Post by davidc on Feb 23, 2012 11:01:34 GMT
Here's a sample chapter from the sequel to There Falls No Shadow. It features some characters some of you might recognise 
All comments welcome.
Survivalists
John had pulled into the car park of an out-of-town shopping precinct, to resupply with food and fuel. He was carrying a box of tinned goods back to the Shogun, when he saw a child dash across the road and around the corner of another store.
He looked around for Lindsey but she had wandered off, saying she needed some things from the nearby chemists shop. He had given up worrying about her. She was armed with one of his Browning pistols and had proved more than capable of taking care of herself.
He shoved the box into the back of the vehicle and then sprinted after the boy.
Carefully, he scanned the car park of the DIY warehouse, around which the lad had run, but he was nowhere in sight. Several cars and vans remained in parking slots; he could be hiding in or behind any of them.
None of the vehicles were remarkable. The cars were of all types, most starting to show rust and low tyres after so many months of immobility. Many contained severely decayed bodies. The vans mostly bore the logos and contact details of long dead builders, plumbers or other tradesmen.
But John was sure that the lad was still here somewhere. The sense of being watched, that he had long ago learned not to ignore, was tingling the nerves of his neck. He took a deep breath then called out.
“Hello! My name is John. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m looking for someone. I just want to talk in case you might have seen her.”
He waited but got no reply. For perhaps two or three minutes he simply stood, looking for any sign of movement or a response. Then he sighed.
“Okay. I’m alone and I only want to ask about my friend but I don’t want to scare you. I’ll leave you in peace. Bye!”
He took a final look around, then shrugged and turned to go. Behind him the back door of a high-top Transit van slowly opened. A man in his early forties ducked under the doorframe and stepped down. He moved the rifle he was carrying across his body, holding it ready but pointing to one side, before he called after John’s departing figure. “Don’t turn around. Stay where you are.”
John had been alert for any sound as he retreated, so the call did not take him by surprise. He stopped and did exactly as he had been told.
“What brought you here?” the man asked, his Geordie accent noticeable but not strong.
“I was gathering a few supplies from the supermarket down the road, when I saw the boy go past. I followed him hoping to ask if he’d seen the woman I’m looking for.”
“And you’re on your own?”
John considered carefully before answering. He did not know these people. The boy might or might not have seen Lindsey and told the man, but if he lied and she turned up while he was talking to them it could cause problems.
“I’ve got a friend with me, but they’re off looking for some medical supplies. We arranged to meet back at the vehicle. I was on my own when I saw the lad.”
“Turn around then, but slow and careful like.”
Now John could see that his questioner was a tall, strongly built man. He was smooth shaven and dressed in clean but practical boots, combat trousers, and a dark shirt with a multi-pocketed vest, like a fisherman’s waistcoat, on top. He held a military rifle as though he was comfortable with it, not pointing at John but obviously ready for use if needed.
“What makes you think the lady might be in this area?” the stranger asked.
“I don’t know that she is. I’ve been moving among the settlements to see if anyone has seen her or heard anything about her.”
“And why do you want to find her?”
“We were living together, up near Inverness. Our group had some trouble; a lot of them were killed. I was hurt. She thought I was dead. She ran off on her own. I’ve been trying to find her since I recovered.”
The man frowned. “What’s the woman’s name?”
“Emma, Emma Gordon. I’m John McLean.”
A smile twitched at the corners of the man’s mouth. “We’ve heard about you. We listen in on the shortwave, though we don’t transmit. Come to the van.”
He stepped aside to let John pass. As they approached a group of what John had taken to be tradesmen’s vans, the back door of one near the middle of the line swung open. A slim, dark haired woman who had been behind the door moved back into the van, giving John a glimpse as she went of the .410 pump-action shotgun she was holding.
When John neared the back of the vehicle his eyes widened in surprise. Although outside the paintwork was patchy and decorated with a trade sign, inside the large van had been converted to a tidy, well-organised and comfortable motorhome.
It had no side or rear windows but elevating skylights had been fitted to let in light and provide ventilation. A kitchen unit with cooker, fridge, sink and draining board took up one side of the interior. Immediately inside the door at the other side John could see the base of a portaloo under a curtained partition. Beyond that bunk beds had been folded up and clipped against the vehicle wall. At the front was a seating area and table. Every other available space had been converted to provide storage.
