He was sitting in an easy chair next to the bed and had changed into day clothes. He too was to be discharged the next morning.
‘I'm fine, Mr Silver. Never better. I'm a tough old bird!
Patric eyed him shrewdly.
‘Well, if that's true, Bryan, then I might be able to put some work your way. The CSC – Combined Services Club - here in Brussels has run into a little management SNAFU, and is looking for replacement managers and staff – and quickly. I checked your file this morning and see that you have extensive experience in the ‘nightclub’ trade. This obviously is not a nightclub, per se, but immediate management is required. There is a bedroom available in the building and the salary is good. What do you think? If we get you a nice ‘monkey-suit’ I'm sure you could help. After all, desperate times require desperate measures.’
Bryan’s eyes lit up.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, sir – and I accept, unreservedly. I won't let you down, Commander.’
Patric saw no reason to relax Bryan’s use of the ‘sir’ when addressing him in conversation. He had also noted Bryan’s mildly nefarious past in the files, and as PPO to Dame Ann, he had decided to keep his relationship with Bryan on a strictly formal level.
Joanie was now delighted on two counts and hugged Patric warmly.
He gave Bryan an envelope containing ID, a UKRA pass, €200 and a letter of introduction from the senior clerk, recommending Bryan as the new deputy-manager.
‘They want you to report for assimilation and familiarisation at 0900 tomorrow morning. The studio flat will be ready this afternoon, so I’ve expedited your release to 1400 today. Good luck, Bryan. I look forward to seeing you at the club.’
Bryan was delighted with the news, smiling broadly and pumping Patric’s hand.
‘Don’t thank me too quickly, Bryan, it's going to be hard work and long hours.’
Bryan was undeterred.
‘It's a damned sight better than festering in here, sir. Thanks, I won't let you down.’
Patric turned back to Joanie as Bryan stood up to gather all of his belongings and started stuffing them into a small case. A nurse handed him some paperwork, which he busied himself with addressing.
Patric finished his conversation with Joanie, promising to pick her up at 0900 in the morning.
He left them both smiling.
***
Brady was also perplexed by the ‘chance’ meeting in the CSC, but in the final analysis, it spurred him into action.
He decided that it was pointless to cower in their hotel and dance indirectly to Ann’s tune. He knew that she wanted Chloe and didn’t give a damn about Brady or Chris. In some ways he considered that it might be to Chloe’s advantage to take Chris out to San Diego and re-join his family. Chloe would be well and truly outside the sphere of influence that Ann controlled. However, as the deputy Prime Minister’s daughter, Chloe would attract a great deal of attention, and it was possible that Ann would use her contacts to prevent the reunion plan.
As a consequence, Brady decided to formally approach Ann and use Chloe as a bargaining chip to persuade his ex-wife to find him a worthwhile job to do. In fact, Brady was technically AWOL, so he really should show his face to somebody in UKRA before the Military Police came knocking on his door.
He discussed the issues with Chloe and Chris and they jointly decided to ‘co-operate’ with Ann in order to achieve their own aims. Of course, at this stage in their lives, they had no real idea just exactly what those aims were!
Chris was keen to fly to the US and join his family, but he wouldn't leave Chloe, who in turn, wouldn't leave her new father – of whom she had become extremely fond. He provided the honesty, sincerity of spirit and potential stability her mother never had – or ever would!
How long that newfound loyalty to her father would last in the current climate of need and despair was anybody’s guess!
Nonetheless, it was agreed that Brady would travel into the UKRA on Monday morning and attempt a ‘reconciliation’ with Ann.
He dressed in his best uniform and managed to reach Ann’s outer office with no problem. Chloe and Chris remained at their backstreet hotel and waited. Eleanor was surprised to see him and buzzed through to Dame Ann immediately. However, Brady was kept waiting for over thirty minutes before an audience was granted. He walked into the office and pre-empted Ann by charging right into his prepared speech:
‘Ann, please, I'm not here to fight with you. I just want to talk and hope that you can concede that we need not be enemies. Chloe was devastated by the revelation that I am not her father after all, and will find it difficult to forgive you for the deception. However, I have persuaded her that she should be close to her mother in these difficult times, and she has agreed to meet with you.’
Ann was shell-shocked by this unexpected, yet very welcome outburst, and her own prepared diatribe was rapidly forgotten. She needn’t now, after all, have to chase down the three fugitives and impose her will on her daughter. With Brady ‘at heel’ she could manipulate all three.
‘I'm very glad to hear that, Andy. There is no point in continuing to fight each other. I know that I have deceived you cruelly and I apologise, but I would like to be friends if at all possible. If not friends, then perhaps not enemies!’
Brady didn’t believe her for a second, knowing full well that she was still lying brazenly to his face about his fatherhood of Chloe.
‘Agreed Ann. However, reconciliation was not my main aim in coming here today. I need a job. I need something to do. Can you help?’
Ann stared at Brady knowing that she had won the battle, and that he was now one of her unwitting acolytes. She could use him and snatch Chloe back into her fold. She thought quickly – and then made a judgement.
