“Okay, I’ll be back in a bit.”
Maria took off her headset and put it on her seat. She patted Jeff on the shoulder as she made her way to the rear of the plane. Dafydd was screwed up into a ball in his seat behind Amy, who was sat looking out the window. Maria sat in the seat beside Amy, and buckled her belt.
“Hey, love, how you holding up?”
Amy turned to face Maria, her eyes wet. “I miss my mam.”
“Aww, sweetie, I know you do. I miss my mam, too.”
“How did you lose yours, then?” Amy asked.
“Because of what’s happened.”
Dafydd moved into a sitting position behind – Maria knew her plan was working, that going directly to the boy and talking to him would not work – she needed to earn his trust.
“Aw, I see.”
“I never had a sister like you though,” Maria said. “I always wanted one.”
“We could be sisters now,” Amy said, a half smile on her lips.
“I’d like that very much,” Maria said.
“Will it take us days to get to Scotland?” Amy asked.
Maria smiled, “No, sweetie, not that long. About forty to fifty minutes.”
“Aw, cool.”
“Can you see much down there?” Maria asked, looking out the window.
“Not really, everything is too far away, like.”
“Where are we going to go when we get to Scotland, Maria?”
“Jeff has a sister there, who lives on a farm miles from big cities and towns.”
“Does she have animals?”
Maria smiled, “I don’t think she does, love.”
“That’s a shame, I love horses.”
Maria leant over to Amy, and held her hand. “Me too.”
The plane dipped viciously then rattled. Amy squealed, and Dafydd gripped hold of the arms on his seat.
“What’s going on, Jeff?” Maria called.
“Little bit of turbulence. Can you come and join me up front for a little while, please? Just until we get past it.”
Maria slipped out of her seatbelt and headed back to the cockpit. She used the seats and walls of the plane to help her, as the force of the rocking was threatening to knock her off her feet. Once back at Jeff’s side, she slid into her seat and replaced the headset.
“What can I do?”
“Just hold the steering as steady and solid as you can, because when we hit another air pocket the controls can slip out of your grasp.”
“Okay,” Maria said, concentrating.
Jeff swept his eyes over the gages and dials to make sure everything was in order. Another air pocket dragged the plane down, causing Jeff and Maria to leave their seats slightly.
“It’s okay,” Jeff said. “There’s no need to panic. The skies ahead look clear. Another few moments and we should be out of this.” The plane bounced again, just as violently, and again and again, receding into calmer jolts each time until nothing. “That’s it,” Jeff said. “All over with. You can go back to the others now, if you want, Maria.”
“I’ll stay for a little while, just in case we hit some more.”
“Well, you can if you want, but I really don’t think we are in danger of any more turbulence.”
“How far off Scotland are we?”
“I’d say another twenty to twenty-five minutes before we land.”
“Have you tried your sister on the CB yet?”
“No, not yet. I’ll give it another ten minutes or so. I’m going to have to take us down a good few feet to make sure I can get a decent reception.”
“I see. Have you tried any of the radio bands?”
“Yes, nothing but dead air out there for miles around us. It’s creepy, you know. It’s like we are the last four left in Britain.” That thought made goose pimples engulf Jeff’s flesh, and shrink his scrotum, as his words bounced off the walls around his brain – the last four left in Britain! And why stop there? Has it started wiping out Europe? This could be it, the human race over with as we know it.
“Jeff?”
“Sorry, I was lost in my own little world then. What did you say?”
“Will we be able to land somewhere close to your sister’s house?”
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts. “Yes, we can land in a field right behind her house. She has acres of land.”
“No close neighbours?”
“Not really, no. Closest one has to be at least half-a-mile away.”
“Bloody hell, no wonder you knew your sister would be okay. It’s a hell of a plan you had worked out.”
“Yeah, well. I just hope it all goes to plan. How are they back there?”
“I sat with Amy and spoke with her – she’s pretty upset about her mother.”
