by Tim Flanagan
'Everyone in the cars. Now!' shouted Tracker.
Steven took the shield from Annie and rushed her into the back of the car, while Georgia started the engine. Shirley picked up the bottles of water and threw them into the other car then got in behind Tracker, only just managing to slip her seat belt on as the wheels spun beneath the car, catapulting it forward.
Tracker had the lead as the cars sped down the lane towards the road. Pot-holes slammed into the wheels and bounced the car around, but they all realised the danger that Annie had unknowingly put them in. The two cars spun out of the lane showering lumps of mud and moss onto the road and skidded to the right. Shirley clung to the back of Tracker's seat as she tried to explain where the short cut across the field was. Every second they drove along the road took them closer to the prison and the rapidly approaching convoy that was also moving in their direction.
Driving at speed and not knowing what was round the corner was difficult but Tracker managed to dodge abandoned cars with only a couple of minor knocks to the car. Ahead of them they could see the two trucks from the prison coming over the brow of the hill in the distance. The boys were excitedly hanging out of the windows pointing towards the Range Rovers.
'The turning's up here, on the right,' instructed Shirley. 'Along a flat part in the road the wall stops.'
Tracker saw the gap in the dry stone wall and turned the wheel of his car hard to the right, kicking the back end out so that the tyres squealed along the road as the front lurched across a small green bank and into a field. In his rear-view mirror, Tracker saw that Georgia had followed and was now bouncing around in her seat over the uneven field as much as he was, but he didn’t dare slow down.
Small, broken patches of hawthorn marked out the by-way that took them across the field towards a hidden dip. As Tracker's Range Rover pitched over the apex of the dip, the two trucks from the prison turned through the gap in the wall and joined them in the field.
The weight of the front of the Range Rover pulled it down the hill towards a stream that separated the two fields. To the right Tracker could see a break in the hawthorn where the ground had become churned up by hundreds of cows' hooves and the brown muddy approach to the river crossing now loomed ahead. The all-terrain vehicle kicked in its four wheel drive capability and Tracker felt like his descent down the hill was more controlled. Behind them, the trucks leapt quickly over the brow of the hill and landed heavily on the tyres, cutting deeply into the ground and leaving brown scars in the earth. The momentum carried them forward and they only just managed to keep the trucks under control as they slid down the hill, the back ends sometimes sliding the vehicles to the side.
As Tracker prepared himself to cross the stream, he revved the engine and positioned himself head on with the opening. As the car entered the stream, the water created an invisible barrier that caused him to lurch forward in his seat, but he managed to keep his foot on the gas pedal so that the revs continued. Although it slowed his momentum down, the car still managed to continue forward despite the slight sideways pull on the car from the force of the water pushing against it. But, the stream wasn’t strong enough. There wasn't a sufficient volume of water to move the weight of the car in the direction it was flowing. The front wheels started to lift the car out of the water, just as Georgia followed suit and plunged her car into the stream, but she had approached it at a slight angle and the force of the water was now starting to turn the car downstream. Revving the engine hard, she managed to pull the wheel round against the water and inch her car forward, but it was slightly slower than Tracker's who was now making his way up the opposite side of the field.
Georgia managed to slowly drive the car out of the water gradually gaining a little more grip with her front tyres on the churned up wet mud on the other side of the stream. A greater distance now separated the two Range Rovers, but the trucks from the prison had caught up and also reached the stream. The first truck slowed down, opting for a more cautious approach, and although it entered the water head on, it was having difficulty finding enough grip on the opposite bank to make its way up the hill. The greater weight in the truck held it back. The front wheels spun hopelessly in the mud, creating deeper and deeper holes for the tyres to sit in. The second truck waited.
Tracker and Georgia continued to claw their way up the slope of the field putting more and more distance between themselves and the prison boys.
A loud crack echoed in the still air. Instinctively, all of the occupants in the two Range Rovers ducked, knowing that they were now being shot at. But it was a half-hearted shot that didn't connect with anything and wasn’t followed by any more. The gun shot was out of frustration as well as serving as a warning to the occupants of the Range Rovers. If they came across Coker and his boys again, they might not be so lucky. But, that was fine with Tracker and the rest of them, they were happy to avoid any further contact with the boys from the prison.
7. The World's End
After driving for several more minutes they saw an opening in the wall on the other side of the field that connected back up to the road towards Harrogate. Finally out of sight of the prison they dropped to a more cautious speed to avoid any accidents. Occasionally, they came across more abandoned cars at the side of the road, buried under the stone of a wall or joined at a peculiar angle to the trunk of a tree. There were no further signs of life on the road as they went through Harrogate until they reached the town of Knaresborough.
The road took them high above the town via a tall bridge directly over the river. Bushy trees overhung the road on the left, whilst on the right they could see over the roofs of the houses below them. Tracker pulled up at the side of the road facing an old Tudor style building with black beams. Georgia drew up alongside and wound the window down.
'We were being watched from the top window of that pub,' said Tracker.
