Blood on the Motorway, #1

by Paul Stephenson

  'Alright, am I driving or what?'

  Tom looked behind him, and Leon rolled his eyes before giving a curt nod. Patch smiled and got in the driver seat.

  'Good lads. Now, where are we going?'

  'Christ, I've no idea,' Tom said.

  'Not really thought this far ahead eh?' Patch asked.

  'Where are we now?'

  'Um,' Patch said, straining to read a road sign so far away you could barely make out it was a road sign, let alone read it.

  'We're in Brompton,' Susan said, from the back seat. 'It's near Northallerton. If we head roughly south we'll get to York. But whatever you do, don't head east or we'll spend days driving aimlessly round the moors.'

  'South it is,' Patch said. 'Aye, aye, Cap'n.'

  They started off, the minibus staying close behind them. Tom glanced in the mirror and saw it wasn't Ralph behind the wheel, but the burly Petr, so he guessed that was something.

  It turned out Susan knew the area pretty well from her affinity for rambling, which had taken her onto the moors countless times. Tom had thought rambling was something old people did in cagoules, but Susan assured him otherwise. She guided them away from Northallerton, where she said any survivors were likely to be of a less than savoury nature.

  Patch turned out to be quite the entertaining driver. He regaled them with amusing anecdotes from Afghanistan and Iraq that were more horrifying than funny, but he had a way of telling them.

  'So you guys didn't get any warning before the storm or information about it afterwards?' Susan asked him.

  'Nah,' he replied, 'at least nobody told me anything. Baxter was never one to share his intel though. He could be a good CO at times, but he was a bit of a dick really.' He looked around his passengers. 'But you probably worked that out already.'

  'So, Patch,' Leon said. 'Say you're in charge, what would you do?'

  'Me? I'm not cut out for command.'

  'Say you were on your own.'

  'Well, I suppose I'd head for an army base. Either there'll be a unit operational there, or you'd find yourself a pretty good place to secure and hunker down in. Most barracks tend to be pretty well stocked with rations and weapons. Plus fuck off great big walls.'

  Tom thought about this. The notion wasn't without merit.

  'There's plenty of them around here, too,' Susan said. 'Mostly air force bases. RAF Leeming, RAF Topcliffe.'

  'Yeah, but the problem is if we get to these places and find they're already taken, we could find ourselves fairly quickly up shit creek,' Leon said.

  'Aye, you would at that,' Patch said, chuckling.

  'Well, we're not far from York,' Susan said. 'There's barracks around there, but there's likely to be more survivors around. We could try and make the convoy a bit bigger, or we might even find a decent rescue effort going on there.'

  'What about a holiday village?' Leon said.

  'What, like a caravan park?' Patch asked.

  'Not a bad idea,' Tom said. 'Everyone gets their own place, but with central facilities we can try and coordinate from.'

  'You'd have hard work trying to defend that, if it came to it,' Patch said.

  They rode on in silence for a bit.

  'I think we should head toward York,' Tom said. 'See what the lay of the land is. I think we see what people want to do, but I think the holiday park idea is a winner.'

  'York it is,' Patch said.

  'We should make it to Thirsk pretty soon if the going isn't too rough,' Susan said.

  Almost as soon as the words left her lips they came across their first major wreck: a multi-car spectacular that had burned so fiercely it had melted the tarmac and left charred bodies strewn about. The wreckage was nigh on impassable. Patch said he'd be able to take the Land Rover round it, but the minibus would have no chance. They wasted an hour trying anyway, until eventually they reversed back and headed back to the same village they had left. They sized up their options.

  'I reckon the back roads will be our best bet,' Patch said. 'Less likely to have been many on the roads when the storm hit.'

  Tom nodded, and Susan shrugged her shoulders. 'Let's take this one and see if we can't work our way south that way,' she said.

  It was a good plan, for half an hour or so at least, but when they rounded a steep corner an overturned lorry blocked the narrow country road.

  'Shit,' Tom said, as Patch pulled off an impressive emergency stop.

  'Hang on,' Leon said. 'What does that lorry say down the side?'

