Blood on the Motorway, #1

by Paul Stephenson

  * * * * *

  She awoke to bright sunlight streaming in through thin curtains, and for the briefest moment she thought she must be on holiday. By the time she'd turned over to see if Daniel was next to her, she'd already remembered he wouldn't be. She fought back the urge to scream into her pillow and wondered if every morning from now on would be the same, reliving her loss every time she woke.

  She forced herself to sit up and get back into the same dirty clothes she'd worn yesterday.

  A sound outside snapped her mind into focus. She went over to the window. Four men stood on the road, sizing up the B&B. All four of them looked as though they could either be the sweetest guys in the world, or complete lunatics.

  They were talking to each other, but Jen couldn't hear it. The discussion looked heated.

  Mira and Sam entered her room, Sam pulling on his top as he came in.

  'Did you see?' asked Mira.

  'Yeah, how long have they been there?'

  'Dunno,' said Sam. 'At least five minutes.'

  They watched as discreetly as they could. The men walked back to a beaten up Land Rover, got in and drove off.

  The three of them exhaled in unison.

  'Thank fuck,' Sam added for good measure.

  'So,' Mira said. 'Do we get our shit together and go shopping?'

  'I suppose so,' Jen replied.

  She noticed an odd glance between the two of them, an embarrassed half smile as they both tried to go through the door at the same time. She didn't much like what it signified, nor the blush on Sam's cheeks when Mira smiled at him.

  York's huge Designer Outlet was one of Jen's least favourite places at the best of times. Her idea of hell was an afternoon trawling the discount versions of shops she hated for twenty per cent off a top she didn't even like, crammed into windowless box units alongside thousands of people for whom 'personal space' was not a high priority. In the morning light of a post-apocalyptic day, however, it took on a whole new level of menace.

  'I don't suppose it matters if we park in the disabled bays anymore,' Sam said, pulling up to the front entrance. The car park was empty; the shops had been long closed before the storm had arrived. The large doors had been smashed in, however, and who could tell what lay on the other side of them?

  'Looks empty,' said Mira.

  'There's a fair bit of smoke on the far side,' Sam said, pointing to the other end of the building, where the beige stone walls bore the black stains of a fire, the windows shattered in the heat. 'We don't want to get caught in there if there's a fire.'

  Jen puffed out a deep breath and looked over her two wards. 'We're not going to know anything until we get in there,' she said. 'Remember what we're looking for?'

  'Warm clothes, blankets, tents, camping equipment, mini stoves,' Sam and Mira said in terse unison.

  'Good,' Jen replied. 'I swear, if either of you come back with a basketball hoop or an Xbox you'll be carrying it along the road hoping some other idiot picks you up.'

  'Does that go for the driver too?' asked Sam.

  'Shut up.'

  'So does the broken door count as good luck or a bad omen?' Mira asked.

  Jen shrugged and stepped through the broken door into the dark. Her eyes adjusted to the interior gloom, but that only lasted another ten or so metres until the light ran out completely.

  'Add torches to the list as well,' she said.

  Those stores in the light were not much use to them, all trendy boutique fashion stores whose stock would not fare well under apocalypse scenarios. That didn't stop her and Mira picking up a few tops and dresses somewhat mournfully while Sam stood in the doorway looking incredulous. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a shopping trolley (which, fortunately, didn't need a nominal cash deposit). Because the centre had already been closed when the storm came, the stores and hallways were absent of corpses and clear for free-wheeling trolley action.

  They delved into the dark, their every footfall echoing off the walls, and Jen tried to recall where the camping store was. Some stores were already looted, but aside from some empty shelves and knocked-over display cases there was little real damage. She did notice a jeweller's, its glass cases smashed and empty, and wondered why anyone would take the time to loot necklaces at a time like this. She supposed some kind of currency would have to continue in this new world. Why not gold?

  'Over here,' Mira called out.

  Jen stumbled towards the voice, now immersed in total darkness, until a light cut through the air in front of her, blinding her.

  'You found the torches?' she asked.

  'Oil lamps, actually,' Mira replied. 'Even better though…' She shone the light to the sign above her, which read 'Mirkwood Camping Supplies.'

