Waiting For a Train That Never Comes

by J A Henderson Henderson

  “No point in turning back now.” Mary sank down beside him and took off her bag. “And I’m dumping this rucksack. There’s nothing much in it except my cross, which obviously has no effect on you.”

  “You back on this possession crap again?”

  “What am I supposed to think?” Mary snapped, too beaten to be afraid. “You almost killed your own son.”

  “Stop it, will you?” Gordon snapped. “Where’s he gone anyway?”

  Bobby came running past, his head down and a determined expression on his face.

  “What are you doing?” his father called.

  The teenager sprinted across the square towards the grocery store on the corner, speeding up as he reached the building. Mary clapped her hands to her face.

  Bobby hit the shop door with his shoulder and it burst open with a sickening crunch. He vanished into the dark interior, yelping in pain. Gordon jumped to his feet and looked around in panic.

  “What the bloody hell is he playing at?”

  Bobby appeared triumphantly in the doorway, holding his arm.

  “That was sore!” he grinned through clenched teeth. “Worth it though. Now, who wants a sandwich and a Coke? Lunch is on me.”

  Baba Rana had jettisoned her own rucksack miles back. Then her heavy coat. The ribbon that held her hair in place was coming loose and wisps of white hair were stuck to her lined, perspiring face.

  Like Mary, Gordon and Bobby, she had passed village after village, all bereft of people. It all seemed so familiar. The empty houses. Deserted towns.

  She was approaching the village square in Balmerino when she heard raised voices and a crash. She quickly turned into a side road and avoided the town centre. Something, some buried memory, made her shy away from any loud noises.

  Baba Rana desperately wanted to rest but knew she was running out of time. A half hour away was the Tay Rail Bridge and, two miles beyond that, the Road Bridge. It had a pedestrian walkway. That was where her granddaughter would have to cross if she wanted to reach Dundee.

  She pulled her cigarette pack from her pocket, but it was empty. Rubbing red rimmed eyes, the old woman threw the packet away and left Balmerino, heading east.

  -41-

  WPC Arnold sprawled across two chairs, drifting in and out of sleep. Her cap had fallen on to the floor and her blonde hair was spread across her face in a disordered veil.

  She felt a nudge in her side and opened her eyes. A polystyrene cup hung in front of her face. The man who had spoken to her in the operations room was crouched beside the chairs, a coffee in each hand. His suit was wrinkled, his tie squint and his eyes bleary. Behind him stood a pilot in a green flight suit.

  “You’ll have to wake up,” the man said. “The command centre is relocating to Newburgh, farther inland. The police have orders to head west to safety and let the army deal with the last of the civilian evacuations.”

  WPC Arnold sat up and gratefully accepted the cup. She yawned, stretched and took a slurp of the black liquid. The man rose to leave.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Ashley Gosh”

  “May I ask you a question, Mr Gosh?”

  “Call me Ashley.”

  “What evacuation?”

  “I assumed you had been briefed.” Ashley looked surprised.

  “Briefed? I’ve hardly been tolerated.”

  “The stuff that’s burning is Methane. Natural Gas. First warning we got that there was a huge release in the North Sea was when ships began sinking.”

  “Sinking?”

  “Methane gas smells like sulphur and is incredibly flammable. It’s also much lighter than water. Any boat passing over an underwater deposit suddenly has nothing to float on. It goes straight down.” Ashley Gosh fanned his coffee with a trembling hand.

  “Then a whole oil rig vanished. That’s when we knew the Methane escape had to be gigantic”

  “And now it’s been ignited?”

  “Yup. Probably struck by lightning. And we have reliable evidence that this release of burning gas will destabilise an underwater mountain range in the Norway Sea, called Storegga. Cause it to collapse. Which will generate a tidal wave.”

  “Wait. Generate a what?”

  “A tidal wave. A Tsunami. One that will head towards the east coast of Scotland.”

  As a policewoman, WPC Arnold’s first instinct was to gather as much information as possible.

