Project - 16

by Martyn J. Pass

  “That's the truth I'm afraid. You're never far from a shower.”

  “You're telling me.”

  We walked onwards until noon and stopped for dinner beside a fast running stream that came down off the fells. It was a loud, crashing body of water and if the weather had been hot in summer me and Dad would often dip our bare feat in it to cool off.

  We ate some canned meat and biscuits by the water and watched the day gradually take shape. It was peaceful enough and there were few birds around as winter pushed most of them south but those that hung on flittered in the bare trees making up for the lack of birdsong as best they could.

  “We should reach the first bunker in a couple of days,” I said to break the silence. “Best make the food last.”

  “I expect that a man of your skills should be able to find something for us to eat,” she said with a grin.

  “I can find myself something to eat, but how can you live off bullshit?”

  She began to laugh and something inside me switched images to the hooping girl in the woods, Claudia, not hard-bitten Ranger Riley of the 75th.

  “Just let it go!” she cried, still creased with laughter. “If I apologise, will you let it drop?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Then I'm fucking sorry, okay? Will that be enough O' Master Huntsman?”

  “I'll think about it.”

  “You'll think about it? Man, you hold a grudge, don't you? I knew a guy back home who never forgave me for scratching his beloved Ferrari once.”

  “A Ferrari?”

  “You don't know what a Ferrari is?” she said, stunned.

  “How would I? Do you see any around here?”

  “I guess not. But you've not even heard of one?”

  “Never.”

  “It's a car - you know what a car is?”

  “Very funny. Of course I do.”

  “Well a Ferrari is a very expensive one and my boyfriend had one.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “You know what one of those is, don't you?”

  “I didn't mean that, I meant he was your boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, he was. Anyways, he lends me his flash fucking auto and lets me drive it around. I'm doing fine, then I hits this corner and WHAM! - I catch the side walk and slide along a lamppost.”

  “Was it a mess?” I asked.

  “Fuck no - but he thought it was. We split up after that. Any guy who loves his car more than me don't deserve me.”

  “I feel sorry for the guy. You're never driving my Land Rover by the way.”

  “That piece of crap? You can keep it. Smells like a goat took a shit in there and died doing it.”

  “You're not even allowed in the house now.”

  We walked until sunset and skirted around another crumbling city landscape that looked more like tooth decay than civilisation. Riley insisted on scanning it with her digital binoculars and, finding no trace of activity, caught up with me, her pack swishing behind her.

  “We'll rest up in another mile or so,” I said. “I don't want to be too close to the old cities if I don't have to. I’ve heard enough nightmares for one day and howling dogs won't help me sleep much either.”

  “Do they come out this far?” she asked.

  “If they're hungry enough. I’ve seen more and more of them leaving the city and heading into the boonies. If they're smart they won't come back. There's only death and misery there now.”

  “It certainly looks fucking awful. And people come here to loot?”

  “Yep. I guess that even now there's plenty buried in the rubble that would fetch a good price at auction or sold to a collector. One kid came over looking for Scottish flags. I had to tell him that Scotland was that way and in England we didn't much appreciate a Scottish flag flying in our country.”

  “Why not?”

  “That's a long story too.”

  “You have many of these 'long stories' then?”

  “A few.”

  “I could tell you a few from Syria. Man, that was a shit storm. There was this one guy I knew managed to get his leg blown off on a land mine. He went twenty feet into the air before coming back down. He survived it though. We managed to evac him and they gave him a robot one instead. He was back in action the following year and managed to get the other blown off. Some of his squad said he did it on purpose so he could have two robot legs, said it would make him faster. Maybe he's just a mine-magnet.”

  “That wasn't really a 'long' story, was it?” I teased.

  “No, I was pulling your leg. Get it?”

  “Get what?”

  “Pulling. Your leg. The guy lost his legs. Leg. No?”

  “Is that a joke or something?”

  “Never mind.”

  There was a stretch of woodland off to our left and I broke away from the rutted path to cross a field to get to it. We had to step over the well-picked bones of a dead cow first though. Riley gave its skull a kick and it clattered away across the stones.

  “There were some good Rangers back in the day,” she said. “I trained a few crack shots who were just plain loco though. Took drugs most of the time just to stay awake on a watch. Got addicted, got sent home either on a medical or in a bag.”

  “You trained them to shoot?”

  “Hell yeah. I was the 75th's champ for three years running. Made those guys at Fort Benning look like chumps. I guess I showed them intestinal fortitude!” she said, laughing. “But it was fun. There isn't much I don't know about rifles and how to kill someone with one from a mile away.”

  The belt of woodland was a mix of oak and silver birch and was perfect for the hammock I was carrying. There was still enough light to work with and Riley began hunting for a flat patch of land nearby where the roots weren't as prominent. I found a pair of trees that were far enough apart for my tastes and began hanging my hammock.

  “I've never used a hammock before,” she said, unpacking her poles and ground sheet.

  “Be my guest,” I said. She came over and sat on the green fabric a bit unsteadily.