  'Umm,' Patch replied, straining to see round the back of the lorry. 'I think it's a Tesco lorry.'

  Leon got out, and the others followed.

  'What?' Tom said.

  'This is a supply truck,' Leon said. 'If we're lucky, it'll be full of food.'

  Tom was so wrapped up in the journey that he'd not given any thought to food. Leon went to the overturned rig and started fiddling with the rear doors.

  'Chances are it'll be mixed goods,' he said. 'If it's fresh produce it'll have been baking in the back of here since the storm and this'll reek a bit.'

  He started with the lock on the back of the lorry and soon had the massive latch open. Tom shot him a puzzled look.

  'Back in college I worked for Tesco as a shelf stacker over the summer,' he said.

  'You never mentioned it,' Tom said, surprised.

  'Yeah, because it's the kind of thing you brag about,' Leon replied, as he swung open the massive door.

  He had to leap back as a cage of breakfast cereal boxes came tumbling down, breaking open and spilling Cheerios over the road.

  There was a huge cheer. The minibus had pulled up behind them and everyone piled out. The question of food had been weighing more on their minds than it had Tom's.

  Leon pulled the cage clear of the doors and climbed up. As soon as he was in Tom heard a disgusted 'ugh' from inside.

  'You okay?' he called.

  'Yeah,' Leon shouted from inside. 'Something's definitely rotten in here though.'

  There was silence for a moment, the gathered crowd watching the back of the lorry expectantly, until Leon appeared back at the door, holding a case of tinned sweetcorn. He held it aloft, and everyone cheered.

  'We've hit the tinned food jackpot,' Leon announced, to yet more cheers.

  Tom turned to Patch. 'Do you think we can get this up and running again?'

  Patch replied with the eternal sigh of the plumber readying themselves to tell someone they need a completely new set of pipes. 'Dunno,' he said. 'Doubt it. You'd need a tractor to right it. I don't see one nearby.'

  'Well, we can take as much as we can with us now, and keep an eye out for a farm. Can we at least get past it?'

  'Aye, I reckon.'

  The members of the group took turns heading into the lorry and returning with wrinkled faces and armfuls of supplies, ranging from tinned goods to powdered milk to toiletries. When Tom's turn came he climbed up and into the darkness. He held his sleeve up to his mouth and fought back his gag reflex as the stench of fetid spoiled food hit him in the back of the throat

  Even in the dull light from the back door he could see it was an impressive haul, with whole cages full of mixed goods. Most of what they brought out was from one cage by the looks of it, but there were rows more of them, stacked along both sides of the truck. He delved into the cage and brought out a pack of nappies. He looked at it, and wondered how long it might be before anyone needed them. He'd yet to see a single child survivor of the storm, come to think of it.

  That's a depressing thought.

  He tossed the nappies and reached in again, pulling out a box of toothpaste and another of toothbrushes. He headed back out into the light. There was a lot less of that now. Night wasn't too far away. He placed his toiletries on the pile in the road.

  'I think we need to get moving,' he said to the crowd. 'Find somewhere to bed in for the night. Let's load up and get on the road. If we manage to find a farmhouse or a tractor along the way, we'll come back tomorrow.'
r />   It took the minibus a few attempts to go round the lorry, resorting to wheel-spinning through the muddy verge, but soon they were on the road again.

  'How's the petrol looking?' Susan asked Patch after a few miles.

  'Not great,' he replied. 'I've got a yellow light saying I'm about empty. Fuck knows how they're doing in the minibus.'

  'Next time we see somewhere we can stop we'll take it,' Tom said.

  'There was a hamlet a mile or so back,' Susan said. 'If we keep going in this direction we could end up getting stuck out on the moors.'

  'Sold.' Tom said.

  Patch signalled the minibus and swung back around. As they reached the hamlet, the minibus spluttered to a halt behind them. They congregated on the centre of a street, surrounded on either side by houses and the increasing evening gloom.

  'We're out of petrol,' said Petr.

  'That could be a problem,' Leon said.

  'Couldn't we take petrol out of the cars left on the side of the road?' asked one enterprising sort.

