Flare

by Grzegorzek, Paul

  The bedding was surprisingly clean, and anything personal had been stripped out to leave small pieces of blue tack and a lonely drawing pin on the rear wall.

  “Lie down on the bed and take your shoe off”. Emily pointed at the small cubby and I obediently squeezed in, but paused before undoing my trainer.

  “Uh, you know we haven’t washed for a couple of days”, I said, but she shrugged.

  “Believe me, after you’ve spent ten days in thirty eight degree heat with no water to wash in, you get a lot less worried about things like that. What I am worried about is you keeping up”.

  I removed the trainer, then my sock, grimacing at the smell of sweaty feet. Despite her words, Emily wrinkled her nose as she unwrapped the bandage. She took my heel in one hand and my calf in the other and began to rotate the joint slowly, and we both winced as it clicked and ground.

  “That doesn’t sound good”, she said with a frown. “Priority number one has to be getting you some proper footwear with ankle support. The bandage is ok but it’s not enough”.

  She redid the bandage, making sure it was tight, and I put my sock and trainer back on hurriedly.

  “Where are we now?” I asked as she began to search the cab for anything useful.

  “Maidenhead, apparently. You ever been there?”

  I shook my head. “Not to stay, only passing through. Do you know it?”

  “Not really, although it’s bound to have something like a camping shop where we can find you some shoes. You want to do that Google search now?”

  We both smiled, although a little sadly. The first thing I would do if my phone was working, I realised, was call Melody just to hear her voice. I’d become used to speaking to her every single day no matter what happened, and the sudden lack of contact was starting to wear at me. I didn’t know if she was safe, well, happy or… I couldn’t even finish the thought. I could only pray that Angie had managed to get them to her parents, eminently practical people who would keep them fed from the years of tinned food in their larder.

  “Good to go?” Emily’s voice pulled me from my daydreaming and I nodded, then slid off the bed and between the seats to follow her out onto the road.

  As we set off again, Emily pointed at the unscarred buildings around us.

  “I wonder why some of the places we go through are burned to the ground and others are untouched?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that”, I said, pleased to be able to offer a theory on something, “and I think it’s to do with the substations. Different areas draw different amounts of power, right?”

  She nodded and gestured for me to continue.

  “So some areas are close to overload already. I wrote an article about the risk of a brownout a couple of years ago, and apparently there are places where they are, uh were, just a few kettles away from a shutdown. Yet other areas have a substation for every few streets, or so it seems. I reckon that the areas that caught fire are the ones that were already close to capacity, and the ones that handled the local current better had time for their switches to trip or whatever it is that they do, stopping the surge from carrying on into the buildings. How does that sound?”

  Emily chewed her lip as she thought about it.

  “That would make sense. I don’t know how sensitive the cut-offs are, but a big enough overload on an already taxed system would almost certainly result in a massive surge”.

  “So now you’ve got your engineer brain on”, I said as we walked close to the central reservation, both of us now scanning the buildings on either side of the road for any signs of life, “answer me this if you can. Did you speak to Jerry much about what happened with the flare?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, we had a few minutes to chat”.

  “So why is it that my phone almost burned my hand off but and car batteries were drained if they were plugged in, but our torches still work?”

  “I don’t need Jerry to tell you that one. Your phone has a processor in it, and everything that did overheated almost immediately. I think that might be another cause of the fires, to be honest. And as for the battery thing, your car is a big lump of metal, but a torch or anything smaller would avoid the worst of it unless you were carrying one of those huge metal maglites, the ones that take eight batteries”.

  I still didn’t quite understand it but I nodded as if I did, hating to look stupid.

  The buildings on either side of the road gradually went from industrial to domestic, but as with the last place we’d been through, there was no sign of anyone still living in the area.

  Of course they could be shut away indoors while they waited for the power to come back on, but the windows we passed remained empty and the whole place had a desolate feel to it, as if stripped of humanity.

  The truck was almost half an hour behind us when we came across a row of shops, all but a laundrette and an army surplus store with the windows smashed and goods looted.

  The laundrette had presumably escaped because it held nothing of value, but the surplus store was a different matter. Both large windows had steel roller-shutters pulled down over them and the door in the middle was steel-reinforced wood. There were serious dents and gouges in the metal but it had held firm, keeping out the looters. Unfortunately, it seemed it was going to keep us out as well.

  “Boots and proper clothing behind those”, Emily said, giving the door an experimental rattle. “All we need to do is work out how to get in”.

  I pointed to the windows above the shop, single-glazed sliding sashes that a child could break into. A child that was twenty feet tall, that is.

  “Maybe we can find a ladder?”

  “Sure”, she said, “and where are we going to find one of those?”

  I looked up the road, spying a builder’s van at the far end.

  “In that, maybe?”

  She shrugged and led the way to the van. It was locked, but the stock of the shotgun put a window out quickly enough. I winced at the noise, half expecting angry residents to pour out of their houses, but nothing stirred as Emily reached in, opened the door and climbed inside.

  She disappeared over the seats into the back, and opened the rear door a few moments later, coming out with not just the ladder but also a small toolkit.

