by Robin Crumby
The launch did not linger. They dropped off six soldiers who were on rotation, picking up several others who would head back to the barracks at Portsmouth, their time in Lymington over for now. The soldiers tended to work seven days on the front line and seven days back at base. In total, nearly two thousand personnel were now tasked with the security and reconstruction of the Solent area. Their numbers were swelling every day as the Allies neared critical mass.
They retraced their steps back along the channel towards open water, turning west towards Hurst Castle, outlined against the skyline. Its dark shape looked unfamiliar from here. The shingle spit on which the castle perched stretched inland towards Keyhaven, its white lighthouse towering over the castle walls. Each roll of the launch took Riley one step closer to home. She wondered what she had missed in the time they had been away in Porton Down.
They set course directly for the eastwards facing jetty and unloading area not far away. It had been reconstructed so that larger vessels could reach the castle at all tides without having to navigate the shallows and tidal mudflats of the inner passage that led to Keyhaven. Ahead of them, Riley could see the shape of a young man, puzzling at who would be waiting for her. She wasn’t expected, unless Jones or Peterson had called ahead to let them know. She recognised the friendly face of Sam waiting for her, his hand raised in welcome. He helped fend off their bow as Riley jumped down on to the wooden platform.
“Hello stranger,” she said as Sam embraced her warmly.
“Jack’s waiting for you in the lighthouse. He asked me to take you straight there.”
“That sounds ominous. I thought it would be a surprise.”
“Nothing surprises Jack. He knows everything that goes on round here. You know what he’s like.”
Riley raised her eyebrows and fell into step alongside Sam with a cursory wave to the guys on the launch who were pulling away, heading back towards Portsmouth. They walked alongside the narrow-gauge railway track that ran along the walls of the castle, laid in years gone by for unloading stores from visiting ships. Some said the castle had been a home for smugglers when contraband was landed here and other places to avoid paying duty. It seemed to Riley that this would be an ideal spot, away from prying eyes and official interferences. This had always been a wild unholy place where natural law re-asserted itself over man’s attempts at control.
The door to the lighthouse was open and Riley could see Jack sitting at his kitchen table cradling a hot cup of tea.
“There you are. Our traveller returns eh? How did you get on in Porton Down? Sorry to hear about the trouble you had getting back.”
“How did you hear already? Who told you?”
“Oh, I had a call with some of the council members last night. Colonel Abrahams shared the bad news about the Professor and what happened to Zed’s arm. Hear he’s been patched up and is helping the scientists.”
“Wow. There goes my currency. So what have I missed here, Jack?”
“All going to plan, thanks. The handover is going fine, we’ve got another party heading to Yarmouth today. By the end of the week, we’ll be a skeletal civilian crew here. More soldiers arriving today.”
“Have they found us somewhere suitable to live yet?”
“Yes, didn’t you hear? We’ve been billeted to Freshwater Bay Hotel on the southern side of the island, so the advance party is getting it ready. It sounds ideal, there’s a golf course nearby which has been turned over to farmland. Good soil and excellent climate for all manner of plants and vegetables. What else? There’s a beach, beautiful views over the cliffs and rocks. Really, it’s more than we could have expected.”
“Sounds great, but it won’t be the same though, Jack. You know that, right?”
“Listen Riley,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I need your support on this one. There’s no point fighting what’s about to happen. It’s the ‘least worst’ option for us. Besides, things are changing here quickly. The sooner we get everyone out the better.”
“What’s this I hear about all these refugees moving through the area causing problems? The Americans seemed concerned.”
“Yes, it’s not great. We’ve got people passing through every day, stripping Milford and Keyhaven bare. We’ve had to bring all the animals back on to the spit where we can watch over them. Several were disappearing each night. Milford village and Keyhaven are becoming no-go places for us. I’ve had to suspend scavenging teams for now. All stores are now coming in by sea from the island. It’s putting a huge strain on our resources already.”
“Can’t the soldiers protect us?” asked Riley confused.
“They could if we could get our vehicles out.”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t they just drive along the spit like normal?”
“Because those travellers have barricaded the roadway, blocked us in. I think they’re trying to starve us out.”
“What? Why would they do that?”
“It’s the Sisters, Riley. I think they’re behind all this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The journey back from the forest camp had been uneventful thus far. Terra was sat in the back of the people carrier behind the Professor. She was removing the brown nail polish from her finger tips and trying to choose between ‘Hot Tub Pink’ and ‘Miami Red’ from her makeup bag. She decided the pink might be a bit over the top for today, tutting as the vehicle bounced over a pot hole.
In front of her, the Professor was sandwiched between two of Briggs’ men. He looked like he hadn’t slept much but was otherwise unharmed. Unlike the treatment of the other prisoners they had captured, the Professor had been well treated. Briggs had been respectful, even deferential towards the academic. He had interrogated him several times, before rotating through the scientists and then Zed and Riley. He played one off against the other, probing for inconsistencies. Perhaps it was on account of his age or willingness to co-operate, Terra wasn’t sure, but Briggs had behaved almost reverentially towards the Professor.