John looked towards the vehicle’s owner and saw the amusement twitching his lips at John’s surprise.
John nodded towards the interior of the van. “Did you do all this yourself?”
“I did. This is my B.O.V. – Bug-Out Vehicle. We used it to get out of the town, to isolate ourselves when the ‘flu’ first started to hit down south. It wasn’t all easy. Even that early we came across roads that were becoming blocked and one area where rioters were setting up barricades and burning cars. But I’d checked out a lot of alternative routes: tow paths by canals, old railway embankments converted to footpaths, pavements and open-plan gardens wide enough to drive through, that sort of thing.
“We can’t take the van everywhere you could go in a Land Rover but it’s surprising how many places it’s possible to drive that most people wouldn’t because it was against the rules. And of course nobody pays too much attention to a battered looking trade van. They didn’t come near us even when they were panicking and looting.
“At first, when we had to, we could hide in plain sight. Eventually we got clear and parked in a disused barn I’d selected as one of our possible retreat locations. We were hidden completely there and it gave us room to move around outside the van. Now we can get back into the towns, we can be near to places we can re-supply from but still be fairly safe if other people do turn up.”
“But you couldn’t have set all this up in a few days!”
The man chortled. “No, I was prepared long before the bug hit. The world was in such a mess I always thought something might happen. I wanted my family to be safe, whatever the problem turned out to be. When the plague came, we were ready.”
John’s face cleared. “You’re a survivalist!”
The man nodded. “Wasn’t such a crazy idea after all, was it?”
Suddenly John stiffened. “So you haven’t had the flu, any of you? I did. I might be carrying it!”
The survivalist seemed unconcerned. “We’ve already had contact with one or two people since the deaths stopped. We stayed isolated for a full month after we last saw anyone alive. We were prepared for at least double that length of time with what we had in the B.O.V. and much longer with supplies from the caches I’d hidden around our home area. Even then it wasn’t until three weeks after we broke quarantine that we met another survivor.
“That first time, we wore surgical masks when we approached but he said he’d already stayed with someone who hadn’t had any symptoms and the other guy wasn’t affected. I wasn’t really surprised. Some diseases, like Diphtheria or typhoid, can remain infectious in carriers but most, including flu variants, don’t.
“From the symptoms I reckon the killer virus was some sort of flu mutation. I suppose there’s still a risk, but I’m confident the strain will have died out or mutated again by now. If it was biological warfare then the diseases are designed not to last long, so that the people who spread it can move in to take over before the victims have time to recover and reorganise. If it was natural then the usual course is for further mutations to get gradually weaker.”
As if to prove his point, the survivalist extended his hand. “I’m Steve Night.” Then he pointed into the van. “This is my wife, Bev, and our son, Thomas Joseph.”
“Your wife and …” John’s throat tightened. Memories flooded back. His stomach clenched and his breath was gone as though the other man had punched him in the solar plexus instead of offering to shake his hand.
John had lost his wife and daughters to the disease. All he had been able to do for them was bury them. Yet here was a man who, before the deaths, would have been dismissed as paranoid. Who would have been ridiculed for wasting his time, money and life preparing for things that might never happen. But he was alive, and he had his whole family still with him. All because he had ignored the mockers and stuck to his beliefs.
John staggered a few paces then leant against the bonnet of a car, his body quaking with a torment of loss, guilt and anger. It was Bev who eventually laid a hand on his shoulder and put a mug of tea on the car bonnet in front of him, then moved away without a word.
Slowly the trembling eased. John picked up the tea, still warm, and sipped the sweet comforting brew while he stared into space and composed himself.
Eventually he returned to the B.O.V. Steve surveyed him calmly. John saw no pity or mockery in the man’s eyes, simply understanding.
“You lost your family?” Steve asked.
“My wife and two daughters. But don’t be too confident of being safe, Steve.” John told him the story of how the rest of the group who had gathered with him and Emma at Knockside had been struck down by a disease, contracted in a body and vermin infested store where they had been looking for a wind turbine.
Steve frowned in thought. “We do take precautions whenever we resupply, up to full bio-hazard suits if it seems necessary, but always masks, gloves and easily decontaminated waterproofs. Now we know about this we’ll be even more careful. Thanks, John. That intel is worth more than a cup of tea. You’re welcome to join us if you want to stay for a meal. You’d be amazed at the things Bev has learned to do with tinned food.”