  'Depends,' Ralph said. 'Could be we end up mixing diesel and regular and then we're fucked.'

  'Let's worry about it in the morning,' Tom said, too tired to deal with another crisis. 'Listen, I know we've not made it very far today, and we've not found any other survivors, but we've got some supplies, and there are more not far away. We'll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. In the meantime, I can see enough houses for everyone, if people don't mind bunking up with each other.'

  'We should clear the houses, make sure they're empty,' Patch said.

  Tom nodded. 'Can you and Ralph manage it?'

  'Gladly,' Patch said, a big smile lighting up his face. The two men headed into the first house.

  'You trust them to do that?' Petr asked.

  'At some point we'll have to start trusting them,' Tom replied. 'In the meantime, let's start sorting out care packages for everyone to get them through tonight.'

  The sun had almost set by the time the two men returned to say the coast was clear. They also provided a breakdown of each house's capacity and which ones had rotting surprises contained within, one of which they ruled out due to the two corpses in the living room. They locked that one up.

  The group divided itself up, with Tom, Leon and Susan taking one house. Patch and Ralph stood alone, with nobody willing to take them in.

  'Patch, you can bunk in with us,' Tom said. 'Ralph?'

  'We've got a spare bedroom,' called a woman at the back, earning herself a glare from her new housemate.

  'Cheers,' Ralph said, giving both a weak smile.

  Their bungalow was a two bedroom, but Tom assumed Leon and Susan would be sharing.

  'I'll take the couch,' Patch said, before Tom could offer. 'I'm used to a lot worse, trust me.'

  'Cheers,' Tom said.

  He was starting to enjoy the company of the gruff former adversary. Patch was a big jolly bear of a man with a past that seemed to have happened more by accident than design. He spoke of his military career with some pride, but a persistent knee injury had ended his service to Her Majesty, so he'd found himself in the service of Baxter instead. His former employer had been a typical mercenary leader, he said, he'd never had too many complaints about his leadership when they'd been abroad. Indeed, Baxter had saved the lives of his troops in Helmand, which was why, when he'd gone full despot in the wake of the storm, none of them felt able to challenge him. He spoke about the events of the past week with a mix of bewilderment and shame, and seemed pleased with the prospect of a new life, where his skills might actually be put to good use.

  'What's in the care package?' Leon asked.

  'Um,' Susan replied, picking through its contents, 'We've got toiletries, some tins of beef ravioli and spaghetti hoops, and some instant coffee sachets.'

  'Party time,' Leon replied. 'Give me the tins and I'll rustle us up a feast.'

  'Good plan, Batman,' Susan replied, and squeezed Leon's behind as he went.

  'You two, eh?' Patch said.

  'Looks that way,' Susan replied.

  'Holy shit,' came a call from the kitchen.

  The three of them sprang up at once and ran into the other room. Leon held up two wine cases, replete with bottles.

  'Wahey!' called Patch.

  'There's more too,' Leon said.

  'We should share it with the others,' Susan said.

  Tom nodded.

  * * * * *

  It felt good to be going door to door with pleasant news, and every door which opened to them precipitated a big smile at the sight of wine. There was enough for two bottles per house. He and Patch became the good wine fairies, dispensing mirth and joy as they went.

  'There's no answer at the last house,' Patch said as he returned with an empty box. 'I left it by the door for them.'

  'Nice one,' Tom said. 'Hopefully Leon's finished with the grub by now.'

  They went back in the house, which was now lit by candlelight. Susan and Leon were in the kitchen.

  'Honey, we're home,' Tom called.

  'Hiya,' Susan replied. 'We've got good news and bad news.'

  'Good news first.'

  'Good news is the stove is gas, the bad news is that the gas cut out, so the food is lukewarm at best. Oh, and the chimney is blocked, so there's no way to have a fire. But dinner is served.'

  Tom was too hungry to care what it was, and wolfed his bowlful of lukewarm tinned pasta down. Once the sounds of hastily consumed food had abated and the wine had been poured, the four of them sank into their respective sofas.

  'I've missed wine,' Susan said.

  'You had wine a few days ago,' Leon said.

