Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  Morgan noted that several other cars had followed him through the gap and smiled ironically to himself.

  ‘Typical, it takes just one act of ruthless common sense to solve a situation – but they all follow on like pathetic sheep.’

  The road ahead was clear – no traffic at all and he reached the roundabout leading to the airport within five minutes. He raced up to the terminal and parked his car in a bus space, not caring about parking restrictions. He unloaded his suitcases, grabbed a trolley, loaded them and slammed the door shut leaving the keys inside. This was Clark William’s car and he couldn’t care less if it was towed away and impounded. He had made it – he was at the terminal and it was exactly 4pm. An hour to take off. He sped to the Easy Jet check-in and was first in the queue.

  ’17:15 to Frankfurt,’ he announced to the check-in clerk, handing her his fake passport.

  The girl examined her computer, nodded and labelled his luggage after the normal security questions.

  ‘Boarding at Gate 34 in fifteen minutes, sir. You only just made it! Have a nice flight.’

  Morgan silently praised the Lord and strode towards security and customs. He breezed through as flyers were few and far between today. He reached Gate 34 at 4.10pm and looking around, he counted only twelve other passengers for this flight to Frankfurt. Glancing outside he saw their aircraft sitting on the apron, snow blasting it from across the airfield. Maintenance men were clearing snow from the aircraft’s upper surfaces, and ploughs were moving piles of the white stuff to the edge of the pan, creating a pathway towards the taxiway. Morgan looked up at the departures board and was not surprised to see that every flight after his was cancelled. Even some before his Easy Jet flight were gone and he silently crossed his fingers that he’d get away. If he didn’t, he would be subject to a raft of unanswerable questions from the police, the bank and everyone he knew. There was no going back.

  The next twenty minutes were excruciating and the longest of his life, but eventually the Easy Jet rep called them forward to board. ‘The lucky thirteen’, he thought. They showed their boarding cards and piled on board as quickly as possible. The doors closed quickly and the pilot started the engines. Within five minutes they were taxying out towards the runway. Most of the passengers looked pretty nervous, but Morgan was just praying to every God he could recall for the flight not to be cancelled before they were airborne.

  The Captain of the aeroplane came over the PA system with the usual blurb and finished by saying;

  ‘You’ll be relieved to learn that we have permission to take-off in the current break in the weather. The runway is clear but Luton will close after we depart. You can thank the fact that a political VIP is aboard and has ‘facilitated’ our departure. Crew, ready for take-off’.

  The aircraft moved to the take-off position and ran up the engines to full power. The snow had started again with a vengeance, but within seconds they were moving down the runway to freedom. Fifty miles per hour, eighty miles per hour – eventually one hundred miles per hour and at about 140 miles per hour the nosewheel came off the ground, which is exactly when the seventy-knot gust of wind hit the Boeing side on.

  The aircraft immediately swung to the right and the Captain replaced the nosewheel on the ground.

  ‘EY8765 aborting!’, he transmitted without hesitation.

  It was too late.

  The aeroplane veered sharply right and left the runway, skidding across the snow covered grass of the airfield. Full reverse thrust was applied, but had little effect. The undercarriage collapsed and EY8765 slid helplessly to her doom.

  On most airfields, there are small buildings dotted about, housing navigation equipment and other specific aeronautical necessities. It was one such building that Morgan glimpsed momentarily before the aeroplane smashed into it at around eighty miles per hour. The impact tore off the wing and the fuel tanks were compromised. As the aircraft slid to a halt it burst into flames and seconds later exploded like a giant firework display.

  Clark Williams alias Phillip Morgan died instantly and nobody ever recovered his body. What's more, his crimes would never be discovered.

  Day 2 – Grantham, Lincolnshire – 7:00pm

  Brady let the upset boy, Chris, go. He would give him a few minutes to calm down, and then fetch him back. The boy had a lot of hard facts to face – as he himself had to. Brady was still blocking out the loss of his family. He found it almost impossible to believe that they had all gone. He absent mindedly glanced out of the window and understood that the snow was indeed a reality, and if he wanted to survive then he must draw up a plan that would get him, and these two refugees he’d inherited, to safety.

  Jane had withdrawn into herself. She had tried to contact her boyfriend but with no success. Her only surviving grandparents were trapped in their house in Stevenage and she was dreadfully worried for them. Although not frail or helpless in the least, she wanted to be with them at this desperate time. She feared she would never see them again.

  Brady attempted to snap her back to reality.

  ‘I’m going up to see the boy. Can you prepare some warm food and pour hot drinks into flasks. You’ll find a few in the kitchen cupboards. Also, when that's done we’ll get this room set up into our base/bedroom for the night. There’s warmth and security in numbers. I’ll get Chris doing something to occupy his mind. Then we have to work out a workable plan for getting away. We have two choices - either we sit it out and eventually freeze to death or we make an effort to escape. I’ve got an idea milling around in my head, but I need an hour or two to put it into a practical format.’