‘Yes, Andy, of course I can find you a job to do. Ross Bryant – remember him – is working for me on something pretty important, and he could use some help. You have worked together before and he’s an officer now, so that should help with the relationship. If you speak to my PA, she will give you contact details for Ross and he will bring you up to speed. Will that suit you?’
‘Sounds good to me Ann. Bryant is a sound fellow and I’ll be happy to work with him.’
‘For him, Andy, for him!’ corrected Ann hurriedly. ‘He will be giving the orders, I'm afraid – can you cope with that as a Group Captain?’
‘I see no problem with that Ann,’ replied Brady smoothly, ‘I just want something to do.’
Ann was becoming more confident.
‘And now, Chloe. When can we meet? And does that stupid boyfriend have to trail behind her?’
Brady wasn’t surprised by this dismissive comment, and was prepared for the cynicism.
‘Chris is hoping to fly to the US to re-join his parents, and so the meeting will be with Chloe alone.’
‘Excellent,’ smiled Ann, ‘shall we say tonight at 8pm at the CSC. It will do no harm for me to be seen in public, and for people to see me in the presence of my daughter. Can you get her there?’
‘No problem, Ann, 8pm at the CSC.’
Ann Fletcher had no more use for Brady. He had acknowledged that he was not Chloe’s father and had, in essence, handed her back to Ann’s control. Ross Bryant would find him some shitty and hopefully fatal job far away from Brussels and this episode in her life would be over. If she didn’t get Chloe back immediately, then she might be lost forever.
‘Thank you for coming Andy, and thank you for being so reasonable. For old time’s sake I suppose?’
‘Yes Ann, for old time’s sake,’ he agreed, smirking inwardly.
Brady turned and left the office. The bait was hooked and they could now try to reel her in.
Meanwhile, Dame Ann called through to Eleanor:
‘Get me Ross Bryant on the phone ASAP, would you.’
***
Doctor John Stubbins was the outsider in the group which met for dinner at the CSC. Although he knew Patric Silver quite well, he had not experience
d the snow as they had all done. He felt slightly guilty listening to their tales of adventure and struggle against the elements.
Nevertheless, the party listened to his story and sympathised with not only him, but also with the millions of other displaced British citizens now languishing in Europe and around the world.
He enjoyed their company and was looking forward to the evening at Patric’s apartment on Tuesday. On the Sunday morning, he had carried out the minor procedure on Dame Ann – the removal of a mole on her neck. It wasn’t carcinogenic, but cosmetic, and Ann felt it disfiguring and was not prepared to be put at any disadvantage in the political arena.
She had been impressed by John’s professionalism, and as was her habit, rewarded him excessively. He was immediately appointed to the main hospital in Brussels, so the return to the ship offshore was cancelled. In addition, she arranged for a flat in the same block as Patric Silver, and organised for John’s wife and children to join him. They were expected to arrive in Brussels from Holland within the next two weeks, as soon as suitable schooling for the children could be settled.
Consequently, there was little one could say to him that he would accept as criticism of Dame Ann. To the contrary, she was a saint in his eyes, and thus he was surprised to hear some of the sniping aimed in her direction concerning her character and integrity. However, he would have to wait and see.
Patric, Ross and Brady seemed to know her very well.
Day 36
Sunday 19th January
General Situation Report
The weather in the United Kingdom had settled down somewhat.
After a period of rain, a large high-pressure weather system had moved in from the Atlantic, bringing with it clear skies, light winds and dryer air.
However, it also brought freezing temperatures and fog.
As the rain temporarily stalled, thick banks of moisture formed into large radiation fog patches which made search and rescue operations even more difficult.
Survivors were now few and far between, and the flash flooding had probably carried many of these unfortunate wretches to their doom. It was miserably ironic that many had survived the snow only to be drowned in the flood that followed.
Nevertheless, the search continued, if only at a much reduced pace, and every day a few hundred more poor souls would be scraped off the surface and transferred to hospital ships offshore for emergency treatment. On Saturday the 18th of January only thirty two people were rescued, and it seemed that the flow might well trickle to a complete stop by the end of the week.
Water; generally disgusting, polluted and tainted water was beginning to find its own level and began to pool inland. Some of this froze during the nights, forming grotesque Picasso type mounds of detritus and waste, tinged with human corpses and animal carcasses. It was truly revolting and only the lack of warmth and complete absence of human life prevented cholera, typhus and plague spreading out of control.
However, the flies were not so discerning or choosy.
They began to buzz hungrily around the exposed cadavers and enormous swarms began to fill the air. This made rescue pick-ups even more difficult as helicopters would rapidly be engulfed as soon as they attempted to touch down.
Some higher ground was beginning to poke out through the snow as it melted and slid to the valleys in huge avalanches, carrying trees, pylons, vehicles and bodies into the ghastly mix below. If any victims of the snow in those outlying areas had survived, then many were overwhelmed and reburied in mass graves.
The population adjacent to the coastline fared no better.
As the thaw took hold, water had swept downwards in huge rivers of filth and had carried everything laying in their paths directly into the sea.
