Blood on the Motorway

by Paul Stephenson

  By the time Leon resurfaced from upstairs, Tom was enjoying a bowl of beans with tiny sausages, a cup of coffee and his third cigarette.

  'Morning,' Tom said jauntily as Leon appeared, a sheepish grin on his face.

  'Morning to you,' Leon replied. 'Sorry about that,' he added, without even a hint of remorse in his voice.

  'Well this is the longest I've known you to go without the love of a good woman. I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your touch,'

  'Well I was a little busy with the apocalypse.'

  'Fair enough.'

  'You sleep okay?'

  'In a chair,' Tom replied. 'But I slept. I feel like I've done nothing else recently.'

  'You mean apart from the whole "become a revolutionary" thing?'

  'Yes, aside from that. Insurgency and sleep, the only two things I'm good for these days.'

  It hit him that he had awoken to a world without Baxter. They were free. No more beatings, no more living in terror. Today was a whole new world.

  'So what's the plan today?' Leon asked.

  'Oh you know, have a mooch about town, hit up the comic store, cinema, joint in the car park. Usual Saturday.'

  'Sounds good, except how do you know it's Saturday?'

  'Do you know, I have no idea what day it is,' Tom said.

  'Well, spending most of your days unconscious will do that to you,' Leon said, easing himself into a chair. 'Funny how soon something as concrete as the days of the week ceases to matter. Do you know what I'm really starting to miss though?'

  'What?' Tom asked, easing himself into his chair.

  'Music. I haven't heard any in days. Longer, maybe.'

  'I know what you mean.'

  'All my favourite bands are dead.'

  'But so are all the shit ones.'

  'Good point.'

  'The end of the world is a small price to pay for no more Nickleback albums.'

  It felt so good to be talking bollocks with his friend that Tom hardly dared burst the bubble, but he knew he had to some time. 'I had a thought last night,' he said.

  'Do tell.'

  'Well, as much as he was a total fucking lunatic, Baxter was on to something.'

  'Please tell me we're not going to start abducting people?'

  'No,' Tom said. 'But the idea of starting to gather people together, growing a community out of whatever the fuck this world is now, perhaps isn't the craziest idea. We could head for an army barracks, or a hospital, or a fuck off big hotel. Shit, maybe even a whole town.' He sat forward. 'When Baxter and his men were in control of this village, they ran out of food in days, and people just milled about, terrified. What we need is to give people a sense of purpose, ensure we're invested in rebuilding what we had before. We're going to need to learn about farming, about medicine, about how to govern. We're going to need to elect councils and find a way we can survive this, whatever this is.'

  Leon sat back. 'I don't disagree, I don't. But are we seriously the ones to do it?'

  'What's the alternative? If we don't start to rebuild, are we going to spend the next few years scrabbling around trying to eke out a basic survival? For what?'

  'What happens the next time we run into another Baxter? There's going to be an endless supply of people out there who are going to want to take power, run things themselves.'

  'Of course there is, but people like that need a vacuum to operate in. They can pick people off one by one, but if they come across a determined group who are willing to stand up for themselves, for their freedom, it's a different story.'

  'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing,' Leon said. He looked up and chuckled. 'Sorry, must be a random bit of my education there that I haven't smoked out yet. Edmund Burke.'

  'Wasn't he the founder of conservatism?'

  'It's still a good quote.'

  Leon rolled two cigarettes for them both, and they sat smoking in silence. Tom watched his friend trying to find a counter argument.

  'Someone has to make a stand. I get that. Total agreement. But why us two? Two hapless fucking stoners who couldn't pull together the wherewithal to pay their own electricity bill, who were about to embark upon the most ill-advised road trip in history until the apocalypse interrupted us.'

  'I'd go with you.'

  They hadn't noticed Susan's appearance. She sat halfway down the staircase, watching them, her hair wet. Tom felt a pang of annoyance, not for the first time in his life, that Leon was the good-looking one of the two of them.

