by Dave Lacey
And today he felt even stronger. Through the course of the day, Millie and Smithy took a crutch each and strapped them across their backs, allowing Jack to walk on two legs for an hour. It served to exercise his bad leg, and give his body a break from the crutches.
Something else that Jack and Bill had spoken about briefly was that they were fairly sure they had left the chasers behind. If they were still chasing, then they were unusually determined, and Bill and Jack agreed they could prove to be the group’s undoing.
For the past day and a half, Jack had noticed something else too: Marl, Eileen and Eric had been bickering. They had short, sharp conversations, then often split up and sulked for a few hours before starting again. Jack had frowned as he had watched them, curious to know what was going on. As they reached Bristol, the reason for these conversations became evident. During a rest stop, Marl pulled Bill and Jack to one side and beckoned them close.
“What’s up?” Bill asked.
“We’re leaving the group,” Marl announced.
Both Jack and Bill raised their eyebrows. “Why?” they asked at the same time.
“The others. They think this is a stupid idea, this mission. They want to leave. I’m outnumbered, and they are my kin. Well, since the war they are anyway.” Marl’s shoulders sagged, resigned.
Jack and Bill looked at each other, their expressions mixed, but there was more than a little relief. They waited, expecting Marl to say more. But he had nothing further to add.
“Will you go back to Jack’s community?” Bill asked.
Marl raised his eyebrows, and looked at Jack sheepishly. “Would that be okay? I mean, would they accept us if we went there, unannounced?” Marl asked, flushing.
Jack gave a small laugh. He slapped Marl on the back. “Of course they would, Marl. Even if you hadn’t saved my life, they would take you in anyway.”
Marl smiled with relief. “I’m not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time to lay down some roots again. Sounds like it would be as good a place as any.” Marl paused, looking past both of them at some unseen vision. “And we’d have some ready-made friends too,” he said, looking around at the gathered humanity.
Bill made the announcement to the group. They made up a pack for their departing companions containing medical supplies and a little food. Marl had argued they could catch their own food, that the larger group would have greater need of it, but everyone had insisted.
Marl held up the map Jack had drawn for them back in Cheshire. “Thank you. We’re more appreciative than our words can convey. Thank you my friends.”
Jack and Bill watched until they were out of sight, wondering if they would ever see them again. The three friends faced an arduous journey back north, and Jack and his group faced an even greater one, even if their mission succeeded.
The further south they went, the warmer it got. The scenery changed too. There was more open land, and on a number of occasions they came close to the sea, and the briny tang freshened the air.
As far as he was aware, Jack had not been tested again. He had kept pace with the group, and caused no issue or delay. Bill walked with him occasionally. Their relationship improved, returning to something like the one they had established in the early days. Smithy and Millie walked with him mostly, and cheered his mood considerably. Occasionally Darren would break off from walking with Anna, a female member of the group, and come to say hello.
They were close now to reaching that front half of the foot of Britain that stuck out into the seas surrounding it. Somewhere near Taunton, judging by the road signs. Bill’s current concern was that they were fast running out of food. That soon they would need to begin foraging and hunting. Aside from the difficulty of doing this effectively in a land largely burned dry, it would also slow them down.
So, before they ran out entirely, they began to hunt. If they got lucky, it would extend their supplies. Bill sent two sub-groups out to look for abandoned supermarkets and shops that might still contain food and supplies. It was a long shot, but he considered it worth the risk.
On the first day, they struck lucky. One of the hunters bagged a brace of pheasants. It was not a huge amount for a group of twenty plus, but it was a start. Later that day, one of the foraging groups came back with seven tins of mixed vegetables found amid the rubble of what had once been a shopping complex. That night, Bill organized a discreet fire, shielded from any onlookers by anything they could find.
