“I know,” Andrew said. He couldn't put Ireland ahead of Britain. The voters would crucify him, when - if - the next election was held. “I’m sorry too.”
***
“Form an orderly line,” Police Constable Robin Mathews bellowed, as civilians kept flowing towards the hastily-established registration centre. His body ached, but he forced himself to keep going. “Form an orderly line and wait your turn!”
He gritted his teeth. There was an ugly mood in the air, a sense that violence could break out at any moment. He’d sensed it before, back when a particularly important football match was on, but this was different. Yesterday, the civilians had had jobs, homes and lives; today, they’d lost everything, but their lives. He had no idea if the civilians would ever be able to go home ...
The banks have been shut down, he thought, as he directed a nasty-looking man towards the line. So far, no one seemed to have thought of checking their bank balance. But that wouldn't last. How long will it be before someone realises they’ve lost their money too.
He kept one hand on his shockrod as more and more civilians appeared. Most of them looked shell-shocked, but a handful were definitely in a bad mood. They’d had expensive homes by the river, the river that had just broken its banks. He’d heard brief snatches of chatter on the radio that suggested it was far worse to the east. A number of shoddy buildings had come crashing down in rubble. God alone knew how many people had been killed.
“I'm a fucking taxpayer,” a large man said. He was waving something around. Robin tensed until he realised it was a folder, rather than a weapon. The rescue worker who was trying to deal with him looked terrified. “Do you know how much I pay in fucking taxes? I demand you give me some fucking food, right now!”
Robin hurried over, drawing the shockrod and holding it behind his back. “Sir, please wait your turn,” he said. There were only seventeen policemen assigned to the registration centre, most of whom had their own problems. A fight could turn into a mob riot very quickly, killing all of the policemen as well as some of the civilians. “The staff are already cooking the food.”
“I pay half a million in fucking taxes,” the man said. There was a vague murmur of agreement from some of the onlookers. “I pay your fucking wages, you ...”
“Sit down,” Robin ordered. He didn't want to shock the man, but he was already losing control of the situation. Unrest could easily turn to anger if he mishandled things. “Food will be provided as soon as possible.”
He held the man’s eye, trying to combine reasonableness with naked intimidation. If the man refused to cooperate ... the man glared back at him, then sagged suddenly. Robin kept the relief off his face as he motioned the man into one of the lines, which was already picking up speed as the rescue workers smoothed out the process. Once registered and fed, some of the civilians would be marched south to the refugee camps and the others would be put to work helping to clear the streets. God knew they needed clearing. The floods had caused an awful mess. Cars had been overturned or simply smashed, trees had been torn out of the ground and thrown in all directions, windows and doors had been shattered ...
A tiny hand caught his. He found himself looking down at a small girl in a red dress. “I’ve lost my mother,” she said. “Where is she?”
Robin cursed under his breath. “I don’t know,” he said, looking around. He couldn’t see anyone who looked like a plausible candidate among the crowd. “How did you get here?”
“Mummy told me to run,” she said. Her face darkened, as if she were about to cry. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Robin repeated. He led the girl to the front of the line and waved to the nearest rescue worker. “The nice lady here will take your name and address, then try to link you up with your parents.”
He shivered as he looked away, wondering what had happened to the rest of his family. Or the girl’s family ... he’d be astonished if she was the only child who’d lost her parents in the chaos. They’d just have to hope that the registration system held up well enough to reunite parents and child, if the parents had survived. He didn't want to think about what might happen to the poor girl if her parents hadn't survived.
Normally, we’d find her a foster family, he thought, as he paced his way back to the end of the line. Another wave of civilians was approaching. But now the vetting process will be utterly fucked.
He looked up as he heard a rumble of thunder. Panic ran through the crowd - he could hear people muttering about aliens - as the skies darkened with terrifying speed. It was going to rain, and rain heavily ... he gritted his teeth, cursing savagely. Of course it was going to bloody rain. What English crisis would be complete without rain?
And that’ll make it harder to get anyone out of the city, he thought, grimly. The first water droplets were already splashing down. God help us.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ward Mansion, Penzance, United Kingdom
Molly shifted, uncomfortably.
She’d grown used to sleeping poorly, ever since Kurt returned to the Royal Navy, but this was different. The bed felt hard, her sides were aching and ... and someone had his arms wrapped around her. She tensed automatically, then opened her eyes. She was lying on a blanket in Ward Mansion. Sunlight was streaming through the windows, driving away the last residue of sleep ...
Memory returned. The kids!
She sat upright and looked around. Garrison was lying next to her, snoring loudly. His jowls rose and fell as he breathed ... she couldn't believe that, once upon a time, he’d been her lover. The room itself was a wreck, piles of books and damp flooring everywhere. Even finding the blankets had been a nightmare, she recalled. She listened, carefully, but heard nothing. There were no engines in the driveway, no voices calling ... no birds singing in the trees. The world seemed almost eerily silent.
