As they arrived on the High Street, the number of cars abandoned along the roadside increased. On both sides of the street, the odd dust-covered market stall was visible, tossed to the side by whatever hurricane force had passed through or over the village. The display tables were also strewn about the street, but had they survived, they would no doubt be bare of any items to sell, hoarding a priority.
“What’s that ahead?” Andrew alerted Tom.
Tom applied the brakes, bringing the Land Rover to a slow crawl. “Where?”
“Ahead and to the left, next to the larger building. A Public building or something.”
Lucy peered in between their heads. “They’re bikes, aren’t they?” she suggested, having better eyesight than both the men.
Tom brought the Land Rover to a halt. “I think you’re right.”
They surveyed the area ahead from the safety of the cab, counting about ten bicycles dropped to the ground in and around the entrance to what could have been a municipal building. Andrew pulled the binoculars from the glove compartment, brought them to his eyes, and zoomed in on the collection of bikes that had been left randomly on the footpath and part of the road, blocking their way. He still kept his shotgun close at hand. The bikes seemed to have bags strapped to their crossbars or on racks set above the mudguard over the rear wheel.
“What can you see?” quizzed Lucy.
“Just the bikes. I reckon they’ve been dropped there recently. Seem to be laden down with bags. Full of food and water, maybe?”
“Any movement?” asked Tom.
Andrew changed his focus to further down the High Street, then the foreground, before scanning the buildings either side of the road again. “Nothing. No movement, at least. I can see the petrol station, about three hundred yards further on.”
“I’m scared, Mum,” came a whimper from the back.
Andrew peered over his shoulder and made eye contact with Patrick. “We’ll be alright, son. You just stay put.”
“We could always backtrack and come at it from the other end of the village,” suggested Maddie.
“If there’s someone there, they’ll still hear us whichever way we go, if they haven’t already. We really need that fuel. We’re burning it just sitting here, and we’ve a long journey ahead.”
“Let’s take a walk then,” said Tom as he clicked open the door, swinging it back on its hinges as he stepped out, a shotgun, broken open, clutched in his right hand. Once out, he checked that the two shells fit snugly in the breach and locked it shut, the satisfying clunk boosting his confidence.
Andrew exited from the passenger side, and Tom leant back in the cab. “The four of you stay here. Andy and I will take a look first.”
“The first sign of trouble and you get back here fast, you hear,” pleaded Maddie.
Lucy, sitting opposite, patted Maddie’s knee. “We’ll be OK, Maddie. The doors will be shut, and I have this if we need it,” she comforted her friend, holding up a single-barrelled shotgun.
Maddie nodded. The two children, who had been monitoring events, sidled up closer to their mothers.
Tom and Andrew closed the windows and pushed the driver and front passenger door closed, a satisfying click confirming they were secure. Lucy reached over and locked both doors from the inside, sitting quietly with her shotgun resting on the back of the driver’s seat, ready if and when it was needed.
Tom moved across to the right of the road and Andrew to the left. Both had pulled up their face masks and covered most of their faces with a scarf. Each day appeared to feel colder, and the families were forced to wear numerous layers of clothing to keep the bitter cold out. The Land Rover, which didn’t have the best heating system in the world, was proving to be a luxury when travelling.
Their shoes crunched on shards of glass, the shattered shop windows testament to the ferocity of the effects of the nuclear explosions in the surrounding areas. Although none had struck the village, the strikes on Bristol to the south-west, Corsham, the home of the old government emergency headquarters, to the south, would have been blown into oblivion by the Russians, ensuring that it couldn’t function if the British Government had reinstated it, will have impacted on the village. Swindon to the east and Gloucester and Cheltenham to the north had all attracted attention from the Russian’s nuclear bombs and missiles. Tom glanced through a shattered shop window that had once been a thriving greengrocer’s but was now filled with splinters of glass and stripped of any item that could be eaten. He looked across at Andrew who nodded as he too peered through a shop window, which was a florist no more. The bikes were now about 200 metres ahead, and Tom gripped the barrel of the shotgun more tightly, raising it a few inches and pointing it in the direction of the dumped but seemingly not abandoned bikes. One hundred and fifty metres and he could clearly see that the bicycles had been used for carrying the trappings, bedding, clothing and the like, of whoever had ridden them.
The road widened slightly, and Tom went around the right-hand side of one of the spilled market stalls, the thick plastic sheeting, still pinned to the supports, blocking his view across the street, contact lost with Andrew across the road. He panicked slightly but was soon past the obstruction, and Andrew acknowledged him once they were both able to make eye contact again. One hundred metres from the bikes, and he looked back towards the Land Rover, the reflection off the windscreen making it difficult to see the occupants inside.
They’ll be fine, he thought. Lucy was a smart cookie. She would watch over Maddie and the two children.
“Tom,” Andrew hissed.
Tom looked back round and saw Andrew jerk his head in the direction of the bikes. Four men and two women had appeared from the town hall, the two women remaining on the steps. The four men moved toward the bikes and stood amongst them, watching Tom and Andrew as they approached. Broken glass crackled beneath Tom and Andrew’s feet, breaking the silence, the disturbed dust forming a grey layer on their shoes.
Fifty metres away and Tom called out to the strangers. “Hello there. My name’s Tom and this is Andrew. We were on our way to get fuel when we saw the bikes on the road.” Tom scanned the faces as he talked. None wore any protective masks, but all had some form of scarf and headgear to protect them from the bitter cold. He would hazard a guess that the four by the bikes, all fairly slim, medium height, were in their early to late twenties. The two women on the steps perhaps older, bulkier, less confident, one shifting from foot to foot nervously. Tom felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He had a bad feeling about this.
“Er, Colin. My name’s Colin. How come you have a vehicle?” responded the nearest of the group of four, a West Country accent apparent.
Andrew and Tom stopped walking. “It’s my farm vehicle.”
“Yeah, but how come it’s working?”