“Aye, I believe you.” John confirmed. “And it will give me a chance to tell you what else I’ve seen as I’ve been travelling. Some of it might be of use to you. But, you know, Steve, if you and your family survived through isolation there could be others, whole communities even, who did the same.”
“There probably are, if they’re naturally isolated,” Steve agreed. “Perhaps in Australia, Africa, some parts of Asia, or on ships. Some of the survivalist groups in the US were well prepared for this eventuality. But my family did have some advantages. We were prepared and on the watch for disease ever since the SARS outbreak, even though that didn’t come to anything.
“We were part of several loose networks of survivalists in the UK and I had contacts in the US and some other countries. It wasn’t anything organised, we exchanged information, chatted on the Internet, met up occasionally to socialise and trade gear. But it did form a mutual support network. Now things are quieter, we’re going to see if we can contact some of them again.
“One of our most useful people was a doctor who worked at one of the big London hospitals. He alerted us as soon as the first case of this disease was identified in UK and then he was going to get out of the city; to join a survival group he was a member of. I put our isolation plan into action straight away and I know some of the others did too.
“We were very careful with hygiene and as soon as we saw people getting sick in this area we started taking an anti-viral. We stayed isolated throughout and after the spread of the disease. Anybody who survived, other than through natural immunity or because of some treatment they were on, would have to have been as careful as we were, or lucky.
“This disease seems to have remained active and infectious through secondary contact, on surfaces infected people touched or breathed over, for at least a month; much longer than normal flu. I reckon that a lot of people who had been isolated might have avoided the bodies but been caught out by that when they went out to get more food or other supplies.
“You might be right; there might be isolated communities who didn’t have contact with the bug. But if there are, what’s the chance of us finding them or them finding us? If they do, I don’t reckon it will be for a long while.”
John’s face was glum. “We talked to a Texan, on the short wave radio. He told us there’d been two diseases in the US. First the flu and then something like smallpox. Most of the people who survived the first attack died from the second and who knows if that will hang around longer than the flu? Then there are the other diseases, like the one that killed most of our group. Jesus! Isn’t there any end to it? Will it get us all eventually?”
“We’ve simply got to be careful, John. Because we survived so far doesn’t mean we’ve got any guarantees. It won’t be the fittest who survive, it’ll be the best prepared, mentally as well as with the things we gather and the work we do.” Steve snorted. “Lovely old world, isn’t it? But it’s better than the alternative.”
They had been sitting in folding camp chairs at the back of the van while they talked but now John lifted his head, listening.
“Land Rovers.” He said. “At least two of them and coming this way.”
“Your friend?”
“No, there’s just the two of us in one vehicle and that’s a Shogun, it sounds completely different.”
Steve sprang out of his chair, folded it and tossed it into the back of the B.O.V.
“Inside, quick!”
John folded his chair and threw it into the back of the vehicle ahead of him as he clambered in. Steve followed and pulled the door shut behind him. Pushing aside a metal plate that covered a small peep hole in the back door of the van, he moved so that he could see the entrance to the car park.
They heard the Land Rovers changing down gear and moments later two camouflaged military vehicles swung in and parked in front of the DIY store. Both were towing trailers. The front one was almost full of boxes of food the second one appeared empty. Two men got out of the front of each vehicle and two more clambered from the back of the second one.
The man who had been in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle called back to the others. “Geoff, you stay out here with the wagons. Keep your eyes open. Pete, you get all the batteries you can find. Ronnie, you and Dave look for the insecticide and weed killer. Ray and me will look for the tools and other hardware. And be quick; I want to be back at the house in time for supper.”
Whether they were intimidated by their commander or motivated by his mention of supper, the foraging party hurried into the store to carry out their assigned tasks. Geoff, who had been the front seat passenger in the second Land Rover, opened his door, leaned in and emerged with a double-barrelled shotgun. The leader of the party had a pistol holster belted around his waist. If any of the others had been armed they left their guns in the vehicles.
Singly or in pairs they emerged from the shop at intervals, carrying bags or boxes or pushing loaded trolleys, packed their booty into the trailer and then bustled back for more.
