“Offence. Is he stup-”
“Sheila! Give it a rest—let them speak.”
“In the circumstances,” Sam continues, “I think that we can forgo the usual laws. We’re in a state of emergency and that means we do what we have to do to protect ourselves. If that means blocking the road, then that’s what we have to do.”
“Yes, but-”
“Where do we block them, Sam?” Jason asks with the emphasis on his name. He takes a step closer to Sam, towering above the crowd, shining his torch into the councillor’s face and making him squint before he shines it up the road. Its strong beam picks out the white reflective stripes running along the middle of the road to the large roundabout at the top of the hill.
“We block it off at the entrance—just before the roundabout. All the way across. Not just on the road, but right up to the trees and fences either side.”
“Gotcha.” Jason strides away and pulls at the door of a car parked at the side of the road.
Usually this stretch of road, the main drag down into the town that brings traffic in from the north, south, and west, is empty of parked vehicles. Now, there are several cars and one white van parked along the kerbs. One juts at an angle from the verge, stopped where its driver crashed when the blackout struck. Jason pulls at the door of a red Mini-Cooper. “It’s locked!” he calls back. Of course they’re locked! The owners may have abandoned them but they’ve made the cars secure before walking home.
Sheila pulls at the handle of the van’s door and screams. Sam jumps, his heart thumping hard as a face appears in the van’s window. A man scowls out as he winds down the glass.
“What the hell you doing?”
“Sorry!” Sheila responds.
“Get away from the van.”
“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me!”
Why can’t this be easy? Sam strides to the van. Shoulders back, chest out, chin up. “Good evening, sir.”
“Alright,” the man nods in return.
Sam takes a breath. “We’re creating a blockade and we require all vehicles in the vicinity to be moved and placed across the road.”
“Erm ...”
“It’s essential that your van is part of that blockade. If you could step down from your vehicle please, sir.”
“You a copper?”
Sam takes another fortifying breath and decides to brazen it out. “Sir, I’m with the fire service. We have reason to believe that a terrorist campaign is underway and we require your vehicle to form part of our defences. Please step out of the vehicle.”
“If you’re not a copper you’re not taking my van nowhere.”
“Sir-”
“Let me deal with this,” Jason interrupts.
In the next second the door’s van is pulled open and Jason has grabbed the man’s shirt. He pulls him out with a thud and the van driver stumbles across the verge to the road.
“Hey!” the driver calls.
Sam takes another breath. His heart beats hard. He won’t let the panic rise. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. That’s right. Thank you, Judy.
Jason bears down over the driver sprawled on the verge. “You heard what Fireman Sam said-”
“What!”
Sam groans.
“We need your van for the blockade. Give me the keys.”
“No!” He frowns. “Fireman Sam?”
“Give me the keys,” Jason repeats.
In the distance an engine roars.
“Give him the keys!” Sam shouts and strides across to the pair.
“You Fireman Sam?” the van driver asks with a smirk as he picks himself up.
A fist arcs and the man thuds to the ground.
Oh, hell!
“Now. Give me the keys,” Jason repeats and grabs at the man’s jacket. Sheila fumbles through the pockets.
“Got them!”
“Sam, can you hear that?”
“Yeah, cars.”
Sam’s bowels clench. They had to get moving.
“Listen! There’s cars on the road. We need to get this blockade in place. Check all the cars. If they’re locked, go to the houses. Tell them it’s an emergency and we need their cars and their help. Hurry!”
“Here’s one that’s open!”
The group splinters in a fevered rush to check the cars, knock on doors and cajole owners to hand over their keys and help to push their precious vehicles out onto the road and into the path of any vehicles that attempt to get into town. A door slams and Sheila shouts an expletive that would have made his mother’s hair curl.
“Sheila!” he calls as she runs back into the road, her torchlight doing a jig as she sprints. “Come and help me.”
The van slots into place, nose street-ward, it’s back end flush to the tall wooden fence that edges the road. A tree, more than one hundred feet high stands on the other side of the fence. Across the road another car is pushed against the barrier that sits along the back of the verge. This fence is flimsier—chipboard panelling erected only a few weeks ago to guard the new supermarket development. Sheila had been vocal about it; said the field was needed as a buffer for the town against the busy dual carriageway, had even organised a protest, but the bulldozers had come anyway and torn up the field, dug up the footings, destroyed the habitat, squashed the numerous dog turds left by the field’s main traffic. Councillor Haydock had said it was progress. Sheila had rebutted that it wasn’t progress when you were tarmacking the planet. Haydock had countered that the town was growing and becoming popular with commuters. Sheila had seethed about back-handers and talked about ‘Team Thanos’. That had confused Sam. Ken had explained about ‘Agenda 21’ but that had confused Sam even further.
“Colin!” Sam shouts as the man stands still.
“Can you hear it?” He turns to Sam with a frown.
“The engines?”
“Yes. They’re getting fainter.”
Sam stops for a moment and listens. Councillor Haydock, the advocate of ‘progress’, was correct. The tension eases a little and the muscles of Sam’s stomach relax. Still, they couldn’t wait.
