by Tim Lebbon
Mum turned and nodded at the closed iPad in my lap, then spoke very carefully. “Ally, see if you can find any traffic updates. We don’t want to be stuck in a jam.”
I nodded. Damn right we don’t, I thought. Not now. Not when they get here, in however many hours they’ll take. The idea of being trapped in a line of thousands of vehicles with grumbling engines, blaring horns, crying children and screaming people…
I searched. There was little to see. No one seemed interested in road conditions when there was much more to worry about elsewhere. I tried the recovery services—AA, RAC—to see if they were updating reports, but their websites seemed to be static, frozen several hours ago. It was strange. I was already looking at something as it had been. History looked so calm.
“Nothing,” I said, but when I looked up no one seemed to react. “Nothing on traffic,” I said again, louder, and Dad raised one hand to indicate he’d heard.
Lynne put her arm around me. I’m all right, I thought, but then I saw my grandmother’s face and realised that maybe the comfort was meant to go both ways. She was crying softly. Maybe it was pain from whatever was wrong with her, or sadness at what was happening. Frustration at not being able to help.
Traffic slowed again, and then the Jeep skidded to a sudden halt. I glanced back and saw the Land Rover, nose down, braking hard behind us.
Dad slammed his hands on the wheel, then opened the door and stood on the sill, only his lower body visible.
“Dad?” I asked. But Mum touched her finger to her lips.
Dad climbed onto the Jeep’s roof, one foot on the open door’s armrest, the other in the junction of door and frame. He disappeared altogether. I looked back and saw Glenn watching him. Around us people were leaving their cars, standing to look ahead. They threw jumping shadows in the sea of headlights.
I couldn’t see anything obvious causing the hold-up, but perhaps it was miles away.
I glanced at the Twitter feed.
@PottyBonkkers
Reached the coast. We’re locked in. Hear shouts, screams.
@UKPM
Our forces continue to combat the infestation.
@ReggieBeNold
An aircraft crashed close by, military, massive explosion, and we can hear those things crawling on our roof.
@ReggieBeNold
Saw old Mrs Rogers from next door chased down and killed.
@ReggieBeNold
Can’t stop our fucking dog from barking!
I looked back at Otis. He was on his feet now, tongue out and panting softly at the sudden change in circumstances. Will I be able to stop him from barking? I thought, and he looked at me with dark, loving eyes.
Dad clambered back into the car, looked across at Mum, and the fear burned in his eyes. He spoke briefly, then looked back, signing for me. “There’s a big fire on the road ahead, out of sight. Maybe it was a petrol tanker, or something else. We’ll not get past that way.”
Jude asked something, I missed it.
“Off-road,” I saw Dad say. He took the phone from Mum and called Glenn.
A minute later, seatbelts secured, we were driving along the grass verge. The hard shoulder was blocked with parked cars, and there were others doing the same as us. Glenn was still directly behind, and now that we’d moved out of the static line of vehicles, I could see the glow in the sky ahead.
To our left was a steep bank leading down into a ditch. There was no way we could drive down there; we’d either roll or get the car’s nose stuck. I closed my eyes, worried that the Jeep would slip and roll, trying to banish memories of the accident from my head. Lynne squeezed my hand again, and a flash of nightmare hit home once more—running across our garden, my swing seat swaying in an absent breeze, shadows solidifying and crushing us down, down, into the ground.
The Jeep bounced over the kerb and then turned left, tilting, light splaying across the interior and showing my parents leaning to the right and bracing themselves. Dad grasped the wheel in both hands and I could see him fighting it, knuckles white and muscles knotted. The Jeep flattened out, then there was an impact and broken wood and wire bounced across the bonnet against the windscreen. I felt a vibration as something scraped across the sides of the car, and Lynne tensed at the noise.
The Land Rover followed us through a broken fence, scraps of wood and barbed wire trailing behind for a moment. Then we were bumping across an open field.