John and the others sat in silence, straining to hear the banter coming from the men as they worked. Steve knelt motionless by the door, watching through the peephole. Both he and John had a hand on their rifles and Bev was clutching her shotgun.
Frustrated by his inability to see what was going on, worried about Lindsey and feeling trapped in the confines of the van, John fought in vain to relax while he watched Steve for any sign of alarm. They had been crouched in hiding for twenty minutes when he saw the survivalist stiffen.
Across the car park, Geoff had been wandering around the Land Rovers, keeping watch on the approach roads and general surroundings, as he had been ordered. Without knowing why, he kept returning his gaze to the van in which John and the others were hidden. With a furrowed brow and unconsciously tightening his grip on the shotgun, he started to drift in their direction.
Careful not to make a sound or rock the van, Steve edged his rifle around until he held it ready for use. John followed his lead then tensed his leg muscles in preparation for a fast exit. Bev raised her finger to her lips in a gesture for silence, to Thomas Joseph.
Geoff stopped ten paces away. He glanced back towards the DIY store, as if hoping for the reassurance of having the others outside with him. Dragging his attention back to the van he stood, his head bobbing this way and that, his eyes narrowed, searching to find anything that might account for his nervous attraction to this vehicle. He inhaled deeply, and then took another step forwards.
Steve twisted his head around to look at John. Using only hand signals, he gestured that one armed man was approaching and that, when they moved, he would go straight out of the doors while John should exit, then go right, before preparing to put covering fire down on the Land Rovers and DIY store entrance if needed. John gave him a thumbs-up in confirmation.
Steve reached out to lay his hand on the door handle, while returning his eye to the peephole. The approaching man was now only five short steps away.
Behind Geoff, the doors to the store swung open and all his compatriots emerged with their final loads of salvage.
The leader growled in annoyance as he saw their sentry half way across the car park. “Geoff! Where the hell are you wandering off to? Come on, we’re done. Let’s get out of here!”
Geoff hesitated, stared hard at the Transit one last time, and then shook his head and trotted back to join the others. Within seconds the Land Rovers had circled around and were headed back towards the road.
Steve exhaled hard.
“One of them was coming in our direction,” he explained. If the others hadn’t come out when they did we might have had trouble.”
John’s eyebrows rose. “Any idea what made him suspicious?”
“Not a clue, but I think it’s time we moved on. From what they were saying I don’t think they’ll be back tonight. Although the one who was headed our way might want to satisfy his curiosity.”
“If the van isn’t here when he does come back, he’ll know he was right.” Bev suggested.
Steve smiled. “Yep, but we’ll be long gone by then. I’ll get some paint from in the store; spray over the logo and one of the back doors with another colour, so we’ll look different if we meet them again.”
“Would it matter?” John asked. “They might be okay.”
“They might,” Steve agreed. “Then again they might not. I prefer to make up my own mind about who I want to meet, and for it to be on my terms when we do.”
John gave an amused snort. He felt exactly the same way.
“What for you now, John?”
“On with the search for Emma. I’ll head into the Borders, over towards Galashiels, see what news I can get and expand the number of contacts. I don’t know what else I can do.”
Steve fetched the paint and a couple of other items he wanted and then John watched as the B.O.V. drove out of the car park and away, in the opposite direction to the one the Land Rovers had taken. Now, he thought, he better go and find out what Lindsey had been up to.
He didn’t have to look far. As he turned, she emerged from behind a car outside another shop and, to his surprise, she was holding the AR180 rifle.
“Who’s your new friend?” she asked.
“A survivalist and his family. How long have you been watching?”
“I saw you run after the boy just as I was coming out of the chemist’s. I followed and saw the man come out of the van behind you. I took cover and watched to make sure you were OK. After a while I realised that you were and I was about to show myself but then the Land Rovers arrived. Their sentry seemed to be getting curious about the van and I thought it might all kick off and I’d need more firepower than the Browning, so I fetched the rifle and got in a position where I could give you some covering fire, if you needed it.”
John nodded his approval. “We might have, and you would have given us a major advantage, hitting them with fire from another direction. Thank you, Lindsey” He bent his head and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
Lindsey’s eyes opened wide and then she grinned, whirled around and headed for the Shogun, her bottom wiggling wildly. “Whooohooo!” she yelled.
John closed his eyes and shook his head. What had he done, he wondered? But he too was smiling as he followed her to the vehicle. Unless they encountered anyone else along the way, the Mormon community at Galashiels was his next destination.