At one point, she noticed Briggs smoothing down the academic’s collar, patting his shoulders affectionately when he spoke with him. She suspected that the Professor reminded him of someone. She imagined some boyhood male role model, perhaps a priest or benevolent Uncle. He had never once mentioned his father. In fact, other than a few anecdotes about juvenile detention and playing truant, Briggs never talked much about his childhood at all.
Briggs had been furious when the Americans had attacked in the night. He was seething that for a second time they had crashed his party and stolen his prize from right under their noses. It had been blind luck that they had not found the Professor. The leaders of the forest group had invited them to a dinner in their honour, toasting the new alliance into the early hours. The Professor had been quizzed about the island. Everyone seemed hot under the collar at the Allies’ complacency. They had underestimated the scale of the combined threats posed by the rebellion. More and more groups were rallying to the cause. They wanted to take back what belonged to them and banish the military from the region once and for all. The island was theirs, wasn’t it?
Terra was amused by their growing confidence. She exchanged furtive glances with Victor when he caught her eye, wondering what he made of all this. Surely, the more allies Briggs secured, the bigger the task they would have in overthrowing his control. She marvelled at Victor’s ingenuity. He was always so busy, thinking two or three moves ahead. Playing one side against the other. It was a dangerous game. All she had to do was mention his duplicity to Briggs and Victor would be gone in an instant, but she knew the same could be said of her. It would be a zero-sum game. They would both be finished. Briggs would have no tolerance for treachery. She had found that out the hard way, early on. The scar on her wrist was testament to that. When it came to beatings, he avoided her face, preferring to leave his mark below the neckline. He needed her to look good.
Briggs had blamed his hosts for the attack. They had lost almost everything. The scientists, Zed,
Riley, many of the computers and external drives. Two of his men were dead and another badly injured in the ensuing firefight. Terra had stood by terrified as Briggs vented his fury on the forest group. Their failure to ensure adequate protection, their blatant incompetency, would not stand. They had been afraid of him. They told him to leave, tried to threaten him with what would happen if he tried anything. Briggs had lost his temper, shot their leader in the head at point-blank range. They had gunned down the others in the room in cold blood. They left no one alive, even those unarmed. Terra remembered the feeling of helplessness, shaking uncontrollably as Briggs’ men laughed, kicking the inert bodies to check they were dead.
“Come on, that’s enough excitement for one day,” he said trying to comfort her, wiping the blood from her face with a clean white handkerchief. “We’ve still got the Professor. That’s what matters.”
He put his coat around her shoulders steering her towards the back of a waiting car. They collected the men’s weapons and some stores for the journey and set off before the rest of the group could return to discover their leaders massacred.
After three hours of driving, they finally emerged from the forest and the tree canopy opened up to reveal farmland and chocolate-box houses, picturesque villages in the approach to Lymington. Most of these places looked occupied again with smoke curling from their chimneys in the late afternoon chill. It was said that hundreds of people were moving through this area, stripping it bare like locusts. The locals had mostly moved out, some of the first to relocate to the island. They had been warned that the ferry port at Lymington would become a beacon to refugees from all over the region and beyond. Their safety could only be guaranteed on the island itself. They didn’t need asking twice. Those that had taken their place used the houses nearest the road as temporary accommodation. On walls and road signs, they noticed graffiti, spray painted messages left for surviving friends or family they hoped would pass this way.
At the bottom of the hill, they followed Copper’s men in the car in front and turned left towards Lymington’s New Forest Hospital. The road here was barricaded with concrete barriers positioned to force approaching vehicles through a narrow chicane, sand-bagged firing positions on either side.
The guard recognised their vehicles and pushed back the mesh fence on small wheels to allow the convoy of three vehicles to pass. They parked near the front entrance and went inside.
Several of the hospital group emerged to welcome them before noticing the strangers amongst them.
“Who’s this then?” asked a short balding man with a moustache that called to mind the lead detective from a British murder mystery series Terra had enjoyed as a teenager. She couldn’t recall the title.
“This is the man I was telling you about, Charlie meet Briggs.” said Copper, introducing his right-hand man. Briggs nodded, but made clear his continued displeasure at finding himself collaborating with former members of her Majesty’s constabulary.
“So, you’re Reginald Briggs? I never thought I’d see the day…”
“Not this again. I did my time. Don’t you people ever give up?”
“Listen, Charlie, can you get everyone together?”
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
“I’ll tell you later. We’re moving out in the morning. It’s time we got on the front foot.”
“Yes, boss. About time,” encouraged his subordinate with a grin.
***
That evening, Copper, Briggs, Charlie and the Professor stood at the front of the large atrium near the hospital reception desk. Nearly two hundred people were packed in here, craning their necks, trying to see the two strangers waiting for their turn to speak. Terra stood towards the side, casting her eyes across the sea of faces, wondering if she would recognise anyone here.