  “Never know when it might come in handy”, she said, stowing it in her bag as I held the ladder.

  “Anything else useful?” I peered into the back at the shelves and boxes lining the walls.

  “Only if you like porn”.

  “I think I’ll pass, thanks”.

  I carried the ladder over to the shop, allowing Emily to keep her hands free for the shotgun, then we swapped as the ladder was extended and placed up against the wall. I stood with my good foot on the bottom rung as she climbed, trying to watch her and keep an eye out at the same time as my sweaty palms gripped the shotgun too tightly.

  “It’s not even locked”, she called back down as she slid the window open, “I’ll be back out shortly”.

  She pulled the pistol from her waistband and rolled smoothly through the window, leaving me to stand there in the road with the irrational fear that the police would turn up and arrest me for burglary.

  The image was so ludicrous that I began to chuckle, and I was still laughing as I heard the bolts on the inside of the door slide back and it creaked open.

  “What are you laughing at?” Emily demanded, expression showing that she thought she might be the butt of the joke.

  “Just worrying about getting a criminal record”, I giggled, and she laughed too.

  “I promise to put in a good word for you, come on, the place is full of stuff”.

  I took the precaution of removing the ladder in case anybody happened by, collapsing it and laying it on its side against the wall of the laundrette. When Emily saw what I was doing she nodded her approval.

  “Good thinking. Now let’s see what we can salvage before someone does show up to investigate the noise we’ve made”.

  I cast one last loo
k up and down the street, then hurried inside, eager to find myself some new boots, and maybe some clothes that didn’t smell quite so bad.

  Chapter 29

  “I look stupid”, I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror. As well as a pair of shiny black Magnum boots, Emily had agreed with my need for a change of clothes. Where we differed, however, was on what that change should be.

  She selected outfits for both of us which consisted of woodland camouflage jackets and lightweight trousers, with leggings underneath in olive green. To hers she had added a pistol holster also in olive green, a drop-leg, she called it, while to my outfit she had added a green canvas webbing vest with elastic loops to hold shotgun cartridges.

  “The long-johns keep the heat in and the lightweights dry quickly if they get wet”, she explained, “and if it gets hot we can just take the long-johns off”.

  So saying, she stripped down to her underwear as if I wasn’t there, standing gawping at her matching black bra and panties as if I’d never seen a woman before.

  Her body was soft in all the right places and hard in others, with firm, rippling muscles across her stomach and shoulders that were smoothed by her natural curviness. I felt an uncomfortable heat in my groin and quickly turned away, red-faced.

  “And you don’t look stupid”, she said from behind me, “I think you look kind of cute”.

  I glanced down at myself and readjusted the waistband of my trousers to hide my embarrassment.

  “Cute? Never thought I’d hear someone call me that”.

  “Well there’s a first time for everything”. I heard the sound of a zip being done up. “If you’ve calmed down enough you can turn back now”.

  I closed my eyes and wished for a second that I could sink through the floor, then turned to be hit by the full force of her dimples as they framed a wicked grin.

  “Unless, of course, you want to stay here a little longer?”

  Her fingers played with the zip on her jacket as she stared at me, eyes bright in the dim shop interior. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to step towards her and help her with the zip, but as I took that first step my ears caught a noise from outside the shop and I froze, my libido wilting like a cut flower left out in the sun.

  “I’m telling you, I heard something”. It was a deep male voice, middle aged and rough-sounding.

  “Well there’s no one here, is there?” The second voice was higher but also male, with a whiny tone that instantly set my teeth on edge.

  “What about in the shop?”

  The door rattled and Emily drew her pistol from its holster while I reached out and picked up the shotgun, thumb immediately stroking the safety to check it was on.

  “Nah, it’s locked. ‘Ere. You reckon there’s anything interesting in there?”

  “Prob’ly. You wanna get caught by the soldiers when they come back, though? They didn’t finish this area properly, remember? That one with the stripes said just people from here, they’d come back for supplies later”.

  “Yeah, I was there, I remember. Just thought we might find something interesting is all”. The voices began to fade as they walked away, their footsteps just audible through the shutters. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked over at Emily, cursing silently when I remembered what they had interrupted.

  “We should go”, Emily said as if the moment had never happened, “let’s pack the bags and see if there’s a back door”.

  I nodded glumly and waved goodbye to the close encounter, instead pulling myself together and sorting through the other goods we’d piled next to the bags. There were bags and bags of army rations, sanitary wipes, water purification tablets, two pairs of binoculars, a pair of wicked looking army knives with sheaths that we put on our belts, waterproof matches and about a dozen other things that were all apparently essential to our ongoing survival.

  “People actually buy this stuff?” I asked as we packed it all into the Bergens, my rucksack having been replaced with a new one from the shop.

  Emily nodded and pulled a heavy compass from the pile, hanging it around her neck by its cord.

  “You bet. Most of the guys who come out have snaffled so much kit over the years that they don’t know what to do with it, so they hit civvy street and sell it to places like this. You get all sorts buy it. Hunters, gamekeepers and paintballers to name just a few. Don’t knock it, everything you’re wearing is British Army issue and only a few years old. If you look after it, it’ll last you for months if not years”.

