by Ian D. Moore
He pushed the button to start the computer, which, after a while, flashed the SGFC company logo before the mouse pointer settled mid-screen, opposite desktop saved file folders. They’d been lucky as there had been no password set. Double-clicking on the files revealed charts, graphs, and statistical data, none of which made a great deal of sense to Nathan. However, one such file contained an outlined underground survey of the town of Salby. He studied the plan, noticing that at the very edge of the town, the detailed depth and composite information had no entries logged; very strange, he thought.
At the wellhead, the same file listed soil sample recordings at various depths, analytical data of substances found, and deep well extraction sample data. There were also charts with recommendations for directional exploration to follow. Yet, underneath the town itself, no data had been collected or, if it had, it wasn’t there to be seen. He tried searching the laptop for hidden file folders but found none. Puzzled by his findings, he turned to Evie.
“Have you found anything yet?”
Evie looked up from the register. “It was B Shift working when the wellhead exploded, and in all, 120 men and women, mostly surface-based on duty. They’d been pumping chemicals into the wellhead to fracture the rock, along with high-pressure water jetting. According to the town plans here, they had bored down to around one mile before heading west at ninety degrees, towards the town boundary.” Evie followed the entries with her finger, picking up the next point.
”The last log entry I can find was at the beginning of the shift at midnight last night. It shows that a two-mile tunnel had been cut horizontally through the rock, releasing evidence of some shale gas, which had been stored for purity testing. The plans indicate a seam of gas pockets in the general direction of the tunnel, going towards the town boundary, which is where they must have reached by the time of the explosion.” Nathan nodded his understanding of the information before offering some of his own.
“I can find no records on this laptop that show surveys under the town. Yet here”—he paused, tapping his finger on the open site map—“at the wellhead site, there are tons of files and figures, even soil sample references. Why would they blatantly drill into an area that hadn’t been surveyed?”
Nathan stood and made his way to the TV to turn it on. Maybe there would be a news report that could shed more light, or at least confirm that someone had reported the initial explosion, he thought.
“Did you manage to get through to the police before the attack, Evie?”
She looked straight at him. Fear of the event recall filled her eyes. Nathan regretted asking the question; the memory clearly haunted her.
“I, I made the call, had been transferred to the local police station, but the phone just kept ringing. It, that thing, came at the car while I was waiting for an answer,” she said, visibly shaken.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. Are you hungry? I could rustle up some food,” he asked. He was consciously steering the conversation to new ground and paying attention to the grumbling sounds coming from his own stomach.
They continued to sift through the files and maps whilst eating hastily made sandwiches, learning more about the operation up to the point where the fracking operation had met the town boundary. After that, the trail went cold.
In the background, the local news bulletin flashed up old images of the wellhead site. It reported that “an incident” had occurred in the early hours of this morning. No other information was given, which meant that the authorities were now aware of the explosion and had probably blocked press reports for the time being. In a perverse way, it was comforting to know that those in power would now be aware of what had happened; the full scale of the event had yet to break.
***
Nathan went into a small study office from which he used to work. Just inside the door, he turned, reaching over the doorframe and pulling down a long, zipped case. He took it back to the kitchen and laid it over the sprawling collection of maps and files. He moved to the drawers of the kitchen unit and slid open the top one, his right hand emerging with a small cardboard box.
“What’s that? What are you going to do?” Evie asked, looking intently at the long, narrow case.
He pulled the zip on the case, flipping over the side section to reveal a sleek long rifle, silenced with a large telescopic sight mounted. Evie took a step backwards.
“Hey, it’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you with this. We need some protection here, that’s all. I’m going to rig the farm with a few devices that will hopefully get us through the night. Tomorrow, we’ll need to go out for supplies, but I think tonight we’re better off staying put. Can you shoot? Have you ever fired a weapon?”
“N-no, I really don’t like guns,” she replied, still nervously eyeing up the rifle.
Nathan made his way to a small pantry door in the corner of the kitchen, pushed it open, and, clicking the light on inside, momentarily disappeared from view, returning with what looked like another gun.
“Christ! Nate, just how many of these bloody things do you have?”
“I do a bit of hunting from time to time. Come on, a short sharp lesson in weapon skills, whether you like guns or not. If one of those things comes at you, I may not be there to stop it. At least if you know how to use this,” he said, tapping the stock of the Remington gently, “then you’ll stand a chance of being able to defend yourself should the situation require it. Come on, out to the back yard.”
She thought about the creature that had attacked her in the Jeep, recalling the rage and ferocity of its actions and then, spurred on by an involuntary shiver that overcame her, she followed Nathan outside.
“How do I use it?” she asked, with stronger resolve.
Nathan loaded shells from the box and then took his stance, telling her how best to spread her feet for a standing shot, emphasising the need to keep the gun gripped tightly in against her body because of the recoil of the shotgun when firing. He handed her the weapon, allowing her to become comfortable with the feel, weight and style and watched as she copied his stance, fortunately they were both right handed, which made it easier for Nathan to teach her the basics.
