by Alex Scarrow
‘Because the power’s all gone away?’
‘That’s right, Jakey. Because the power’s gone away, and it might not come back again for a bit.’
Jacob nodded silently, his eyebrows knitted in concentration as he absorbed that concept for a moment.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘if the power’s gone away, how will Mum and Dad come home? They need power to come home.’
Leona suddenly felt tears fighting their way up; tears of panic and grief. They were both out there in this horrible mess, both of them alone. There was no way of knowing what sort of trouble they might be in, if they were hurt, or worse.
Jesus, don’t even think like that.
‘They’ll find a way home, Jacob,’ she said offering him a quick reassuring smile. ‘They’ll be home sometime soon. And all we’ve got to do is sit tight here and wait for them, okay?’
Jacob nodded. But he knew in some way that his big sister was telling him a white lie.
A good lie.
That’s what Mum called white lies; the ones you tell to cheer people up.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘no toast then.’
Leona stood up, sniffed and wiped at her eyes. ‘How do you fancy some baked beans for breakfast?’
Jacob nodded.
‘Cold, like we have them in the summer sometimes?’
CHAPTER 45
12.15 p.m. GMT Beauford Service Station
‘We’ve got, let me see . . .’ said the shift manager. He hadn’t thought to introduce himself, instead Jenny had noticed the name on his plastic tag: Mr Stewart. She noticed all the other members of staff had only their first names printed on their tags; a privilege of rank she guessed, to be known by your surname.
‘We’ve got a load of confectionery and snacks,’ he repeated pointing towards the racks of chocolate bars, crisps, sweets and canned drinks in the newsagents, Dillon’s. ‘And then burgers, chicken, potato fries, we have in the freezers over there,’ he said pointing towards the two fast food counters sitting side by side. ‘We’ve got an auxiliary generator that kicks in if there’s a power failure, and that’ll keep going for about a week at most, and then of course the frozen stuff will start to go off. So we’ll munch our way through that stock first. That’s my plan.’
‘So you’re sorted for a while then?’ said Paul.
Mr Stewart nodded eagerly. ‘We’ll be just fine here until things right themselves once more.’
Jenny looked out at the scuffed and damaged glass wall at the front of the pavilion. It had taken a pounding. It didn’t look pretty any more, but it wasn’t going to give any time soon.
‘How did they manage to get in and assault your assistant manager?’ Jenny asked.
‘That was unlocked,’ said Stewart pointing to the large revolving door in the middle of the front wall. ‘I’d just sent Julia to bring in the ice-cream signs and other bits and pieces we have outside, when they turned up.’
He turned to face them with a confident smile. ‘It’s locked now, that’s for bloody sure.’
‘You think they’ll be back?’ asked Jenny.
‘They might,’ he answered quickly, ‘and they can prat around out there and hurl as much abuse as they like, those little bastards won’t be able to get in. Just you see.’
They heard the sound of someone moaning in pain.
‘Ah, that’s poor Julia. I better go and see how your friend is getting on with her.’
Mr Stewart turned smartly away and walked with an echoing click of heels across the foyer towards the manager’s office. He passed by a huddle of his staff sat amongst the tables in the open-plan eating area and offered them a way-too-cheery smile.
‘Cheer up!’ he called out as he breezed past.
His staff, a worried and weary-looking group of eastern European women and a couple of young lads, nodded mutely and then returned to whispering quietly amongst themselves.
‘I can’t stay here any longer, Paul,’ she said quietly. ‘Every minute I’m sitting here, is another minute away from my kids. I’ve got to go.’
Paul looked at her. ‘Listen to me. The smart thing to do, the clever thing to do, is to sit tight. Just for another day, and see how things are.’
‘What?’ she whispered. ‘I can’t stay! I have to get home!’
He nodded, thinking about that. ‘I’d like to get home too. But you know . . . look, yesterday afternoon, at that roadblock was pretty scary, wasn’t it?’
