Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  Day 23

  Monday 6th January

  Sandringham House - Norfolk

  Temporary Seat of the British Government

  Sir Ian James, the newly appointed – not elected – Prime Minister was a busy man. He and his PPS, Phillip Singh, had set to work immediately after lunch, and his first job was to try to contact the President of the United States. Not only to apprise him of the changes of government and the actual situation on the ground, but also to sincerely thank him and his nation for the fantastic job they were doing to protect and feed British citizens all over Europe.

  Sir Robert Williams, the senior RPO, had conscientiously maintained the state-of-the-art radio equipment which was positioned in a small room at the top of the house. Due to the extensive and weatherproof aerials stationed in the royal gardens, he had been able to keep the Queen in radio contact with just about anybody who had a suitable receiver. This had included 10 Downing Street, the White House and many British Embassies around the world. During the normal course of events it was hardly used – but throughout the current crisis he had been almost continuously discussing the critical issues affecting British interests. It was by this radio link that the PM spoke to the US President that morning.

  It was a polite, yet quite formal interview during which the President emphasised that he did not underestimate the severity of the situation and its potential impact worldwide. There were many US citizens in the UK when the snow began - including one of his wife’s sisters.

  The British PM thanked him and made firm arrangements to speak twice daily at 1400 and 2200 GMT.

  He then made a dozen additional calls to Embassies in Australia, Canada, India and some of the other most affected countries. His final call was to Brussels and the person heading operations on behalf of the British people – Dame Ann Fletcher.

  They spent over an hour discussing events and developments, and by the time they were finished, the PM felt that he was fully in the picture. They decided that he should remain at Sandringham for the time being as transferring to Brussels would spark a media feeding frenzy.

  ‘In which case,’ the PM ordered, ‘I want to see you here by 7am tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of difficult decisions to make.’

  ‘No problem, Prime Minister, I’ll be there!’ She was keen to be at the centre of the action.

  Day 23

  Monday 6th January

  Waltham Forest, London

  Chloe Fletcher aged twenty-two, sat in the corner of the reasonably warm and dry cellar room which lay beneath the house of her landlords, Sue and Les Townsend. There were seven people and a dog sheltering here; Chloe and her boyfriend Chris, her best friend Marie, her boyfriend’s bother Matt and his wife Lynne plus Sue and Les. The dog was a small black Spaniel named Bracken.

  They had all been in here since Day 6 – and their survival – unpleasant as it was, was due entirely to the foresight and planning of Les Townsend. Some people might have called him unconventional – but who was laughing now? Certainly Chloe owed him her life.

  The Townsends had been like parents to Chloe for the past year or so. She had met their daughter Marie at Loughborough University four years previously, when they were studying Graphic Design. Once a month, because Chloe’s mother, Ann, was usually in some far-flung Embassy, she would travel down to London and spend the weekend with the Townsend family. It was here that she met Chris and their relationship blossomed. It was a very comfortable arrangement. Les and Sue lived at No.50 in a pretty cul-de-sac of nineteen-twenties houses on the edge of Waltham Forest. Opposite at No.45 lived Chris, an electrician, with his lodger whose rent helped pay the mortgage. To complete the circle, Chris’s brother, Matt lived next door at No.47 with his wife, Lynne; and so the family was a constant source of support to each other. Chloe lived in a room at the top of Les and Sue’s house, paying rent, since she and Marie had finished University the previous summer, both with excellent degrees.

  The young people all had decent jobs – Chloe working as a trainee Graphic Designer at a leading firm in Euston. They socialised together and generally lived a great life. Sue and Les were recently retired and they were able to provide the glue which kept them all together and happy.

  Chloe didn’t see her mother very often, but she’d come to accept this and made allowances for her absences at birthdays, Christmas and most recently, her Graduation ceremony at Loughborough. She didn’t know her father – he seemingly died when she was a baby, in an RAF flying accident and was buried in Germany. So the family life in Waltham Forest was something new and comforting. Better late than never she often mused to herself.

  How she ended up in the cellar was both fortuitous and well-planned. Les Townsend had a bit of a reputation as an inventor-come-boffin. He was a talented chemist during his working years, and had been able to take relatively early retirement due to meticulous financial planning and years of moderate living. Chloe liked him immensely and treated him like her real father.

  Les was an insatiable and voracious reader. He read everything he could lay his hands on, and absorbed enormous amounts of information on a plethora of scientific, historic and practical subjects. His memory was vast – he could recall almost anything he had ever read about and was the ideal chap to have on your Pub Quiz Team.

  Sue just let him get on with it and was far too busy attending to their new puppy, Bracken to take much notice of one of Les’s latest madcap projects – as she called them.

  So, twenty or so years previously, when he had asked Sue whether she needed any of the space in the cellar, she raised no objections and Les was free to embark on his next great venture – or folly – depending how you looked at it!

  At first, whilst he was still employed, he’d spend weekends down in the cellar – where access was strictly forbidden to any other members of the family. After he retired, the project became almost an obsession. He felt he was up against a ticking time bomb.