She gripped the shotgun, replaying what she had been told; it was heavier than she thought it would be. The cold steel handle and composite-material grip and shoulder piece was shorter than the double barrel type she had seen in films. Evie felt comforted by Nathan’s gentle touch. His hands lightly turned her shoulders, and he gave soft but assertive instructions in her ear. Bracing, she shouldered the Remington, taking aim just below the metal watering can placed in the centre of the open yard,and, with her stomach cart-wheeling, her finger hooked around the trigger.
Nathan leaned inwards, his lips close to her ear, and whispered, “Relax and steady your breathing. The gun is going to kick like a mule and sound like a cannon, so be prepared for it, Evie, and remember to try to squeeze the trigger gently, don’t pull on it. It helps you to keep a straighter aim by doing that, whenever you’re ready.”
Evie took deep breaths. She could hear her own heart pounding, as if it were making a break for freedom through her ear.
In and out, in and out. Come on, you can do this.
On the third breath, Evie aimed, pulling the shotgun into the hollow of her shoulder; she exhaled, but not fully, paused, and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing. Nothing happened.
“Safety!” she heard from behind, and then with her right thumb, she flicked off the safety catch, set her stance to fire, breathed in deeply, exhaled, held, and then pulled.
The shotgun exploded, at least that’s how it felt; it recoiled strong enough to send her in a half-spin to the right. In under a second, a plume of soil and dirt scattered to the left and slightly behind the metal can.
“Shit!! Ouch!! Jesus Christ!” she yelled, her ears ringing after the discharge.
“Drop the barrel down, Evie!” Nathan said, but she could barely make out what he was saying.
“What?” she yelled, turning to face him.
Nathan gestured for her to lower the shotgun using his hands, palms facing the ground, motioning up and down in front of him; Evie understood and lowered the shotgun.
“Not a bad first ever try; wasn’t too far off the mark,” Nathan said, half-expecting her to want to quit.
“Can we reload? I’d like another shot at it,” Evie yelled, much to Nathan’s surprise.
He guided her on how to reload the pump action, reminding her to count her shots so as not to run out of cartridges. Nathan told her that he had loaded three and that the next was shot two. After a couple of attempts at pumping the action, she found her own way, ejecting the spent shell case and loading the next to the breech. She’d mastered that part with relative ease; he had to admire her spirit.
“Okay, ready? Stay calm, focused, and remember the kick; you can bend down if it’s easier. The steadier you can aim, the better. Ideally, a surface to lean on is good.” Nathan uttered his last words of advice before her second attempt.
This time, Evie felt more confident; she knew what this thing could do, how it reacted, and remembered where she had aimed on the last shot. Evie decided to compensate and try bending down to shoot, resting on her right knee with her buttocks sitting on her right heel, her left elbow on her raised left knee, to steady the gun further. With the image of that thing coming towards her, she sucked in her breath, flicked off the safety, and exhaled, holding at the last second. Lining up, she squeezed the trigger.
Crack!
Again, the noise was deafening, but she held her position, and it showed in the end result. She looked at where the watering can used to be; a direct hit! The can, and a good portion of the top of the packing crate it had rested upon, had disintegrated. Splintered wood and part of the watering can had been strewn behind the remaining half of the crate over a distance of about twenty yards.
“Woohoooooo! That’s my girl!” Nathan yelled, grinning at Evie. She turned towards him, and for the first time since they had met at the conference, he saw her smile.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Lowering the Remington to the ground, Evie ran towards him, throwing her arms around his neck.
“I did it! I did it! Did you see?” Evie said, beaming up at him. She kissed his mouth.
He held her there, and when she pulled her face away, Evie looked at him; those beautiful brown eyes searched his very soul.
“I, I’m sorry,” she said. Clearly feeling awkward, she took a step back, lowering her gaze to the floor.
“Don’t be. We’ve one round loaded, so let’s see if you can take out the rest of the crate. Then we’ll head in before the light begins to fade. I want to make a few surprises for any unwanted deadheads we may get in the night.”
The nervousness evident in her face dissipated; fear of rejection, he wondered.
“Deadheads?” Evie queried, smiling as she walked to pick up the grounded weapon.
“We have to call them something, don’t we? They don’t seem to be alive, and they don’t seem to be dead,” he said, countering with a quick wink.
She hipped the shotgun, sliding back the pump action to eject the spent cartridge and load the final shell. Kneeling, she lined up just in front of what remained of the crate and fired. The crate shattered into splinters, the force of the hit sending up a cloud of dirt and dust. The report hadn’t seemed so loud to Evie this time; she’d either burst both eardrums or had grown more accustomed to it.
Taking the shotgun, Nathan pushed six shells into the chamber; a small box contained the remaining cartridges and he handed it to her.
“Head back to the house now, eh? If you can, crank up the second laptop and make a start at looking through it. I’ll just be a few minutes. I’m gonna put out a few early warning devices and the odd trap,” Nathan said, as he began walking to the small concrete outbuilding.
***
Evie watched him closely as he walked away, grateful for the impromptu weapons lesson and unable to help the warm feelings stirring within her. Nathan was steadfast, confident in his own abilities, able to teach patiently, and fit to look at, in a rough and rugged kind of way.
