Sentinel: A post-apocalyptic thriller (The Hurst Chronicles Book 2)

by Robin Crumby

  She followed the others down to the jetty and stepped on board, a rucksack over her shoulder. Briggs had told her to pack some warm clothes for an overnight trip but had been coy about the purpose of their visit to the mainland. It wasn’t like Briggs to risk such a large group so far away from Carisbrooke Castle.

  Riley had again been puzzling about why the Allies tolerated Briggs’ presence on the island. After his attack on Osbourne, perhaps they determined it was safer to keep him in plain sight, rather than driving him and his organisation underground. It was known that he still retained a small number of hostages as a human shield. A missile attack on the castle would be unthinkable, too high a risk of collateral damage. Victor feared a hostage rescue scenario or ambush outside the safety of the castle when they were at their most vulnerable. So far, the unlikely truce had held and Victor operated under the belief that the Allies needed Briggs more than he needed them. His protection racket made him the closest thing the island had to a mafia boss. Things on the island tended to run more smoothly with Briggs around.

  The Allies had learned the hard way that messing with Briggs had its consequences. Construction projects ground to a halt, food deliveries stopped arriving on time, crops got spoiled, farm animals died in mysterious circumstances. Of course, nothing that could be directly tied back to Briggs, but it was common knowledge that nothing happened on the island without his blessing. Sooner or later, Victor said, the Allies would need to deal with Briggs, but for now, they had other more pressing matters to attend to and let him come and go. He was a small nuisance to be tolerated. The Allies had bigger fish to fry.

  Once everyone was on board the Sheridan and their belongings stowed, they cast off and cruised downriver at barely above impulse power, keeping their noise to a minimum. It was virtually pitch black and Terra strained to pick out the unlit channel markers in the darkness. A couple of the larger buoys down river were solar-powered and flashed a silent rhythm. The skipper didn’t dare power up the large searchlight on the flying bridge so as to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

  The Allies had spies everywhere, tracking Briggs’ movements. It was a miracle they had made it this far without being spotted. Even after her eyes adjusted to the darkness, without street lights or even a moon to see by, Terra wondered that the skipper, a local man named Tom, could actually see anything. Looking over the side she could hear waterlogged objects bumping against the bow of the boat as they nudged them out of the way. From the rancid smell on the water, Terra imagined rotting animal carcasses or decomposing bodies, swirling in the eddies and backwaters. She closed her eyes. Even after all this time, the horrors of the outbreak lay all around them if you cared to look.

  As they reached the mouth of the river Medina, the smell of sea air was intoxicating. It reminded Terra of her former life at Hurst, of Jack. She realised she hadn’t thought about him in some time. It was surprising how quickly she had moved on. As one chapter closed, another was just beginning. She wouldn’t call the team at Hurst Castle friends. No, they were acquaintances, people she had spent considerable time with, been through so much together, but at the end of the day, they had little in common. They had been thrown together by circumstance.

  She had never been good at having friends. Boyfriends yes, but not friends. Most of her relationships had been purely functional, useful to stave off the boredom. Others, like Jack, had served a purpose, a stepping stone to something better.

  Terra was reminded that Briggs seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with both Jack and Zed. It was more than jealousy or anything trivial like that. He blamed them for the missile attack on his motorcade a few months ago. Six of his men had died. Despite Terra’s protestations that they had nothing to do with it, Briggs blamed Jack. He kept repeating the twisted logic that the Americans had pulled the trigger but Jack had loaded the gun. She explained away his thirst for revenge as some kind of old school macho rivalry. In Briggs’ underworld, a failure to show respect was inexcusable. It was illogical, but then so was much of what Briggs did. Victor claimed Briggs was ruled by animal instinct and desire, irrational in the extreme, but Terra doubted that. The man she had come to know liked people to underestimate him, it gave him an advantage. As someone who had worn many masks over the years, she recognised another master of disguise. It was something they had in common, she thought.