The next minutes are spent rolling further cars up the road. The gap has been narrowed to the length of two cars, perhaps a Mini Cooper and a BMW, in Sam’s estimation.
Ken stands hands on hips, his breath coming hard.
“Sterling work,” Grahame says patting Sam on the back.
“Thanks, but we haven’t finished yet.”
“Couple more cars should do it though, aye?”
“Yep.”
A car door slams and Jason walks back from the blockade. The hum of an engine, an engine being thrashed, sounds in the distance. Alert, Sam listens. Jason stops, turns his flashlight back to the blockade then swings back and bathes Sam in light. The squeal of tyres rings in the air. Sam’s heart beats hard.
“We need to close that gap!” he shouts.
“No rush is there?” Councillor Haydock retorts.
“Listen!” Sam shouts.
“Someone’s speeding!”
“Boy racers no doubt,” Councillor Haydock sniffs.
“You are a twat!” Sheila explodes. “It could be the terrorists coming back to burn us all in our beds.”
“Excuse me!”
“You heard me. Do I have to spell it out or do I need to pay you to hear?”
“What exactly are you implying?”
“We have NOT got time for this!” Sam shouts. The steady thrum reverberates in the quiet above the noise of bickering voices. There were multiple engines. A rush of cold washes over him. Sheila stops. Councillor Haydock stops. “Something’s coming. Now move it and get that gap closed!”
A flurry of movement, torches jiggle, jolt, shine, catch glimpses of faces, lumpy and shadowed in the harsh light. The noise grows. Sam can’t tell which direction it’s coming from but it could be the main carriageway. It isn’t from over the bridge, that has its own distinctive hum, like angry, swarming bees, but it could be from the south, from the
carriageway that joins the main motorway. He tries to listen as he runs, but the sound of his breath, and the calls of the others as they shout for more cars, more help, more muscle, flattens the noise to a mingled hum.
At the gap he stops. Jason, Sheila and Colin push at a red VW Golf. It’s too small. It won’t fill the gap. The engines are definitely growing louder.
“There are no more cars!” a panting voice states.
Sam swivels to the voice. “That’s ridiculous. There are thousands of cars in this town. There must be another one.”
“Yeah, there are loads, but not ones we can use.”
“What?”
“Most are locked and we can’t find the owners.”
The noise of the engines fills Sam’s head. They have to get that gap closed.
“What about that one?” He points to the back end of a silver Mercedes-Benz.
“That’s Councillor Haydock’s.”
“And?”
“And he said we weren’t to touch it.”
Sam clenches his jaw. “Oh, really.”
“Colin!” he shouts. “The keys to your car—we need them.”
“My car!”
The screech of tyres sounds from the near distance—from the other side of the roundabout. Sam turns as he shouts ‘yes’ at Colin. The view at the end of the road is blocked by the trees growing on the wide roundabout, a circle of woodland hovering over the carriageway that runs beneath to the bridge. They wouldn’t be able to see the car until it was almost upon them.
“Give me the damned keys, Colin,” he says and strides towards the man. Colin fumbles and keys jangle.
“Give them over, Colin!” Sheila demands. “Or I’ll let everyone know exactly what I’ve found out about you.”
He stares at her, eyes wide and questioning then dips his hand back into his pocket. Metal clinks and he shoves the keys at Sam.
“Thanks. Saves me smashing the window. Now get to the front and help push it round.”
Within seconds the car is covered in hands pushing it to the road then pushing it up to the blockade. Lights shine bright at the top of the road. Too late. They were here!
“Push!” he shouts.
The car is twenty feet from the gap, its lights a blinding white.
“Push!”
The Mercedes-Benz stops rolling as the other car approaches, hands disappear and feet run to the verge. Only Sam and Jason remain as the car slows and slips through the gap.
Now what!
Brakes jam, the car jolts to a stop and the engine stalls.
“Close the gap!” a voice shouts from the open window.
Thor! He’s back.
“They’re on our tail! Block the road.”
The noise of engines thrums louder. “Push!” Jason grunts next to Sam and then a pair of massive hands lie next to his on the boot—the massive blond with the accent—Arnie or possibly Dolph.
The car rolls. Sheila turns the steering wheel. It sticks at an angle, front end skewed across the gap, and fills the space just as the road ahead is flooded with light. Tyres squeal as two cars screech to a jarring stop half way up the road. They sit, engines idling, then reverse with a squeal of tyres and disappear. Sam’s shoulders sag.
“Hell! That was close.”
“They will be back” the huge blond says.
“Then we’ll be ready,” Sam returns.
CHAPTER SIX
Bill watches as the lights disappear. There is no sense of relief. They’ll be back and probably with reinforcements.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he says to the younger man with the scars running from his collar into his short beard.
“Sam.”
“This was your idea?” Bill motions to the blockade of cars.
“Yes,” Sam replies. “I ascertained that we could be under further attack and so devised a plan to blockade the road.”
“Right.” The bloke seems on edge, his words odd and a little stilted, as though he was trying to convince himself he had things under control. “Well, you saved our bacon, and the town’s.”
“Did you get the fuel you needed?”
“That’s something we need to talk about.”
“Oh?”
“The situation is getting serious.”