She nodded.
‘Well, I think it’s going to be even worse out there today and worse still tomorrow. You don’t want to be out there walking the roads whilst things are so unstable.’
‘My kids, I have to get home to them.’
‘You said your kids were tucked up safely at your friend’s home? And they got in a whole load of food? That’s the last thing you heard right?’
Jenny nodded.
‘Then, right now, they’re probably a lot better off than everyone else.’
Jenny thought about that for a moment, and realised that Paul might well be right. Sitting tight in Jill’s modest terraced house; one anonymous house amongst many identical houses in a sedate suburban back road, riding this thing out quietly, not drawing anybody’s attention . . . Leona and Jacob were doing exactly the right thing.
‘You won’t be doing them any favours heading out there today,’ said Paul. ‘Not whilst it’s one big lawless playtime for the kiddies. Hang on a day or two, let the worst of it pass. The police will get a grip on things later on today or tomorrow, mark my words. Then, shit, I’ll come with you. I want to get home too.’
Jenny decided that he might have a point. On her own, today or tomorrow, out there on the road, anything could happen.
Oh bugger, Andy, what do I do? Our kids . . . are they really okay? Are they really safe at home?
Jenny would have happily sold her soul for five minutes on a mobile phone that worked right now. Just to know the kids were still okay, just to know that Andy was okay, and perhaps tell him that - you know what? - maybe she’d been a little hasty. Maybe she did still love him after all.
‘You go wandering out there today, and well . . . your kids’ll fare a lot better with a mum than without.’
Jenny looked uncertainly through the scuffed plastic.
‘Hang on for today, okay? I promise you, we’ll see police cars out there tomorrow.’
Jenny nodded. ‘Okay, just today then.’
They heard the door to the manager’s office open. Ruth and Stewart emerged and walked over towards Jenny and Paul.
‘They broke her nose and dislocated her shoulder, and her jaw’s swollen. I’m going to pop her shoulder back, but it’s going to really hurt her. I’ve given her a load of painkillers,’ she looked at her watch, ‘which should kick-in in about ten minutes.’
Mr Stewart muttered angrily. ‘Those vicious little bastards. What I wouldn’t give to catch one of them and give him a damn good hiding.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Jenny.
Ruth nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks. You may need to hold her for me. It won’t be nice.’
Jenny grimaced, ‘I can handle it.’
Ruth looked at Mr Stewart. ‘Is there any booze in this place?’
‘Uh . . . yes,’ he answered awkwardly, ‘there’s ahh . . . a bottle of brandy in my office.’
‘Good, I need a nip, you might want to have one too,’ she said to Jenny, ‘and I’m sure poor old Julia might want a slurp too.’
Mr Stewart nodded, a tad reluctantly. ‘Help yourselves.’
‘Ta. Come on.’
Jenny looked at Paul, ‘You going to give us a hand?’
But Paul was studying the glass front to the pavilion; his mind was elsewhere. ‘So, you think those lads will be coming back?’
The shift manager nodded and smiled grimly. ‘Oh yes. They said they’d be back sometime soon. And promised me that once they got in they would . . . what was the phrase? Oh yes, “happy slap me till I were a shi
t-stain on the floor”.’
‘Nice.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried. In fact I think I’d like it if they did come back. It’ll be fun to watch those violent little shits getting hungry outside our nice big window. They can watch me serve up burgers and fries to my staff.’
‘Yeah, that’ll be great fun, better than TV,’ he smiled uncertainly back at Mr Stewart.
CHAPTER 46
2 p.m. GMT Shepherd’s Bush, London
‘Come on, let’s see how things are,’ said Dan. ‘Maybe we’ll find some policemen out there. There’s gotta be someone cleaning things up, sorting things out.’
Leona said nothing.
‘Come on, just to get some fresh air.’
‘Not too far, okay? Just a quick look around.’
‘Sure,’ Dan nodded.