  Jane nodded meekly and stood up to attend to her allotted tasks. Brady went upstairs and found Chris sitting in his son’s bedroom.

  ‘I thought you lived on your own?’ he asked. ‘This bedroom is lived in.’

  Brady sat down on the bed next to Chris and held his head in his hands. Over the next five minutes, he explained to Chris about the events of that morning. He also asked him not to tell Jane. He preferred to do that himself – when the time was right.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mr Brady,’ apologised the boy through a mist of tears. ‘At least my mum might be safe.’

  Brady told him about his proposal to escape and that a team conference was required to discuss the details of the plan. He explained that the three of them had only themselves to rely on and must react accordingly. In the meantime, Chris should help Jane set up their HQ. He should roam the house collecting mattresses, duvets and pillows to enable Jane to arrange the sitting room into a warm and protected area. It would be a very cold night.

  In the meantime, Brady would retire to his study and computer whilst the electricity was still on to prepare his proposals for the escape plan. He suggested an 8 o’clock meeting for dinner followed by a general discussion and asked the boy to tell Jane.

  Chris took all of this in his stride. He was distracted and enthused by being given responsibility and set off at a brisk pace to carry out his tasks.

  Brady smiled, filled with a new sense of purpose as he sat at his desk and fired up the computer.

  Day 2 – Perth, Scotland – 5:00pm

  The distance between Pauline Quick’s family home, her work and her children’s school was less than a mile.

  Every morning at 8.30am she prepared the children for the day and then walked them half a mile to the small St Andrews’ Church of Scotland School. She would drop the twins off at the main entrance and continue on her way to work, once she was satisfied that they were safely inside.

  Today was slightly different, of course, because of the weather. Poor conditions were not rare in this part of Scotland, but the snow was falling quite heavily. Pauline had contemplated keeping them at home today, and had rung the doctor’s surgery to see if she could swap shifts. However, three receptionists had not shown up and the practice manager needed her to go in.

  Therefore, she walked the kids to school as usual and just dressed them up a bit more warmly than usual. T
he school was open – hardy folk the Scots – and she made sure that the seven-year-old twins were safe before she continued on to the doctors’ surgery. The headmistress had been by the front entrance and had assured all parents that a full day was planned. Pauline was satisfied even though the number of children arriving for school seemed far fewer than usual.

  She marched briskly to the doctor’s surgery trying to keep warm and arrived well in time for her shift. It was snowing quite hard by now and the wind was blowing powerfully into her face as she opened the front door and took refuge within. After settling herself and hanging up her wet clothes, she reported to the shift manager who explained the situation.

  ‘Just the four of us today, Pauline. Everyone else has cried off and only one doctor is in – they mostly live in the countryside and can't get here today. I expect that patients will be few and far between, but we need to provide a service for those that do pitch up. There’s no nurse either, so I don’t see what we can do anyway. Perhaps we can catch up on some paperwork.’

  Pauline just nodded and glanced round the patients waiting area that had just one person waiting.

  ‘I could have stayed at home with the bairns,’ she mused.

  Too late now, though, since she was on shift until 2.30pm. She did twenty-five hours per week, job sharing. It helped with the family budget but gave her the flexibility of supervising the twins. No need for a child minder – and the surgery was good about school holidays, so she really didn’t mind todays’ small inconvenience.

  The morning progressed without incident. Only six other patients visited the surgery and three of those were just to pick up prescriptions and two to make appointments for flu jabs. A single customer all morning for the doctor and at 11am he conceded defeat and went home.

  ‘I’m not waiting around here with nothing to do. I want to get home before this weather deteriorates any further,’ he complained.

  So, by midday, the four receptionists were watching the clock and the weather. Mavis lived in the country so she was the first to escape. There was no point in Pauline leaving as the children were at school until 3pm. She normally picked them up on the way home so she volunteered to hold the fort and lock up at 2.30pm. Consequently, the two remaining receptionists left for home at around 1pm, leaving Pauline to secure the building. She was asked to post a notice on the front door, indicating that the surgery was closed due to inclement weather until tomorrow morning. She quickly typed and printed out a notice and slid it into a plastic wallet.

  She then made sure that all of the usual exit checks were done, and that the answer phones were set with the closure message. Just before 2.15pm, she put her cold weather clothing on, and checked that all was well within the surgery. She grasped the plastic covered notice in her hand and took four drawing pins to affix it to the door. One glove was in her pocket as she opened the front door to the building.

  She wasn’t prepared for the ferocity of the storm. The snow flew in and the door slammed wide open. She stepped back slightly against the wall and looked outside. She could barely see five feet. Nevertheless, she must pin the notice to the door, pull it shut and go to fetch the twins from school.