“Did you speak with Dafydd?”
“No, not yet. I was hoping my chat with Amy would bring him around to speaking to me.”
“Didn’t work?”
“It was starting to, but then we had all that turbulence. I’ll go back and have another go. You seem to be okay up here.”
Maria got back into the seat beside Amy, and smiled at her.
“Did Jeff tell you how far from Scotland we are?” Amy asked.
“About twenty minutes,” Maria told Amy. “Would you two like something to drink?”
“Yes please,” Amy said.
Dafydd nodded.
“What would you like? I took some pop out of the bags. I think we have coke, would you both like coke?”
Amy nodded, so did Dafydd.
Maria got up, and took a bottle down from the overhead rack above her. She uncapped the bottle, and took a swig. She offered the pop to Amy, who also had a large drink.
“Would you like some, Dafydd?” Amy said.
“Yes,” he said sharply, a scowl on his face.
“Here you go then,” Amy said, and passed him the coke. Amy and Maria watched as Dafydd drank from the bottle with long gulps; emptying more than half the contents before stopping for breath, and belching. Amy giggled, “Ugh, what a piggy.”
The teen looked at her coldly, before smiling. “Got anything to eat, then?” he asked. “I’m bloody starving, I am.”
“Only in the hold of the plane, I’m sorry,” Maria said. “Shouldn’t be long before we land though, and then I can get you something.”
The boy looked very unclean – grubby. His face was black, as though he’d been down a mine; his hair long, and unkempt; his fingernails long, with dirt underneath them. His clothes were ragged. Maria felt only sorrow for him. He’d clearly lost all of his family due to this mess. She was about to speak to him, when Amy beat her to it, as if the child sensed it.
“I’m sorry about your daddy, Dafydd,” Amy said. “My mammy and daddy are dead too.”
The lad looked up at both women, tears streaming down his face, and tried to speak.
“I…I…felt,” he sniffled and wiped his nose. “Helpless. I stood and watched my mother try to kill my father.”
“Oh, that is bad,” Maria said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The boy shook his head, “No, I never want to talk about it, ever.”
Maria left it at that, not wanting to push Dafydd anymore.
“Even if we had got back in time, it wouldn’t have made a difference – my mother was already infected. It’s just Dad and me never knew it, like,” Dafydd said, looking out his window.
Chapter 13
They arrived at the Coal2u merchants just after midnight. The drive from Bangor to Chesterfield, Derbyshire, had been an easy one for Gwyn – the motorways had been practically empty at that time of night, and having Dafydd for company helped.
Gwyn had been in the haulage business for almost thirty years, and this was the first time he had been contracted to pick up coal. Him being Welsh, he found it rather funny and ironic that this should be the first time.
Gwyn and Dafydd stood by their lorry, waiting for the foreman to come to them with the details of their load. The f
orecourt of the mill was lit up by huge floodlights, like those at football grounds. JCB’s powered back and forth, ploughing coal into the large warehouse-style buildings, ready to be sacked then shipped out across the U.K. Workers rushed about the place, and Dafydd could see the mounds and mounds of coal in the factory being worked by a masked workforce.
The intense power of the lights on the courtyard picked up a scant, black mist caused by the dust off the coal. It snaked in the air like some unwanted python, Gwyn thought. A chill slid down his back. “Mr. Llewelyn?” a voice called from behind Gwyn, the accent mild English. Dafydd smiled at the way the man pronounced Llewelyn – saying the surname as though it only had the one L.
“Aye,” Gwyn said, “that’s me,” and turned to face the man, who was much shorter than him, and stuck his hand out. The other man did the same.
“Hi, I’m Chris,” he said. “I’m the foreman here at Coal2u.”
The both men shook hands. Chris’ looked rough and chapped due to years of coal shovelling. Chris’ chest was barrelled, and a thick tuft of hair sprouted from the top of the unbuttoned shirt.
“Nice to meet you, Chris,” Gwyn said.