  When the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, Les, like a lot of dubious people throughout Europe and the rest of the world were not convinced about nuclear safety. The old Soviet Union had split up into a variety of disparate countries and regions, some of which were still dangerously volatile – and yet many had control of old Soviet Nukes!

  Les was unhappy about this, so set about taking steps to protect his young family if the worst came to the worst. He imagined that London would be a prime target for a nuclear-armed nutter, so he saw his cellar as a potential nuclear-proof bunker. It was on this premise that he drafted his construction plans. He didn’t reveal his intentions to anyone else – especially his family – so not to alarm them unnecessarily. Nevertheless, he initiated the scheme in early 1992 and had spent the last twenty years completing the job.

  However, by the onset of the snow in that December, he was still not completely finished!

  He had started enthusiastically enough, but like with many of Les’s projects, it began to take a lower priority – especially as he had three young kids to raise with Sue. Nonetheless, the bunker ticked along at a steady-ish pace and the intention to complete it was always in his mind. His family joked about what was going on down in the cellar at first, but after a while the mystery lost its attraction and they all forgot about it.

  However, Les had made progress and some of the features were impressive – if not a little OTT.

  The entrance to the cellar was in the cupboard under the stairs, so it was not readily accessible to unwelcome visits or ‘nosey parkers’ anyway. A steep set of brick steps led down to a low-ceilinged space of about eight by six metres. There were a couple of brick built stanchions spaced equally across the centre, but apart from that it was empty and, more importantly, dry.

  The family had used it to store the odd item of furniture and old tea chests, but essentially Les was free to start. What he really wanted was a warm living space for up to eight people, with filtered air to keep out the nasty radioactive fallout from a nuclear explosion over London. So, his first priority was to
clean, repair and decorate.

  He spent months sucking up brick dust, re-pointing and painting. Floors, walls and ceiling were completely renovated and by the time he was finished – a full two years later – you could eat your dinner off the floor, which had several layers of thick, non-slip floor paint. The walls had been plastered and painted and a false ceiling installed – giving a height of just about seven feet across the room. He'd also dug a deep soak away in one corner, which he planned to use to dispose of waste water.

  He then carpeted the staircase – which had received similar repair – and put warm cushion vinyl over an underlay of thick insulated matting on the main floor.

  Les, ever the man with an eye for a bargain had picked up the carpeting at local furniture and household auctions – and indeed, throughout the life of the project hardly ever bought anything brand new. Eventually, during the late nineties and early noughties, ‘eBay’ became a brilliant source of supplies and there were regular mystery deliveries to No.50 over the years.

  The next important job was the installation of ventilation and air filtration.

  That process took a bit longer to accomplish!

  Day 23

  Monday 6th January

  Tesco Supermarket

  Patric Silver stood staring into the blindingly bright light shining straight into his face. He could not believe what was happening!

  ‘Lay your weapons on the floor and sit down. All of you!’ shouted the disembodied ‘voice’ coming from behind the light.

  The ‘inmates’, standing like rabbits caught in the glare of car headlights, didn’t move at first, but slowly they released their improvised arms and dropped to the floor. They were surrounded by the ‘committee’s’ thugs who started screaming loudly at them to ‘get down,’ in a successful attempt to frighten and disorient the unfortunate rebels. Patric stood alone at the front with Joanie trembling at his side.

  ‘Take them!’ commanded the ‘voice’, and the thugs grabbed Patric and Joanie, dragging them off to the back of the store.

  The ‘voice’ continued, in a menacing tone:

  ‘The rest of you have all shown scant regard or gratitude for everything we have done for you over the past three weeks. There will be consequences and punishments. Tomorrow three couples will be expelled from the co-operative! Now, get back to your sleeping quarters. Guards will be active all night – so don’t be so foolish as to try anything else!’

  At this, the heavies started to herd the remaining dejected ‘inmates’ back to their beds. Within five minutes complete calm and obedience had been re-established.

  Patric and Joanie were hauled struggling to a room in the upstairs office complex, where they were tied to two chairs and blindfolded. Joanie was now terrified and Patric pleaded desperately on her behalf:

  ‘I forced her to take part. Just leave her alone. If you want to throw someone out, it should be me!’

  ‘We know exactly what happened, Patric,’ stated the ‘voice’. ‘Do you really think that we wouldn’t have friends amongst you who kept us fully informed regarding your treacherous activities? You will pay dearly for your disloyal actions. We are in a ‘State of Emergency’ – as the Prime Minister himself declared, and we will act accordingly to protect our position!’

  Patric attempted to counter these ridiculous declarations but soon discovered that he was wasting his breath – as the ‘voice’ left the room and slammed the door. They were alone – or so they believed – but Patric couldn’t be sure, so when Joanie started to speak, he spoke sharply:

  ‘Be quiet, Joanie – we aren’t alone.’

  Patric was left with his thoughts and realised that the next morning he and Joanie would certainly be out in the snow once again. He just hoped that the committee didn’t have any more sinister plans in store for them.

  He hoped in vain.