  She had also selected a second set of clothing for us, this one all black, and mine went into the Bergen along with all the other supplies.

  When we were finally packed I heaved the load onto my back and swayed slightly under the strain. Emily came over and tightened the straps around my waist, and I was uncomfortably aware of her closeness as her head almost rested against my chest.

  She straightened before I could pluck up the courage to do anything, another moment lost as she shouldered her own pack and led me towards the back of the store. I still held the shotgun, but for some reason it felt more natural now I was dressed like a soldier, even if I thought I did make a poor one.

  The rear of the shop did indeed have a back door, the rusted bolts showing how little used it was. Emily cleared the small alleyway behind with a quick glance, then motioned me to follow and we slipped into a passage that was barely wide enough for my shoulders, the side pockets of my pack scraping against brick on both sides.

  The alley led us out into a street that was at a right angle to the front of the shop, and Emily briefly pulled out her new compass to make sure of her bearings before leading me on through Maidenhead towards the M40.

  My mind kept going back to that moment in the shop, trying to read her expression in retrospect and making sure that I hadn’t misread the situation. How many other options could there be? She had clearly been offering something more than just friendship, but why then, why not in the tent the night before?

  I would be the first to admit that I’m no expert when it comes to women. Since Angie I’d had a couple of drunken encounters at parties, but otherwise I’d avoided the traps and pitfalls of a relationship, choosing instead to concentrate all my energy on the split between work and Melody. It had seemed safer, and I hadn’t wanted Melody to feel even the slightest bit awkward about visiting whenever we could find the time, so I had kept the house a woman-free zone.

  And so I agonised about what had happened in the shop, almost convincing myself that I’d been mistaken, or that she was just teasing me or making a joke. Almost, that is, except for the look in her eyes when they met mine, half challenge, half need.

  I was so caught up in my thoughts, in fact, that when I heard a scraping noise from an alleyway between two houses I barely looked up, thinking that it must be a cat searching for food or perhaps a bold fox.

  That lack of awareness almost proved my undoing. I’d drawn parallel to the alley, Emily a few metres ahead, and as I looked into the dim passage I caught a hint of movement that rapidly turned into the figure of a man, crouched behind some bins but now on his feet and launching himself at me, hands already reaching out to grapple.

  I backpedalled rapidly, stumbling away from him as I opened my mouth to shout a warning to Emily, but as I glanced in her direction I saw her already struggling with two other men as she tried to keep them off and draw her pistol at the same time.

  My own attacker tore out of the alley in a blur of motion, his weight striking me in the chest as he bore me to the ground, trapping the shotgun between us. I kept hold of it, battling to pull the ungainly weapon free, but the man simply used his weight to keep it wedged and began punching me in the face with one fist while the other hand rested on the ground to give him leverage.

  The pain was incredible. I’d never realised just how much one bony body-part striking another could hurt. I screamed as his fist connected with my nose, feeling hot blood spurt, but before I could recover he struck me again, this time findin
g my eye and digging his knuckles in so far that I thought my eyeball would pop.

  “Help!” I screamed, twisting and turning my head to avoid the blows, but as I looked in Emily’s direction I saw that she was already being held down by her two opponents, one of them kneeling on her arms with her own pistol pointed at her head while the other tried to rip her trousers off, getting kicked for the trouble but ignoring the blows as if they were nothing.

  I realised then what was going to happen. Emily would be raped, I would be killed and then if she was lucky so would she. Then these men would go through our things and take what they liked, and I would never reach Melody.

  Something inside me snapped. That’s the only way I can describe it as my hands came free of the shotgun, my left grabbing the man’s throat and squeezing while the right dropped to my waist and found the knife there.

  It was as if I’d spent my entire life wearing a set of chains around my morals, my values, maybe even my whole mind, but now they dropped away and I watched with cool detachment as I pulled the knife free and sheathed it again, this time in my opponents ribs.

  His scream was a choked-off wheeze, my other hand still around his throat as I pulled the knife out and stuck it in again, climbing a rib each time to make sure that I did the job properly.

  At the third strike he coughed blood into my face, my nose, my open mouth but I kept going, five, six, seven, and suddenly he went limp, his body a dead weight that I kicked off, rolling myself to my feet Burgen and all without a thought.

  I picked up the shotgun, flicked the safety off and walked up behind the man with the pistol. As I raised the barrels his companion looked up from fighting to remove Emily’s underwear, shock and fear making his eyes bulge.

  I barely heard the roar as I pulled the trigger, both barrels cutting the kneeling man nearly in half, the pistol flying from nerveless fingers as blood soaked his companion.

  Forgetting his intended rape the third man stood, both hands out in front of him.

  “No, no, please. We didn’t mean nothing by it, please!” He began to back away as I broke the barrels on the shotgun, the spent casings flying out. Had he charged at me then he might have lived, but instead he continued to stumble backwards, too scared to turn his back and run.