  “How big a tidal wave?”

  “We don’t know for sure. The last time Storegga slid was several thousand years ago, but we can tell the size of that tsunami by the alluvial deposits it left behind.”

  WPC Arnold waited.

  “It was ninety feet high when it hit the Scottish coast.”

  The policewoman blanched.

  “Of course, there were very few people living there at that time. But now there are three major cities in the way - Edinburgh, Aberdeen and Dundee. Hence the evacuation.”

  “I’m not an expert in geology.” The policewoman put down the cup and stretched her back. “But I’ve heard about this before.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I used to sit in the pub with your friend and mine, Gordon Berlin. When he got drunk he talked about that sort of thing. Seemed very knowledgeable on the subject. Of course I didn’t think much about it at the time.” She squinted at him. “I do now.”

  She rubbed her tired eyes.

  “There’s got to be some way I can help him and those poor kids.”

  Ashley Gosh glanced up and down the corridor. People were hurrying back and forwards but nobody was paying much attention to them.

  “Jensen.” He turned to the man in the flight suit. “Could you fetch us some coffee?”

  “You have one in your hand,” the man replied, staring ahead.

  “Then get one for my other hand.”

  Jensen pursed his lips and marched off down the corridor. Ashley leaned in close.

  “You have the beat on the Fife coast?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ve got a house there.” Ashley slid down, his back against the wall. “I used to run the Ethylene plant near Inverkeithing for Secron Oil. I was very ambitious in those days.”

  WPC Arnold couldn’t see what that had to do with anything, but she let the man talk. As a policewoman, she instinctively knew when a person wanted to get something off their chest.

  “It was a mess when I took over. Poor production levels and couldn’t compete. I turned it around.”

  WPC Arnold would have expected most men to take pride in that statement. But Gosh sounded sickened.

  “I fired slackers. Worked others to the bone. Cut corners. Did so well, Secron promoted me to head a new venture called the Lazarus Project.”

  “Go on.”

  “A few years ago, Secron’s exploration teams discovered massive underwater deposits of Methane Hydrate – frozen gas, if you like – under the sea bed. In the area of the Norway Sea known as Ormen Lange. The Lazarus Project was an attempt to revitalize the depleted gas reserves in the North Sea by developing technology that would let us get at those enormous frozen gas fields.”

  WPC Arnold leaned forward, listening intently.

  “But there was a problem. Ormen Lange is very close to the edge of the Storegga underwater mountain range. One or two environmental groups were worried that drilling there might cause that underwater shelf to destabilise.”

  “Don’t tell me you went ahead?”

  “Our experts did exhaustive research into that possibility and assured us it couldn’t happen.” Ashley took a sip of his own coffee, the steam hiding his eyes. “Drilling commenced a couple of months ago.”

  “Your experts.”

  “Yeah. They weren’t exactly impartial considering the amount we were paying them. They told us exactly what we wanted to hear.”

  Ashley loosened his tie and scratched his chest.

  “There was only one dissenter. The man we originally hired to do the asse
ssment was a marine geologist working for Secron on the drilling rig itself. His name was Gordon Berlin.”

  WPC Arnold closed her eyes.

  “He predicted a scenario that just seemed too farfetched to be plausible. He claimed drilling would cause large chunks of the frozen Methane Hydrate under the area of Orman Lange to break up and melt. According to his calculations, if this Methane were to ignite, the pressure change would trigger another slide on the Storegga fault. He was certain this slide would occur within twenty four hours of any conflagration.”

  “And nobody listened to him?” WPC Arnold spat incredulously.

  “Nobody got the chance.” Ashley said miserably. “Secron discovered that Mr Berlin had been diagnosed with a condition known as Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Thought he was smarter than everyone else. Couldn’t accept the possibility that he might be wrong. So we used it against him.”

  Ashley Gosh sipped his coffee, squinting through the steam.

  “It was the end of him. His credibility was gone. Then his very detailed notes were conveniently… lost.”