  “I'll fall out!” she said, trying to lift her feet into it.

  “You won't - they're very hard to fall out of, trust me.” She finally swung her feet into it and led diagonally across it.

  “This is more comfortable than I thought it would be,” she said. “You can have the tent.”

  “I'm fine with my hammock, now get out!”

  She managed to get back on her feet and continued building her shelter whilst I hung my tarp. The night was coming and it was getting colder as we finished up. I was keen to get a fire going. If the drone happened to return then at least we were far enough away from the house to worry about it tracking us. Besides, I was at the stage of hoping to draw the attention of the NSU anyway. We could be searching for Alex and the woman for years if we didn't pick up their trail and if the Russians were already here then they'd lead us right to them, saving us some leg work. As long as we evaded them and didn't get caught. But tracking a detachment of soldiers was far easier than two people on their own.

  I walked off into the woods around our camp and began gathering sticks. Riley had dug a shallow pit for the fire and was making a pile out of some dried leaves and thin shoots to use as tinder.

  “You sure about this?” she asked, her hands poised to strike the match.

  “Yeah. I don't really think that drone will fly over again. I wouldn't expect them to be looking for us, would you?”

  “I suppose not. I could do with the warmth anyway.”

  The match flared into life and Riley lit a small twig before submerging it in the tinder pile. In a minute or so it was burning nicely and I started to add the smaller branches to the top, leaning them against each other like a pyramid, the flames burning away underneath.

  An hour or so later and the fire was going strong. Riley led down next to it with an MRE in her hands, waiting for the water to boil in her billy can, staring into the crackling and snapping flames that gave our camp a wa
rm orange glow. I was eating a rehydrated curry I'd made with pieces of dried beef and vegetables in. The heat was enough to sting my mouth and lips and the chilli pieces made it even worse. For some reason I was enjoying the pain and it took the edge off the cold. Riley began laughing at the tears that were streaming down my face as I carried on eating it.

  “My Pops used to make a mean chilli beef,” she said. “That would have brought real tears to your eyes. You'd also have ended up living on the toilet seat too.”

  “Can it be hotter than this?” I said, swilling my mouth with water from my bottle.

  “Let me have a taste.” She leaned over to me and dug her spoon into the bag, taking a generous mouthful with it. She chewed for a while and laughed. “Pops would call you a wuss. A lot of people loved his chilli.”

  “What did he do for a living?” I asked. I put the remains of the meal down and sat back.

  “He worked construction. Built farmhouses, warehouses, those silly prefab buildings that got popular 'cause of how cheap they were. Worked almost 7 days a week bringing home a decent wage. Then he bust his back for a while and the money dried up. Ended with us living in a trailer until I left for the Army.”

  “Was that bad?” I asked.

  “Not really. It was cosier than I liked but I was doing a bit of work here and there, helping out with the bills but Dad did his best selling his chilli to the other trailers. It made him some beer money. Just a shame he never got over it. He's still there now I think.”

  “You don't know what he's doing now?”

  “Nah. Ain't been back home since I signed up. We had a bust up about me leaving and I slammed the door on my way out. Not been back or heard from them since.”

  “Doesn't that bother you?”

  “Nah. I figured I'm grown up enough to get by. I still think about them from time to time. I thought about them a lot when I got my tab. I kind of wished they'd been there.”

  The conversation dropped just as her billy can began to talk with a nice rolling boil. She poured the hot water into the foil pouch of the MRE and began stirring it with her spoon.

  “This stuff could strip paint,” she said to herself as she mashed it up. “Still tastes good though.”

  “What is it?”

  “Beef strogonof. I’ve had this one before.”

  The fire crackled some more and I sat back against the trunk of a tree with my feet near the flames. The air was crisp with winter and I felt the way I always did at this time of year - oddly in touch with the world, like the cold made more connections possible. Food tasted better, warmth was tangible and life seemed to be in technicolour. Riley ate her meal whilst staring into the flames. There were no more drones and eventually we both said our 'good nights' and went to sleep.

  I woke after a dream that I struggled to remember precisely, but I felt it'd been bad enough to wake me and so I stared at the smouldering embers of the fire in the early hours of the morning and tried to think it away. It was still reasonably dark but the light was just starting to radiate from the east. I led there, warm and snug, not wanting to get out of the hammock just yet. My stove was within arms reach and so I set a pot of water boiling for a coffee. I sat back and watched the morning be born. I looked at the trees. I breathed slowly and evenly. I lived.

  “Fucking hell that was a cold night!” burst Riley from within her tent. “Surely you've got a fire going by now?”

  “Get your stove burning. We need to hide this pit and be on our way so I'm not lighting it again.”

  The zip tore through the peaceful morning silence and Riley emerged - her hair a birds nest of tangles and her body covered in every layer she was carrying. She wore her sleeping bag like a cloak and from the quilted mess her bleary-eyed head poked out into the fresh air.

  “Are you okay there?” she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. “How do I get me one of those?”