All comments welcome.Survivalists
John had pulled into the car park of an out-of-town shopping precinct, to resupply with food and fuel. He was carrying a box of tinned goods back to the Shogun, when he saw a child dash across the road and around the corner of another store.
He looked around for Lindsey but she had wandered off, saying she needed some things from the nearby chemists shop. He had given up worrying about her. She was armed with one of his Browning pistols and had proved more than capable of taking care of herself.
He shoved the box into the back of the vehicle and then sprinted after the boy.
Carefully, he scanned the car park of the DIY warehouse, around which the lad had run, but he was nowhere in sight. Several cars and vans remained in parking slots; he could be hiding in or behind any of them.
None of the vehicles were remarkable. The cars were of all types, most starting to show rust and low tyres after so many months of immobility. Many contained severely decayed bodies. The vans mostly bore the logos and contact details of long dead builders, plumbers or other tradesmen.
But John was sure that the lad was still here somewhere. The sense of being watched, that he had long ago learned not to ignore, was tingling the nerves of his neck. He took a deep breath then called out.
“Hello! My name is John. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m looking for someone. I just want to talk in case you might have seen her.”
He waited but got no reply. For perhaps two or three minutes he simply stood, looking for any sign of movement or a response. Then he sighed.
“Okay. I’m alone and I only want to ask about my friend but I don’t want to scare you. I’ll leave you in peace. Bye!”
He took a final look around, then shrugged and turned to go. Behind him the back door of a high-top Transit van slowly opened. A man in his early forties ducked under the doorframe and stepped down. He moved the rifle he was carrying across his body, holding it ready but pointing to one side, before he called after John’s departing figure. “Don’t turn around. Stay where you are.”
John had been alert for any sound as he retreated, so the call did not take him by surprise. He stopped and did exactly as he had been told.
“What brought you here?” the man asked, his Geordie accent noticeable but not strong.
“I was gathering a few supplies from the supermarket down the road, when I saw the boy go past. I followed him hoping to ask if he’d seen the woman I’m looking for.”
“And you’re on your own?”
John considered carefully before answering. He did not know these people. The boy might or might not have seen Lindsey and told the man, but if he lied and she turned up while he was talking to them it could cause problems.
“I’ve got a friend with me, but they’re off looking for some medical supplies. We arranged to meet back at the vehicle. I was on my own when I saw the lad.”
“Turn around then, but slow and careful like.”
Now John could see that his questioner was a tall, strongly built man. He was smooth shaven and dressed in clean but practical boots, combat trousers, and a dark shirt with a multi-pocketed vest, like a fisherman’s waistcoat, on top. He held a military rifle as though he was comfortable with it, not pointing at John but obviously ready for use if needed.
“What makes you think the lady might be in this area?” the stranger asked.
“I don’t know that she is. I’ve been moving among the settlements to see if anyone has seen her or heard anything about her.”
“And why do you want to find her?”
“We were living together, up near Inverness. Our group had some trouble; a lot of them were killed. I was hurt. She thought I was dead. She ran off on her own. I’ve been trying to find her since I recovered.”
The man frowned. “What’s the woman’s name?”
“Emma, Emma Gordon. I’m John McLean.”
A smile twitched at the corners of the man’s mouth. “We’ve heard about you. We listen in on the shortwave, though we don’t transmit. Come to the van.”
He stepped aside to let John pass. As they approached a group of what John had taken to be tradesmen’s vans, the back door of one near the middle of the line swung open. A slim, dark haired woman who had been behind the door moved back into the van, giving John a glimpse as she went of the .410 pump-action shotgun she was holding.
When John neared the back of the vehicle his eyes widened in surprise. Although outside the paintwork was patchy and decorated with a trade sign, inside the large van had been converted to a tidy, well-organised and comfortable motorhome.
It had no side or rear windows but elevating skylights had been fitted to let in light and provide ventilation. A kitchen unit with cooker, fridge, sink and draining board took up one side of the interior. Immediately inside the door at the other side John could see the base of a portaloo under a curtained partition. Beyond that bunk beds had been folded up and clipped against the vehicle wall. At the front was a seating area and table. Every other available space had been converted to provide storage.
John looked towards the vehicle’s owner and saw the amusement twitching his lips at John’s surprise.