  Briggs reached for the walkie-talkie on the Sheridan’s chart table, tuned the frequency to a pre-set channel and depressed the receiver three times without speaking. After a short delay, there was an acknowledgement given as one long period of silence. Victor had confided that there would be another boat running interference tonight, ready to distract the Allies when the time came. A powerful searchlight reached out towards them, sweeping past their vessel without lingering. It lit up their faces, dazzling them momentarily, then its beam was gone.

  Leaving Cowes behind them, they hugged the western edge of the river mouth before picking up speed and powering across open water towards Beaulieu, surfing down a series of small waves. Staying tight to the shoreline, they rounded the headland and in to Southampton Water.

  In the distance, they could see the lights of the USS Chester at anchor, a couple of miles away. There was some commotion, the flash of small arms fire, searchlights scanning the water. Terra imagined that the other boats Briggs had contacted were running diversionary tactics to occupy the defenders while the Sheridan made her escape. They had used that ruse many times.

  On the opposite side of Solent Water, there were the dark shapes of several enormous container ships moored up in the docks, waiting to unload. They had been there for as long as anyone could remember. Their cargos of hand-made furniture, cars, washing machines and fridge freezers made irrelevant by the outbreak of the virus. It was said that one of the ships held thousands of brand new Toyotas and Lexus SUVs, Hondas, Hyundais and KIAs, intended for car dealerships throughout the south-east.

  Following the shoreline round to the West lay the Maersk Charlotte at anchor, riding higher now she was unloaded. Her cargo of humanitarian aid destined for Africa had been a God-send for the Allies, yielding a treasure-trove of much needed items for Camp Wight. Smaller ships ferried items from the docks to the island daily, including tents, pallets of bottled water, dried goods, pop-up buildings, timber, plastic sheeting, and sanitation equipment. It had been the stroke of luck the Allies needed to kick-start the relief operation.

  Over the past few weeks and months, Terra had watched from Carisbrooke Castle as the landscape around Newport had begun to change. A tent city, known as ‘The Jungle’, had sprung up in the fields outside of Newport. A dangerous place where desperate people traded goods and services. To Briggs, the Jungle served as a bustling market place to recruit workers, deal drugs and sell bootleg alcohol and cigarettes. Most of the people arriving had nothing to barter with except blood, sweat and tears. Anything and everyone was for sale to the highest bidder. Exploitation and prejudice went unchecked, right under the noses of the Allies.

  The Sheridan made a final course correction and aimed for a forest of masts in the half-light at Hythe Marina. Reversing their engines at the last minute, the Sheridan’s forward momentum slowed as the bow nudged against the wooden jetty. Two crewmen jumped down with bow and stern mooring lines, holding her tight against the pontoon just long enough for their passengers to disembark.

  In the shadow of a boat shed, four vehicles waited for them in darkness. One of the cars, a large SUV with raised wheel arches, flashed its headlights three times. Its occupants remained inside the vehicle. Victor and Briggs stepped down onto the concrete quay, keeping their distance.

  Terra’s mind was racing, trying to figure out who was there to meet them. After a short delay, the driver-side doors of each of the vehicles opened in turn as four men emerged. Three of them grouped together and sat back against the bonnet of the larger vehicle handing round cigarettes, their faces illuminated briefly by a Zippo lighter.

  Their leader wandered over
towards the jetty. He stopped a dozen paces away, shielding his eyes from the torchlight shining towards him. He wore a black uniform, his bulk accentuated by what looked like body armour. He gestured for the torch to be lowered and continued forward. It looked like he was wearing police riot gear, with shoulder pads, knee guards and a breast plate, but she couldn’t be sure in the gloom. Victor stepped into his path, blocking his route to Briggs.

  After a moment’s delay, he outstretched his hand towards the stout figure wearing a balaclava over his head.

  “You must be Copper,” said Victor, inclining his head.

  “And you must be Victor,” nodded Copper tersely. The two men shook hands as if neither quite trusted the other.