Garrison shifted against her. “Molly?”
“Time to get up,” Molly said, firmly. She stood, looking down at her dress. It was torn and wrinkled, probably beyond repair. Somehow, she doubted the shop would replace it if she asked. The shop itself might no longer exist. “I can’t hear anyone outside.”
She walked to the window and peered down. The grounds had been ruined: the flowerbeds ripped to shreds, the trees and statues knocked to the ground, great pools of water lying everywhere ... it was a nightmare. There was something odd about the sky, something she couldn't quite place. It was blue, but not the blue she knew. There were no signs of human presence, save for the two of them. She could almost believe they were the last humans left alive.
We can’t be, she told herself. Where are the staff?
“There should be something to eat in the kitchen,” Garrison said. He sounded tired and broken. His expensive suit was a write-off. “Have you checked your smartphone?”
Molly cursed herself under her breath as she pulled the device from her pocket and glanced at the screen. There was no signal, no connection to any local or national datanodes. There didn't even seem to be any updates from the government, no orders or reassurances for the civilians. She gritted her teeth, wondering what that meant. The entire country couldn't be gone, could it? She followed Garrison down the corridor, splashing through puddles of water as she tried to think. If they really were the last two people alive ...
We are not, she reassured herself, again. There will be others.
She cursed again as they walked into the kitchen. It was a wreck too: pots and pans lying on the wet floor, storage cupboards torn open and their contents strewn everywhere. She had no idea how to use half of the equipment in the chamber, even if there was power ... she looked around until she found a kettle, then tested it. There was no power. Even the emergency lighting was gone.
“No power,” she said, grimly. “What do we do?”
“We look for stuff we can eat without power,” Garrison said, dryly. He stepped through a half-open door into a darkened chamber. “I ...”
His voice hardened. “Shit!”
Molly walked up behind him and peered into the semi-darkness. There was a hatch - no, a ladder - leading down into a basement. The basement was full of water ... she recoiled in horror as she realised that there were bodies drifting within the water. She had to turn away to keep from being sick, her mind racing to try to understand what they’d found. The staff must have gone down to the basement in hopes of finding shelter, only to drown when the waters blasted through the hall. They hadn't even had a chance to escape.
Garrison slammed the door closed. “There’s nothing we can do for them now,” he said, harshly. “We have to find something to eat.”
Molly nodded and joined him in searching the kitchen. The fridges and freezers were powerless, naturally, but the milk tasted all right when she tested it against her tongue. She hesitated, then drank as much as she could. Garrison found a box of cereal and passed it to her, ordering her to fill a bowl and eat it. Molly didn't bother to argue. She’d never been that fond of wholegrain cereal, back when she’d been at home, but it was all they had. She certainly didn't have anything else to eat.
She sat down on the damp chair and munched a second bowl of cereal, considering her options while she ate. No one knew where she was, at least as far as she knew. She’d certainly never told Gayle or the kids where she was going. And that meant ... no one would be looking for her. She was sure that someone would check out the hall eventually, but when? The government might have other things to worry about. She certainly couldn't send a distress message to request help.
“There are several more bodies in the backroom,” Garrison said. He walked back into the kitchen, carrying a box of milk chocolate bars. Molly could have kissed him as he offered her one. “And no sign of anyone living at all.”
Molly met his eyes. “We’re going to have to walk back to Woking,” she said. “We don’t have a choice.”
“Penzance would be closer,” Garrison pointed out.
“Penzance went dark,” Molly reminded him. She shivered, remembering the dark waters snuffing out the town’s lights. “There’s no way to know when help will arrive, if it ever will.”
“No,” Garrison agreed. He looked back at her. “You do remember being told to stay put?”
“My children are in Woking,” Molly said, sharply. She gritted her teeth. “I am going there, with or without you. Stay here if you want.”
Garrison sighed. “I’ll come with you,” he said. “Just give me an hour to search the house for anything else we can use.”
Molly nodded, unsure if she should be pleased or upset. She was starting to dislike Garrison, more than she cared to admit. Having him along might not be a wholly good thing ... but at least he was company. She chewed her chocolate bar, telling herself she needed him. There would be time to dump him after she reached home.
“I’ll find something better to wear,” she said, looking down at the dress. “I ... should we be worrying about paying for it?”
“Probably not,” Garrison said. He looked grim, just for a moment. “Lady Penelope is dead.”
Molly finished her makeshift breakfast, then searched through the bedrooms until she found the wardrobes. Lady Penelope hadn't been that much smaller than her, thankfully. She found a set of clothes that fitted, if poorly, then a coat that would hopefully provide her with some genuine protection from the elements. The air felt cold, yet gusts of hot and cold wind blustered against her as she walked outdoors. There was still no sign of anyone else, not even a plane flying overhead. The gardens were still drenched in water.