John nodded towards the interior of the van. “Did you do all this yourself?”
“I did. This is my B.O.V. – Bug-Out Vehicle. We used it to get out of the town, to isolate ourselves when the ‘flu’ first started to hit down south. It wasn’t all easy. Even that early we came across roads that were becoming blocked and one area where rioters were setting up barricades and burning cars. But I’d checked out a lot of alternative routes: tow paths by canals, old railway embankments converted to footpaths, pavements and open-plan gardens wide enough to drive through, that sort of thing.
“We can’t take the van everywhere you could go in a Land Rover but it’s surprising how many places it’s possible to drive that most people wouldn’t because it was against the rules. And of course nobody pays too much attention to a battered looking trade van. They didn’t come near us even when they were panicking and looting.
“At first, when we had to, we could hide in plain sight. Eventually we got clear and parked in a disused barn I’d selected as one of our possible retreat locations. We were hidden completely there and it gave us room to move around outside the van. Now we can get back into the towns, we can be near to places we can re-supply from but still be fairly safe if other people do turn up.”
“But you couldn’t have set all this up in a few days!”
The man chortled. “No, I was prepared long before the bug hit. The world was in such a mess I always thought something might happen. I wanted my family to be safe, whatever the problem turned out to be. When the plague came, we were ready.”
John’s face cleared. “You’re a survivalist!”
The man nodded. “Wasn’t such a crazy idea after all, was it?”
Suddenly John stiffened. “So you haven’t had the flu, any of you? I did. I might be carrying it!”
The survivalist seemed unconcerned. “We’ve already had contact with one or two people since the deaths stopped. We stayed isolated for a full month after we last saw anyone alive. We were prepared for at least double that length of time with what we had in the B.O.V. and much longer with supplies from the caches I’d hidden around our home area. Even then it wasn’t until three weeks after we broke quarantine that we met another survivor.
“That first time, we wore surgical masks when we approached but he said he’d already stayed with someone who hadn’t had any symptoms and the other guy wasn’t affected. I wasn’t really surprised. Some diseases, like Diphtheria or typhoid, can remain infectious in carriers but most, including flu variants, don’t.
“From the symptoms I reckon the killer virus was some sort of flu mutation. I suppose there’s still a risk, but I’m confident the strain will have died out or mutated again by now. If it was biological warfare then the diseases are designed not to last long, so that the people who spread it can move in to take over before the victims have time to recover and reorganise. If it was natural then the usual course is for further mutations to get gradually weaker.”
As if to prove his point, the survivalist extended his hand. “I’m Steve Night.” Then he pointed into the van. “This is my wife, Bev, and our son, Thomas Joseph.”
“Your wife and …” John’s throat tightened. Memories flooded back. His stomach clenched and his breath was gone as though the other man had punched him in the solar plexus instead of offering to shake his hand.
John had lost his wife and daughters to the disease. All he had been able to do for them was bury them. Yet here was a man who, before the deaths, would have been dismissed as paranoid. Who would have been ridiculed for wasting his time, money and life preparing for things that might never happen. But he was alive, and he had his whole family still with him. All because he had ignored the mockers and stuck to his beliefs.
John staggered a few paces then leant against the bonnet of a car, his body quaking with a torment of loss, guilt and anger. It was Bev who eventually laid a hand on his shoulder and put a mug of tea on the car bonnet in front of him, then moved away without a word.
Slowly the trembling eased. John picked up the tea, still warm, and sipped the sweet comforting brew while he stared into space and composed himself.
Eventually he returned to the B.O.V. Steve surveyed him calmly. John saw no pity or mockery in the man’s eyes, simply understanding.
“You lost your family?” Steve asked.
“My wife and two daughters. But don’t be too confident of being safe, Steve.” John told him the story of how the rest of the group who had gathered with him and Emma at Knockside had been struck down by a disease, contracted in a body and vermin infested store where they had been looking for a wind turbine.
Steve frowned in thought. “We do take precautions whenever we resupply, up to full bio-hazard suits if it seems necessary, but always masks, gloves and easily decontaminated waterproofs. Now we know about this we’ll be even more careful. Thanks, John. That intel is worth more than a cup of tea. You’re welcome to join us if you want to stay for a meal. You’d be amazed at the things Bev has learned to do with tinned food.”
