“Are you saying it’s going to rain?”
“Yes,” Garrison said. He caught his breath. “And we have to find shelter.”
“We have to keep walking,” Molly said. The only shelter was the trees ... and she didn't want to be under them if a thunderstorm broke out. She checked her smartphone, trying to estimate how far they’d walked. It didn't seem like more than a kilometre or two. “Come on.”
The rain started twenty minutes later. Thunder and lightning flashed and boomed overhead while the rain fell so heavily that she felt as if someone had tipped a cosmic bathtub over her head. The road started to puddle over at once, the water growing deeper and deeper as the rain just kept falling. Molly pulled the coat around herself, but the water still leaked into her clothes. The wind was still blowing hot and cold. She shivered, helplessly, as she forced herself to keep going. There was nothing else to do.
At this rate, it’ll take weeks to get home, she thought. She checked her smartphone once again, but there was still no signal. What was wrong with the network? She’d been told it couldn't be knocked down accidentally, even if terrorists took out a dozen nodes. But the government had turned it off. Maybe we should try to find a shelter.
The rain seemed to grow heavier, drenching her to the bone. She looked under the trees, but the ground was already muddy as hell. There was no way to escape the impression that the soil had turned into a swamp. If she stood under the trees, she might just get stuck even if she didn't get struck by lightning. Brilliant flashes of light danced overhead, followed immediately by peals of thunder. The storm had to be right overhead.
Garrison caught her arm. “We have to go back!”
Molly shook her head. There was nothing for her at the hall; nothing, apart from endless worrying about her kids. She couldn't go back, even though cold logic suggested there was no real choice. Besides, the dead bodies would get unhealthy in a hurry. She’d never studied more than the basics of first aid, but she recalled being told that dead bodies spread diseases or something along those lines. In hindsight, she wished she’d studied that too.
And then she heard a car horn.
She jumped and spun around. A minivan had sneaked up behind them, the sound of its engine drowned out by the thunder and rain. Three camper vans hid behind it, followed by a pair of cars and a tractor. She waved desperately, hoping - praying - that the drivers would give them a lift east. They’d been very lucky the drivers had even seen them in the storm.
The door opened. She pulled Garrison forward and climbed inside, heedless of the possible danger. The rain seemed to grow quieter as the door was slammed closed, although the drumming on the roof was terrifyingly loud. She caught her breath, then looked around the vehicle. Six children - the oldest around ten - and three adults, all looking grim. A school trip?
She caught her breath. “I’m Molly,” she said. She hadn't been raised to trust strangers, but she had no choice. They weren't going to get back home without a vehicle and probably some help. “Where are you going?”
“Rosemary,” one of the adults said. She sounded wary. “We’re trying to get back to London. Where are you going?”
“Woking,” Molly said. She looked back at the rest of the small convoy. “Can you give us a lift to” - she had to think for a long moment - “somewhere closer to my home?”
“You’re welcome to stay with us,” Rosemary said. “We’ll drop you off somewhere closer to Woking, if we can get that far. Half the roads to the north are blocked, it seems.”
She sighed. “What the hell happened?”
“Aliens,” Garrison said. He introduced himself with a nod. “Where were you?”
“Camping trip,” Rosemary said. “My brothers are in the military, so we took their kids into our home for the duration. And then we went camping and ...”
“Next thing we know, the entire campsite is awash and the radio is prattling nonsense,” another adult said. “This whole trip might have built someone’s character, but it sure as hell hasn't built mine!”
“You were lucky,” Garrison said.
“I know,” Rosemary agreed. Her eyes narrowed. “Aliens?”
Molly nodded and started to explain.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Luna
Brian was half-asleep in the cap when the radio bleeped. He jerked awake, one hand reaching for the pistol he wasn't carrying as he glanced around. The van was ... the van was safe, he told himself firmly. It was just the radio. He looked at the timer - he’d been asleep for three hours - and then keyed the console. An all-clear message popped up, informing him that the alien fleet was now no longer in weapons range. Brian breathed a sigh of relief, then opened a direct link to the lunar datanet.
Half the nodes are no longer working, he thought, numbly. But at least Braidburn Colony seems to be intact.
He looked down at the console for a long moment, thinking hard. If the all-clear had been sounded - and it had - he had a duty to get in touch with the lunar authorities as soon as possible. If nothing else, he had to tell them that he was available to go into the personnel pool if necessary ... and, of course, reunite Abigail with her parents. But if the alien fleet was still in the solar system, it might double-back at any moment. Going to Braidburn Colony might be enough to get them both killed.
Brilliant, he thought. Make the wrong choice and we both end up dead.
They could stay hidden for several days, he knew. The van could keep them both alive for weeks, although conditions would grow steadily more and more uncomfortable. And yet, he doubted Abigail had the ability to hide out indefinitely. There wasn't much to do in the van, save for chatting and - perhaps - playing computer games. He sighed, then started to power up the engine. If nothing else, they’d get a full update at Braidburn Colony. That would tell him what they should do next.
