This was their third day here now, and various foods had been discovered, including potatoes, which they put to good use by eating, or storing away for the future. They had all agreed the next steps: to search the area for other signs of life, not necessarily to make contact, but just to know who was about; to find out if any neighbours were a threat; and also to scavenge for anything they could put to use. A diesel tank, well hidden, had also been found on the farm with just under 3,000 litres left in it.
Lucy called them around the large kitchen table where, assisted by Maddie, she served up hot braised steak, from tins, along with mashed potato and a few shrivelled carrots. But, to the two families, it seemed like a feast. Tom looked at their faces. Andrew was tucking into his food, hungry like Tom, after spending most of the day chopping wood. The kids were over their ordeal and were chatting happily, Lucy taking them to task for eating their food too quickly. She seemed OK, but Maddie still appeared to be in a state of shock. She could never be left on her own and jumped at any sharp sound that caught her by surprise. However, Tom felt secure for the first time since they had left the farm and felt sure that Maddie would come through the ordeal eventually.
“Pass the spuds, Andy, before this lot eat them all,” laughed Tom.
CHAPTER 25
To say Keelan was pissed off was an understatement. He’d held a knife to Milo’s throat just because the man had taken an extra share of food, and even Salt had been on the receiving end of the giant’s wrath. They’d spent an uncomfortable night in an abandoned house near Stoke Common, where they had finished off the best part of their food and water. An attempt to light a fire had ended up with them being smoked out. The chimney, damaged from one of the blast waves, was blocked, and smoke had billowed back down and quickly filled the lounge with fumes. Resorting to using the damp bedding found in the upstairs of the windowless house, a further uncomfortable night had been spent. Waking up in the early hours shivering, they had agreed to make another early start.
The three men, still with their bicycles, rode through the centre of Stoke Poges, followed by Stoke Green and the eastern outskirts of Slough. Coming across an increasing number of people, around fifty in the area of Slough, all in a sorry state, both Salt and Milo became worried about their personal security. Keelan laughed it off, waving his shotgun and promising to deal with anyone that became a threat. Salt was not so much scared of a fight but more concerned with the competition for resources. At least one of the shops they had rifled turned up trumps however. Although it had been ransacked and half of the building had caved in, Milo’s rat-like nose had sniffed out a full box of cans of lager, hidden beneath the rubble. It wasn’t food, but it quenched their thirst and made the onward journey much more pleasurable.
Salt continued to encourage them to press on, conscious that they were dirty, Keelan still had a head wound, it was getting colder, and their food had all but run out. They crossed the M4, passing Windsor Castle. No flags were flying, and it certainly hadn’t fared well from the nuclear missile that had targeted Heathrow Airport. Salt took them south-east down to Cobham, then east, following the A3 as far as Claygate. Although they’d discussed searching for a car amongst the thousands abandoned along the A3, enabling them to travel the rest of the journey in style, seeing a mobile police patrol changed their minds. At least with the bikes they could be more discreet, and Keelan was finally getting the hang of it and had stopped complaining.
The last nine kilometres were all through built-up areas, and Salt switched from elation at being closer to home ground to depression at the devastation that had been brought down on the city. Groups of survivors were picking their way through the rubble, gutted shops, blocks of flats that were partially standing and any house that looked like it might hold a secret supply of sustenance. All looked ragged, underfed and ill. As they approached Beddington, Salt took them north through Beddington Park, then east, bypassing the sewerage farm and heading to where a new Asda store had once existed. Unsurprisingly, the bulk of the store was badly damaged, but some sections were accessible. Each man took an aisle but found nothing. They all agreed, although pressure from Keelan overruled any objections, to spend the night in the supermarket and strike out for the centre of Croydon the next day. Then, Salt felt sure, they could get organised.
CHAPTER 26
Sergeant William Thompson shifted position as he scanned the rear of the main warehouse with his NVGs. It was clear and quiet, as was Murray Road below him. To his right, two of the soldiers in his section, Bennet and Marsh, the lower half of their bodies in sleeping bags, checked their weapons for the tenth time. Over to the left, Haynes, the third soldier in the section, covered their flank and rear. It was cold on top of the warehouse roof, and when Marsh took over in thirty minutes’ time, he could shuffle deeper into his maggot and warm his ice-cold upper limbs. Bennet and Marsh were nervous, as was he. But, along with the rest of his section, and the entire unit for that matter, he had confidence in their OC and the CSM. It was a good plan, one that deserved to work. He just hoped the hostiles out there would take the bait.
Sergeant Thompson moved slightly deeper into his sleeping bag, feeling the cold creeping up his body. They were located on the other side of the road that ran alongside the main warehouse, sited opposite the open loading bay area at the rear. From this position, he and his men could cover a large access gate, originally for use by the emergency services should there be a fire or other emergency. With his and Marsh’s SA80s and Bennet’s LMG, any attackers would be cut down the minute they approached the building round by the loading bay and loading dock area. He checked his watch and gave Marsh a nudge. It was time for Marsh to call in and for the two soldiers to swap duties. Thirty minutes on stag, and sixty minutes zipped up in the sleeping bags.
“Charlie-One, this is Sierra-One. Radio check. Over.”
“Charlie-One. Five-five.”
“Sierra-One. All quiet.”
“Roger. Out.”
Lance Corporal Bryant cursed as a rivet dug into his knee, and he shuffled further across the fragile roof, ensuring he maintained a position above one of the spans that supported the roof. He leant against one of the roof skylights of the warehouse that was their location for the evening. This was the second night his section had been on top of the warehouse roof, this one situated opposite the entrance to the front gate of the main storage warehouse. Along with his gun group, who manned the general-purpose machine gun (GPMG) loaded and ready, and capable of firing over 600 rounds per minute, he had a perfect view of the main entrance to Warehouse they were tasked with protecting, where a single soldier, as planned, guarded the barrier and mesh gate that controlled access to the front of the main building. From this position, his small section of three men plus himself could also cover Murray Road that ran along side the warehouse as well as the junction with Dykes Way. He looked to his right as he heard one of his men change position. After two nights on top of the composite roof, their arm and leg muscles were starting to feel the strain, especially during daylight hours, what little there was of it, when keeping low and movement to a minimum was necessary.