The Longest Day (Ark Royal X)

by Christopher Nuttall

  He contemplated the possibilities, grimly. On one hand, there would be a good job with a certain level of job security. It wasn't as if he needed to go back to Earth. On the other hand, he might have to answer a great many questions about Sin City ... and, coming to think of it, take care of a teenage girl who’d already given an entire team of bodyguards the slip. But if he actually talked to her, instead of treating her as a baby ...

  “It sounds like a good idea,” he said, finally. “But it would depend on the outcome of the battle.”

  “Life will go on, battle or no battle,” Galahad said. He smiled. “If you will take on the job, we will be honoured. And if not ... we will understand.”

  He nodded towards the door, which opened. A man wearing a butler’s uniform stepped into the office. Brian kept his face expressionless as he assessed the man, silently noting all the hints pointing to SF training. The butler was a bodyguard as well as everything else, he guessed. It made a certain amount of sense. Galahad and his family were prime kidnapping targets, after all. Chances were that the rest of the staff had some combat training too.

  “Please escort Mr. Wheeler to his bedroom and show him the facilities,” Galahad said. “Mr. Wheeler, the upper two levels and the basement are closed to you. The remainder of the house is at your disposal. That includes the swimming pool, gym and bowling alley. I’ll contact you when - if - I hear something.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Brian said.

  He relaxed, slightly, as he followed the butler out the door and down a long corridor. The walls were lined with famous paintings, including a number that had to be replicas. Brian had never been particularly arty - at school, he’d shared the opinion of most of his peers that art classes were boring and pointless - but even he recognised a couple that had been lost during the Paris Intifada. The rampaging mobs might even have won, from what little he recalled, if they hadn't stopped to plunder one of the most famous cities on Earth.

  “This is your suite, sir,” the butler said, opening a door. “This is the antechamber, with the master bedroom directly ahead of you. The bathroom is on the far side - just walk through that door. There’s no water or food limits. Order what you want from the kitchens and it will be sent to you. The terminal is already unlocked, but you won’t be permitted access to private household nodes.”

  He paused. “Do you require clean clothes?”

  “It would probably be a good idea,” Brian said. Did the mansion keep a spare set of clothes in every possible size, just in case they were needed? “Do you have clothes suitable for me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the butler said. He sounded vaguely offended. “I’ll have them delivered and placed in the antechamber. You’ll be called when Mr. Swansong wishes to speak to you.”

  Brian nodded. “Thank you.”

  He turned and walked into the bedroom. It was huge, easily large enough to pass for a five-star London hotel. The bed alone was big enough for five or six people to share, comfortably ...

  Taking off his boots, he lay down on the bed. They were safe at last, unless the aliens reversed course and attacked the moon again. Until then, he could rest. And the future could take care of itself.

  He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Near Townsend, United Kingdom

  “Safe at last,” Garrison said. “At least we’re dry here.”

  Molly glared at him as she took off her sodden coat, hanging it on the hooks behind the wooden door. The cabin was meant for either lovers or children ... probably the latter, as the beds were small enough to make a woman her size uncomfortable. Maybe they were meant to encourage romance. No one could share one of the bunk beds without being very - very - friendly. The constant drumming of rain above them didn't make her feel any better about the B&B.

  “I have to get to my kids,” she snapped, angrily. She’d give Rosemary a chance to settle in, then ask to borrow one of the keycards. Or maybe just take it. Rosemary would be able to say, if anyone asked, that Molly had stolen the car. “Maybe you can stay here ...”

  Garrison caught her arm. “You heard the policeman,” he said. “The roads are either closed or blocked. There’s nowhere to go!”

  Molly yanked her arm free. “I’m not going to stay here while my kids are alone,” she said, pacing the room. The thought of Gayle abandoning Percy and Penny refused to leave her mind. She just couldn’t get it out of her head. “You can stay here if you like.”

  “Listen to me,” Garrison said. “If they catch you again, they’ll arrest you!”

  “I’ll take that risk,” Molly said. She felt her temper begin to flare. “Stay here if you want. I don’t care. But I am going after my kids!”

  “You’re not leaving,” Garrison said. “You’ll just get yourself killed or arrested.”

  Molly felt her temper snap. “And should I stay here with a cowardly little shit who is willing to leave two helpless kids alone ...?”

  Garrison slapped her, hard. Molly stumbled, falling to her knees. He was on top of her a moment later, shoving her back to the wooden floor. Molly yelped in pain as she banged her head against the wood, Garrison landing on top of her a moment later. His face was contorted with fury. Her head swam as she fought to keep her thoughts straight. Calling him a coward hadn't been a very good idea after all.

  “You’ve been a fucking awful date,” Garrison snarled. He stared down at her, his hot breath on her lips. “I didn't bring you to the party to talk.”

  “Get off me,” Molly gasped. It wasn't the first time he’d been on top of her - she wanted to vomit as those memories rose to mock her - but this time he was trying to crush the life out of her. “Get off!”