Others were doing the same. We hadn’t been the first to make this choice, and the further we moved from the road, the more I could see of the raised motorway and the slope and ditch beside it. I counted at least six vehicles on their sides or roofs in the ditch along the stretch, and several others seemed to be trapped against the heavy wooden fence. A few more were crossing the field behind and around us, mostly four-wheel drives and at least one motorbike. And now that others had seen what was happening, I saw a dozen more cars attempting the same manoeuvre.
As one of them slid down the slope and thudded side-on into the ditch, I turned away.
We bounced and jolted across the field. Otis was barking, his breath warm and stale. I reached back and he licked my hand, then let me tickle his chest. He was standing, swaying and stumbling left to right, and I wanted to shout at Dad to slow down, take care, the dog was getting scared.
But we were all scared. Unlike Otis, we knew why.
Glenn pulled alongside and lowered his passenger window. He shouted as he drove and Mum shouted back. I tried to imagine the noise, remember what it must be like—the roar of engines, the slam of bodywork on the uneven field, the creak and groan of the vehicles’ movements, raised voices, and Otis barking once again behind me. In silence, all I had was vibration and memory.
Glenn took the lead, and my parents swapped a few quick words. Lynne said something. Dad shook his head.
“What?” I asked, but no one told me anything. I looked down at my covered iPad, not wanting to open it but feeling even more shut off from my family. I stroked the blue case and wondered what new horrors it might reveal.
Jude tapped my hand, leaning across Lynne’s lap. When I looked up he sat up again and started signing.
“Glenn says we need to stay away from the roads for a bit,” he said. “And he wants to lead the way.”
“Why?” I asked.
Jude glanced forward, obviously hearing something Dad muttered. Then he signed, “He thinks he knows best.”
I smiled at Jude. He smiled back, weakly, then huddled into Lynne again. He’d been so young when the accident happened, he didn’t know me any other way. Sometimes he knew instinctively what I wanted, and right then he’d sensed my anxiety at being cut out. Our parents didn’t mean to ignore me, I knew that. But sometimes including me in everything was hard work. I knew that too.
Ahead, several cars converged on a gap in the hedge and started passing through. Four of them made it, then the fifth got stuck in the mud churned up at the gate. Its wheels spun, splashing mud onto those cars waiting behind it. But it didn’t move. Another car edged forward behind it and shoved, but there was no movement.
People jumped from vehicles, panicked, shouting in mute anger.
Glenn led us away from the blocked gateway, heading for the field’s corner. We kept a couple of car lengths behind, and I noticed that Dad also kept a little to one side, trying not to follow in the Land Rover’s tracks. He wanted to give the Jeep’s wheels something to grab hold of. The field was ploughed and light glimmered from standing puddles. We could get stuck at any moment.
We reached a thick hedge of bushes and trees and Glenn angled along it, zigzagging slightly to shine his headlamps at the obstruction.
I was getting more and more frustrated. We were heading back towards the motorway, where the traffic was still static. More cars had poured down the steep bank, and there were now scores stuck in the ditch at the bottom. Shadows spidered back and forth along the roadway, silhouetted by the glare of headlights. Some of them seemed aimless, but small groups of peo
ple were now clambering down the embankment. They were already abandoning their cars.
I couldn’t imagine the traffic jam moving again. It already stretched as far as the road was visible to the south, and was probably growing longer by the minute.
I found myself wishing the people away. They’ll be scared. They’ll be noisy. The idea surprised and shocked me, and I felt ashamed. I wished I could close my eyes and imagine us all up to Scotland and into Red Rock, the place I’d last visited when I was too young to even remember.
I flipped the iPad cover off and opened the BBC News page. The live update feed streamed as it caught up, then I read the latest postings.
06:04—Several
ships burning in the English Channel. Many more adrift. It’s thought that engines have been turned off to cut down on noise.
06:11—Vesps sighted along south coast from Ramsgate to Eastbourne.
06:23—Many reports of attacks now coming in from across South East England.
06:28—Military assaults taking place.
