by Jason Ayres
Miraculously, the clouds had lifted and the late-afternoon sun was shining down through clear blue skies.
“It’s cold out there, though.”
“I’ve already thought of that,” she said. “Here, you can borrow one of Richard’s coats.” She handed him a large, brown, sheepskin overcoat, of the type once favoured by football managers and trackside reporters. Goodness knows how long Kent had had it. She had found it at the back of a wardrobe upstairs.
Andy was never very good at standing up to authority and, grumbling, he put on the coat.
“You’ll be nice and warm in that. If you go now you’ll be safely back home before dark,” she said.
“Can I come back tomorrow?” he asked.
“That depends. If the power’s back on, maybe. But I’m not opening if it isn’t.” She walked over towards the door, leaving him in no doubt that it was time to leave. Reluctantly he shuffled across the flagstones.
“See you tomorrow, then,” he said.
“A small thank-you wouldn’t go amiss,” she replied.
“Thanks, Lauren. You’re a good girl,” he said, glancing back towards the bar. “Any chance of a take-out?”
“No chance, I’m afraid,” she answered. “And you still have to pay for the beers you’ve had this afternoon.”
“I only had a couple, didn’t I?” he asked.
“Times two,” she replied. “You never give up, do you? You can pay me for them tomorrow. Now off you go.” She opened up the door and almost propelled him through it.
Before she could close the door he turned around and said tentatively, “How about a goodbye kiss?”
“Goodbye, Andy!” she said firmly, and closed the door, feeling a palpable sense of relief. She wasn’t that desperate yet. A fleeting, horrible thought passed through her mind. What would happen if she and Andy ended up being the only two people left in the town? Would she do it then?
She dismissed the thought as ludicrous and went to put some more logs on the fire.
On the other side of the door, Andy had noticed the damage to the jeweller’s on the other side of the road, and wandered up to have a look. The front window was completely smashed in. Most of the jewellery was gone, but there were a few watches still there. There was no alarm going off and nobody at all around.
He couldn’t believe it. He could do with a new watch, so he reached in and took one. Then he thought, Why just take one? The large coat Lauren had given him had very deep pockets so he stuffed them full of watches. He then looked around again. The street was deserted. No one had seen him. Nobody could, and with no CCTV in operation, he could get away with anything.
He feasted his eyes on the specialist wine and spirit shop next door to the jewellers. He didn’t need take-outs from the pub. He was going to get something much better.
In the centre of the pedestrianised street were several flower beds and a rockery, all buried beneath the snow. Andy knew he’d find what he was looking for underneath. He crouched down and dug down into the snow with his bare hands. Soon he found what he wanted – a huge chunk of Cotswold stone. He took it in both hands, walked across to the wine shop and launched it straight through the glass front door.
The air was filled with the strangely satisfying sound of broken glass as the pane shattered, most of it falling through into the shop beyond. No alarm went off. He figured that must be reliant on electricity, too. He stepped through the gap, cursing as his coat snagged on a piece of glass sticking out, but he wasn’t annoyed for long. He was in his own personal nirvana.
He looked around the shop. There were all manner of bottles of wine from around the world, some with very expensive price tags, but Andy’s long-sozzled taste buds wouldn’t have appreciated them. He was after the whiskies.
He examined the display, determined to find the most expensive bottle he could. Eventually he settled on a 25-year-old malt with a price tag of £299.99. That would do nicely. He opened it and poured the sweet, expensive nectar down his throat. This would definitely keep him warm.
One bottle wasn’t going to be enough, he decided. He thought about the collection of watches in his pockets. What use were they to him? He emptied them out, chose the best one and put it on his wrist, then threw all of the others onto the counter.
“Here’s my payment for the booze,” he remarked to an imaginary cashier. The coat had incredibly deep pockets, more than enough to fit in a couple of bottles. He perused the shelves further, selected a couple more bottles priced at £200+ and slid them into the pockets. All the while he was swigging away from the first bottle. It was having a pleasantly warming feel inside.
All of this took time, and by the time he got outside, dusk was falling. The blue sky that had all too briefly illuminated the day had been replaced once again by threatening black clouds. He needed to get a move on.
He crossed the street and took the small alley that led towards the railway underpass where, without realising it, he had twice in the past travelled forward in time through The Time Bubble. It was slow-going in the snow, and darkness was falling quickly.
By the time he reached the tunnel it was almost pitch-dark. He managed to find his way out of the tunnel, but he didn’t emerge into the brightly lit street he was used to. The lack of electricity meant that there was no street lighting - in fact very little lighting of any kind. He noticed a dim glow coming from one house which was probably candlelight, but other than that the darkness was total.
He stumbled along the street, knowing that once he got to the end of it, he’d be almost home, but he was destined not to make it. He’d been swigging from the bottle of whisky the whole way home and was now extremely drunk. He couldn’t see for the life of him where he was going and inevitably he lost his footing, catching it on the edge of the kerb. He slipped and hit his head directly on the side of a parked car.