They scavenged a large pot from a disused building, and the stripped and chopped pheasant went into the pot of water. The smell of cooked fresh meat rose from the pot and infused the air. Then, after a time, in went four tins of potatoes, followed by three tins of mixed vegetables. It was a heady mix for a bunch of men and women who’d eaten little aside from cold items for over a week. The group sat and ate in companionable silence.
There was a deep sense of satisfaction, an almost tangible sensation on the air. Guards were set, and many contented bellies settled down for the night. Jack had no watch duties tonight. Expecting a deep sleep, he was disappointed to find himself awake after an hour of trying. He had rolled and huffed his way through the hour, and, after a while, Smithy’s voice came from the dark beside him.
“What’s up?” Smithy stage whispered, his voice harsh.
“Nothing. Can’t sleep,” Jack said, his own voice sounding petulant and childish.
“Really, I’d never have guessed. At least you don’t keep anyone else awake when it happens.” Smithy breathed out, obviously awake as well. “What bug’s flown up your arse then?”
“Nothing, I told you. Go to sleep,” Jack said, his voice huffy again.
“It’s never nothing with you, Jack. Out with it,” Smithy said, the wisdom of the world in his tone.
Jack waited a moment, then spoke. “I have a bad feeling about Marl and his gang,” Jack said. In his own mind, he knew that sounded limp, as though he were trying to beef up his reason for not sleeping.
“Jack, I suggest you get some sleep. We’re almost there. Even if we’re successful, we then have the mother of all journeys back again. And, due to one piece of shit luck or another, we may have one or two human obstacles to overcome on that journey.”
Jack could hear the scepticism in his friend’s voice, and he understood that, but it didn’t change the fact that he felt what he felt.
The following day began misty and grey. And Jack felt exhausted. He had slept little, and even the sleep he had managed had been of poor quality. They broke camp with little discussion and were on the move within twenty minutes. The land remained shrouded in mist for most of the day. It was a surreal sensation. The horizon had shrunk to a hundred yards.
Bill sent out more scouts for food. It took a long time, but when they did make it back they had more supplies. Their luck was holding. They marched through the rest of that day. Something was bugging Bill, but he refused to discuss it. Jack grew huffy in the end, and drifted back in the caravan.
Bill had perked up, however, by the time they had finished that night’s stew. Smithy even pulled out a bottle of the illicit stuff. He had mixed up a concoction of alcohol before they had left, intending it to be a celebratory drink when they reached their goal. But now seemed as good a time as any. It was whisky and ginger wine, a whisky mac in old money. They sat around a fire, with full bellies and the dream-like buzz of alcohol in their veins, and they were just men and women again. The heavy feeling of the day had lifted, and even Bill felt good. They were very near their destination, and the prize was at their fingertips.
Vinnie watched as the large party settled down for the night. He saw them passing a bottle between them, and noticed how they became a little rowdier the more the bottle moved. He had been watching the group for the last thirty-six hours. Duke had scouts all over the territory, and Vinnie took his turn in the network of spies, marking out strangers, watching for ‘Lander activity in the area, and gathering information that might be useful to Duke and his community.
Vinnie was comfortable for the time being. They had no idea, he was certain, that they were being watched. He couldn’t work out if they were naïve or just dumb. Either way, it made them prime pickings as far as he was concerned. One of them was injured too. He moved about on crutches, slowing the group down. That was especially dumb, Vinnie thought. Duke had always told them, “Never, ever carry a wounded man. Kill the one, for the good of the many”. It was hard, but true.
That single injured man could cost the lives of all who travelled with him. Vinnie smiled in the dark; this lot would be a doddle. He watched them for a further hour, making sure they had settled down, and scanning for any guards they may have posted. When it became clear the guards were only watching the camp, Vinnie moved below the horizon and left for HQ. It took him three hours to get there, using one of the smaller vehicles they used for long distances.
At around three in the morning, he stood before Duke, who never seemed to sleep.
“Well, what news?” Duke boomed. His bright green eyes bored into Vinnie’s, almost daring him to lie. He moved his arms, his massive shoulders flexing as he did so, his round belly moving too. His chin came to rest on his balled fist, whose elbow in turn rested upon the arm of his throne.