Complete villages and coastal towns were demolished and cascaded violently and inexorably over cliffs and beaches into the briny surrounding the entire UK. The coastal waters resembled one colossal shipwreck, with flotsam and jetsam mixed with human remains clogging up the water out to several hundred metres offshore. Clearly some of this rubble sank – making access to beaches via boat all but impossible.
Ann Fletcher and the UKRA had already agreed that the disposal of human corpses should be rapid and clinical – if not entirely compassionate. Trawlers were sweeping through the detritus offshore, and dispassionately transferring bodies to the designated British islands where mass graves were being prepared. It was a sickening and heart-breaking task, but one that had to be completed quickly and efficiently. If British citizens started to wash ashore in Holland and France, then a great deal of empathy and support would be lost.
Dame Ann realised this, and decided to switch the priority from rescue ops to body recovery.
There was some progress. Not good news, but signs that the UK was still in existence somewhere beneath the bloody snow.
Many bridges started to reappear, alongside the occasional church steeple and sturdy oak. There were many apartment buildings, office blocks and hotels still standing, but almost all had suffered catastrophic roof damage and interior flooding. Indeed, it was from these locations that the last of the survivors appeared and were rescued.
Europe, in general, was now free of snow and continued as best it could to carry on with its own survival. The disaster in the UK had had a titanic effect on the European community, and this became more apparent with each passing day.
It was not only the financial consequences of the UK disappearing, but the human cost for the British survivors and their European hosts. Patience was beginning to run thin as fatigue cut in, and petty disputes began to arise across the continent.
Locals came to resent their British guests, who were usurping their jobs, housing, money and leisure facilities – and there seemed to be no end in sight. Generosity of spirit and action was fading fast, and it seemed that the UKRA was ‘on the clock’.
In short, non-UK citizens were becoming bored with our plight.
***
Kelly Rook lived on her own in the small hamlet of Meidrim, near Carmarthen in Wales.
When the snow had begun to fall she had been at home, tending her small business.
The entrance leading to the narrow track to her home was barely visible from the main road that ran through the village during the day, let alone at night. The muddy path curled its way down towards her house, which stood next to the common and straddled a small stream. Consequently, it was no surprise that the large two-storey building was named ‘The Mill’.
She lived there alone and ran a small business selling antiques/junk, vegetables grown in her extensive garden and frozen wood pigeons she had shot in the patch of woodland to the rear of her property. A small dog, a cat and a talking parrot made up the ensemble, which co-existed very happily in the tiny Welsh community.
At first, the snow was merely an inconvenience.
However, after a few days she realised that it had become a survival situation. She was isolated living next to the common, as the main village lay about fifty feet above her. It wasn’t long before she was completely cut off and found it impossible to even venture outside. She had copious supplies of logs for fuelling her wood burning stove, which in turn heated water in a tank in the loft space. She also had a tank of central heating fuel oil, but this became redundant when the main electricity supply failed.
She used candles for light and moved herself and the pets into the kitchen where it was warm. Food was in good supply, as her freezer was full in preparation for Christmas; so for the first week she survived. But only just.
Water began to run short.
She used the wood burner to melt snow, but after ten days the blizzard had raged so fiercely that she was unable to access her supply of logs, which lay stacked in the carport outside the back door. This door now had four feet of snow drifting up against it, preventing exit.
Consequently, she had no heating, no hot water in the tank, and no way to provide herself with water. She was unwashed, cold and the animals were beginning to smell, and
had started to get seriously on her nerves. To make things worse, she developed a severe case of diarrhoea, which had now made the two toilets extremely unsanitary and unpleasant.
She became progressively weaker and colder and had clearly picked up a bug, for which she desperately needed antibiotics.
On Christmas morning, the cat died.
On Boxing Day she discovered the dog gnawing at the cat in hunger. It snarled viciously when Kelly attempted to approach.
On the twenty-seventh of December, the dog also died, having vacated its bowels all over the living room where Kelly had lain the cat and imprisoned the dog.
The stench was unbelievable.
Kelly retreated to the kitchen and freed the parrot, which couldn’t be bothered to even leave its cage.
Kelly died of exposure on New Year’s Eve.
On New Year’s Day, the parrot pecked out her eyes and gnawed at her neck.
Twenty-four hours later, the parrot also expired.
Kelly’s demise was representative of many, many thousands of Brits trapped in their homes by the snow.
It had only been a matter of time.
But for Kelly, it was different…….
***
On Saturday, the eighteenth of January, a Chinook helicopter landed on a small hillock high above Meidrim, and a troop of soldiers de-planed and began the search for survivors in the small village and surrounding area.
They accessed several farmhouses and were surprised that so many were empty. There was ample evidence of the occupant’s attempts at survival, but few bodies were found at the scene.
This occurrence soon became commonplace, with only a small percentage of the properties giving up corpses. The Lieutenant in charge became concerned and then alarmed at the apparent lack of dead bodies, and so called his troop together at the small chapel that lay at the top of the village.
When the attack came, they put up a brave fight, but within two hours, not one of them was still alive.
When the helicopter returned for the scheduled pick-up, not a living soul was there to meet them.
Day 37
Monday 20th January - 1200
UKRA HQ – Brussels
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 88