  Victor led him over to meet the other new arrivals. Briggs was trying to light a cigar, sharing a private joke with one of his henchmen whose sycophantic laugh irritated Terra. Briggs’ hooded eyes were fixed on the approaching pair. He spat on the ground in between them as they came to a halt, flicking the half-burned match off the quay into the water. He looked Copper up and down with a sneer.

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t shake hands.”

  “Norman Briggs,” Copper said, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see you a free man.”

  “Funny old world, isn’t it? I got let off for good behaviour.”

  “For what you did, life should mean life.”

  Briggs took a deep draw on the cigar and coughed, the smoke catching in his throat as he laughed.

  “That was a long time ago. I’ve done my time.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. The police officer you killed was a friend of mine. You shot him in cold blood. He was unarmed. He had family, three kids.”

  “It was nothing personal. He was in my way, that’s all. Anyway, what does it matter now? Time you moved on, chum. I reckon the virus did you a favour n’all.”

  “How’s that?”

  “All those inmates your lot put away in Parkhurst Prison. Most of them are dead. They got what they deserved, eh?”

  “Except you Briggs. Except you.”

  “Guess I’m the lucky one then,” Briggs laughed, staring at his boots. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “Still. New world, new rules. Haven’t you heard? I’ve gone straight. And I hear you’ve changed your ways too.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. We all had to change to survive. Unlike you, some of us changed for the better.”

  “You may not like it but right now, it would seem that we need each other. We find ourselves on the same side for a change.”

  “I wouldn’t quite put it like that. You’ve got Victor to thank for putting us together. The enemy of my enemy… I help you get what you want, you help me get what I want. That’s all this is, an exchange of services.”

  “Doesn’t change anything,” asserted Copper.

  “Call it what you like, mate. Your predecessor and I had an understanding. We helped each other out a few times. Whatever happened to King anyway?”

  “He got careless.”

  “Don’t suppose you had anything to do with that, did you?” said Briggs knowingly.

  Copper shook his head, grimacing at Briggs. “What does it matter. I’m in charge now. I say what goes. If you have a problem with that, we can go our separate ways. I don’t need this,” he said glancing at Victor.

  Victor intervened “Gentlemen, with all due respect, time is not on our side. If we’re going to do this, we need to get going now. Our enemy moves against us. For the next few hours, they are vulnerable. Their people exposed. We must seize this chance. Strike now and we gain the upper hand. We’ll have leverage. The opportunity to get what we want.”

  Briggs continued to stare at Copper, squinting with one eye into the first light of dawn as the sun appeared behind the buildings to the East. He took another long draw from his cigar and blew a stream of smoke into the cold morning air.

  Copper moved his head from side to side. “Say we help you. Go along with your plan. You get what you want. You help us get what we want. Then what?”

  Victor looked across at Briggs who gave him the nod to continue.

  “We all need to look at the bigger picture,” suggested Victor. “Every day we wait, the Allies get stronger. Soon, our chance will be gone. On the island, they have food and power already. There’s no virus to worry about. Hundreds more people arrive each week. They’re building an army, restoring communications infrastructure. In time, they plan to use the island to mount a clean-up operation of the mainland, further projecting their power and influence. If Peterson gets his way, the Americans will be in charge with that puppet Armstrong by their side. We can’t stand-by and let any of that happen.”

  “So what’s the alternative?” asked Copper.

  “We take the island for ourselves. Drive them away. Purge this place of their interference and politics. If today goes our way, then we’ll have the upper hand.”

  “So aside from smuggling and trade between our groups, what’s in it for us.”

  “Right now,” continued Victor, “thousands of people are migrating south, trying to reach the island.”

  “Yeah, we’ve noticed.”

  “We believe that’s only going to get worse. As word spreads, more and more people will come. Lymington is one of the three main embarkation points. The town is critical to the Allied plans to secure the western corridor. They need to guarantee safe passage on both sides of the Solent. If we let them, they’ll turn Lymington into a fortress, place it under military control. Your freedom to operate in the local area will be eliminated. Your group will be driven out. If we work together we can stop that happening.”