‘All right.’ She turned to Jacob. ‘You stay inside Jake, okay?’
‘Can’t I come?’
‘No. You stay inside and . . . I don’t know, play with your toys. We won’t be long.’
Leona decided Dan was right. They needed to find out, after yesterday’s sudden and violent release of chaos, if the worst was now over. And finding a policeman, or a fireman, in fact anybody in uniform, out on the street making a start on clearing things up, was the sort of reassurance she needed right now.
She headed down the hallway to the front door, Dan beside her, unbolted and opened it. She turned back round to Jacob.
‘You stay inside. Do you understand me?’
Jake nodded.
They stepped out on to the short path that led up Jill’s scruffy, rarely tended front garden to the gate, and the avenue beyond. It was sunny, pleasant, T-shirt ’n’ shorts warm.
‘It’s quiet,’ said Dan. They could hear some birds in a nearby tree, but there was no hum of traffic coming from Uxbridge Road; no car woofers pounding out a thudding bass line, or the distant warble of a police siren wafting over the rooftops.
Leona looked up and down. The kids last night had left something of a mess. Many of the parked cars, SUVs, 4x4s, had had one or more of their windows smashed. Glass granules littered the pavement all the way up and down on both sides. It looked like there’d been a hailstorm. She noticed discarded cans and bottles, dropped on the pavement and tossed into the front gardens.
‘What a mess they made.’
Dan shrugged, ‘Looks just like my mum’s street.’
They walked up the avenue towards the junction with Uxbridge Road. As they passed by her home, Leona fought an urge to glance up at her bedroom, worried that she might again see the outline of someone staring out of the window. She had convinced herself since that the fleeting dark form she thought she’d seen had been nothing more than a trick of the evening light and an over-active imagination.
Uxbridge Road was the main thoroughfare for Shepherd’s Bush. If there were going to be any police out, they’d be up there, where all the shops were; where the police station was.
As they reached the top, she looked up and down the main road.
‘Oh . . . my . . . God,’ she muttered.
On either side, every shop window was gone, and the goods spilled out on to the street; washing machines, TVs, clothes, newspapers and magazines, spread across from pavement to pavement. It seemed most of the damage and mess was focused around the many grocers, Halal mini-markets and takeaways. A hundred yards down, she could see the pale squat block that was the police station for Shepherd’s Bush.
‘You know, I haven’t seen anyone yet,’ said Dan. ‘Where’d they all go?’
He was right - she’d not seen a single soul either.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, ‘maybe everyone’s too scared to come out.’
They picked their way down the street, stepping past the sooty carcass of a car that was still smouldering, and past puddles of mushed food that could have been something stolen from a takeaway nearby, or perhaps was merely someone’s vomit.
‘Let’s try the police station,’ said Leona, ‘somebody’s got to be there.’
The police station was set back from the road, up three steps from the mess on the street that was already beginning to smell, heated to a tepid stew by the midday sun.
The double frosted-glass doorway leading to the front desk swung easily inwards. Inside it was dimly lit by a single strip light fizzing and humming above the counter that normally would have had a desk sergeant manning it.
‘Well they’ve got some electric,’ snorted Dan, ‘it’s all right for some.’
‘They probably have one of those back-up generators.’
Leona leaned against the desk. ‘Hello?’
Her voice echoed ominously around inside.
‘Is anyone on duty?’ she called again. But there was no answer.
She turned to look at him. ‘There must be someone manning this place, even if they’re down to a skeleton crew. Surely?’
Dan shrugged. ‘Dunno, it looks kind of deserted to me. I’ll have a look.’
He lifted up a foldable section of the front counter, stepped through and looked around the office space on the far side of the counter. ‘Shit, it’s a bit of a mess back here, papers and stuff all over the place.’
He wandered through towards the rear of the area, towards a frosted-glass door, beside which was a keypad that kept it locked.