  Day 23

  Monday 6th January

  RNeth Air Force Volkel

  Ann Fletcher spent nearly an hour telling Brady about his daughter. She had some photographs in a small album which she kept in her desk drawer. Chloe was an attractive young woman, had been an exemplary student and had just finished her degree, with First Class Honours, at Loughborough University. She was living in the Walthamstow area of London with her boyfriend, and was working as a Graphic Designer.

  The Ambassador had last been in contact with Chloe at lunchtime on the Monday the snow started. She had reassured her mother that all was well, but since then there had been no direct contact.

  However, a helicopter had picked up transmissions from a man called Townsend, who claimed to be holed up in Walthamstow with six other family members. The last contact was only three days ago – so it appeared that the group was surviving – wherever they were.’

  Brady was puzzled.

  ‘What has this got to do with Chloe?’ he queried.

  ‘It's simple really,’ came back Ann, ‘Townsend is the surname of her boyfriend, there are seven members of their family group and they live in Walthamstow!’

  The realisation dawned on Brady.

  ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed, ‘we've got to find the house and get them out!’

  Day 22

  Sunday 5th January

  Nr Boston, Lincolnshire

  Mike Scaiffe was outlining his initial plans to the family sat round the breakfast table. There were eleven of them in total: Mike, his wife Susan; her mother Elsie; Susan’s sister Ellen and husband Bob; Mike’s mother and father, Bill and Linda and finally Mike’s four children; Roy, Jack, Tony and Florence.

  They had all coped really well during the storm. Everyone had pulled their weight – especially the four children – and the older folks were surprisingly more help than hindrance. Mike was a superb organiser and leader – his military training had taught him that. He had planned meticulously, delegated well, kept order when necessary and catered for individual as well as group needs. It was a brilliant success story, and Mike was not going to let it all be for nothing. He had kept a detailed diary for posterity and sometimes imagined that there might be ‘a book in it.’ However, he realised that they might have a real fight on their hands if they were to survive until the authorities re-established law and order.

  ‘The first job is to start clearing snow from around the building. Let's secure the roof and establish a perimeter around the house. We don’t want flood water pouring into our living quarters. We need to set up a twenty-four hour lookout rota so that we know when anyone approaches. We must be on our guard against intruders. Like I said before, and I don’t mean to over-alarm you, some people may try to take what we've got – possibly by force. Therefore, we must be prepared for that albeit improbable eventuality.’

  He continued after pausing to let the family fully grasp his concerns for their safety.

  ‘The children, Bob and I will start clearing the roof. Ladies, you will have to do more of the indoor work from now on – I’ve produced a new rota. Dad, can you dress up warmly and take the first watch on the roof?’

  He stood up and indicated that those going outside should quickly get dressed. Then Mike addressed Bill, his father, and indicated that he follow him down to the cellar. When they'd both got below, Mike opened a small door which revealed a gun cabinet. Inside were six assorted shotguns and rifles, plus two point four-five calibre handguns. In a separate cabinet were thousands of rounds.

  ‘You know I organise shoots around these parts in the autumn. This is my own private arsenal. I believe that we’ll need these in due course. The children know how to handle weapons, so they are familiar with the protocols. I know you did time in the Territorials, Dad, but can you still handle a weapon, because if not, I can give you a quick refresher.

  Mike’s Dad looked hurt.

  ‘Mike, don’t you remember all those years I spent as a civilian instructor in the Air Training Corps. You were one of my bloody cadets! Of course, I can handle a rifle. I don’t know where you got it, but I’ll take that one.’

  B
ill reached forward and grabbed what appeared to be a US M16A1. He completed the safety drills like a professional, picked up a magazine, loaded it and clipped it into place, applied the safety and turned back to Mike.

  ‘Ready for duty, son,’ he smiled proudly.

  Mike was impressed, clapped his father on the shoulder and pointed him towards the door.

  ‘Time you were on the roof. Keep your eyes peeled and blow this whistle if you see anyone – and I mean –ANYONE approaching. Do not let anybody get too close. You’d also better fire off a couple of practice rounds just to let you get a feel for the action. Let us know when you’re going to do it, so we don’t shit ourselves!’

  ‘Understood, son, I won't let you down.’

  Mike smiled to himself as the old man set off for the roof.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he whispered,’ nearly seventy years old and he’s still as gung-ho as a young recruit!’

  Mike shut and locked the gun-case, closed the outer door and strode upstairs to join his clearing party, who stood waiting eagerly at the bottom of the stairs leading to the attic.

  Day 23

  Monday 6th January

  Sandringham House - Norfolk

  Sir Ian James had worked late, slept fitfully and was now guzzling down a breakfast of bacon rashers with poached eggs on toast and it still wasn’t 7am. He had a thousand things swimming round in his head and really didn’t know where to start. There was so much to do, so much to plan; he needed help - desperately. So, he decided the first job was to assemble a cabinet to assist with the recovery operation. He knew that Dame Ann Fletcher would be arriving tomorrow morning from Brussels – and that was a good start. She carried an up-to-date list of elected MP’s, diplomats and senior civil servants available to join a new government.