He heard a sound behind him as the van hummed into life. “Go back to bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Abigail said. She walked up to the front compartment and sat down next to him. “Where are we going?”
“The all-clear has been sounded,” Brian said. “We’re on our way to Braidburn.”
“Thanks,” Abigail said. She gave him a sidelong look. “Do you ... do you have to tell my parents you found me?”
“I have to give them a full report,” Brian said. “And no, I won’t tell them you died at Sin City.”
Abigail pouted. “They won’t be pleased to see me again,” she said. “I ... does everyone know I ran off?”
“No,” Brian said. “It was never advertised. Lucky, or one of your employers might have realised who he had working for him.”
He cleared his throat. “And I think your parents will be relieved to see you again,” he added, after a moment. “They wouldn't have spent so much money on tracking you down if they hadn't wanted to find you.”
“I suppose,” Abigail said. She leaned back into her chair. “Do you want me to make more coffee?”
“Please,” Brian said. “It's going to be a long day.”
The radio crackled, time and time again. Brian listened, carefully, as the lunar surface slowly came back to life, hundreds of small colonies and independent prospectors exchanging notes as they tried to put their lives back together. A number of colonies had been hit, apparently, along with two-thirds of the defence stations. Luna would never be the same again. Brian frowned as a couple of speakers discussed how the Great Powers might try to take advantage of the situation to eliminate all hopes of lunar independence. He doubted any of the Great Powers would have the time or resources to try - if Luna was battered, he hated to think what things must be like on Earth - but resolved to monitor the situation anyway. It might not be a good thing to be an Earther if the lunar population thought he was here to take over.
He took the coffee and sipped it, thoughtfully, as they found a well-travelled road leading towards Braidburn Colony. A handful of other vehicles joined them, exchanging brief signals as they came in from the cold. Brian wondered
, absently, just how many of them had come from Sin City. He was still fairly sure that far too many of the staff had deserted, before or after the colony had been hit. The garage might have remained airtight long enough for the staff to board some of the vehicles and run for open terrain.
Abigail cleared her throat. “What are you going to do ... I mean, afterwards?”
“I don't know,” Brian admitted. He’d originally planned to head straight back to Earth, but that might no longer be possible. God alone knew when the regular Earth-Luna shuttles would recommence. “I might end up helping with recovery work.”
“Oh,” Abigail said.
Brian gave her a sharp look, then turned his attention back to the road as they approached Braidburn Colony. A long line of vehicles was waiting outside the garage, entering one by one. Brian hoped that meant the inhabitants were being careful, rather than limited interior space. He'd never visited Braidburn, but the colony’s entry on the luna database suggested it was a fairly large - and independent - settlement. It should have facilities to cope with a sudden influx of refugees.
Assuming it doesn’t get overwhelmed, he thought, coldly. The Luna Federation never planned for a disaster on such a scale.
He waited, as patiently as he could, as the line inched forward, vehicle by vehicle. The radio chattered from time to time, offering yet more updates. He listened, making mental notes as a speaker confirmed the destruction of Sin City. Apparently, no one was known to have survived. Brian was tempted to make a formal statement immediately, but held his tongue. It would probably be better to get Abigail back to her parents, then make a statement. Sin City’s Management - if there was anything left of it - would be very interested in speaking to him.
They’ll have to rebuild, somehow, he thought, wryly. And I don’t even know if they’ll get the insurance to pay out.
He guided the van through the doors, when their turn came, and parked in a massive underground garage. A trio of armed men entered the moment he stopped, searching the van and its inhabitants with swift and brutal efficiency. Abigail squawked in protest, but Brian said nothing. The locals had to be careful, if nothing else. Who knew what else might be travelling in the van? All the stories about alien infiltrators were nothing more than trashy nonsense - although Brian was fairly sure several of his teachers had been aliens in disguise - but terrorists could easily be trying to make the catastrophe worse.
“Walk straight to the gate and go through,” the searchers ordered curtly, once they were finished. “Take your ID, but nothing else. We’ll get your vehicle somewhere safe.”
“Understood,” Brian said.
He led Abigail across the garage and through the airlock. A line of people was waiting on the far side, seemingly bored as they waited for their number to be called. Brian took a ticket from a tired-looking administrator, then sat down to wait. Abigail sat next to him a moment later, closing her eyes as she leaned against him. Brian felt a flicker of envy as she started to sleep. The young were always much more resilient than they thought.
She hasn’t done too badly, he told himself. She’d do well with some proper training.
He had to fight the temptation to fall asleep himself as minutes turned slowly into hours. The line was moving very slowly, even though the entry chamber was filling rapidly. It was unusual to have so many people trying to gain entry at once. Even a fully-loaded train wouldn't carry more than fifty passengers. And there was so much chaos that there was no way anyone’s identity could be verified.