  Garrison caught her arm and forced it back. Molly had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. She did know a little about self-defence, but none of her instructors had ever covered what to do if she was pinned to the floor. Her legs refused to move as he pressed down hard, forcing the breath from her lungs. He was trying to kill her ...

  “All your little social pretensions,” he hissed, pushing his face against hers. His lips crawled down her face, leaving a trail of slime behind them. “All your dreams of rising above your station ... you’re just a filthy little slut, aren't you? Trading her tits and ass and pussy and mouth for a chance at the golden ring? You never realised how much they were laughing at you?”

  “Fuck ... you,” Molly managed.

  Garrison’s face darkened. “That’s what you were brought to do,” he said. “Or do you not remember what we did in the car?”

  “The car you can't drive,” Molly taunted. She’d always been good at pushing buttons. In hindsight, perhaps she’d pushed too many of Kurt’s. “What sort of man can’t drive a car?”

  “Shut up,” Garrison growled. He shoved her head back to the floor, keeping one hand on her throat. “You’re going to fucking open your legs for me.”

  Molly gritted her teeth as his free hand reached into her blouse and groped her breast. She knew he had a point. She didn't want to admit it, but it was true. She had been willing to trade on her body, she had been willing to degrade herself in the hopes of finally enjoying the life she’d thought she was owed. She'd gone down on him - and more - in the naive belief he would push her up to a more suitable level. And now ...

  “You won’t get away with this,” she panted. His hand felt cruel as he pinched her nipple, hard. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. “The police ...”

  “The police are already overworked,” Garrison said, unpleasantly. He moved his hand to her other breast. Molly cringed at his touch. “Hundreds of thousands of people have already died. Who’s going to care about a middle-aged slut like you?”

  Molly felt her blood run cold. He was right, again. She hadn't told the kids where she was going, let alone who she was going with. They wouldn't even know where to start looking for her. She had shown her papers to the cops on the roadblock, but she didn't think they’d actually scanned them into the d
atanet. It was quite possible that Garrison would just dump her body in a ditch somewhere, after he’d had his fun. The water would take care of the evidence. God knew no one was going to be looking for her.

  And as long as he’s got his hand on my throat, I can't get free, she thought. She felt oddly calm, even though his hand was making its way down to her knickers. I have to get him to let go of me.

  “You’re right,” she said, lowering her eyes as much as she could. “I’m sorry ...”

  “You should have stayed with me, at the hall,” Garrison said. He pushed at her trousers, trying to get them down. “Look where we are now.”

  His face twisted into a leer. “But I can do anything to you,” he added. “Do as I say and I’ll let you go.”

  Molly didn't believe him. Garrison couldn't let her go, not now. He’d gone too far. The police would arrest him, if they found out. England was in a bad way, but society hadn't collapsed completely. No, Garrison would have his fun and then kill her. No one else was coming to help her. She had to stop him.

  I shouldn’t have left the knife in my coat, she thought. His fingers were pushing her trousers down to her knees. If I’d kept it with me ...

  “I’ll behave,” she managed. “Just don’t kill me.”

  “Good,” Garrison said. He sat back, tugging her shoes and trousers off. “Open your legs, then ...”

  Molly drew back her legs, then kicked him in the groin as hard as she could. Garrison staggered, then toppled forward, groaning in agony. Molly forced herself to crawl back as he hit the floor, his face contorted by pain and rage. She forced herself to stand, then kick him in the throat. He gasped, then lay still. Molly kicked him again and again, her rage driving her on even though he was already dead. By the time she was finished, his throat was a bloody mess.

  She sat down, hard. She’d killed someone. She’d ended a life. She’d ... she had to fight, suddenly, to keep from throwing up. She’d never killed anyone before, never. It wasn't something she’d ever expected to have to do.

  Dear God in Heaven, she thought, numbly. I’m a murderess.

  She’d never killed anyone before, not ever. She’d never seriously hurt anyone before. She’d ... her thoughts raced round and round in circles. She was a murderess and ...

  He was going to rape you, her thoughts reminded her. And he would have killed you, afterwards.

  She forced herself to stand up and reach for her trousers. Thankfully, there were no visible bloodstains, even though she knew the blood would never wash off her hands. She pulled the trousers on slowly, fighting down the urge to shake helplessly. It wouldn't be long before someone came to check on them and then ... she knew she could explain what had happened, but would she be believed? What if she wasn't believed? She was an adulteress as well as a murderer.

  It isn't murder if you kill someone in self-defence, she thought, as she tied her shoelaces and grabbed her coat. But you’d have to prove it was self-defence.

  She looked down at Garrison’s body for a long moment, then checked his pockets. A smartphone ... useless, without his fingerprints. She pressed it against his fingers anyway, but the sensors refused to accept his cold dead hands. They were more sensitive than she’d realised. A chunk of money and a handful of credit cards ... she took both, hoping it would slow down identification. Rosemary didn't know her full name, did she? She’d have a chance to make it to Woking before it was too late.