  “So why would we work with you, rather than doing a deal with the Allies ourselves?”

  “Because the Allies will view you as a threat. They’ll make you leave or wipe you out. You really think they want you on their doorstep? Sure, they’ll promise peace but then crush you. Look what they did with the groups around Portsmouth. Whereas with us? You get to do whatever the hell you want. You’ll have power, wealth, influence. You name it.”

  Copper removed the balaclava, squinting into the dawn sunlight. Terra admired the richly-coloured tattoos on his neck, steam rising from his bare head. Terra was sizing him up, listening carefully to his questions. She thought she recognised in him that inner conflict between duty and ambition. It was a condition she knew only too well. Here was a man who had devoted his former life to upholding law and order as a policeman but somehow he had been seduced by opportunity.

  In the political vacuum that had ensued following the breakdown, opportunists with a thirst for power had flourished. What remained of functioning institutions struggled to regroup, licking their wounds. Men like Briggs and Copper’s old boss King, had taken full advantage, seizing control, orienting communities around their own beliefs and values, ruthlessly suppressing any who stood against them. Perhaps Copper had never intended things to go this far, this fast. Yet here he was. Since his boss had been captured by the team at Hurst, he was in charge, going through the motions of leadership. He reminded Terra of Jack. Well-meaning but indecisive at best. He lacked the natural authority and intelligence that had attracted her to men like Briggs. She didn’t know Copper, but she had met his kind many times. He was easily-led when one applied the right amount of pressure.

  Copper was conferring with his deputy, his back turned to Victor. Terra noticed Victor and Briggs sharing a knowing look as if they knew what would happen next. Perhaps they had planned this all along. Copper looked up and nodded.

  “Very well, you’ve got yourself a deal. But on one condition.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Riley was the last passenger into the camouflaged personnel carrier. The Sergeant had referred to their ride as an APV. The whole base seemed to run on impressive sounding acronyms. The interior of the bulky vehicle was bathed in a soft green glow that took Riley a moment to get used to. She found a seat directly opposite Zed facing inwards, in between
one of the scientists and Professor Nicholas.

  Once the door at the rear was closed up, it was like being stuck in a tin can, stuffy and hot. After a moment’s delay, the diesel engine coughed into life and the vent above her head started blowing cool filtered air from outside. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to dispel the rising sense of claustrophobia.

  In the last forty-eight hours, she had barely seen Zed. When they ate together, he had been monosyllabic, introspective and preoccupied with his investigation. She tried her best to engage him, but it was like he was in a trance. She hadn’t seen him like this before. He clearly hadn’t slept much and looked haggard and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. Each time she had asked him about progress, he blew out his cheeks and said that they were no closer to a breakthrough. He said it might take years, that it was wrong to expect miracles. She had apologised and left him to underline passages of interest in the text on his lap.

  She could hear the driver and one of the soldiers in the cab running through their final checks. He released the hand brake, revved the engine a couple of times, wrestling with the gear lever, before rolling slowly forward to join the line of vehicles in front of them. They were as well prepared as they could hope to be. Their route was planned, the team briefed for the final time. Each of their four vehicles had been meticulously checked by Porton’s resident mechanic. Their fuel tanks were topped off with a jerrycan, tyres inflated. Each of their windscreens had been fitted with metal bars and wire mesh as a precautionary measure to protect the passengers against the expected hail of stones and bricks they would encounter as they left the compound. They were carrying extra fuel, water and food just in case they got held up or had to take a detour round blocked roads and fallen trees.

  The squad of soldiers from Porton was split between the vehicles. They would act as local guides until they reached the coast. The APV carried their most precious cargo: the lead scientists; several hard drives; laptops loaded with research data and reams of written notes. Zed had asked to tag along with the scientists. Riley was invited to keep him company. She figured a bunch of geeks would be more likely to leave her in peace than the playful banter of the Americans. The Seal team had squeezed themselves into an armoured Land Rover at the rear of the convoy and called out to her as she walked past.