They might have to put us all up in a makeshift dome, he thought sourly, as their number was called. That won’t be pleasant either.
He nudged Abigail, then helped her to her feet as their number was called again. The guard pointed them to a door, leading to a small office. A tired-looking bureaucrat was sitting on the far side, staring down at a computer screen. Brian would have thought he was being deliberately rude, if the man’s head hadn't been nodding towards sleep. The poor man had had even less sleep than Brian himself.
“Good morning,” the bureaucrat said. His voice was tired too. He pointed them to chairs with the air of a man who was too tired to play power games. “Name, ID numbers and places of origin?”
Brian had to think to come up with the answer. “We fled Sin City,” he said. “But I came from Earth and she came from Clarke.”
The bureaucrat looked puzzled for a moment. “Name and ID?”
“Brian Wheeler and Abigail Swansong,” Brian said. He ignored Abigail’s grunt of displeasure. Her name might get them better accommodation, if it didn't get them a flight to Clarke. “Here are our cards.”
“I see,” the bureaucrat said. He ran the cards through his reader, then frowned. “There’s a missing persons advisory on both of you.”
“My parents,” Abigail said. “Does that mean they’re alive?”
“I don't know,” the bureaucrat said. “It was issued five hours ago, but it came from Swansong Enterprises rather than anyone in particular.”
Abigail looked at Brian. “It does mean they’re alive, doesn’t it?”
Brian hesitated. As far as he knew, Abigail’s parents were the only people who knew he was working for them, let alone that he’d gone to Sin City. But it was quite possible that they’d informed the rest of the company board or their lawyers. Someone would have to explain his disappearance, if he never returned home. It wasn't solid proof that Abigail’s parents were still alive.
“It seems likely,” he said, slowly. He looked at the bureaucrat. “What does the advisory actually say?”
“Just that you were missing,” the bureaucrat said. He yawned, suddenly. “Excuse me.”
“I feel the same way too,” Brian said. “What do we do now?”
“I’ll arrange for you to get a room - two rooms,” the bureaucrat said. His hands danced over the computer console. “And then I’ll inform the datanet that you two are alive. After that, I don’t know. It may be some time before we can arrange a flight to Clarke.”
“Understood,” Brian said. He hesitated. “Are there any water restrictions?”
“Not at the moment,” the bureaucrat said. He printed out two slips and passed them to Brian. “Go out the rear door, then ask for directions. Make sure you link your wristcom into the datanet. Someone might want to ask questions about Sin City.”
“I understand,” Brian said. “Did anyone send a recovery mission out there?”
“Not to the best of my knowledge,” the bureaucrat said. “Sin City is very low on the priority list.”
Brian nodded, then led Abigail through the door and down a long corridor. A grim-faced guardsman met them at the bottom, glanced at their slips and then pointed them towards a large building under the dome. The colony’s park had been turned into a makeshift refugee camp, crammed with women and children. Brian couldn't help feeling a spark of guilt at how easily they - or, rather, Abigail’s name - had managed to get a hotel room.
“It looks bad,” Abigail said, softly. “Isn't there anything they can do for them?”
“It’ll take time,” Brian said. No one starved on the moon - mass-producing cheap food was easy, even if it did taste like something that had passed through a cow’s digestive system - but it would take time to ramp up production. The Luna Federation hadn't planned for a disaster on such a scale. “Most of them will probably be moved out within the next few days.”
Abigail gave him a sharp look. “Are you sure?”
“No,” Brian said. They entered the hotel, passing a suspicious-looking bellhop. “But we have to hope for the best.”
They made their way to their rooms and opened the doors. Brian checked Abigail’s room carefully, then told her to get some sleep, before heading next door. He had a suspicion that Abigail would go straight for the shower, but he could hardly blame her. He’d been able to smell her ever since they’d entered the colony and he had a nasty feeling she could smell him too. God knew he needed a shower ... but he’d feel guilty about using the wat
er, even though he knew it could be recycled.
He checked his own room, then sat down on the bed and reached for the terminal. A new string of updates greeted him, all written in what might as well be baby talk. The aliens had been driven away from Earth, but they were still in the solar system ... he shook his head in annoyance as he tried to read between the lines. No doubt the various governments believed the commoners would be happier - or at least calmer - if they were spoon-fed what the governments wanted them to know. The thought that not knowing would cause the commoners to jump to the worst possible conclusions probably hadn't occurred to them.
Idiots, he thought, morbidly.
The news from Earth was bad, although half the posts on the various datanet forums sounded like scaremongering. Thousands of pieces of debris - and alien weapons, if some of the reports were to be believed - had fallen into the planet’s atmosphere, wreaking huge damage on the surface. Earthquakes, tidal waves ... Brian had no idea how much to take seriously, but he knew that even a handful of relatively small impacts would be disastrous. It was starting to look as though he’d be better off staying on the moon.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 24