“Take this,” Garrison said. He passed her a sharp knife, then a small bag of food and bottled water. “Unfortunately, I couldn't get into the weapons locker. Lady Penelope never gave me the code.”
“It’ll have to do,” Molly said. She stuck the knife in her pocket. Lady Penelope had probably had a small collection of firearms, but there was no way to get them. Besides, she didn't know how to use a firearm. Military dependents had been offered training, but she’d never bothered to take the course. “Shall we go?”
“Let me check out the stables first,” Garrison said. He led her towards a stone building at the rear of the hall. “The horses might be alive.”
Molly felt a flicker of hope - she hadn’t thought of horses - which died the moment they walked into the stable. The poor beasts were dead, their bodies lying in their stables ... she recoiled in horror at the stench. Garrison held his nose as he checked the stables, one by one, then shook his head. There was no hope of riding out of the disaster area.
And I don’t know how to ride either, Molly thought. If I get home, I’m going to learn.
She checked her bag as they made their way slowly down towards the gates. The driveway was a muddy track, fallen trees lying everywhere. It would have been impossible to get out of the estate if they’d had a car, she realised. The horses would have had trouble too. But she had a feeling she’d miss the car in an hour or so. Walking all the way to Woking would take days.
“We should encounter someone as we head east,” Garrison said. They looked down the muddy road, lined with half-fallen trees. “There will be rescue missions underway, won’t there?”
Molly nodded as she worked her smartphone. The GPS was offline - the satellites seemed to be missing - but she could still bring up a map and compass. It wouldn't be anything like as effective - map-reading had never been one of her skills - yet what else could she do? The sign marking the entrance to the estate lay in the mud, utterly useless. She couldn't help thinking that the flood waters had smashed every other street sign too.
“If we walk east, we should eventually cross the motorway,” she said. It wasn't ideal, but it would keep them on the right route. They’d probably run into someone along the way too. “I think we should be able to get there without problems.”
“Hah,” Garrison said. He glanced up at the darkening sky. “Keep telling yourself that, if you like.”
Molly scowled at him, then started to walk. She didn't bother to look back. If he decided he wanted to stay behind, he could stay behind. She had enough food and water to keep her going for a few days, as long as she was careful. Garrison ... she didn't need him. His skills wouldn't be much use in the brave new world.
She wished, with an intensity that surprised her, that Kurt was with her. Kurt never gave up, Kurt never stopped ... she wondered, suddenly, why that had irritated her, after they’d been married long enough for the shine to wear off. Kurt’s skills would be useful in the new world, useful enough to make him a very important man. Garrison ... he was a lawyer and an old lawyer at that. There wouldn't be any lawsuits in the near future.
And he might not even survive the next few days, she thought. A day ago, Garrison had been connected. Now, the aristocracy might no longer exist. Can he keep up the pace?
She heard him splashing through the puddles behind her and smiled, inwardly. Garrison was older than her, much older than her. Could he keep up with her? Did it matter if he could? If she hadn’t accepted his invitation - knowing that she’d pay for it in his bed - would she be with her children now? Or would she have gone somewhere else instead? Perhaps she would, she admitted privately. She’d wanted to do something exciting with her life - and Kurt’s share of the prize money - before she had to go back to being a housewife. She would have found some other way to get into trouble.
Her legs started to ache as the temperature rose rapidly. Sweat ran down her back, pooling in her knickers and trickling down her legs. The sky was darkening, turning a deep blue that spoke of rain and thunderstorms. She looked up for a moment, but forced herself to keep going anyway. Garrison wasn't the only one in bad shape, she told herself as the aches spread up into her chest. She hadn't been fit as a fiddle for years. Perhaps, in hindsight, she should have worked out more while the kids were at school. It wouldn't have done her any real harm.
And if I’d known this was coming, I would have stayed with the kids, she thought. And done everything I should have done to keep us alive.
“Something hit the water,” Garrison called. She stopped and looked back. His face was red, his breathing came in ragged gasps. She wondered, morbidly, if he was on the verge of a heart attack. “That’s what caused the tidal waves.”
“I know that,” Molly said. She’d seen the ... something ... hit the water. “I’m not stupid, you know.”
Garrison took a deep breath. “The impact will have thrown a shitload of water into the atmosphere,” he said. He sounded as though he was trying to talk down to her, but didn't quite have the energy. “What goes up must come down.”
Molly looked at the looming cloud. It had been a long time - a very long time - since she’d sat through basic science, but she vaguely recalled that water vapour turned into water droplets in the sky and fell to the ground as rain. Or something like that ... she’d never really liked basic science, not when she’d been a little girl. The teacher had been all too ready to send pupils to the headmaster for even the slightest infraction. She’d thought about trying to become a nurse, later in life, but her marks just hadn't been good enough.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 23