Military assaults taking place. I was old enough to be chilled by how non-specific that was. Anything military was noisy, wasn’t it? Guns, explosions, aircraft, helicopters, bombs… The only stuff that was quiet might be chemical weapons, gas, stuff like that. But this was Britain. They never would.
“They’ve crossed the Channel,” I said.
The Jeep hit a dip and bounced, startling me. When I looked up I saw that we were following the Land Rover through a gap in the hedge, and a heavy vibration travelled up from beneath as the wheels struggled for purchase. Plants scraped and scored along the Jeep’s sides, and then we were through, lurching into the next field and accelerating after Glenn.
I saw Dad actually puff out his cheeks in relief.
Lynne reached over and closed the iPad cover. I frowned, glancing at my grandmother and leaning towards the door to see her face properly. I raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question.
“We know what’s going to happen,” Lynne said very carefully, then she drew me to her side.
I let myself be hugged. When I blinked I glimpsed that nightmare, running from shadows, the weight of dread.
12
I’ve never seen such a mass of humanity on the move. Hundreds of thousands have already left London, but those who never really believed it could happen here are now re-evaluating, and millions are trying to flee. The streets are gridlocked. These are biblical scenes, with millions attempting to work their way out of the city on foot. Many are carrying bags or belongings; many more have only the clothes on their back. In places the flow has been interrupted with what looks from up here like riots, but there’s no indication of the cause.
Blue lights flash, but they are swamped.
The Tube has been deluged, and there are reports of tragedies at several Underground stations as people panic. Hundreds of helicopters are picking people up from private helipads and ferrying them north and west. The military no-fly zone is being ignored, and although scores of Royal Air Force choppers and jets are buzzing above London, they’re not trying to stop anyone. We’re one of over a dozen press helicopters currently reporting from above London. Air Traffic Control is offline, and our pilot is taking great care to watch out for other aircraft in our vicinity.
Every school is closed. Emergency services are helpless in the jammed streets, and reports are coming in of untended fires in several parts of the city. In scenes that have not been witnessed since the Dunkirk evacuation during the Second World War, the Thames is clogged with ships and boats of every size, all of them sailing downstream for the open sea. I’ve seen several collisions, and one large tourist boat that appears to have capsized.
It’s horrible. I can’t believe this is happening. London, our capital, the world’s greatest city, is in utter turmoil, and there’s no one or nothing that can help. If you’re a praying person, pray for the people of London.
This is Jane Lane, Sky News, reporting from the skies above London. I’ll stay here as long as I can, but I’m not sure… Yes. Just as long as I can.
Sky News audio-only broadcast, 6.55 a.m., Saturday, 19 November 2016
Part of Huw didn’t want to know. He felt the pressure of the countdown, the ticking clock, the doom closing in on them, unstoppable. The thought of that final moment before the vesps overtook them was sickening. It gave him the same sense of deep dread as a dream he often had. He was edging out across a cliff face, no ropes or climbing equipment, sitting on a ledge just a foot wide and looking at the vista before him. Woods and valleys, hills and ravines, as far as the eye could see. Below him was a thousand-foot sheer drop.
Moving, he was fine. It was when he stopped that the terror flooded in. He knew then that he could sit there and eventually die, or start moving again and perhaps reach the other end of the ledge, and safety. But in his dream he could do neither.
He always fell. He never hit bottom. When he jerked awake and told Kelly about the dream she’d laugh softly, and tell him that if he hit bottom in his dream, he’d die in real life. It’s not the falling that kills you, she’d say.
Now he was still moving. Still driving north, however slowly, however messed up their route had become. But soon, when the vesps drew close, they would have to stop. And he did not want to fall.
Glenn had always been one to take control: confident, brash, cocky. Huw found it even more annoying because he really was as good at things as he claimed.
After taking the lead, Glenn had found a route through the hedge into the next field, and a few minutes later they were on a country lane. As dawn lit the cloudless horizon, they wound their way north and west towards the Lake District. The urgency was terrible. The silence in the car almost deafened Huw. His heartbeat was fast and he was uncomfortably aware of it. He tried to breathe slowly, calm himself.
