4.”
“We don’t have any choice, Tom. It stretches from the River Severn across to London. Drive across it where we can find access?”
“No good. The barriers. We’ll never crash through them.”
“Of course not. Stupid of me.” Andrew laughed. “They’re crash barriers.”
“There’s bound to be an underpass somewhere. You know, crossing points built in for farmers like myself. I reckon the stretch between Chipping Sodbury and Chippenham will be the best option.”
“I suggest we pick an overnight stop. Although we need to make progress, you never know what we might come up against.”
“Good point, Andy. I want to try a few petrol stations on the way. Outlying villages would be preferable. We’re OK for fuel, but it would be good to keep our tank topped up and eke out what we have in our cans for a bit longer.”
“Sure. What about the stuff hidden at the farm?”
“We can go back for it sometime in the future, if and when we need it. The Reynolds family will never find them. Not forgetting the supplies hidden under your hotel.”
“So long as the Reynolds Mafia don’t find that either.”
“They’re too dumb,” laughed Tom.
“Don’t underestimate them, mate. They’re a crafty bunch of buggers.”
Tom returned his attention to the map. “I want to keep well west of Marshfield though. There’s a small airstrip at Garston Farm and a small airfield at North Colerne. The farm may not have been hit, but a strike on the bigger airfield is likely. I suggest we stop over for a short break at West Littleton. It’s in the middle of nowhere. Then make our overnight stop here, around Somerton.”
“Why don’t we just keep going? It’ll only be a couple of hours’ drive to our final destination from there.”
“Better we approach that area in the early hours. Then spend a good part of the day searching the area.”
“Yeah OK, makes sense,” agreed Andrew.
“Finished?” asked Maddie, starting to clear away the plates.
Andrew picked the last crumb from his plate, savouring the thought of the great farmhouse breakfasts Lucy used to make. “I have, and thank you, Lucy, for that lovely fare.”
“I’ll treat us all to soup tonight,” she laughed.
Everything was cleared, camping beds and bedding packed up, the Land Rover refuelled from some jerrycans, and the families said goodbye to their temporary home and continued their journey into the unknown.
CHAPTER 18
Bell woke with a start. Had he heard something, or was it just a dream? It didn’t feel like he’d been dreaming. Sleeping on a hard tiled floor had hardly been conducive to a comfortable night’s sleep. Then he heard it again: the crunch of debris, the sound of pressure being applied to the rubble that was strewn across the floor of the building where they had sought refuge. Reaching for his pistol just in case, he sat up to reach out to Captain Parry who was lying next to him, still asleep. Best leave him sleep for as long as possible, he thought. He pushed the sleeping bag off, then got up to a crouch and listened. He couldn’t hear any more noise, but still did a tour of the rooms that adjoined the one they’d spent the night in. A dog, as startled as Bell was when he came across it, ran off, its tail between its legs.
Once the captain had come around, Bell helped him up and, with the use of the makeshift crutch to support Parry’s crippled leg, they spent three hours searching for somewhere better to shelter, where they could set up for the next night, or even longer until Parry was fit to make a lengthier journey. Then they would have to make a decision: to go back to the sub or continue their journey to find civilisation. They eventually found an abandoned minibus that would serve their needs. All its windows were intact and there were no decomposing bodies within it. He had heard two gunshots earlier, probably a kilometre away at the time, he thought, so warned Commander Parry to be on the alert. He settled his captain on the back seat, and then went of to scavenge for some wood should they need to make a fire and drive away the cold that was starting to eat into his very bones. Then it would be time to discuss their options with the captain.
CHAPTER 19
Although they had sheltered in a barn, it had still proven to be a cold night, and Keelan, Salt and Gill had shivered through most of it. Before it was light, they chose to make a move, choosing warmth of physical effort over continuing with chattering teeth and discomfort. The three had traipsed back to where they had left the van, but there was no sign of Withers. They conducted a cursory search of the area but quickly gave it up. Salt then took them east. Although he was feeling much better, Keelan was happy for Salt to take the lead for the moment. They had discussed plans, and what Salt had suggested made sense. All they had to do now was get there.
After an hour of struggling with their individual loads, blankets, food, water and weapons, Keelan still maintaining control of their only shotgun, a small village came into view, a chance to search for transport, but also to take a breather. Out of the three cars they found, none would work. Milo cursed in frustration as he tried to coax them into life, but their electrics had been well and truly fried. But what they did discover were bicycles. After a few moments of erratic cycling, the three eventually got control of their new mode of transport, and, loaded down with personal effects and supplies, they headed south along the narrow lanes that would keep them away from the larger towns. As they crossed the M40, abandoned vehicles were searched but, to their disappointment, all those had been thoroughly ransacked. As they moved along the lanes, a gunshot aimed in their direction ensured they made a hasty exit, taking their bikes down the southern edge of the motorway, running for cover. Putting at least a kilometre between them and the motorway, they crouched together in a hedgerow, next to a field gate, set back from the lane they had been cycling down.
“Shit, that was close.”
“Nearly crapped your pants, Milo,” declared Keelan.
“I did as well,” laughed Salt. He looked at the other two. The scarves and other protective clothing used to keep out the cold and the dust did little to hide their haggard looks. Both Keelan’s and Milo’s eyes looked red and swollen, their pallor sickly. Days of stubble looked ragged on their grime-covered faces. He pulled off a glove and looked at his hands: thick black dirt beneath the fingernails, his fingers and knuckles covered in a layer of God knows what. Salt prided himself on his cleanliness, and it distressed him to be in such a state. When they slept in the barn, amongst the rotting hay, he was still able to smell his own body odour.