  I’ll confess after I’ve checked on the kids, she thought, firmly. She checked his remaining pockets, then pulled her damp coat over her rumpled blouse. Garrison no longer needed his bag, so she slung it over her shoulder and carried hers in her hand. And then take whatever punishment they have in store for me.

  The rain was still dripping down as she opened the door and stepped outside the cabin. She closed and locked the door behind her, then headed for Rosemary’s cabin. The rainfall was deafeningly loud, the constant drumming broken by regular peals of thunder. No wonder no one had heard the fight, she thought, as lightning flashed above her. The weather was so loud it drowned out everything else.

  She tapped the door and waited, hoping that Rosemary hadn't gone to sleep. She had her kids with her, didn't she? But she might have sent them to sleep too ... thunder crashed, again and again, before Rosemary opened the door. She looked tired.

  “I need to borrow one of the cars,” Molly said. She hoped Rosemary didn't ask too many questions. No one had children - certainly not more than one or two children - without becoming very aware of when something was wrong. Rosemary’s intuition might realise that Molly was in trouble. “I’ll send it back to you as soon as I can.”

  “The roads are blocked,” Rosemary pointed out.

  Molly felt a hot flash of anger. Her hand reached out to touch the knife in her pocket. It would be so easy to stab Rosemary, to kill her ... she'd already crossed the line once, hadn't she? Rosemary was in her way ... she fought down the impulse, gritting her teeth. What would she do after she killed the older woman? Kill the other adults and children? Garrison had deserved to die. Rosemary had been nothing, but kind to her.

  “I should be able to make it up using the smaller roads,” she said. She lowered her eyes, just for a second. “Rosemary, my children are alone. I have to get to them.”

  “One moment,” Rosemary said.

  She closed the door. Molly let out a long breath, knowing the die was cast. Either Rosemary gave her the keycard or ... or she didn't know what she’d do. Try to take another car, she supposed. She had no idea how to hot-wire one of the vehicles or she would have done it already. In hindsight, her education had definitely been lacking. Kurt would probably laugh at her, if they ever saw each other again. She’d assumed there was a good chance he’d die, out in the inky darkness of space. It had never occurred to her that her life was at risk.

  Rosemary opened the door and held out a keycard. “It’s the green car,” she said. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” Molly said.

  She turned and hurried to the green car, opening the door with the card. The air inside smelled faintly of too many children in too close proximity - it had been years since either Percy or Penny had been carsick, but Molly’s nose remembered the smell - but there was nothing she could do about that. She dropped the bags on the passenger seat, then slipped the keycard into the slot and started the engine. Someone shouted behind her, but she ignored it as she steered the car through the gate and onto the deserted road.

  I have to keep heading south-east, she thought. Once I get into the Thames Valley, I can head straight for Woking.

  She drove a mile away from the B&B, then pulled into a lay-by and activated the onboard map. The GPS was still down - she cursed the government under her breath - but it wasn't that hard to work out her precise location. She knew where they’d tried to get onto the M5, after all. The local maps weren't as detailed as she might have wished, but she should be able to keep moving as long as she didn't try to get onto the motorway. The only problem was the map trying to constantly steer her onto the motorway. It would have been ideal, if the motorways weren’t closed.

  Assume they found the body as soon as I left, she told herself. How long will it take them to track me down?

  She considered the problem for a long moment, then dismissed it. Under normal circumstances, the police would connect the body with the stolen car and put out an alert for the vehicle as soon as possible. Coming to think of it, there might even be a radio transponder in the car ... hell, they didn't need a radio transponder. She remembered reading, somewhere, that the GPS system could be used to track the vehicle if necessary. But then ... she shook her head, sourly. The situation was far from normal. Garrison’s death was a minor footnote, one of millions. And the police didn't have time to start tracking her down.

  The rainfall - somehow - managed to grow heavier. Visibility shrank to almost nothing as she reached a turning. The road led uphill, but water and mud - even some stones - were cascading down it, suggesting
that the road was rapidly becoming impassable. She wished, suddenly, for an ATV as she considered the sight, then grimly decided to try to drive to the next road. The longer she stayed on this road, the greater the chance of being caught by the police, but there was no point in taking too many chances. Getting bogged down would be bad, yet being caught in a landslide would be far worse.

  She keyed the radio as she drove onwards, hoping for an update, but there was nothing. It made no sense to her. The government had to want to speak to the population, if only to avert panic. What if there was no government? Who’d been giving the policemen their orders? Perhaps London had flooded so completely that the Prime Minister and the Members of Parliament had drowned. A few days ago, she would have thought that was a brilliant idea. God knew she’d had to surrender too much of Kurt’s prize money in taxes. But now ...

  Lightning flashed, overhead. The rain splashed down, hitting her windscreen so heavily that she thought she was driving through a sandstorm. She gritted her teeth, then pulled the car to one side and parked, careful to keep her lights on. There was no way she could travel any further, not until the rain finally stopped. She activated her smartphone, scanning desperately for something - anything - but there was nothing. Molly ground her teeth in frustration. The smartphone was powered up - the battery should last for weeks - but it was effectively useless.