by Benson, Tom
“I’ll make a brief announcement when we get going, mate. Thanks for keeping your head and helping Dawn.”
The two men walked briskly toward the front of the coach.
“Dawn did a great job calming everybody enough to get them moving,” Calvin said. “We nearly had a riot up there, and we’ve got a couple of people who want to throw blame around locally. It’s not your fault. You and Dawn get them organised, and I’ll watch your back, mate.”
Paul briefly smiled and nodded his gratitude.
They climbed onto the coach, and as Calvin went down the aisle to take his seat, Paul half-turned. “If we can keep it together, Dawn, we’ll get through this. Is everybody onboard?”
“Yes, we’ve got all of them. I want to help, but what can I do now?”
“Buckle-up and switch the PA through for me.” Paul climbed into his seat and lifted the thin extendable arm of his mic so that it sat low between him and the windscreen. He started the engine, closed the door, and out of habit checked his mirrors before pulling out onto the road. Nothing had been on the route since they’d turned up early in the morning.
Passengers started shouting their worries before Paul got a chance to speak.
“Where are we going?”
“What are we going to do?”
“Are we all to die out here?”
Paul hit the air horn, and the verbal noise reduced to a murmur. “Please … listen to me, and don’t interrupt.” He glanced at Dawn and shook his head. “I’ve tried to keep up with the bulletins, but we’ve lost the national media services—both radio and television. We’re at least two hours from the nearest town—” Shouting and screaming ensued until Paul slammed on the brakes.
“Listen—we’re all in this together, so if you want to stand a chance, shut up and listen.”
A man in his forties stood up. “Who gave you the right to say what we do?”
Paul unclipped his belt, left his seat and stood in the aisle. “Do you have a better knowledge of the Scottish Highlands than me?”
“No, but—”
“Well fucking sit down and shut up—I’m trying to save our lives—all of them.”
“I don’t think I like—”
“Hey,” Calvin said, standing. “Do as Paul says—he has a plan.”
Paul got behind the wheel, buckled-up and set off again. He addressed the passengers as if it were a regular rerouting service call. “I’ve checked all the possibilities, and we have to be prepared to improvise regarding a safe haven. I repeat ... we are two hours from the nearest town. Any village out here will not appreciate a coach-load of people trying to break into their safe place—none will be large enough.” He swallowed. “I’m taking us to a location which will be big enough to take all of us, but I need you to trust me and not panic—it will do no good.”
As the coach speeded up, Paul used every available inch of road, leaning the big luxury vehicle into bends. As they climbed gradients the task was made slightly more manageable because there was no traffic to negotiate in either direction.
Paul could hear mumbling and cursing in the rows of seats behind him. Occasionally there were screams from people realising the full impact of what they were trying to escape from.
There was a blinding flash, and for a few seconds, their world was intense white light—no colour and no shade. Paul was temporarily blinded, and at sixty miles per hour in a coach on a mountain road, that was not good. He bluffed for a few seconds by holding a course in what he hoped was the middle of the road. What did he have to lose?
A man shouted. “Oh my God—look over there at the sky.”
Paul glanced to his left or as he knew it—westward. “Oh, shit,” he murmured.
Dawn turned to him. “What is that, Paul?”
“It’s the rising mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion.”
“How come we haven’t felt anything?” Dawn looked from Paul to the distant column and back again. “It’s huge.”
“What we’re seeing is the column of the explosion as it rises into the stratosphere—it could be miles out in the Atlantic. We may not feel any effects at this distance, and the head of the mushroom cloud has already disappeared beyond the cloud base.”
“Why would anybody send a missile into the Atlantic?”
“To take out submarines or other naval shipping which is carrying missiles.”
“Oh … I don’t know if I can handle this—” Dawn shook her head.
“You’ll be okay, and I need you, Dawn. We all need you. I know you can handle pressure, and this will be a testing time for all of us.”
Dawn nodded and briefly closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths.
“Jesus Christ—look at that wave out there!” The voice was an older man, and his tone expressed his fear.
The wave was many miles away to the west, but even as it rose high and raced toward the land, it told a story in itself—a gigantic tsunami … unheard of on the west coast of Scotland. It could only be more terrifying if you knew how many towns and villages were in its path and would succumb to the water.
As he slowed a little and steered around the next right-hand bend, Paul knew he should be able to look north and see the Great Glen between the peaks. From the altitude they’d reached, he could now see there were fewer lochs, but they were much more significant than they should be. The watercourses were reacting fast to the displacement of the eastern Atlantic.
As the coach straightened onto the next section of road, the nearest mountain loomed ahead, and the passengers were in a fresh panic regarding why the vehicle was travelling so fast. The murmurs, screams and shouts started again. Now they were ignored by the driver who was on a mission. Paul accelerated as best he could, and then the road levelled.
“Everybody ... hold on ... brace yourselves for a bump.” Paul’s shouted warning didn’t require the PA system.
Dawn gripped her armrests. “What is that up ahead … that thick black line across the road?”
“It’s a gap in the road surface … wherever the explosions are … no matter how far away, they’ll cause earthquakes.”