Drunk and disoriented by the blow to the head, he passed out and slithered to the ground, the bottle of whisky slipping from his grasp. The remains of its very expensive contents poured wastefully away into the snow.
He may have been wearing Kent’s thick sheepskin coat, but it was no match for the cold around him. It began snowing again, covering him as he lay unconscious in the road. Slowly his body grew colder and the symptoms of hypothermia set in.
He never woke up again, and by the time daylight returned in the morning, he was dead.
Chapter Seventeen
Kaylee and Charlie were staying at the Lenox Montparnasse Hotel in Paris.
After a rough ferry crossing they’d arrived in Calais to find snow falling there, too. Fortunately the trains were still running and they had managed to get aboard one bound for Paris.
By the time they arrived in Paris it was late-afternoon. It was cold and there were some light snow showers around, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been in England. The city was still vibrant and running as normal.
Despite Kaylee’s misgivings that things might worsen, Charlie had insisted they stay in Paris for at least one night. They were both exhausted and he was worried for both her and the baby. They took the Métro out to Edgar Quinet station and walked the short distance to the hotel.
They had fond memories of this place. Charlie had brought her here some years ago on Valentine’s Day to propose, and they had stayed in this very hotel.
In a small, boutique-style restaurant in the pretty square at the end of the road he’d proposed over the coq au vin. She had accepted straightaway, and they’d celebrated with the finest champagne. He had promised to bring her back one day. He hadn’t expected it to be this soon, though.
They were relieved when arriving at the hotel to find they had vacancies. They booked themselves in, ordered room service, and settled in for an early night. It had been a long couple of days.
Now it was morning, and Charlie had woken first. He pulled back the curtains to reveal an all too familiar sight outside – falling snow. It didn’t look too bad on the ground, though. He could see people walkin
g up and down the street and hear the noise of traffic. Perhaps things would not get so bad here, he mused.
He turned on the TV and tuned into CNN. They were reporting on the deepening crisis the weather was causing in Northern Europe. The images switched to London, and Charlie was shocked by what he saw.
The capital was buried under a huge amount of snow, and there were images of fire and looting being shown. It reminded him of something he’d seen one summer years ago when he was a kid and there had been riots in London.
The pictures then switched to images of the Army marching in Trafalgar Square. Things must be really bad. He turned up the volume to listen further.
“It is now estimated that over 50% of the country is without electricity, and the Government is unable to state when it will be restored. A spokesman said that conditions are currently too bad for repairs to be made to the lines. In London, the situation is now so bad that a state of martial law has been declared. Anyone caught looting can be shot on sight.
All travel has been restricted across the whole of the UK, and citizens are being urged to stay in their homes until the crisis has passed.”
“It’s not going to pass,” said Kaylee, who had awakened whilst Charlie was watching the TV. “It will get worse, if anything. I’m really worried about those we’ve left behind. I should have insisted they come with us.”
“Why don’t you try and ring them?” asked Charlie.
“Already on it,” she replied, phone in hand. As she tried to get through to her friends, Charlie continued to watch the TV.
“Meanwhile, in Russia, where temperatures fell as low as -25C overnight, the President has announced a state of emergency. Among the measures he has introduced is to suspend all deliveries of gas to other countries in the region due to the growing energy needs in Russia.
The move was condemned by other leaders who said that his actions amounted to little more than a death sentence to stranded people across Europe relying on the supplies for warmth.”
“I can’t get through to Lauren or Hannah,” remarked Kaylee. “Both of their phones seem to be switched off.” She glanced at the TV screen. “Look at that,” she exclaimed.
The news channel was giving its hourly weather update which featured a scrolling globe focusing on the different regions of the world. As they watched, they marvelled at some of the low temperatures they were seeing.
The map was focused on Northern Europe. It was showing Moscow (-18), Oslo (-12), Berlin (-3), London (-5), Paris (-1). These wouldn’t have been unusual in January, but this was October.
The map switched to Southern Europe, and more clement temperatures: Madrid (+8), Rome (+6), Athens (+13), Tenerife (+21). “That’s where we should head for next,” said Charlie. “Madrid. We can get a flight from there all the way to Fuerteventura.”
They dressed and headed downstairs to the restaurant for the buffet breakfast. As they ate, they decided not to try and get a flight from Paris, but to take the high-speed train all the way to Madrid.
By the time they left the hotel, the snow was falling quite thickly. There was no time to delay if they were to stay ahead of the weather. They got back aboard the Métro and headed for the railway station.
=============================
Alice and Josh had spent the night in Bodmin. After trudging across the snowbound landscape for about half an hour they’d found the main road to Bodmin on the other side of the hills. There were a few cars still attempting to negotiate it in the snow, but not many. They’d attempted to thumb a lift from the first couple of cars but had been ignored.
A sign close to where they’d joined the road read “Bodmin 2”. They’d had no choice but to walk it. The going was very slow and it took them over two hours, but they finally made it into the historic Cornish town.