  'Clever girl,' Jen said.

  They went, guided by Mira's torch, through the beaten down door and into the dark of the store. It had already seen some looting, but most of the stock remained. Soon they were ferrying armfuls of stuff to the shopping trolley outside.

  'Why do these camping stores always try and make some tedious fucking link to Tolkien?' Jen asked, but Mira and Sam looked at her blankly. 'Never mind,' she said.

  Soon they had three large tents, enough sleeping bags for them to use three apiece, and camping stoves galore. Jen dumped armfuls of what looked like packets of astronaut food into the trolley when a huge clatter down the hallway froze her to the spot.

  'Lights off,' she hissed

  Mira extinguished the flame. From far down the corridor a distant whoop reverberated off the walls.

  'Get back in the shop and find somewhere to hide,' Jen whispered.

  She watched their shadows melt back into the dark. She could make out more than one voice now, moving closer. She had to draw attention away from Sam and Mira. The door she could do nothing about but a stocked trolley would be a red flag.

  The voices were getting closer. She had maybe twenty seconds before they would walk right into her. She eased the trolley down the corridor, away from the voices, cursing the weight of it. She built up some momentum and parked the trolley off the main thoroughfare, then turned and headed back towards the camping store, hoping the dark would give her cover.

  The voices had stopped now. The corridor was silent. Had they heard her?

  'I want some new sweet sneaks,' came a voice.

  Jen almost fell back. It was no more than ten metres from her.

  'Yeah, well, wait,' came another voice, deeper and more commanding than its counterpart.

  'Gonna steal me some shit!' replied the other man in a sing-song voice. Both voices carried heavy Yorkshire tones.

  She crouched down and tried to melt into the wall. The two men stopped, right outside the camping store.

  She moved back to the trolley, and lifted out one of the small stoves. She looked down the corridor away from them, and with all her might swung the bottle and threw it as far as she could.

  The weight of the stove carried it an impressive distance. It clattered to the floor with a metallic thunk, the sound echoing like an explosion through the silent corridor. Someone rushed past her, another lagging behind him whispering, 'John, John!'

  'Oi!' called the first man, presumably John. They moved round the corner.

  Jen started to run back to the camping store. She only made it a step or two before she ran straight into another person, whose hand came up quick as a flash and grabbed her by the throat.

  'And where do you think you're going?' the man asked, his voice deep and raspy, his hot breath in her face, making her flesh crawl.

  'Hoi, lads,' he called out. Somewhere down the corridor came a reply and the sound of returning footfall. 'You two must be the dumbest fucking idiots around,' he laughed. 'You hear something being thrown and you follow the sound of the thing they've thrown? What are you, fucking seals at the Sea Life centre? I bet if I threw a stick down this corridor right now one of you would come back with it in your mouth.'

  She started to gasp, the panic, the lack of a
ir, and the terror mixing together in her chest as his grip tightened around her throat.

  'Stop,' she tried to say, but it came out as half a rasp.

  He didn't seem to care. He held her with the same disinterested air she'd seen in her father when he'd come back from shooting with a brace of pheasants dangling by their necks. She hated this man even more than she'd hated her father in that moment.

  'Hey, fuck you,' John replied, full of false bravado and fear.

  The other man turned to her, only the outline of his face visible in the gloom.

  'So who are you then?' he asked, letting go of her throat enough to let her answer.

  'Jennifer,' she gasped.

  'Well, hello, Jennifer. Is this your shopping trolley full of carefully looted camping supplies?'

  She nodded. 'Yes.'

  'So why were you hiding, Jennifer?'

  'Trying to stay safe,' she replied.

  'You alone?' he asked.

  She nodded again. 'So can I go?' she asked, trying to sound as defiant as she could.

  'I haven't decided yet,' he replied.

  'Come on, Lundy,' one of the other men chimed in. 'Let's take her stuff and go, yeah?'

  'You don't mind if we take your stuff, do you, Jennifer?' asked Lundy.

  She could hear the sneer she couldn't see in the dark. 'Be my guest,' she said.