Vinnie felt the familiar flutter in his belly when he stood before Duke. “Good morning, your Lordship,” Vinnie began, licking his lips. He liked to use this term. Duke seemed pleased by it also. “They’ve settled down for the night. They’ve had a few drinks too.” At this, Duke leaned slightly further forward in his seat, and his eyebrow rose a little, almost of its own accord. “It seems they are pleased with themselves, though I still have no idea why they are here.”
Duke took a breath and nodded. “Hmm, I’m curious about them,” he muttered, his eyes turning away from Vinnie. “What is it that they seek?” he asked, though he addressed nobody in particular.
Vinnie smiled inwardly at Duke’s adopted accent and odd style of speech. For some reason, whether before prison, during or after it, Duke had almost become medieval. His voice was deep, loud and hammy. But nobody ever asked him why. Asking Duke why did not end well.
“I am sore tempted to allow them passage, Vincent. Even if only to discover what it is they seek,” Duke said, switching his chin from one fist to the other. Vinnie said nothing. Let him come to his own conclusions, he thought. “What say you, Vincent?” Duke turned to look at Vinnie again.
Vinnie wanted to laugh, but stifled it. It was clear to everybody now that Duke was quite mad. And laughing was even worse than asking why. “I think you’re right, your Lordship,” he continued. “I think we wait and see what it is they’re doing, then pounce.”
Duke was already nodding before he answered. “Yes, yes, pounce indeed. We shall see what it is they desire. Then take it from them.”
Chapter 31
Jack could feel a palpable air of excitement within the group. Soon, they would have what they came for and could think about returning home. The difficult bit would be in getting the seeds to the station on the Moon. That part, they still hadn’t given thought to, but that wasn’t their problem. After that, the scientists would have to work out what was the actual killer element of the plants. But all of that depended on them getting back safely to the community, now over three hundred miles away.
Added to that was the potential threat of the two groups looking for retribution. Jack smiled as he skipped his way along the path on his crutches. ”Nothing too difficult there then,” he muttered to himself.
“What?” Millie asked from behind
“I said, once we have what we came for, all we need to do is get back home with the seeds, through the occupied lands, past the two groups of bloodthirsty killers, avoiding the killer aliens, and then get them to the Moon,” Jack said over his shoulder.
“Yeah, piece of piss,” called Smithy as he and Millie pulled up alongside Jack.
Smithy and Millie were considering this silently, when a shout came from the front of the line.
“We’re stopping,” Jack muttered as he looked to the head of the column. Millie stood on tiptoe to get a better view of Bill as he turned and began to speak.
“Okay,” he said, “by my reckoning, we’re just five miles from the Eden Project. That means we’re five miles from our objective. I don’t anticipate that we’re in any more danger than we have been throughout, but I still think we should be more watchful during this final phase.” Bill smiled, then went on. “I’d hate to come this far and lose it all in the home stretch.” Nervous laughter rippled round the group in agreement. “So, we’ll have some outriggers.” Bill pointed to four people along the line, calling out their names as he did so. “Okay, guys. Four corners, four outriggers. I’d say two hundred yards out on our flanks, and around a hundred yards out in front, and the same behind. That should keep line of sight with us and give us a greater field of vision. Go.” The four split off and ran to their respective positions. “This doesn’t mean the rest of us can slack off. If someone gets to the scouts, or gets between them and us, we’re screwed. Eyes open, ears pinned.”
Two hours later, all twenty-four members of the team stood before the derelict gates of the Eden Project. Some things remained: parts of the perimeter fence; the gates themselves; and some of the buildings were still recognizable. They searched for half an hour before they discovered the access to the seed bank. It was indeed underground. And it was heavily defended. It looked, primarily, like its name suggested. A bank. A bank vault, to be accurate, built into the hill that flanked one side of the project. The building it was attached to looked administrative, which it probably had been.