“And you are?” Chris said to Dafydd.
“Oh, that’s my boy, Dafydd. I took him on as my helper a year back, see.”
“So a father and son haulage company? That’s nice.”
“Your boy not in the merchant trade then, Chris?”
“Yes, but he is off sick at the moment,” Chris said, a mournful look in his eye. “Well, never mind that, we’ve got to get you fellas back on the road.”
“Sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No, just the sniffles. So, I have it down that you’re here to pick up five-hundred sacks of coal, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right, Chris.”
“Good-good,” he said, and scribbled something down on the paper attached to his clipboard.
“Can I ask you something, Chris?”
Chris nodded.
“Why do you need me and my boy here to deliver this order for you? Surely you have your own transport wagons, a company this size?”
Chris stopped writing, and looked up at Gwyn, his face ashen.
“Yes, we do have our own transport, but most of our drivers are off, have been for the past couple of days or so. And it’s not just the drivers that have been ill, but also most of our work team. We’ve had to bring in every casual and part-time worker we have on our books. Christ, we even have students here making a fast buck; our team has been decimated.”
“Bloody hell. Sounds like you have a bug or something going around up here,” Gwyn said. “Been the same in Cardiff, it has. Even my poor wife is laid up in bed.”
“A bug in the air, no doubt,” Chris said, smiling at them both. “We tried a few hauling companies, but you quoted us an unbeatable price for the shipment.”
“We aim to please,” Gwyn said.
“Great. But we do have one problem.”
“What’s that then?”
“We’re going to have to handball the sacks onto your lorry, Gwyn,” Chris said. “I am sorry about any inconvenience this may cause you.”
“Oh, right, I see. That’s okay. We going to do it Buster-style, is it?” Gwyn said, and laughed at his joke.”
“Buster? Ah, I get it – Great Train Robbery?”
Gwyn nodded, still chuckling.
“Well,” Chris said, “I’ll see how many men I can muster up to help us get the load on, but I can’t see it being many.”
“Duw, you lot really are struggling.”
“Right, why don’t you two go and grab yourselves a cup of coffee in our staff canteen. I’ll come and get you when we’re ready to start loading up, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Gwyn said, and he and his son followed Chris to the canteen.
Gwyn fed the Klix vending machine with all his loose silver, which was enough for a hot chocolate for Dafydd, and mocha for himself. Most of the canteen sat in darkness, except for a small light in the corner that had been left on. A fridge-freezer buzzed somewhere behind the food counter and an eerie blue light spilt out from the kitchen fly zappers.
All the tables had their chairs on them where the cleaners had moved them to mop the floors ready for the morning team. An area at the back of the restroom was carpeted, and had soft padded chairs to be used. A small TV clung to one of the walls.
“Come on, boy, we’ll sit back by there, see what’s going on in the world, hey?”
Dafydd didn’t answer, just nodded.
They took their drinks to the ‘plush’ area, and Dafydd plonked himself down. Gwyn headed for the TV, and switched it on. The screen filled with scenes of violence; smoking wrecks, explosions, people engaging in fights, buildings collapsing into dusty remains, causing the reporter to keep looking over his shoulder in apprehension. Armed police on horseback and foot met with the rioters head-on; the ones on foot were beating their shields with their truncheons to try and strike fear into their enemies’ heart. The sound was down on the television set, so Gwyn couldn’t make out what the man was saying. He turned the volume up.
“These scenes of ghoulish carnage started only hours ago on the streets of Cardiff…”
“Bloody hell, Dafydd, they’re talking about Cardiff on the news, boy.”
“…Local police reports show that an emergency call is being taken every two minutes…”
“Maybe you should ring mam, Dad?”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Dafydd kept listening to the news to see what was being said while Gwyn tried his wife.
“…Sources tell me that the first calls taken were from a town just outside of Cardiff by the name of Twsc. They appeared to be just routine calls to begin with, which escalated into more serious ones that have now spilt out onto the streets of Cardiff…”
“There’s no dial tone coming from the house phone, Dafydd. Just a women telling me that there is a fault with the line.”