  'Let's go, lads,' Lundy said, and he released his grip. She fell to the floor, gasping.

  The trolley issued a dull squeak as they wheeled it down the corridor.

  She let out a sigh of relief but stayed where she was. After a few seconds all she could hear was her own rasping breath

  'That was close,' Mira's voice appeared behind her.

  'Wait,' she said. 'They're not–'

  'I'm not a complete fucking idiot,' came Lundy's voice, not two feet behind her.

  '–gone yet,' Jen finished.

  'So,' Lundy said. Jen felt his hand on her shoulder. 'You lied.'

  Something rushed past her. There was an almighty crack, a thud, and his grasp was gone. Jen felt a small, delicate hand on her wrist.

  'Run,' Mira said.

  They rounded a corner and into brightness. Jen looked at her cohorts, both of whom were running as fast as they could with filled holdalls over their shoulders. Sam carried a cricket bat in one hand, a red smear across its front. She didn't stop, and dared not look back.

  Back in the real world, the brightness made them stop. Jen held her hand up to the sky, trying to blot out the blinding light. Air rustled the perfectly sculpted trees.

  Sam stumbled under the weight of the holdall, so Jen took it off him and Mira helped him to his feet. The weight nearly took her shoulder off, the handles rubbing deep grooves in her skin. An angry cry came from behind them, but Sam already had the car keys out and in a flash they were in the car, pulling away.

  Two large skinhead men charged out toward them.

  'Gun!' screamed Mira from the back seat.

  One of the men raised his arm. Gunshots popped behind them, as Sam swung the car around a corner.

  'Holy fuck!' Sam shouted, swinging around another corner at inadvisable speed. He drove with the cricket bat wedged between his legs, the blood-stained end sticking out, a grin beaming from ear to ear.

  'What the hell happened?' Jen asked.

  'While you were distracting them we figured the trolley was a goner,' Mira said from the back seat, 'so we found some bags and started filling them with stuff. Sam grabbed the bat in case one of them went for you.'

  'When they left, I saw one of them double back. I could see his silhouette beside you,' Sam said. 'Mira went to go and make herself known and, as soon as he talked, I wound myself up with a pretty epic hit. Clocked him right in the temple.'

  Jen stared at them both, their faces filled with glee, and she felt an intense wave of pride.

  'You saved me, both of you,' she said. 'Thank you.'

  'No worries,' Sam said, his neck turning a deep crimson.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes. Adrenaline coursed through her body.

  'So,' Jen said, pulling the holdall up onto her knees and opening the long zip. 'What did we get?'

  Fuck knows,' Mira replied. 'We were trying to grab stuff without making any noise. Figured some of it would be halfway useful.'

  'No, good work,' Jen replied. 'Let's get some distance between us and the gunfire before we investigate properly, yeah?'

  'Agreed,' Sam said. 'But we need to stop soon, because I am fucking hungry.'

  'Me too,' said Mira. As the adrenalin started to ebb out of her system, Jen's stomach started to ache.

  'Shit,' she said. 'When did we last eat?'

  'Um,' Mira replied, and shrugged.

  'We need to start looking after ourselves more,' Jen said. 'If we come across arseholes like them after not eating for two days or not sleeping, we'll be next to useless.'

  'Yeah, but where are we going to eat?' Sam asked. 'It's not like I can rock up to McDonald's drive-through.’

  'Eww,' Mira said, her face pinching up. 'As if we would eat there anyway.'

  'Oh, Mira, enough with the tortured vegetarian routine!' Sam shouted, only half in jest.

  'Fuck you, Sam.'

  'Wait,' Jen said, 'Mira, you're vegetarian?' Mira nodded.

  'Six years now.'

  'Um, that's great, but…' Jen said, trying to phrase her next line without sounding patronising but failing. 'We have to think about survival now. We're going to have to eat when we can, what we can.'

  'Yeah,' Sam said. 'The good people at Quorn aren't going to continue to produce their line of frozen and tasteless meat substitutes in the face of the end of the world, are they?'