  “Problem being, he was right.”

  “He was a lone voice and, considering his past, Secron made him a very generous offer. If he resigned and promised not to discuss his theory, he would be offered a large cash settlement. He wasn’t a stupid man and knew the alternative – that he’d be fired and have his medical history, eh…accidentally leaked to the press. Not much of a choice for a man who had just discovered his ex-wife was dead and he had a son to look after.”

  “Jeez! Knowing what he knew, I’m surprised he didn’t go off the deep end sooner!”

  “Know the ironic part?” Gosh sipped his coffee. “When things started going wrong, Secron wanted him silenced permanently. So they could claim they had no idea what their drilling might unleash.”

  “I take it they’d no idea about his memory loss.”

  “No. And neither did I.” Ashley gave a dry laugh. “So I tried to warn him. Went to his house on Saturday night. But I guess I only made things worse.”

  He shrugged.

  “Turns out it wasn’t Gordon Secron had to worry about. I kept his reports instead of destroying them and I’ve just handed the lot over to the authorities. I’m no angel but I’ll not help those bastards cover their asses this time.”

  “Have you any idea where Gordon is now?”

  “No. But not for want of trying,” Gosh said wearily. “He was spotted by an army unit in north Fife, but got away from them.”

  “Not that it matters if he doesn’t even recall who he is.”

  “I agree.” Ashley let his head drop. “And he had those kids with him, like you warned. He’s obviously still heading for Dundee but the army are evacuating whole cities, Constable. They haven’t got the manpower to search for three individuals.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “There’s not much we can do about it.”

  “Oh yeah? Well I haven’t given up trying and I’m obviously not needed here.” WPC Arnold snatched up her hat and put it on. “He’s my friend. I know his son.”

  “All the roads are clogged. You wouldn’t even get close.”

  “Then I’ll damned well walk. He and the children are doing it.” The policewoman struggled to her feet, massaging her legs. “He deserves that, at least.”

  “Wait… wait.” Ashley stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. “Secron don’t know I’ve betrayed them yet, so… eh…I have one of their private helicopters on standby, waiting for me to pick up a consignment and fly it to safety.”

  “How very nice for you.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” The man spotted the Chief Inspector approaching down the corridor. Behind him was Jensen, carrying two cups of coffee

  “Excuse me? Inspector?”

  “What is it?” The man could barely conceal his distaste at having to talk to a Secron executive.

  “If my chopper took WPC Arnold to Wormit police station near the Tay Bridge? Could you have a police car fuelled up and waiting for her?”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “She wants a last chance to look for Gordon Berlin. If you agree, you can keep my copter to help with the evacuation after you’ve dropped her off.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but you can’t do that.” Jensen broke in, still holding the steaming cup. “It’s not your chopper. It’s the property of Secron Oil.”

  “Which has been placed at my disposal.”

  “With all due respect, sir.” Jensen sounded anything but respectful. “We are to pick up an important cargo at Newburgh and move it to safety.”

  “There’s been a change of plan.”

  “I received these orders directly from the Chairwoman herself,” Jensen insisted.

  “I’m here. She’s not and you’re fired.” Ashley Gosh raised an eyebrow at the Chief Inspector. “Do we have a deal?”

  “And you want to go?” The Chief Inspector asked WPC Arnold.

  “I’ll get out at the first sign of trouble.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” Jensen threw the coffee in the bin and unclipped a satellite phone from his belt. “I need to talk to my boss.”

  “You keep quiet, before I throw you in a cell for obstructing the police.” The Chief Inspector pulled the device out of Jensen’s hand and smashed it against the wall. “A cell that may well be underwater in a few hours.”

  He turned to Ashley Gosh.

  “I appreciate you telling us about Gordon Berlin’s research,” he said. “But you know this doesn’t let you off the hook.”

  “Of course.”

  The inspector nodded and turned to WPC Arnold.