“Paul … the black line … the gap … is getting … wider … Paul … Paul.” Dawn continued to grip her armrests and raised her legs, bending them at the knee to place her feet on the dash.
Paul took the coach up to a speed never intended for such a machine, except on a test track. The black area on the road ahead was getting wider and at eighty miles per hour, Paul was approaching at a non-negotiable rate. This had become a do or die choice. Paul was making the call on behalf of himself and his passengers.
When they were less than one hundred metres away, it was apparent that the fracture in the road was at least three metres wide and still expanding. Paul briefly contemplated that the distant side of the road was descending as it moved away.
Paul took the massive, but powerful machine and its passengers onward, accelerating with every ounce of energy available to him. At less than fifty metres away from the widening crevasse, the accelerator was pressed firmly to the floor and the coach was travelling at ninety miles per hour. The only thing blocking out fear for the young man behind the wheel was the level of panic and noise inside the vehicle.
Paul kept his eyes open, and his foot down—focusing on the far side of the increasing gap.
2 - Making an Entrance
Paul was as surprised as any of his passengers might have been at the speed he attained with the big vehicle. It was a tourist coach, but a hybrid; electrical and solar-powered like most vehicles on British roads. Ironically, the coach was virtually silent apart from the sound of the tyres on the tarmac. This was in stark contrast to the continual screams and cries of the people strapped inside.
“Fly for us,” Paul whispered to the coach as he stared beyond the widening dark gap in the road surface. He had never been a religious person, but like most humans do in their hour of greatest need, he prayed silently to every god he’d ever heard of. Paul’s gaze remained
locked on the distant solid ground as if his concentration would assist the massive vehicle to achieve the jump.
Paul resisted any thought of failure. To consider the coach diving headlong into the crevasse would invite disaster and this was a time for faith and hope. Courage was already used up.
The front wheels left the fractured tarmac surface, and the coach was launched over the deep and widening chasm. Paul’s eyes were open and with slightly parted lips he held his breath. Being in mid-air in the coach was appropriately an unearthly sensation as the steering lost all sensitivity. The light hum of the hybrid vehicle was lost amidst the hysterical screaming and loud, rapid prayers of the passengers.
It was touch and go for a few seconds as the coach dipped forward slightly in mid-air, reaching for the other section of solid roadway. The front tyres touched the ground causing the big vehicle to shudder violently. The rear tyres punctured with a cluster of loud bangs as they hit and bounced against the jagged edges of broken road. The tarmac on the far side was smooth, but it was only reached thanks to the excessive speed the daring driver had achieved.
The coach skidded wildly from side to side, still travelling fast, but now with fully inflated tyres at the front, and four burst tyres on the rear. There were also twenty-three terrified people in between—if Dawn and Paul were included. There was no thought for his own safety as Paul fought the rapid skidding and screeching vehicle to save his passengers. Rather than braking, a release of power and then gradual pressure on the accelerator reintroduced some of the speed lost on the jump. The actions counteracted the skidding.
Paul’s fingers were curled around the rim of the steering wheel in a vice-like grip, and his gaze was locked on the road ahead. The mountain road curved right in a long bend. Paul was confident that if he was able to negotiate the parabolic he could hold the road and follow it around the mountain. He had three hundred metres before the ultimate test of his skill. Bringing the vehicle under control in such a short distance in normal conditions would have been bad enough. Now, with bare wheels and shredded rubber at the rear, it reduced braking ability.
The whole situation so far had been life and death, and the burden of any fear was lessened for Paul while he concentrated. He ignored the sounds of terror within the confines of the coach.
Dawn continued to whisper encouragement which gave her colleague and friend renewed confidence and also alleviated her personal fears, if only slightly.
As Paul steered into the long bend he eased off to bring the speed down to fifty miles per hour. A fresh wave of screams erupted as the coach skidded again. Passengers saw that they were aiming towards a level crossing on the next tight bend. Surely all was lost now after so many death-defying antics?
“Hold tight!” Paul shouted, over the high-pitched screeching of the tyre-less rear wheels. Heather and forestry flashed past but all eyes were either closed or staring at the road ahead.
At the level crossing where the railway line ran at an acute angle across the road surface, Paul jerked the wheel hard and turned from the road onto the railway line. The front tyres burbled loud and rapidly as they bounced at speed over the metal rails and wooden sleepers. A positive aspect of the intermittent contact of the tyres on the old sleepers was that the big vehicle lost propulsion. Four hundred metres ahead was the side of the mountain, and looming up in line with the coach’s trajectory was a railway tunnel.
Paul flicked on the headlights, for all the good they would do as the coach ploughed onwards. It was in those few seconds of doing something as mundane as using the light switch that he realised he was holding the wide front tyres on the rails. The rear wheels which had long ago lost all trace of rubber had incredibly bumped from the sleepers and landed on the rails. The combination of bare wheels on metal rails was providing a steady if uncomfortably noisy ride.