“You okay?” Kelly asked quietly.
“No,” he said.
“We’ll be fine. We’re together.”
He didn’t know how to reply to that. What did she mean? They were together and that was all that mattered, in the end?
Glenn flashed his hazard lights and pulled over into a gateway. The lane they were following was narrow, and if anything came from the opposite direction it would be a tight squeeze.
He jumped from the Land Rover and waved. He looked tired, strained, and Huw felt a burst of affection for his friend.
“Toilet stop,” Huw said. The cool air hit him as he jogged around to the front of the Land Rover and stood beside Glenn. They pissed into the hedge, comfortable in their silence. The view was opening up as dawn came, and Huw remembered what a beautiful part of the world the Lake District was. He and Kelly had been here on holiday before they had kids, and they’d spent a long, passionate weekend in a hotel close to Windermere. Lots of walking, lots of great food and fantastic sex; the memories made him realise just how much they’d changed.
The others were out of the Jeep, the women climbing the gate and disappearing behind the hedge. Jude was on the other side of the road, giggling as he pissed into the hedge.
“Few hours,” Glenn said. “You think?”
“Maybe less,” Huw said. “We need to find somewhere suitable. I don’t want to drive until the last minute and get trapped in the cars.”
“So what are you thinking?”
They zipped up and walked along the lane a little. It was amazingly quiet. Good, Huw thought. This is what we need.
“Farmhouse alone in a valley, maybe a holiday rental up on a hillside. Somewhere away from towns and villages. Private, can’t be seen from the road.”
“Sounds good,” Glenn said. His voice shook. His eyes were wide, but he looked exhausted.
“You okay?”
“Knackered.”
“We’ll manage,” Huw said. “Really. People are hiding, staying quiet.”
“We’ll need food,” Glenn said. “Supplies. I have some, but you were cleaned out by that bastard.”
“If we pass somewhere we can b
uy some stuff, but shelter’s the priority. I don’t want to get stuck in a supermarket.”
Glenn shrugged. “Might not be a bad idea.”
“Until people start looting.”
“You think it’ll get that bad?” his friend asked. But Huw didn’t even need to reply. They both knew it already was that bad.
“Jude, you ride with Uncle Glenn,” Huw said, catching his wife’s eye, loving her when she smiled and nodded. “He’s tired. Tell him some of your jokes, yeah?”
“Yay!” Jude said.
“Come on then!” Glenn shouted, clapping his hands. “Back in the cars!”
“Shhh!” Kelly said. “Quiet! We’ve got to be quiet.”
“They’re not—” Huw said.
“But they will be soon,” Kelly cut in. “And we’ve got to get used to it. Don’t you think? We’ve got to get used to not making a noise.” Otis trotted up to her, nuzzling her hand and grumbling for some attention. She caught Huw’s eyes and he saw how hopeless she felt.
He wished he could say or do something to make her feel better.
* * *
They met the roadblock less than twenty minutes later. Two big garbage trucks were parked across the road at a point where it curved uphill, their noses driven into hedges and tyres slashed so that it would take a heavy tow truck to shift them. There was definitely no way through, and no way around, either.
They backtracked to the nearest turning and continued up towards the low ridge to the west.
The next roadblock was manned. Several cars were queued there already, and a small group were arguing with several people sitting atop a supermarket’s delivery van. It was parked across the road, and behind it two tractors had been driven into the ditches on either side.
“What the hell?” Kelly asked.
“Let’s find out.” Huw glanced back at Lynne and Ally. “Wait here. We won’t be long.”
“Dad!” Ally said. “They’re in London now.”
Huw didn’t know how to reply to that, so he said nothing.
Glenn was already approaching the other drivers. Huw and Kelly jogged to catch up. He waved to his son in the Land Rover as he passed. Jude pulled a funny face.