“It already is,” a blonde woman with thickly curling, though messy, hair buts in.
“Yes, it is, madame.”
“It’s Ms. I’m divorced,” she says with a – is she flirting? – shy smile.
Bill nods. His new close-shaven look was obviously having an impact on the ladies! He takes a breath and - Yep, she was pushing her chest out at him - ignoring her, he turns back to Sam.
“The attacks aren’t just random events. They’re happening across the country. On the way back here, we spotted more fires; there’s at least two in the city across the river.”
“Oh, hell! My sister lives there!”
“We all have family somewhere, Sheila,” Colin adds.
“They had guards at the petrol station at the motorway intersection. My guess is that’s part of their strategy. That way they’ll keep their vehicles operational whilst destroying our supplies.”
“That’s why they targeted the petrol station.”
“Yes. And attacking our emergency services is another way of crippling ordinary civilians.”
Sam takes a breath and Bill watches as the man’s jaw clenches, the melted skin twisting unnaturally. “What do you suggest?” he asks.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Well,” he thinks back to Bramwell and the others waiting for him. They were his priority. “I’ve got to get my ... friend to hospital. She needs emergency treatment.”
The blonde is suddenly animated. “She? ... but we need protecting!”
“Sheila’s right. We need protecting,” Colin adds.
“I have to get Clarissa to the hospital. Sam is more than capable of organising defences. Aren’t you Sam.”
“Yes,” he nods.
“He’s just a fireman—and he’s off his rocker.”
“Shut up, Sheila.”
“I’ve got ... had a few issues since ... since my accident,” Sam admits as he strokes at the scarred skin on his neck.
Bill looks at him and recognises the subdued tension. This man was giving everything he had to be here, more than he had. Bill could understand that completely. “I think,” Bill says looking directly into his eyes - let him understand what he’s about to say - “I think that you’ve kicked it into touch tonight, son.”
Sam’s eyes brighten, his shoulders slacken a little, and tension seems to leave him. He smiles back at Bill. “You reckon?” he asks though his voice is low, soft in its question. Bill holds his gaze. “Son, from what I’ve seen here tonight, you’re back in fighting form.”
The Adam’s apple in Sam’s throat bobs. A tentative smile.
“And you’re really called Sam?” Bill asks. He can’t help himself.
“Yes,” Sam returns with a small pull of his brows.
“And you’re really a fireman?”
Sam laughs. “Jeez! Am I never going to be able to ... Hell!”
The tension collapses as Bill chuckles.
Uri frowns.
Sheila cackles.
Colin disappears.
Bill pats Fireman Sam on the back and returns to the car. The last thing he wants to do is get in the car and leave this group to fend for themselves but staying is also the last thing he can do. He has to get back to Clarissa and take her to a hospital ... before it’s too late. His stomach knots.
“Uri! Come on,” he shouts across to the huge blond. The woman who’d given Bill the eye only minutes ago is holding Uri’s attention, talking ten to the dozen at him. “Uri!” he calls again as he watches him step away and the woman grab hold of his arm. She has no shame, that one! Uri pulls his arm from her grip and strides to the door.
“Looks like you’ve pulled then!”
“Pulled. W
hat is this?”
“The woman. She wants you.”
“Pah! Viktoria is my only woman.”
Bill checks in the rear-view mirror; no headlights in the distance, only the bobbing of torchlight as Sam and the others organise the town’s defences. Perhaps once Clarissa was safely at hospital he could come back and help. Although surely by then the government would have organised a response and knocked the terrorists back into their holes, or rather, smashed them into kingdom-come, or, more likely, put them on trial and sent them back into the community on bail, accommodation paid for by the British taxpayer, to continue spreading their hate. He sighs and grinds his teeth. He’d make sure there were as few as possible to go on trial.
Bill starts the engine and powers the car forward then stops. He had to get Clarissa to a hospital but which one? He had two choices and both were risky. Over the bridge the fires were close - too close - to the hospital. Hell, it could even be the hospital that was blazing on the north bank. The other way took him straight past the petrol station commandeered by the terrorists, and the one thing he can’t risk is a car chase with Clarissa in the back. He cringes. If the car jolts ... with a punctured lung and fractured ribs!
“Why you stop?”
“We have to deal with them. I can’t take Clarissa to the hospital until we’ve got control of the petrol station. We can’t just drive merrily past a bunch of murdering bastards and not expect some flack. The other hospital is across the bridge and-”
“The city is on fire.”
“Exactly. It’s under attack and the fires are too close to the hospital for comfort.”
Uri groans. “What do you suggest?”
“Well, given that there’s bugger-all sign of the police or military intervening to take control of the bastards we’ll have to take the scumbags down ourselves.”
Silence.
“You up for that?” he asks unable to keep an edge from his voice as he turns the car back towards the blockade.
“Da. We teach the bastards lesson,” Uri replies. Bill senses the anger that boils beneath the man’s calm exterior. Uri may have been trained as a calculating and ruthless killer but he was also a man with a wife and child to protect. Uri’s rage at the atrocities Bill’s country was suffering may not come from a loyalty to the nation, or a fierce need to protect its people, but it was welcome nevertheless.
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