When the tunnel was one hundred metres away, Paul considered the height of the coach—surely it had to be lower than the trains which had used this place at one time? He knew the old steam train had been for industrial use so might not be broad, but he hadn’t considered the height. Those days were a century before. On the right side of the track near the tunnel entrance, two people wearing green helmets, overalls and body harnesses stepped out of the forest. Having seen the approaching coach, they stepped back and stared wide-eyed, mouths agape.
“Heads down!” Paul shouted, but he kept his head up, aiming to save his passengers at his own expense if necessary. The old tunnel swallowed the coach easily, and the headlights served to illuminate one hundred metres ahead. Paul held on and sat impatiently, panting, waiting for the vehicle to stop. Sparks flew from the rear wheels, filling the dark space with flashes of bright colour. When the coach slowed and halted, Paul closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He gazed through the large windscreen. To the front were the old railway line and the increasing darkness beyond the headlight beam range.
Dust clouds lifted and floated around the usually immaculately clean coach, making it feel like it had entered a car-wash which worked in reverse. Paul flicked a switch to disengage the cell-pack, and the low hum of the powerful hybrid motor stopped. The headlights died, and Paul turned on the interior lighting.
Dawn turned to Paul and murmured, “I take it this was your plan?” She gave a brief nervous smile, having recognised that her friend may have shaken up their passengers but he had probably saved their lives.
“So far, so good,” Paul whispered. He sat panting and trembling in shock until a slender hand reached across and touched his arm. Paul’s heart was finally slowing to a healthier beat.
“Well done, you crazy man.” Dawn smiled nervously.
After a few seconds, the sound of sobbing and nervous laughter changed to spontaneous applause throughout the vehicle, accompanied by ‘well done’ and similar messages of support for the man at the front.
Paul swung his seat around sideways and stood, but when his legs started to buckle, he resumed his seat. Instead of addressing his passengers by facing them, he used the PA system. “I apologise for the rough ride and the fright some of you experienced.” He glanced at Dawn as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I don’t know what we’re going to do next, but you must believe me—we’re safer in here than out there.”
Although he was trying to sound calm, Paul was as worried as his passengers. A thump on the door saw him turn to the nearside. He saw the two people in hi-vis vests, both breathing heavily and leaning on the door. Paul buzzed the door open
The man in green overalls said, “Hi. Are you guys—”
Paul was about to speak to the new arrivals, but something had caught his eye. The entrance to the tunnel had been a dim light, but the intensity of light increased rapidly. As before he reacted from an instinct he didn’t know he possessed.
“Get inside quickly,” Paul shouted.
The man and woman climbed the steps, and the door quietly zipped closed behind them.
Paul shouted, “Close your eyes!”
Some of the passengers cried afresh after the light had dissipated and they were sitting once again in the dimly lit coach.
“I can’t see!”
“I can’t see … I’m blind.”
“I can’t see either—what’s happening?”
Screams and sobbing were underway once again as several passengers reacted to their newly acquired blindness.
Paul grabbed his mic. “Calm down … please, calm down. Your sight will come back.”
“Will it really?” Dawn whispered.
“I’m sure it will,” Paul said. “I’ve read about this—it’s one of the effects of a nuclear explosion.” Even as they had their quiet conversation, there was a sense of doom when it felt like the entire mountain range was shaking. The coach creaked, which created the right atmosphere to cause another bout of hysteria. Would this nightmare ever end?
A thunderous roar a short distance behind the coach was the next sound. When Paul looked in his rearview mirror, he saw the entrance gradually
close and become dark as rubble built up, causing a huge dust cloud and sealing off the final glimpses of daylight. For a few minutes, the rumbling, cries, sobs and screams were the order of the day, and when the tremors ceased, slowly but surely the passengers calmed once again. If twenty people crying could be referred to as ‘calm’.
The two new arrivals were lying on the floor at the front of the coach. One was behind Paul’s seat and the other was facing down the aisle. They both looked up and were a little shaken.
“Sorry,” Paul said to the overall-clad man and woman who were sitting after their quick dive.
“I’m Norman, and this is my colleague, Chloe. We’re with the Forestry Commission. We were trying to see what the noise was outside the woodland when we heard your coach approaching. We ran in here to help you.” He looked from Paul to Dawn. “We’ve had no radio contact for ages, so maybe you can enlighten us.”
Dawn turned to the man she’d worked with for several months. “Go on, Paul—you seem to have all the answers so far?” She slowly shook her head and forced a smile. Like Paul, she had been trained to deal with an abundance of emergency scenarios. Nuclear explosions and their aftermath had never made it onto the company’s driver or tour guide training schedule.
Paul met Dawn’s gaze, and in the dim light, he hoped she wouldn’t see the fear in his expression. He looked from Dawn to the two people in the bright vests and green overalls. “Unless something nasty lands on this actual mountain, we’re over the worst of the effects for now.”
Dawn said, “What do you mean, the worst, and for now?”
“Give me a few seconds—I’ll try to explain it to everybody and see if we can keep them from panicking again.” He nodded to the new arrivals, turned and pulled down his mic. “Ladies and gentlemen I’d like your attention, please.”
There were a few sobs, and some murmuring and then a couple of voices suggested that the driver should be allowed his say. He had, after all, delivered them safely so far.