  “Be ready in ten minutes Constable. I’ll find you a different pilot.” He carried on up the corridor, with Jensen following, still protesting. Ashley Gosh got up to leave.

  “Mr Gosh.” WPC tilted her cap back. “How did Secron Oil know about Gordon Berlin’s medical problem? That kind of information is confidential and I’m sure he didn’t advertise the fact.”

  “You’re very good at what you do, aren’t you?” Ashley permitted himself a small smile. “As I said. I live near the Ethylene Plant. It’s a pretty close knit community in that area and I got to know the people there. Including a woman named Alison Berlin. We became friends.”

  His mouth turned down at the corners.

  “One night, over a few drinks, I asked why her husband had left and she told me about his… condition”

  “So you informed your bosses at Secron Oil.”

  “I did.”

  WPC Arnold pushed blonde locks away from her face.

  “When this is over, you know I’ll have to come after you.”

  “I won’t be very hard to find.” Ashley took off his jacket and slung it resignedly over his shoulder.

  “I’m going home.”

  -42-

  The North Sea. 30 miles off the coast of Scotland

  Eddie Hall sat on the deck of the Lillian Gish playing his tin whistle. He was still astonished by the clarity and serenity of its timbre, but even the lilting sound couldn’t lift his spirits. The sun was beginning to rise, washing away the sickly glow that had flickered faintly behind them through the hours of darkness.

  Eddie hadn’t slept for most of the night. If he was honest with himself, he’d been too afraid. Instead he had sat in the wheelhouse with the earpiece of the communication tube on the navigation table beside him. He could hear the sporadic clink of bottle on glass coming from the Captain’s cabin as the Skipper drank himself into a stupor.

  Then Eddie had lashed the wheel, gone below deck, found Lasse Salvesson’s private trunk and searched through it. The First Mate, he knew, owned a little wireless on which he listened to Norwegian radio when the Lillian Gish was at sea. Eddie had found it, crept up on deck and tuned into the shipping channel.

  Something was wrong. He felt it in his soul.

  And something was very wrong.

  WPC Arnold stood in the car park of W
ormit Police Station, just out of range of the whipping wind created by the rotating blades of the helicopter. On either side the twin ribbons of the Tay road and rail bridges stretched across the river to Dundee.

  The Chief Inspector shook her hand, the bottom of his jacket flapping back and forward.

  “Everyone else is gone, but there’s one police car out back with a tank full of petrol,” he shouted. “Dundee has been evacuated and so has the south bank of the Tay, all the way up to Newburgh. There’s two platoons of soldiers left in the city to make sure there are no looters, but they’ll be leaving on troop trains soon.”

  “Thank you, sir, I’ll take it from here,” WPC Arnold yelled back.

  “Have this.” He handed her a field radio. “I’ll get someone to call you if a slide begins at Storegga. A tidal wave can travel at 500 miles an hour, you know.” He tapped his watch to emphasise the point he was making. “When that happens it will only take ninety minutes before it hits this area.”

  “I understand.” WPC Arnold glanced around, impatient to begin her search.

  “I mean it!” Chief Inspector Montgomery bent low so that his words wouldn’t be lost in the deafening whirr of rotor blades. “The two troop trains still in Dundee will carry the last of the soldiers out. When you see them crossing the rail bridge you’ll know you’ve run out of time. All the roads in this area are empty now, so get in the car and drive like hell.”

  He gripped the woman by the shoulder.

  “Good luck Constable… eh…. just what is your first name?”

  “Joanne, Sir.”

  “Joanne.” The Chief Inspector shook her hand. “I’ll have that put on your medal for bravery. When we next meet, I hope to be pinning it on you.”

  “Let’s just hope you don’t end up putting it on my tombstone.”

  Captain Morrison came on deck, eyes bleary, hair and beard matted. He sniffed the air and was seized by a fit of coughing that doubled him over. He shook his hoary head like a bear coming out of hibernation, spat a wad of phlegm onto the deck and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his greatcoat.

  “What’s our position and heading, sailor?”