  Pauline stepped towards the outside and into the wind and as she did so, the plastic notice flew from her grasp and disappeared into oblivion. She swore. She decided in that moment that the notice would have to wait.

  She dropped the pins and grabbed the large brass handle on the old Victorian door. She needed all her strength to pull the door closed. It eventually snapped shut and the three Yale locks with double bolts engaged. No keys necessary, thankfully, as Pauline didn’t reckon she could have managed them. She searched for her glove but that had gone as well. She swore again.

  Never mind, it was only ten minutes to the school. She thrust her ungloved hand deep into her pocket and set off towards St Andrews’ junior school.

  The storm was at its worst so far. There was a forty mile per hour gale blowing snow into everyone and everything. Pauline was finding it very difficult to even work out where she was, let alone where she was going. It was essential that she get to the school; she knew that she must collect the twins and that's what kept her going. She stood outside a row of shops and looked up to see if she could recognise the name above the window. She couldn’t see. So she pushed at the entrance door and tried to go in and ask for directions whilst sheltering for a few minutes. However, like many other shops that day – it was closed.

  Pauline cowered in the doorway trying to get her bearings. She couldn’t ask anyone for directions, because there was no one else about. She believed that she needed to turn right, head down the road to the junction, turn left, cross the road and the school was about two hundred metres further down. She pulled her hood-string tighter round her neck, thrust her freezing hand back into her pocket, and set off again.

  She walked – or rather stumbled – towards what she thought were the traffic lights at the junction near her children’s school. She continued for about twenty minutes, keeping close into the shops, stopping every thirty or forty metres to take shelter. Not one of these shops was open, and all had deep snow drifting up against the frontages.

  When the buildings ran out, she knew that the traffic lights were close and sure enough, there, about thirty metres ahead shone the red beacon of a stop signal. It even changed to green and then back to red.

  Pauline was greatly relieved and figured she could now reach the school. She approached the light and was mildly puzzled in that it was lower down than usual, but she put this down to the two feet of snow lying around its base. It changed from red to green to red again, but there was no amber. Just as she was wondering why, the ground beneath her vanished and she fell six feet headlong into a gaping hole.

  It was a soft landing and apart from being shocked and alarmed, she was uninjured. Pauline stood up and it was good to be out of the windy blast that she had suffered since leaving the surgery some thirty minutes ago. She couldn’t quite work out what had happened, but she realised that she was clearly in some sort of ‘hole in the road’. Perhaps it was workman’s diggings? They were laying gas piping all over the town centre – yes, she’d seen them excavating last week. She must be in one of their holes. That would also explain the smaller than usual traffic light.

  No problem, she would take a few minutes rest, climb out and then fetch the children – who must be getting worried by now. She looked around for a way out. She turned full circle but could see no exit. No ladder or anything else to clamber onto to give her a lift up to the surface. To add to her problems the snow was falling even more heavily and she was becoming covered. She tried jumping up with the aim of grabbing the lip of the hole and pulling herself out. Unfortunately, she was too short and each time she landed, she compressed the snow and ended up even deeper than before.

  ‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘Help me; I’m down in this hole, help, help!’

  Nobody heard. There were no workmen on site, as they had not even turned up today and the temporary traffic light was on automatic. There were no other pedestrians in the general area and in this howling gale they would never have heard her anyway.

  Pauline screamed for help again, and again, and again, until she was hoarse and exhausted. She tried to jump up but with no success. Her un-gloved hand was blue with cold and she had lost the feeling in her fingers.

  She slumped to her knees, sobbing.

  Thirty minutes later, she was unconscious. No one ever found her.

  Her children remained at the school with several teachers and other pupils whose parents had suffered similar fates, or could just not get there. None of these teachers would leave the children – even if they were able. The blizzard was unrelenting, making escape impossible.

  So, like at many thousands of other schools through-out the country, the occupants all settled down for the night.

  And, when the power eventually failed, they all slowly froze to death.

  Day 2 – Grantham, Lincolnshire –
8:00pm

  Brady, Jane and Chris assembled in what they now called HQ at 8pm. For the past two hours they had all been immersed in their own set of tasks, which contributed to the present state of preparation for the coming night.

  Chris had been transferring three single mattresses from the bedrooms and had set them up in front of the gas fire in the corner of HQ. He had moved the sofa and two easy chairs to make an artificial barrier around the bedding from the rest of the room. He laid duvets on the mattresses and put two pillows on each. On top of this, he had laid yet another duvet to cover the occupant. Chris also fetched down every spare duvet and blanket he could find.

  He had drawn the curtains and Brady had allowed him to nail up a double duvet against the window frame. This would help to keep the draught out. The gas fire was still working, so it had been blaring out at full power and the room was nicely warm - even snug. The electricity was, miraculously, still connected, so he was charging computers, phones, batteries and a set of walky-talkies that Brady had supplied.