  'Oh yeah?' Mira replied. 'Do you think you'll be killing a lot of animals by hand; do you, Sam? Know a lot about how to skin a carcass, preserve meat, that kind of thing? My guess is we're all vegetarians now. And, I'll have you know that Quorn mini-kievs are excellent.'

  They sat in silence for a moment. Maybe Mira was right. Where would they get their food once the shelves were full of rotten produce? She thought again about escaping to the countryside.

  A small farmhouse maybe. Grow our own food, raise chickens, and wait for the world to return to normal. If it ever will.

  'I'm not eating any fucking meat, and that's the end of it,' Mira said, finally.

  'Fine,' Jen replied, too lost in her own thoughts to argue.

  'I guess we'd better make use of as much food on the shelves as we can before it goes off,' Sam said. 'I mean, after that we're down to tins and shit, yeah?'

  'I suppose so,' Jen said.

  Fuck. There's so much I haven't figured out.

  Chapter Twelve

  A Wolf at the Door

  An hour after they met Baxter, they met his men. It turned out he was the leader of a civilian military contractor group, which Tom assumed correctly was polite speak for a bunch of mercenaries. They had recently come back from Afghanistan and had been on a celebratory night out when the storm hit. Somehow, ten had survived the storm, and once they'd buried their fallen comrades, they'd decided to take action. Between them they had decided that, in the midst of great tragedy, there was opportunity.

  The men had turned up at Baxter's house, and soon Tom and Leon had realised they were not their kind of people. All the men were big, alpha-male types, ex-squaddies with the necks and military tattoos to prove it. The two fey student types were soon the butt of many puerile jokes, and after an hour of dick jokes and casual misogyny, Leon turned to Tom and spoke in a hush tone.

  'Let's go.'

  'You think?'

  'I don't get a great vibe from them. Do you?'

  'No, but I think we're safest with them.'

  Leon shook his head. 'I dunno. I think we should go.'

  Tom nodded. 'Okay, if you want to.'

  As they made their way to the door Baxter spotted them.

  'Oi,' he called. 'Where do you two think you're going?'

 
; 'Out for a fag,' Tom replied.

  'I don't think so,' Baxter said. 'You can smoke on the bus.'

  Tom and Leon looked at each other.

  'What bus?' they asked in unison.

  * * * * *

  Tom, Leon, and a few others already rounded up by Baxter's men were herded on board the second minibus of three. Military jeeps completed the convoy at either end. They set off, collecting anyone who crossed their paths. So far everyone had come of their own accord, glad at the sight of armed men in the chaos of the new world. Tom knew how they felt, but after a few hours under the control of Baxter's men, he didn't share their optimism. What Baxter's end game was, Tom had no idea, but he was in no rush to find out.

  'What are we going to do?' he asked Leon, the first time their two handlers left them alone. Their driver was a wiry ball of nervous energy, his companion, a man with arms seemingly carved out of oak. The latter carried a baseball bat that had roughly the same IQ as its owner, judging by the quality of his conversation. He seemed to prefer the bat to the large machine gun resting on the dash of the minibus.

  Leon shook his head in response.

  There were five passengers in their bus now: Tom, Leon, two teenage lads whose eyes never left the floor, and a young woman who stared forward, grasping a carrier bag to her chest that probably contained her entire worldly possessions. Tom and Leon didn't even have that much, their bags left in Baxter's house.

  The side door of the bus was flung open and Oak ushered two more people in, both women flashing nervous smiles. The wiry driver and Oak got back in the front seats and, without a word, they were moving again. The new passengers exchanged looks with the others, the nature of their new predicament dawning on them.

  'Where we going?' Oak asked, his voice a thick cockney.

  'I dinnae know,' the wiry man answered in an equally thick Geordie voice. 'Follow Baxter, that's all I know.'

  They drove for hours, searching Sunderland for easy prey. They got their first demonstration of Baxter's propensity for violence when they had their first refusal. A man said he had to go and search for his family and received a swift baseball bat to the knees, before being set upon with a flurry of kicks. They left him by the side of the road, a broken and bloody mess, left for dead for having the temerity to walk round the wrong corner at the wrong time.