“Let’s try her mobile?”
“Okay. Quick.”
The phone the other end started ringing, and Dafydd’s heart jumped. It rang a dozen times before…
“Hello?”
His mother’s voice sounded croaky from sleep.
“Hello, who is this, mun?!”
“Mam, it’s me, Dafydd.”
“Oh, is there something the matter?”
Before Dafydd could answer, Gwyn took the phone out of his son’s hand.
“Sarah? Are you okay, love?”
“Yes, but—”
“Have a look out the window there and tell me what you can see.”
“But—”
“Please, there is no time for questions.”
The line went quiet, and Gwyn turned to Dafydd.
“What have they said on the news, bach?”
“It’s everywhere, Dad…”
Gwyn looked into his son’s eyes, and saw fear staring out at him.
“Everywhere?”
“Yeah, they seem to think Britain is in the grip of swine flu, causing the infected to turn on people that aren’t. I’m scared, Dad. What are we going to do?”
“We…”
“The streets are quiet, Gwyn. Not a cat moving out there.”
Gwyn relaxed and breathed out.
“Now what’s this all about, dragging me from my sick bed at this hour, mun?” Gwyn could hear a laugh in his wife’s throat.
“Put the TV on.”
“But—”
“Please, Sarah, just listen to me.”
“I am listening to you, Gwyn, but you are starting to scare me.”
“Just put the TV on, and all will be explained.”
“Okay, hang on. I’m taking you to the TV with me.”
Gwyn heard the women he’d been married to for twenty years make her way to the living room, and switch on the television. Gwyn could just about hear the reporter on the set…
“The people of South Wales are being ad
vised to stay behind locked doors tonight due to the recent reports of violence that seems to be sweeping the nation. These acts of violence appear to be caused by people who have become sick. Some say that swine flu is the cause…”
“Oh my God, Gwyn, what the hell is going on? People are killing one another in this area.”
“Yeah, Dafydd and I just heard the news up here. We wanted to know that you were okay there.”
“What shall I do, Gwyn?”
“What’s it telling people to do on the news?”
“Hang on. I’ll turn it up…”
“Reports indicate that an emergency call is being taken every thirty seconds around the country. Hundreds have been killed, with thousands receiving treatment for injuries and blood loss. Safe houses are being set up in various boroughs across Wales and the U.K – lists of these safe houses will be broadcast within the hour.”
“God, Gwyn, this is serious, love.”
“Barricade yourself in. Dafydd and me are coming home, right now.”
“Okay, but try and hurry. The roads might be hard to pass with this going on.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can. I know lots of back roads I can take to cut the time of the journey down, beaut. Has it said anything about other parts of the U.K, such as Derby?” Gwyn said.
“No, I have the local news on. I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on out on the roads.”
“Okay, speak to you soon. I love you, beaut.”
“I love you too, Gwyn.”
Gwyn snapped the phone shut.
“Come on, we have to go.”
*
The coverage on the news in the canteen didn’t say anything about Derby, or the surrounding cities. Gwyn and Dafydd didn’t bother looking for Chris to explain – they just jumped into their lorry and headed home.
Gwyn powered the lorry out of the Mill, and onto Mill Lane. He then turned left. When he got to a roundabout, he took the road signposted A61 – Derby Road, before coming to the A617 heading to Chesterfield/Matlock.
The roads appeared just as quiet as they did on the way up. Gwyn had expected the roads to be jammed up with people trying to get home, or to safety. But there was nothing apart from the odd car here and there; not even flocks of police cars or helicopters in the sky.
This gave Gwyn the incentive to drive much faster than the sixty-five mile per hour speed limit when he got onto the M1; he didn’t even slow for the cameras. As they headed down to the next junction, Gwyn turned the radio on to see if there were any more reports; perhaps which roads to avoid.
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