As they moved through the offices, they discovered that much of it had made it through the war. Cups sat on the edges of desks. Food packaging covered the floor. Thick layers of dust covered eyeglasses that had been left behind on desks, presumably when people went outside to see what the noises were. Pictures of relatives adorned many of the work stations, the subjects likely long dead. Jack ran his finger gently along the top of one of the frames, staring at the family picture within.
As the team moved through the long-deserted space, they disturbed countless dust motes from their resting places, and shafts of sunlight highlighted them in the air. The atmosphere had become solemn, the weight of recent history weighing down on the team members as they saw the evidence of that surprise attack eight years ago.
“Where did they go?” Bill asked. He stared at the clutter on one of the desks.
“Huh?” Millie asked, turning to look at him.
“The people. Where did they go? None of them died here, I just wondered how close to their loved ones they got. Whether they survived.”
“We’ll never know,” answered Millie, “and I’m not sure how much use it will do us to think about it, Bill.” But her expression echoed Bill’s sentiment. She was thinking of other things too.
“It’s like a time capsule in a way,” said Jack. “It’s exactly as they left it. Even the ‘Landers haven’t been in here.”
Bill took in a deep breath. “Okay, enough doom and gloom, let’s get what we came for.”
Bill’s words snapped the team out of their shadowed thoughts and forced them into movement. After a few minutes of searching, a shout came from further into the facility.
Everyone began to shuffle through the dust and spilled paperwork to where the call had come from. Before them stood a huge circular door. Made of metal, about two feet thick, it was the typical bank vault door they had all seen in films. Thick perfectly milled steel bolts sticking out from the sides were visible because the door stood ajar.
The irony was particularly poignant; this vault was supposed to withstand anything and everything, but could only do so if the door were closed. Bill sounded relieved. “Okay, well, let’s do it,” he said, moving through the doorway, drawing an aluminium case from his pack. Some followed, but Jack and Smithy stayed outside.
“Well, we’re here,” said Smithy, folding his arms across his c
hest.
Jack nodded, leaning back on a desktop with his backside and hands. “Yup, we certainly are,” he agreed, staring into nothingness.
Smithy frowned. “I may be being negative here, but something about this doesn’t ring true. It feels too easy.”
“Really?” Jack asked. “Tell that to my ankle, and to the people who died chasing us.”
Smithy pulled a face. “You know what I mean. I expected it to be harder than this. Besides, you were the hero who stayed behind to fight the bad guys, so don’t go griping about it now.”
Jack nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “I suppose so. And, bizarrely, I think I know what you mean. It does feel strange that we’re here, and without a major collision with the ‘Landers.” Jack immediately closed his eyes, and Smithy punched him in the shoulder.
“Nice one genius,” said Smithy, shaking his head. “Now we’re fucked.”
Vinnie had followed the group for a long time before he figured out where they were headed. They had stopped before a signpost, standing alone and forlorn in its own part of the landscape. It had been for the Eden Project. He had immediately sent back a scout. The scout would ride back to HQ just outside London. It would take almost twenty hours, but he would bring back reinforcements.
The scouts used bicycles to get around, or trucks when numbers were required. In the meantime, Vinnie would wait. And watch. He had watched them send out their own scouts to the four corners of the pathway, and stayed easily out of their eye line. They were amateurs at this sort of thing. Vinnie had been doing it for years. He stalked them, as he had countless prey, even before the invasion.
They had sent a good number of people on whatever mission it was they were on. Safety in numbers, Vinnie realized that. But it had its downsides, the same ones that had been faced by generals throughout history. Feeding a group of twenty something people in a terrain as barren as the country was now was very hard. Added to which, that many people left a trail a blind man could follow, not even taking into account the noise they made. And the assumed safety of so many people, armed people, left them far too relaxed. And that made them careless. To post scouts only now was an indicator of their inexperience.