“Aye, I believe you.” John confirmed. “And it will give me a chance to tell you what else I’ve seen as I’ve been travelling. Some of it might be of use to you. But, you know, Steve, if you and your family survived through isolation there could be others, whole communities even, who did the same.”
“There probably are, if they’re naturally isolated,” Steve agreed. “Perhaps in Australia, Africa, some parts of Asia, or on ships. Some of the survivalist groups in the US were well prepared for this eventuality. But my family did have some advantages. We were prepared and on the watch for disease ever since the SARS outbreak, even though that didn’t come to anything.
“We were part of several loose networks of survivalists in the UK and I had contacts in the US and some other countries. It wasn’t anything organised, we exchanged information, chatted on the Internet, met up occasionally to socialise and trade gear. But it did form a mutual support network. Now things are quieter, we’re going to see if we can contact some of them again.
“One of our most useful people was a doctor who worked at one of the big London hospitals. He alerted us as soon as the first case of this disease was identified in UK and then he was going to get out of the city; to join a survival group he was a member of. I put our isolation plan into action straight away and I know some of the others did too.
“We were very careful with hygiene and as soon as we saw people getting sick in this area we started taking an anti-viral. We stayed isolated throughout and after the spread of the disease. Anybody who survived, other than through natural immunity or because of some treatment they were on, would have to have been as careful as we were, or lucky.
“This disease seems to have remained active and infectious through secondary contact, on surfaces infected people touched or breathed over, for at least a month; much longer than normal flu. I reckon that a lot of people who had been isolated might have avoided the bodies but been caught out by that when they went out to get more food or other supplies.
“You might be right; there might be isolated communities who didn’t have contact with the bug. But if there are, what’s the chance of us finding them or them finding us? If they do, I don’t reckon it will be for a long while.”
John’s face was glum. “We talked to a Texan, on the short wave radio. He told us there’d been two diseases in the US. First the flu and then something like smallpox. Most of the people who survived the first attack died from the second and who knows if that will hang around longer than the flu? Then there are the other diseases, like the one that killed most of our group. Jesus! Isn’t there any end to it? Will it get us all eventually?”
“We’ve simply got to be careful, John. Because we survived so far doesn’t mean we’ve got any guarantees. It won’t be the fittest who survive, it’ll be the best prepared, mentally as well as with the things we gather and the work we do.” Steve snorted. “Lovely old world, isn’t it? But it’s better than the alternative.”
They had been sitting in folding camp chairs at the back of the van while they talked but now John lifted his head, listening.
“Land Rovers.” He said. “At least two of them and coming this way.”
“Your friend?”
“No, there’s just the two of us in one vehicle and that’s a Shogun, it sounds completely different.”
Steve sprang out of his chair, folded it and tossed it into the back of the B.O.V.
“Inside, quick!”
John folded his chair and threw it into the back of the vehicle ahead of him as he clambered in. Steve followed and pulled the door shut behind him. Pushing aside a metal plate that covered a small peep hole in the back door of the van, he moved so that he could see the entrance to the car park.
They heard the Land Rovers changing down gear and moments later two camouflaged military vehicles swung in and parked in front of the DIY store. Both were towing trailers. The front one was almost full of boxes of food the second one appeared empty. Two men got out of the front of each vehicle and two more clambered from the back of the second one.
The man who had been in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle called back to the others. “Geoff, you stay out here with the wagons. Keep your eyes open. Pete, you get all the batteries you can find. Ronnie, you and Dave look for the insecticide and weed killer. Ray and me will look for the tools and other hardware. And be quick; I want to be back at the house in time for supper.”
Whether they were intimidated by their commander or motivated by his mention of supper, the foraging party hurried into the store to carry out their assigned tasks. Geoff, who had been the front seat passenger in the second Land Rover, opened his door, leaned in and emerged with a double-barrelled shotgun. The leader of the party had a pistol holster belted around his waist. If any of the others had been armed they left their guns in the vehicles.
Singly or in pairs they emerged from the shop at intervals, carrying bags or boxes or pushing loaded trolleys, packed their booty into the trailer and then bustled back for more.
John and the others sat in silence, straining to hear the banter coming from the men as they worked. Steve knelt motionless by the door, watching through the peephole. Both he and John had a hand on their rifles and Bev was clutching her shotgun.