Leona could see from where she was standing that the frosted glass was cracked, and the door had been forced. ‘Looks like someone’s already been through this place and trashed it,’ she called out after him.
Danny nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘Just be careful.’
‘Okay.’ He pushed the door inwards and Leona heard his feet crunch on broken glass.
‘Anyone around?’ he called out as he poked his head into the room beyond. ‘Any police?’
Leona watched as he stepped inside the room, the frosted-glass door swung to behind him, and all she could see was the foggy outline of his form moving beyond.
‘Don’t go too far Dan!’ she called out, and she heard his muted voice beyond say, ‘Okay’.
It was so eerily quiet. She looked back out at the street through the double doors they came in through. Uxbridge Road should have been humming with traffic, the pavements thick with pedestrians and groceries, fruit ’n’ veg, laid out on benches and tables, alongside cheap mobile phone covers and dodgy SIM cards. But instead it was like some western ghost-town. She half expected tumbleweed to come rolling past.
Dad had once told her about a hurricane that hit London in ’87, and emerging early for work to find the streets deserted and covered in flotsam and jetsam. She imagined it must have looked something like this, but surely not quite as bad.
So quiet.
She hadn’t heard any movement from Dan for a while. ‘Dan?’
No answer.
‘Dan? You okay in there?’ she called out again.
Nothing, for a moment, then the sound of something scraping in there.
‘Dan?’
She saw something through the frosted glass, a dark outline, swaying slightly.
‘Dan, is that you?’
It hesitated for a moment, froze. And then she saw it moving again, a hand reaching out for the door.
The door swung open and she saw Dan, his face expressionless, pale.
‘Oh my God, are you all right?’ she asked.
Dan nodded slowly, as he made his way back across the office towards the counter. ‘Let’s go,’ he said quietly. ‘Now. Let’s just get out of here.’
‘What’s up? Did you see something?’
He joined her on the far side of the counter and grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s just go.’
‘Any sign of the police?’
He nodded again and swallowed uncomfortably. ‘Yeah, I saw one.’
They headed outside, screwing up their eyes against the bright sunlight as they stepped through the double doors. ‘I think we should head back,’ said Dan, ‘I’ve seen enough for now.’
Leona pointed to her left. ‘There’s a supermarket just there, do you see? Maybe we’ll find police guarding it?’
‘Maybe, but why don’t we just go home, Lee?’
Leona grabbed his arm and looked at him. ‘I really want to find a policeman, Dan. I just want to hear from someone in charge what we’re supposed to do.’
‘Okay, okay,’ he said, ‘the supermarket then home.’
CHAPTER 47
2.01 p.m. GMT Hammersmith, London
The motorbike across the road from him would be ideal, Ash decided. The man sitting on it was merely an inconvenience he would quickly dispense with. He picked his way across the junction, cluttered with some shopping baskets and about a million sheets of printer paper spread out across the silent road like snow, fluttering in the light afternoon breeze.
The man on the bike was a policeman, and he was busy surveying the junction. On any other day at this time, it would be locked to a standstill with traffic. Today it was deserted. Ash noticed a few dozen other people in the vicinity, picking through the fall-out of last night.
The policeman quickly became aware of Ash approaching in a direct line.
‘Can you stay back please, sir,’ he said in an even tone.
Ash slowed down, but didn’t stop. ‘I need some help,’ he replied. ‘I need an ambulance,’ he added, in his mind quickly throwing together some story that needed to only hold together for another twenty seconds, another ten yards.
‘What’s the problem?’ the policeman asked.
Ash continued forward. ‘My wife, she needs a hospital, badly.’
The policeman held out an arm, ‘Please stay where you are, sir. What’s wrong with her?’
Ash slowed his pace right down, but kept closing the gap. His face crumpled with anguish. ‘Oh God, I think she’s dying! I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’
The policeman’s hand drifted to the saddlebag where Ash could see the butt of a firearm sticking out of it. ‘I said, stay where you are!’