  'Yes, and I've missed it ever since.'

  'I miss telly,' Patch said. 'DVD box sets.'

  'I tell you what I don't miss,' Susan said. 'Getting up at four in the morning for a double shift.'

  'I don't miss the news,' Tom said. 'You worry and fret and care about everything that's going on in the world, until the world is reduced to what you can see, hear, and touch.'

  'I dunno, I'd be pretty comforted by a newspaper right now, telling me what's going on,' Leon said.

  'What good would it do?' Tom asked. 'We have no idea what caused this, or how widespread it is. We have no idea if it's the whole wide world or the North of England, and none of it matters right now because I've had a tin of processed ravioli that somehow managed to be the tastiest thing I've ever eaten in my life.'

  'You know,' Susan said, 'I look back to before the storm, how I lived my life, and it's like all I did was fill time. Going to work, living for the weekend. Passing time between sleeps. Sometimes I'd feel noble going to work, contributing to society, or when I read a classic novel. Sometimes it'd be trying to watch an entire season of 24 in less than a weekend, but either way, I was just… filling time. Now it feels like the complete opposite. Everything I do now is about survival. Even sitting here with you three, it feels vital somehow.'

  They continued in this vein well past the point at which the wine had ended, until Tom remembered they were camped out in Patch's bedroom. The big man's eyes were starting to droop, so Tom made his excuses and headed upstairs, followed by Leon and Susan, who were already giggling between the sheets by the time Tom crawled between his own.

  * * * * *

  It was refreshing to wake the next morning without the litany of aches and pains that had become a staple of Tom's waking moments for the last few weeks, although there was the stomach churn and dull headache from the wine to contend with. He dressed without a creeping sense of dread for once, and he had started to entertain feelings of positivity as he went downstairs in search of something halfway edible for breakfast.

  'Morning,' he said to the stirring Patch on the sofa.

  'Aye,' he replied, sitting up and stretching.

  Patch was topless, and Tom noticed that the man had a hell of a physique, albeit one with its fair share of battle scars. A long, angry red line stretched up his back where it met a mess of other scar tissue. Tom gave t
he man a smile and went through to the kitchen, where he found a packet of bacon flavoured crisps. He reasoned it was close enough to a breakfast to count. He was about to munch down when he heard a scream from outside.

  'What was that?' Patch asked.

  'No idea,' Tom replied. He headed to the door and opened it, but outside everything was calm.

  'Did you hear something?' Susan asked, appearing from the stairs with Leon behind her.

  Tom walked into the crisp morning air. He looked around, but all he could see were the inhabitants of the other houses checking their windows. A few doors opened and people stepped out.

  At the far end of the street another door opened and out ran a woman, her clothes red with blood. She started to scream, caterwauling inhuman sounds of utter terror. She ran towards the centre of the street. Someone managed to catch her before she went sprawling.

  Patch appeared alongside him and they both ran toward the empty doorway, Tom's heart pounding. He should have stopped for a weapon, he realised, but carried on running regardless. He reached the door at the same time as half a dozen others, and had to barge his way to the front. Nobody seemed to want to take the first step in. Nor did Tom, for that matter. Patch tapped him on the shoulder and the two of them went in together.

  The beige carpet of the hallway was dotted with bloody footprints: a single pair, headed to the door. The screaming woman, possibly. Tom took a step into the lounge. It was dark, the curtains pulled tightly closed, and there was no real light in the room. Even so, Tom could make out the two decapitated corpses sat upright on the sofas, crude carvings visible in their chests under a sheen of wet blood. In the centre of the room were two poles that displayed the heads.

  'Holy shit,' Patch said, beside him.

  Tom couldn't move, completely unable to process the scene before him. His eyes adjusted to the dull light, and more horrifying details became visible. Their eyes were gone. Empty sockets remained. Their mouths were sewn shut.

  He tried to say something, to do anything other than stare at them, but he couldn't. It felt like his head was shutting itself down. The taste of bile rising in his mouth was enough to get him moving again, and he turned towards the door, but not quick enough. He emptied his breakfast over the carpet.