“Can I have your attention please?” shouted Copper. “Everyone, listen up.”
Charlie put his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly as the conversations finished abruptly and the room fell silent.
“As some of you know, me and the fellas have just got back from a little trip. Our mission was to intercept a military convoy heading to the island from a research facility at Porton Down, which many of you will have heard of,” he paused, watching a few of those nearest him nodding or trying to figure out where they had heard that name before.
“Porton Down is an old MoD base near Salisbury, where they did all the testing of viruses and biological weapons. Turns out they know quite a lot about the Millennial Virus. That’s one of the places where the government was storing massive stock piles of the vaccine which could have stopped the outbreak and saved millions of lives, but they chose to keep it for themselves.”
There was a murmur of discontent as people digested what they were being told. Many seemed skeptical to Terra, as if they doubted the veracity of the statements, refusing to believe that the government would knowingly withhold a vaccine which could have saved lives. Copper gestured towards the Professor who was shaking his head at the last statement.
“This man here is Professor Nichols. He was the government’s go-to expert on pandemic viruses. He was the person who advised them that the population should be vaccinated. There’s not much the Professor doesn’t know about the virus. He told me…he told us,” he corrected himself, casting a sweeping arm around the others standing nearby, “that Porton Down was conducting secret tests that might even have caused the outbreak itself.”
“Now hold on,” interrupted the Professor before Charlie grabbed hold of his arm to silence him.
“You’ll get your turn to speak in a minute,” said Copper, silencing the Professor. “First I want you to hear from our new friends who live on the island. I know a lot of you have been talking. Talking about upping sticks and heading over there. Well, before you make a big mistake, I want you to listen to this man. Briggs is here to tell us what’s really going on over there and why going there would be a really bad idea.”
Briggs stepped forward and surveyed the room disdainfully for a few seconds.
“All you lot think the island is some kind of utopia. You might even believe all the lies that they’re spreading about how they have food, water, electricity, phones. Well, I’m here to tell you that the truth is very different. I should know, we live there. The fact is, Camp Wight is a forced labour camp. And whilst they don’t make everyone shave their heads and wear sack cloth, everyone who goes there is made to work. Those people don’t get to eat unless they’ve done a day’s work. I’m not talking about office work, sitting at a desk all day. I’m talking labouring, morning, noon and night, digging ditches, putting up walls, clearing bodies. Little kids are split up from their families and sent to special prison camps where they get re-educated, taught to believe more lies.”
He paused, nodding at a few of the crowd who were shaking their heads at him, refusing to accept his version.
“Everyone in this room has probably lost people to the virus, people they were close to. You’ve probably heard that everyone on the island gets given the vaccine, that they don’t have to worry about the virus anymore. It’s lies, all lies. The Professor here will tell you that there is no vaccine. The only thing they have is that Tamiflu and the other stuff they mass-produced before the outbreak. It’s useless, barely makes any difference.”
“Anyone who thinks they’ll be safer on the island is kidding themselves. You’re better off staying here.”
“What about the people who are immune?” shouted one of the women at the front of the room.
“There’s no such thing as immune,” corrected Copper. “Some of you have increased resistance to the virus, but virtually no-one is immune. The virus will mutate again and when it does very few of us will escape. Even if they could find a vaccine, by the time they’ve produced it in sufficient quantities, chances are the virus will have changed again. Isn’t that right Professor?”
“Well yes, that’s the nature of viruses, they are constantly changing. It’s like trying to hit a m
oving target, but that doesn’t mean that an effective vaccine couldn’t…”
“Thank you, Professor,” he said cutting him off as Charlie yanked him back into place, pinching his bicep painfully.
“Then there’s the Americans,” added Briggs, laughing sarcastically. “They arrived out of the blue and started ordering us around, telling us what to do and what not to do. They’ve found a puppet in Captain Armstrong who does their bidding. There they are parked out in the Solent with all their guns and missiles pointing at our heads, threatening us if we don’t toe the line. Well, on the island, we’ve all had quite enough of their interference. We need to deliver the message that they are not welcome around here anymore, to move on and find some other corner of the globe to make their home. This place belongs to us.”
Briggs smiled as a small cheer arose from part of the crowd. “That’s right. I’ve seen for myself. Whilst we’re all starving, fighting over scraps, them lot over at Osbourne House are feasting on roast duck, pork chops, fine wine, champagne, caviar. They have the best of everything. Well, let me tell you, they’ve had their fun. It’s high time we drove them out, for good.”
There was muted agreement and encouraging grunts from those at the front. Copper patted an impassioned Briggs on the shoulder and took over.
“First things first, tomorrow night we’re planning two raids. The first will target the ferry port at Lymington. The second will drive to Hurst Castle. As you know, they’re illegally holding our leader, Damian King there. They still refuse to give him up, despite us asking nicely. We’ll be joining forces with Briggs here and his men, plus there are a few other groups heading this way from Christchurch and Bournemouth who support the cause.”