  'You would?' Tom asked her.

  'You're right, both of you. We need to rebuild, and we need to do it together. As one. Leon, you wonder if you are the right people to pull this together, to lead us from now on? I don't know. I mean, I know you get beat up a lot, but the fact you are even reticent to take the job means you're a damn sight more qualified already than Baxter was. So I'm in. I'm not saying I'll follow you, but I'd like to help you.'

  Tom flashed her a smile of gratitude. Leon sank back in his chair, frowning.

  'Listen,' Tom said. 'This could be entirely academic. We might float the idea to that lot out there and they stick their fingers up at us and we go our separate ways. All I'm saying is we gather everyone together and see if there's actually an appetite for this idea.'

  Leon nodded. Susan moved from the stairs and sat on Leon's knee, putting her arms around him. She gave him a kiss. Tom mumbled his apologies, took his cigarette, and headed out of the house for some air.

  * * *

  It didn't take long to gather together the remaining members of the group. A few had collected their things that morning and left. Tom could hardly blame them. Once the group was together it numbered thirteen in total. Not the most auspicious of starts, perhaps. What was worse was that Tom couldn't remember any of their names, and felt it was too late now to start asking. The curse of the English. He wondered if they all felt the same. Thirteen apocalyptic survivors referring to each other as 'mate' out of politeness.

  Two of Baxter's men remained, shuffling about at the edges, trying to avoid eye contact with the rest of them, who, in turn, ignored their existence.

  So there was Tom, Leon, and Susan, two of Baxter's men and eight others. Not perhaps the numbers needed to recolonise the world, Tom thought, but a start. If they bought into it.

  Into him.

  He stood in front of them, rubbing his hands together until the skin was raw, waiting for people to turn their attention to him. Finally, he started to speak. He ran through a repeat of the conversation he'd had with Leon and Susan, and saw that his audience seemed at least vaguely responsive.

  'What makes you qualified to be in charge?' a man called out, a great big bear of a man.

  'Tom's not saying he's in charge, Petr,' Susan said from beside him. 'That's the whole point. We move forward as one group, but Tom's the one who has stood up for us in the past. He rescued us from Baxter, I think he's earned the right to be heard.'

  Petr nodded.

  'Susan's right,' Tom said. 'But for now, until we get set up somewhere, if you're happy for me to take the lead, it's going to be easier. That doesn't mean you can't challenge me, or leave if you disagree with me. But in the interests of getting stuff done…'

  'What about them?' a woman cut across him, pointing towards Baxter's men. 'Are they welcome?'

  'That depends,' Tom said.

  'On what?' one of the two men replied. Both of them were looking up now.

  'On whether you want to come with us, on whether you did anything to personally hurt anyone who was here, whether we will take you, and whether you can make yourselves useful.'

  Tom knew this would be a pivotal moment. His standing in the group would last exactly as long as his first wrong decision, and he may well have just made it, but he had no memory of these two doing anything other than witness the violence. They had still been parties to it, though, happy to go along with Baxter and his madness.

  'Do you want to stay with us?' he asked.
<
br />   The two men looked at each other and nodded. 'If you'll have us,' the first one said, his voice marked by a heavy Yorkshire accent. 'I can understand why you wouldn't. We've got no excuses for what we've done, but we're military men, used to following orders, like. I know that don't make it right, but there ain't one of you here can say we've hurt you ourselves.'

  'Okay,' Tom said. 'Are you willing to do your bit?'

  They nodded.

  'I guess it's down to you all,' Tom said, and looked out to the rest of the group.

  Susan nodded first, followed by Leon, who gave more of a disinterested shrug than a nod, to Tom's mild annoyance. Slowly everyone indicated their agreement until, finally, the lady who had raised the question nodded a hesitant assent.

  'They get one chance with me,' she said, grudgingly.

  'They get one chance with all of us,' Tom replied. He looked over to Baxter's men and they nodded. He blew out a deep breath, and smiled. He had a feeling that down the line having two men with military training could come in useful.