Frustrated by his inability to see what was going on, worried about Lindsey and feeling trapped in the confines of the van, John fought in vain to relax while he watched Steve for any sign of alarm. They had been crouched in hiding for twenty minutes when he saw the survivalist stiffen.
Across the car park, Geoff had been wandering around the Land Rovers, keeping watch on the approach roads and general surroundings, as he had been ordered. Without knowing why, he kept returning his gaze to the van in which John and the others were hidden. With a furrowed brow and unconsciously tightening his grip on the shotgun, he started to drift in their direction.
Careful not to make a sound or rock the van, Steve edged his rifle around until he held it ready for use. John followed his lead then tensed his leg muscles in preparation for a fast exit. Bev raised her finger to her lips in a gesture for silence, to Thomas Joseph.
Geoff stopped ten paces away. He glanced back towards the DIY store, as if hoping for the reassurance of having the others outside with him. Dragging his attention back to the van he stood, his head bobbing this way and that, his eyes narrowed, searching to find anything that might account for his nervous attraction to this vehicle. He inhaled deeply, and then took another step forwards.
Steve twisted his head around to look at John. Using only hand signals, he gestured that one armed man was approaching and that, when they moved, he would go straight out of the doors while John should exit, then go right, before preparing to put covering fire down on the Land Rovers and DIY store entrance if needed. John gave him a thumbs-up in confirmation.
Steve reached out to lay his hand on the door handle, while returning his eye to the peephole. The approaching man was now only five short steps away.
Behind Geoff, the doors to the store swung open and all his compatriots emerged with their final loads of salvage.
The leader growled in annoyance as he saw their sentry half way across the car park. “Geoff! Where the hell are you wandering off to? Come on, we’re done. Let’s get out of here!”
Geoff hesitated, stared hard at the Transit one last time, and then shook his head and trotted back to join the others. Within seconds the Land Rovers had circled around and were headed back towards the road.
Steve exhaled hard.
“One of them was coming in our direction,” he explained. If the others hadn’t come out when they did we might have had trouble.”
John’s eyebrows rose. “Any idea what made him suspicious?”
“Not a clue, but I think it’s time we moved on. From what they were saying I don’t think they’ll be back tonight. Although the one who was headed our way might want to satisfy his curiosity.”
“If the van isn’t here when he does come back, he’ll know he was right.” Bev suggested.
Steve smiled. “Yep, but we’ll be long gone by then. I’ll get some paint from in the store; spray over the logo and one of the back doors with another colour, so we’ll look different if we meet them again.”
“Would it matter?” John asked. “They might be okay.”
“They might,” Steve agreed. “Then again they might not. I prefer to make up my own mind about who I want to meet, and for it to be on my terms when we do.”
John gave an amused snort. He felt exactly the same way.
“What for you now, John?”
“On with the search for Emma. I’ll head into the Borders, over towards Galashiels, see what news I can get and expand the number of contacts. I don’t know what else I can do.”
Steve fetched the paint and a couple of other items he wanted and then John watched as the B.O.V. drove out of the car park and away, in the opposite direction to the one the Land Rovers had taken. Now, he thought, he better go and find out what Lindsey had been up to.
He didn’t have to look far. As he turned, she emerged from behind a car outside another shop and, to his surprise, she was holding the AR180 rifle.
“Who’s your new friend?” she asked.
“A survivalist and his family. How long have you been watching?”
“I saw you run after the boy just as I was coming out of the chemist’s. I followed and saw the man come out of the van behind you. I took cover and watched to make sure you were OK. After a while I realised that you were and I was about to show myself but then the Land Rovers arrived. Their sentry seemed to be getting curious about the van and I thought it might all kick off and I’d need more firepower than the Browning, so I fetched the rifle and got in a position where I could give you some covering fire, if you needed it.”
John nodded his approval. “We might have, and you would have given us a major advantage, hitting them with fire from another direction. Thank you, Lindsey” He bent his head and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
Lindsey’s eyes opened wide and then she grinned, whirled around and headed for the Shogun, her bottom wiggling wildly. “Whooohooo!” she yelled.
John closed his eyes and shook his head. What had he done, he wondered? But he too was smiling as he followed her to the vehicle. Unless they encountered anyone else along the way, the Mormon community at Galashiels was his next destination.