  “I did offer you one back at the house,” I replied. The pot was boiling away now. I leaned over and poured the hot water into my waiting cup.

  “I don't remember that,” she said, dropping the quilt. “I've got business to do in the woods. No peaking.”

  Riley was an interesting creature to watch. I led there with my brew in my hands, waiting for her to come back. When she did, she set about boiling some water and collapsing her tent with a strange kind of nonchalant skill, like she had all the time in the world, like she expended no effort in whatever she did. Before I knew it, she was packed away and sat on the top of her rucksack, sipping from her mug as often as her lips would allow, her beloved rifle propped up next to her.

  “Are you even getting up today?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” I replied. “Maybe not.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you're mighty annoying in a morning?”

  “No.”

  “You are.”

  “Thanks.”

  An hour later and we were moving again, heading on towards the first of the bunkers and we were making good time. The morning broke into a glorious display of reds, golds and blues as it began to take shape in the sky. We marched on until noon, stopping only to drink and eat a little before carrying on, hoping to reach the bunker in time to investigate it. I didn't believe it would be the one and we'd be that lucky, but I wanted to feel like we were making some kind of progress.

  Evening came and we found ourselves laying up for the night, short by about eight miles or so with little point in carrying on. The light had failed us and we settled in for another cold nights sleep. Riley attempted to argue me out of the hammock but I was having none of it.

  “Come on,” she pleaded. “Just let me have it for one night.”

  “Nope,” I replied.

  “Fucking bastard.”

  I laughed until she retreated inside her tent with her headlamp still on, choosing to read rather than rush to sleep. We'd chosen not to have a fire and instead used the stoves and Riley had a pot of water on the boil for a cup of tea. When it was bubbling away she slunk back out up to her waist, poured the water and pulled herself back inside without saying a word.

  “Man, it's so warm in here I'm sweating,” she said. “NOT.”

  In the morning I got up a bit earlier and set her stove boiling. She was snoring softly and I made a cup of coffee from some grounds I had in my pack, making it the US way and tapping on her tent door when it was ready. She woke up with a start, pulled on the zip and stuck her head out. She was wearing her woolly hat and scarf with just her eyes and nose visible.

  “Yes?” she said. “May I help you?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Thanks.” She took the cup and went back inside. “You're not forgiven, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Lying there in your fucking hammock like a King while your subjects freeze to death.”

  “You sound pretty alive to me,” I said.

  “Barely.”

  I began packing up my rig and made myself a cup whilst I waited for her to get out of her frozen cocoon. The mornings were getting cold now, really cold and I hoped we'd avoid the snow. The last few winters had been a nightmare with some of the worst snow storms I'd seen in my life. If we were to face the same, or even worse this year then our mission might be over before it started. We couldn't stay out in freezing temperatures for any length of time, not with the kit we were carrying and it looked like Riley wasn't happy with British weather as it stood.

  Eventually we were on our way again and after a couple of hours we arrived at a fenced off piece of land hidden away on the other side of a reservoir that we'd had to circle around. It'd be the only bunker that hadn't been constructed near any built-up area given that it was the oldest one - the others having been hastily thrown up towards the end of the Syrian conflict and just before the Panic.

  “It looks abandoned,” said Riley. “I'll run up that hill there and take a closer look. You might as well wait here.”

  “Will do,” I replied, setting my pack down. She left hers there an
d took her digital binoculars from the side pouch where she kept them. Then she jogged up to the top of a steep rise to the west and disappeared into the woodland.

  The place did in fact look empty and the galvanised chain-link fence appeared untouched. The front gate was still padlocked and hadn't been tampered with. The ground in front of it was thick with growth that hadn't been trampled by man or vehicle for a long time. All in all the chances of this place being the one were looking pretty slim.

  I crouched down and began searching the area, looking for anything that might give me a clue either way. I found nothing, no bent grass blades, no footprints other than my own, nothing. I examined the lock and it was rusted shut and hadn't been moved for years.

  “Nothing,” said Riley as she found me. “Not a damn thing. Anything at your end?”

  “Nope. This lock is fine, the fence looks untouched and nothing has been on this road for a long while.”

  “Might be best to look inside anyway,” she suggested. “Who knows?”

  “I suppose we can, but not for too long. If the NSU just happen to be playing the same game they might just stumble on us in there.”

  “True enough.” She put the binoculars away and searched in her pack, producing two small boxes which she opened in front of me. “Radios.”

  “Will they work in there?” I asked.

  “They should do. Probably best if you go in whilst I settle up there and keep an eye on things. What do you think?”

  “I think I got the shitty end of the stick,” I protested.

  “Well, I could go in but if the NSU show up what are you going to do? They aren't deer.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “That's a fair point. Okay, your plan will do.”

  “Good. Keep in touch. I'll be up there with the rifle.”

  With that she began working on the padlock with some tools, twisting it, spraying it and eventually cracking it open with a quick, sharp squeal. I opened the gate and she closed it behind me, replacing the lock but not engaging it.