  'I propose we leave here. Today.'

  'Why can't we stay here?' asked another from the group.

  Tom realised he was going to have to learn everyone's names at some point. 'Because a lot of Baxter's men ran, and they might come back,' he replied, which brought an end to the discussion. 'Go back to your houses, pack up anything you think is useful. Clothes, food especially. Meet back here in an hour.'

  With that, the group broke.

  Tom grabbed the arm of one of Baxter's men. 'I put my neck out for you both there,' he said, in a low voice. 'You're not going to make me regret it, are you?'

  The man shook his head.

  Tom felt dizzy. He'd done it. Or at least he'd done the first part of it.

  On their way back to their house, Tom eyed Leon, who seemed deep in thought. 'You kept pretty quiet back there,' he said.

  'You seemed to have it under control,' Leon said, flatly.

  'You still think this is a bad idea?'

  'I guess we'll find out soon enough,' Leon replied, as they got inside. Without another word he bounded upstairs and into his room, leaving Tom alone in the living room with his duelling relief and fear.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE BUG

  Burnett's throat burned as he sipped the water the priest had given him. It'd been an hour at least since Tana had saved him from the grip of the madman, but he could still feel Philip's fingers pressing on his windpipe.

  He wanted to know what was going on in the next room. It took all his self-restraint not to pull open the door, stride past Tana and beat the living shit out of the man who had attacked him. But he would wait. Whatever reason Philip had for wanting to kill him, the last person who should be interrogating the man was himself.

  All the same, he wished he could be in there. No offence to Tana, Burnett thought he seemed like a nice guy, but he was a street bobby and not a detective. He didn't even know if Tana had handled an interrogation before.

  At least in this case his partner wasn't bound by the rule of law. Which wasn't to say Burnett was one of those officers who bitched and moaned about civil liberties and the Human Rights Act and all that. He'd spent half his career having to listen to officers whining about how they had to let someone go free because of 'civil liberties'. Burnett was of the mind that a civilised society was civilised to all and if you couldn't make a collar within the rules either you didn't try hard enough or the collar couldn't be made. But in this case, with his throat stinging and rage swelling in his chest, he was bloody glad there wouldn't be a busybody desk clerk interrupting the interrogation to say time was up.

  Finally the door opened and out stepped Tana, his face ashen.

  Burnett's stomach lurched. 'So?' he asked.

  'You can go in. He wants to talk to you. He'll tell you everything. Better you hear it from him.'

  Burnett stood up.

  As he walked past, Tana stopped him. 'Go easy on him, he's had a far worse time of it than you.'

  Burnett stepped past him and into the room. The dank smell of sweat hung heavy in the air, and his assailant sat in a chair on the other side of the table. Gone was the taut ball of nervous energy who'd wrapped his hands so forcefully around Burnett's throat. The man before him now was a shell, his top soaked with sweat.

  He looked up as Burnett entered, his eyes red and swollen.

  'Hello again, Philip,' Burnett said.

  'Detective,' he replied, leaning forward and holding his bound hands up to Burnett. 'I'm so sorry; you have to believe me, he told me you were the one, and I believed him. I wanted to believe him, even after everything.'

  'Slow down,' Burnett said, holding his own hands up. He took a seat opposite Philip.

  'Sorry,' Philip said again, and took a breath. His hands were trembling.

  'Okay,' Burnett said. 'If I take that off your wrists, you're not going to try and hurt me again, are you?'

  Philip shook his head. Burnett leaned forward and worked the knot loose. Philip issued a deep sigh of relief and sat back in the chair. Burnett saw tears beginning to well up in the man's eyes.

  'Why don't you tell me what happened? Start from the beginning.'

  'From the storm?'

  'If you like.'

  Philip nodded.

  'We were at home, my wife Carol, our two…'

  He hesitated for a second.