Evie went back to the kitchen, laying the shotgun and shells down just inside the door, then proceeded to push the “on” button at the top left of the laptop, waiting for it to go through the motions of start-up. As it whirred and clicked, crunching data, she noticed that the TV had gone black with no picture and no sound. She pressed the remote control buttons, clicking the power button on and off and on again, but it didn’t make a difference, so she walked to the kitchen counter, clicked on the kettle switch, and waited for it to start to boil. It made no sound either.
That’s just great! No power!
The laptop finally displayed a password screen. Evie pressed the enter button.
You never know, you see, some people use no password, and I might be lucky.
Beep. The uncompromising noise uttered by the machine told her that her optimism had been misplaced. She glared at the screen in defiance, imagining a dialogue with the machine baiting her in a mocking tone.
No really? That’s the best you can do?
Evie fished into her pockets for her mobile, checking first to see if it had a signal and to be sure that it hadn’t sustained any damage. Scrolling to the message menu, she tapped the screen to open up a new message pane. She typed in a quick five-digit fast-dial number and then tapped the cursor to reveal the virtual keyboard on the lower half of her screen. She typed the numerous letters and numbers precisely and carefully:
ES17305050.SALRED1.EST0300GMT.END.
Checking her text, she pressed SEND, being sure to delete the message sent record afterwards. The recipients would know what the SMS meant.
***
Outside, Nathan had gathered a roll of thin, steel cheese wire he used for snares, some plastic cable ties, and a bag he’d filled with empty drink cans from the recycling box. He took a pocket full of large nails, thick leather gloves, a hammer, tucked into his waistband, and some narrow nose pliers.
He headed for the tree line at the rear of the house some sixty yards away, picking the low, thick branch of an old oak on which to work. Taking the end of the cheese wire and looping it, he fastened it tightly to the end of a sturdy lower branch, just above head height, using a couple of cable ties for security.
He pulled on the rigger gloves. He measured about two metres of wire, wrapping it around his shielded hand. Once ready, he pulled the big, thickset branch down and around, slightly to the left. Standing on the tip of the branch, he hammered a nail into the trunk at a slight angle about three inches from the ground and then wrapped the wire holding the tree branch around it, which took up the tension.
Running the wire along the ground to a tree ten feet away, he repeated the nailing process, putting a small loop in the end of the wire, taking up the slack and raising the remainder from the woodland floor. Scanning the trees, checking for movement, and satisfied that all was still, he returned to the first fixing.
Attaching a second length of wire to the end of the bent branch, he measured out what he thought would be enough between the first and second trees, allowing for the arc of the branch, coiling the excess at the base of the second tree, and nailing the final loose end firmly into the trunk, just above his first. Covering the trip-wire with foliage, he finally set each end to just be held enough by the angle of the nails. The wind wouldn’t trigger it due to the tension of the branch. Satisfied with his efforts, he set numerous tin-can laced warning snares around the perimeter, eager to get back to the house before the light began to fade.
***
While Evie wouldn’t know it, across the country, four pagers beeped, the emergency coded message having been sent mere seconds before. The message recipients were alerted, and telephones in government bunkers began to ring.
Glaring at the password box on the laptop, Evie decided to take time out, pulling a still chilled
can from the fridge. She drank some soda, headed back to the pile of maps, and shut down the laptop to save battery life. She heard the front door rumble, and her heart pounded when she remembered the shotgun had been left in the hallway. The bottom bolt had been pulled.
What do I do? What do I do?
She raced to the kitchen, pulled a large, broad-bladed carving knife from the wooden block holder on the counter, and stood firm.
“Evie? Are you alright, Evie?” Nathan said, as he came through the door.
”Have you had any luck with the …”
His sentence trailed off as he saw Evie facing him, holding the huge steel-bladed knife, her teeth clenched, her breathing sporadic, and her eyes focused upon him.
“Shit, Nate, you scared me half to death! I thought it was, you know, one of them, the deadheads,” she said, returning the knife to its block.
He came to her before pulling her close, cupping her face in his hands and turning her head gently upwards to look into her eyes.
“I won’t let them harm you, Evie. We’re safe here for now.”
He kissed her softly, the long lingering type of kiss that quickens pulses and sets hearts racing. He hoped this would dispel her previous uncertainty and quell thoughts of rejection. He pulled her towards him again, and Evie’s arms wrapped around him as they stood for a few minutes, embracing without any need to talk.
The sun had begun its graceful descent, now touching the tops of the trees as the golden-orange rays streamed through the dusty windows. Fingers of light illuminated the kitchen, casting eerie shadows across the red stone-tiled floor; it touched the ceiling like phantom spectres, awoken by the coming of the night.
Pulling away, Evie retrieved the shotgun and shells from the hallway, wanting to keep it closer to hand. Nathan checked the laptop, fiddling with the “on” switch, waiting for an indication to suggest that it might start.
“Any luck with this?” Nathan said, as Evie returned with the Remington, laying it on the small kitchen counter.
“It turns on but it is password locked; tried pressing enter and that didn’t work, but then I noticed that the TV was off. Think the power went down.”