It had been snowing on and off throughout their walk, and they were extremely cold by the time they reached Bodmin. Alice, in particular, was struggling, but Josh had lent her his woolly hat and plenty of encouragement.
When at last they arrived in the town centre, they were extremely relieved, not to mention delighted, to discover a pub that was open. Not only did it have a roaring fire, but it also did food. They relaxed with a couple of pints and an enormous Sunday roast, and soon began to feel much better.
The snow had not hit the far South-West of England anything like as badly as the rest of the country. They were unaware of the chaos going on elsewhere, other than a little small talk with the waiter who brought them their food, who offered the opinion that it was “grim up north”.
There was a large TV screen in the bar, but they weren’t able to find out any useful information from it. The only words on the screen were “No Signal”.
After they’d eaten, they sat in front of the fire, allowing their clothes to dry in the heat. It was at this point that Josh had brought up the subject of where they were going to stay for the night. Alice was already a step ahead of him there. She’d noticed a sign on the door as they’d entered that read “Rooms available”. A quick enquiry at the bar, and they were sorted for the night.
And so, in the pub they had stayed safe, warm and comfortable. Later they had cuddled up to keep warm in the large, four-poster bed in their room. Now it was morning and they were eating breakfast in the bar. The TV screen was still displaying “No Signal” and the landlord was fiddling around with the controls.
“I can’t understand what’s wrong with this,” he said. “It does this sometimes when it’s heavy rain or snow, but it’s clear skies out there now.”
He wasn’t to know that the satellite provider had been without electricity for over 24 hours, and that the TV studios had been abandoned.
The landlord went back into the kitchen leaving them to make plans.
“So what now?” asked Alice.
“Well, we can’t stay in Bodmin forever,” replied Josh. “And I don’t fancy trying to get home in this weather. We’ve got this far – we may as well see it through.”
“There is one thing that’s been worrying me,” she said. “You said that only one person at a time can go through a Time Bubble. If that’s true, and we do find one, what then? Does one of us have to stay behind?”
This had occurred to Josh, but he hadn’t come up with a viable solution yet. “We’ll worry about that if and when we find it. In the meantime, we need to get ourselves kitted out properly. We can’t go traipsing about in this weather dressed like this.”
After breakfast, they checked out and headed into the town centre. It was bright and sunny and didn’t feel as cold as it had the previous evening. There were a good few inches of snow on the pavements but life in the town seemed to be proceeding relatively normally.
The snow on the roads was turning to slush and there were a few cars moving around. They passed by the local primary school which surprisingly was open.
“You know, I don’t think this is as bad as we thought it was going to be,” said Josh. “Still, we had better be prepared, just in case.”
They found a specialist hiking shop and went inside to get everything they needed. Soon they were dressed in full winter gear, with sturdy walking boots and backpacks. They were aware that even if they managed to travel by road as far as St Ives, they would still need to negotiate the last couple of miles around the coastline on foot.
They found a small supermarket which was still relatively well stocked. It seemed that the panic buying fever hadn’t reached down as far as this corner of the country. They filled their backpacks with as much food as they could carry, and then they felt ready for the off.
They went to check out the railway station, more in hope than in expectation. With the snow melting, the tracks looked perfectly passable to Josh and Alice, but there were no trains running. There was a solitary guard on duty, a small, thin man in his late-fifties with a grey moustache. Josh approached him to try and find out more information.
“How come there are no trains running today?” he asked. “The tracks d
on’t look too bad.”
“They aren’t too bad here,” said the guard, “but further east it’s a different story. Most of the country has had it a lot worse than here. The tracks are blocked completely the other side of Plymouth. There’s no way any trains are going to be coming through from London today.”
“Well, that settles one thing, then,” said Josh. “We definitely made the right decision not to try and head back home.”
“Where are you thinking of going, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?” said the guard, eyeing up their hiking gear. “You wouldn’t be thinking of going up onto the moor, would you? Because there’s more snow on the way and I could tell you plenty of tales of people who’ve gone up there in bad conditions and regretted it.”
“Nothing so foolhardy,” replied Josh. “We are just visiting family in St Ives.”
“I suggest you get going soon, then, while you still can,” said the guard. “I was listening to the radio earlier and there’s a whole lot more snow forecast for today: worse than the first lot, they say.”
“Thanks for the advice,” said Alice. “Come on, Josh, we’d better get moving.”
“Good luck,” said the guard. “And try the bus station. They might still be operating.”
They bid him farewell and headed to the bus station. Sure enough, there were a couple of buses running, and they leapt aboard one marked “TRURO”. This would take them at least halfway to St Ives. The next leg of their journey had begun.
Chapter Eighteen
Dan and Ryan had been very busy indeed. They had taken full advantage of the brief lull in the bad weather on Monday to set themselves up in their own little kingdom.
Now they were in the Army base, sitting in the newly cleaned up mess hall, electric lights and heating working thanks to the generator next door, planning their next move.
Sitting with them were two new recruits, Neil, the supermarket manager, and Colin, the security guard, who had been desperately trying to protect their store only a couple of days ago.