  'Our boys, Aiden and Drew. I was doing the bedtime routines, when Carol called down to me that I should come see the sky. The boys love a storm, so we ran downstairs and into the street. It was full of people, staring up at the sky. It was so strange. The stillness in the sky; it felt like everything became charged. The boys were staring up excited, but I got a splitting headache. I looked at Carol and she was clutching her head. I looked at the boys and they were already on the floor. They were convulsing, but before I could reach out to them, everything went black.

  'I woke up and it was morning. I was so confused at first, but then I remembered the storm and the boys. I sat up, and there was Carol, cradling their…'

  He stopped, and his eyes welled up again. Burnett knew better than to interrupt.

  'We stayed that way, surrounded by dead bodies, cradling our boys. We didn't say anything to each other. We couldn't. We took the… the bodies back into the house and put them in their beds. We couldn't speak to each other. I wanted us to comfort each other, but Carol couldn't even look at me. I don't know if she blamed me somehow, or what. But she slept in the boys' room that night, and I fell asleep on the sofa downstairs. When I woke up the next morning she was gone. She left me a note.'

  He fished into his pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper and handed to Burnett. It said, 'I'm sorry, I can't, Carol.'

  Burnett handed it back. 'Jesus,' he said.

  'I was so angry at her, but I was so scared. I didn't want to lose her as well. So I started looking for her. I didn't know where she might go, so I went to her friends' houses. I checked her work. She'd gone. Clearly she didn't want me to find her, but I kept looking anyway. I went two days without seeing anyone else. When I did, the first thing I asked was if they'd seen her. I had no idea what direction she'd gone in.

  'It was a tough few days. I got attacked by a man who stole my supplies, and there was a lot of looting and other… unpleasantness. I found bodies in the street that were from after the storm. I gave up hope. Carol didn't want to be found. I started to think maybe she'd changed her mind and gone back to the house for me and I'd gone. I went back, but the whole street had burned down. My poor babies. I never got to bury them.'

  He sat in silence for a moment. Burnett looked across at the pitiful wreck in front of him and wondered what kept a person going after so much trauma.

  'I was in a supermarket trying to find something to eat, a few days after, and there was a man there. We got talking. He had some pretty crazy theories about what the storm was, but he seemed like a decent enough man. He was heading off to find some family, he said, and so I tol
d him about Carol. I described her to him and he said he couldn't be sure, but that he might have seen her. I was asking out of habit more than anything else. I didn't think I'd actually find her. But here was a man offering me exactly that. Until he'd said he'd seen her with another man.'

  'Let me guess,' Burnett said. 'A policeman.'

  'Exactly. Detective Burnett.'

  A surge of anger within the man seemed to focus him a little, and he sat up straight in his chair before continuing.

  'The man's name was Ewen. He was… unassuming. Geeky, student type. He said he'd had a run in with a detective. He said he'd been trying to get food one day when this guy had come up and robbed him at gunpoint, waving his police badge around. He had a woman with him, and they seemed… close. He'd left them. He promised to take me to where he'd last seen them, he said it wasn't too far.'

  'And did he?'

  'He did,' Philip replied. 'It took us a few hours to walk there, and I had no idea what to expect. Even if it was Carol this boy had seen, what could I expect to do? She had moved on, seemingly, with a guy who would likely kill me if I tried to take her away. But I had to be sure. What if she regretted leaving?

  'He showed me to an industrial estate, said he wasn't sure if they'd still be there, but they had looked like they might be settling in. It was worth a look, he said. He led me to a small warehouse and showed me inside.'

  Philip stopped, his eyes welling up. Burnett waited for him. He needed to know.

  'What did you find?' he asked.

  Philip's face crumpled.

  'Carol,' he said, trying to hold back his tears. 'She'd been… I couldn't take it. I couldn't understand what was in front of me. She'd been… carved up.'

  'How did Ewen react?'

  'He gave me a gun.'

  Burnett nodded. 'How did you find me?'