'Are you sure?' replied Georgia.
'I'm certain I saw movement from the window when we came across the bridge.'
'Well, what shall we do?'
'If it's human, it could be hostile. If it's a creature we could be putting ourselves in danger,' added Steven.
'Look at the name of the pub,' said Shirley from behind Tracker's seat.
'The World's End,' said Tracker with a smile. 'Very suitable.'
'We should at least see if someone needs help,' added Georgia.
Steven nodded. 'OK. But at the first sign of danger we leave. The last thing we need is to get wrapped up with another group like Cokers.'
They left the cars at the end of the bridge with Annie and Shirley, took a weapon each, then ran across the road. There was a small wall at the side of the pub that led to an outside seating area around the back. The umbrellas that shaded the benches had been cut to ribbons. The shreds of material flapped in the breeze making cracking sounds as they snapped together.
Cautiously, Tracker pushed against the rear entrance door. It wasn’t locked. Together they moved into a narrow hall. Ahead of them they could see a dark bar area with upturned stools. Broken glass crunched beneath their feet as they slowly moved into the building. Tracker swung his shotgun round a corner as he looked into a snug, but there was nothing there except overturned glasses and peanuts scattered across the table and onto the floor. The lights and music on the fruit machine were not playing; its electronic screen lay dead and grey in the corner. Their shoes stuck slightly to the carpet - tacky from spilt drinks, or possibly something much worse. They moved further into the room, satisfied there were no creatures in the main seating area.
Ahead of them was the bar. Bottles had been disturbed from the display. A blackboard that would normally have had the meal of the day written on it, instead had smudges of chalk, mixed by five streaks where a hand had slid down it.
The silence of the room was suddenly broken by a rustling noise coming from behind the bar. Steven, Georgia and Tracker looked at each other nervously. Their hands tightened around the triggers of their guns as they slowly crept fo
rward, trying desperately not to make a sound on the floor. Shafts of daylight streaked through the leaded panes of glass, casting an outline like a noughts and crosses board against the wood that surrounded the bar.
There was another soft rustling sound like a packet of crisps being opened.
Tracker began moving towards the end of the bar where the hatch lifted to allow the staff in. Steven and Georgia braced themselves. From the darkness behind the counter a black shape suddenly leapt up and gracefully landed on the bar amongst the bottles and beer mats. The pub cat purred at the three adults. Relieved, they lowered their weapons and scratched the cat behind its ear.
Silently, they continued to walk through into the restaurant area where the tables and chairs had been abandoned at awkward angles. The only place left to go was the staircase to the first floor which were narrow, old and dark.
Tracker bravely took the lead. He placed each foot carefully on the steps, gently pressing to see if it made a sound when he loaded his weight onto it. He kept his back up against one wall, so that he could see as much above him as possible. Georgia and Steven followed, paying attention to where Tracker had placed his feet. Halfway up Tracker was able to peer over the top step and get a limited view of the floor above. There was nothing there except for three wooden doors which presumably led to the bedrooms. The staircase turned and continued up to the second floor.
'The window I saw something in was on next floor up,' whispered Tracker.
'Let's check these rooms first,' said Steven.
He gripped the handle of the first door and turned it, but it was locked. The second door opened into a small room which overlooked the road. From behind the curtains Georgia could see their cars as well as the faces of Annie and Shirley staring anxiously up at the pub. The bed was low to the ground, the wardrobe empty except for a pair of trousers the owner would probably not be coming back for. The third room was also open and was a slightly larger version of the second. If they stood quietly they could here the soft padding sound of movement above them as a floorboard became depressed with weight. Together they moved back towards the staircase and began to creep up to the second floor. The short flight of stairs took them to another landing, this time with just one door in front of them which was open slightly. They knew that behind it something or someone was waiting.
Tracker crouched down so he could speak to the other two who were below him on the stairs.
'The door's open a little. We have to take it by surprise,' whispered Tracker.
Steven nodded. He knew that they would have the upper hand if they entered the room unexpectedly.
The cat they had found in the bar jumped playfully up the stairs and nuzzled against Steven's legs. He watched it as it stretched its legs out before climbing the final step and pushing the room door open with the back of its head. Inside, the room appeared as empty and normal as the others, but they could also see the silhouette of a man hiding at the side of the window, cautiously trying to look outside. He didn’t look like he had a weapon of any kind, just a book that he stroked continuously in a nervous manner.
Tracker stepped up and nudged the door open a little further so that he could enter the room. Steven and Georgia followed. The sleek body of the pub cat gracefully sat down in front of the window and meowed at the man.
'Oh, it's just you, Stipe,' he said to the cat, catching his breath. From the corner of his eye he suddenly became aware of the three figures standing in the doorway with guns in their hands.
'Don’t shoot,' he said, clutching at the curtain as if it would offer him some sort of protection. 'Please, just leave me alone. I'm not doing any harm. Leave me to wait.'
'We don’t want to hurt you,' said Steven. 'What are you waiting for?'
The man eyed them suspiciously.
'Judgement, of course,' he said.
'What do you mean?'
'So far I've been spared, but my time will come and when it does I will greet it with open arms. I am prepared to be judged clean and worthy. Human beings have drained this planet of all its goodness, sucked the life out of it with our machines and fires and chocked it with our gases, but the Earth is fighting back. It is time we gave the planet back and God has sent his messengers to cleanse it. We will each be judged on how we have lived our lives.'
'You think the creatures are messengers from God?' added Tracker with a laugh. 'What sort of God would send creatures to rip and tear humans apart?'
'We were warned,' replied the man. 'The Book of Revelation told us the end of the world would come at the time of God's choosing. That time is now.'
'We are joining other survivors,' said Georgia. 'If you stay here you will die.'
'I am worthy of being spared. I will be part of a new heaven and earth where there is no more suffering and death. You will be judged like everyone else.'
'The messengers are not from God. They are alien. They arrived in a meteor shower.' Steven tried to give the man an alternative explanation.
'Whether they are from this planet or the next, everything is God's creation.'
The man stepped away from the window so that he could be seen more easily. He was a short man with an almond shaped head and a plain, pale face. In the centre of his forehead was the number seven drawn in blood.
'What's on your forehead?' asked Georgia.
'It's Ezekiel's mark. It will show the messengers I am worthy.'
8. The Journey South
No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't convince the man to go with them, so they had to leave him at The World's End and continue their journey by themselves. It was becoming evident that they were not likely to get to London in one day. Steven and Shirley communicated between the two cars over the walkie-talkies that Georgia had managed to replace the batteries in.
'We don't really want to be in the car when the sun goes down. That will be the time that the creatures come back out,' said Steven into the mouthpiece.
There was a crackle of static, then Shirley's voice came through. 'Is there anywhere like a castle or fortress that would be strong enough to sustain an attack?'
Steven pulled a road atlas that was twelve years out of date from the glove box and began following the A1's route down the centre of the country towards London.
'How far do you think we could safely go before the light begins to fade?' Steven asked.
'The creatures began to come out at dusk in Parsley Bottom,' replied Tracker over the walkie-talkie. 'Driving on a main route should be easier and therefore quicker. A bigger road should mean there is more space to manoeuvre around abandoned vehicles.'
'True,' said Steven. 'But, there would have been more cars using the main roads at the time of the attack, so the creatures could have caused a major accident. The road might be completely blocked in places.' After a moment's thought, Steven spoke back into the handset, knowing that the main route was still the way to go. 'If we aim to travel a distance that would normally take two hours and assume that it will take twice as long, it means we will probably only get down to around the Midlands before the light begins to fade. If we look on a map, we might be able to find somewhere that would give us some protection for the night.'
The two cars drove through the small roads of Knaresborough without coming across anyone, or anything else. Steven flicked from page to page on the atlas on his lap, looking for symbols that represented ancient houses or castles.
A hissing sound burst from the walkie-talkie in Steven's hand as Shirley's voice came through.
'I've found a few places that may be suitable,' she said. 'But, it all depends how far we get. If we get to Peterborough, we could stop at Longthorpe Tower. Its thick stone walls should protect us. Or if we can make it as far as Cambridge, we could stop at Audley End House. I remember going there once; the servants' wing would provide us with good shelter.'
'Excellent. Let's see how far we can go before we need to stop.'
As they left the town, the road became wider, taking them towards a large
roundabout signposted to London. With some relief they joined the A1 in tandem and began to leave the smaller roads and Coker's boys far behind them, not knowing what was awaiting them in London.
The three lanes of the A1 were littered with cars; some wedged against the central reservation barrier, others up embankments or rolled onto their roofs. One or two cars had crashed into the back of others to become permanently joined together, whilst others were awkwardly sandwiched between lorries and other cars. But, despite the road being a graveyard of twisted metal machines, they managed to thread a route between them that allowed the two cars to travel at a faster pace. They began to eat up the miles a lot quicker than they had along the smaller country roads.
Nearly two hours later, the Range Rovers rolled to a standstill. Steven looked up at the nearest signpost and found their location on the road atlas. They had managed to make their way to a place called Knottingley. Looking at the map, he could see that another major road crossed the A1 at that point which would explain the increased volume of cars that seemed to completely block the way for some distance ahead of them. There didn’t appear to be any way around it. Tracker stood on the sill of the car so that he could see over the tops of the cars and further along the road. They all got out and stood hopelessly looking at the scene in front of them. Directly ahead, it looked like any other normal traffic jam with row upon row of cars lined up waiting to move forward, but the further you looked, the worse it became. The cars and lorries lost their organised queues and became heaps of unrecognisable metal. Some of the lorries were still smouldering, their fuel all burnt. Around them the blackened remnants of what had once been polished and painted cars, were twisted and distorted from the intense heat. The embankment was a carpet of singed yellow grass, and trees had been reduced to nothing more than leafless stumps of charcoal.