Project - 16

by Martyn J. Pass

  Riley was quickly packed and she met me in the hallway as I closed up the kitchen, making sure the stove was cold and any perishables had been dealt with. Her pack had reduced in size and I noticed that the comms system wasn't there.

  “You're not bothering with you long-range stuff?” I asked.

  “No. I reckon that if they were going to get in touch it would have happened by now. No point dwelling on it.”

  “I'm sorry...”

  “Don't be. We've got a mission and I intend to see it through. Getting home is a problem I'll think about afterwards.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said and I tried not to think about her leaving. It suddenly seemed very hard to bear.

  “I guess I can't tempt you with a hammock then?” I said.

  “I've gotten quite attached to the tent, thanks.”

  I nodded, then went past her to the garage to get my things. I took my usual load - it didn't change often and I was used to being out for weeks at a time. I put some extra rifle ammunition in one of the pouches of my pack, some more snare wire and changed my dry clothes bag for thermal gear. If I was right, the temperatures would plummet over the coming days and I expected to feel it. I also loaded my food bag with light-weight dried foods to use in an emergency. I'd hunt for most of my meals and save the dry stuff until I needed it. The most important part of the pack load was water and I packed a US army filter just in case.

  I dumped my gear at Riley's feet and went through each room making final checks before ushering the two of them outside so I could lock up. Piotr knew he could help himself to my stores and so did Riley but only she'd bothered to restock her food pouches, recognising the MRE's I had in abundance. I knew that when I got back I'd be left with the meals I hated.

  “All set?” I asked, hiding the keys again.

  “I think so,” said Piotr. “I was hoping your still was running. I don't drink wine.”

  “It hasn't run in good number of years,” I said. “Have you run out of vodka already?”

  “I am down to half a pint. It won't be enough!” he said, laughing.. Riley, her sunglasses already in place, shook her head.

  “Lead the way,” she said, offering me the path. I hitched my pack on my shoulders, had a last minute pat-down to make sure I hadn't forgot anything, then set off at a brisk pace, heading south.

  The countryside around the house had grown less wild, almost as if it knew we'd been living there and had held back it's main assault. The woodland had obviously suffered to provide us with firewood and the weeds and wild growth seemed to take this on board, only sending a small amount of creeping branches and vines our way - unlike the first village we came to. It was a mass of green and brown foliage broken only by the occasional fallen wall of red brick or the last few steel struts of a rusting car. The main road in was a mass of cracked and broken tarmac and the early trunk of an oak tree had already started pushing its way up through the white lines. Piotr, already used to seeing such sights, was indifferent. Riley on the other hand stopped for a moment to survey it through her black glossy lenses.

  “What a fucking mess,” she muttered to herself. “Look how quickly it grows!”

  “That's nothing,” said Piotr. “You should have seen Newcastle.”

  “How bad is it now?” I asked.

  “Very bad. Some of the high-rises have collapsed now, flattening most of the city centre. The dust is everywhere. It doesn't stop the weeds though. It's like they're pulling them down, tearing our work to pieces in a slow, methodical rage.”

  “What about the bridges?”

  “All but one is gone. I think there must have been a bad storm that finished them off.”

  “Where is that?” asked Riley.

  “North of here,” I said. “At the end of Hadrian's Wall.”

  “Oh,” she said. “It's fucking grim, I'll tell you that.”

  We walked on, passing the Post Office and the old pub - its roof gone and half the front wall missing. Piotr poked his head inside but he didn't see a drop that hadn't already been looted. He came back out shaking his bald head.

  “It was worth a try,” he called.

  “I could have told you without the effort,” I said.

  We walked on, passing through to the other side and taking a path that ran along a dry stone wall edged with more green moss. It was a pleasant enough morning but the chill was bothering me - it meant that winter was far more advanced than it should have been. I couldn't explain why the pattern had changed or when. I'd only noticed it about four years ago when I'd woken in late October to eight inches of snow. Since then the temperatures had more often than not dropped to less than zero for weeks at a time. If the same happened while we were out it'd make for a more than interesting challenge.

  We had something to eat a little after 12, stopping to sit on a rocky outcrop overlooking a small lake. Then we pressed on, not stopping until nightfall until we found a patch of wild woodland that had broken free from a plantation, spreading its new roots in all directions and tearing down the fence with it.

  It was during the third night out in the woods that the first few flakes began falling softly through the bare branches of the forest. They began to stick instantly on Riley's tent and I watched the moonlight glitter off them as they tumbled to the ground.

  “You were right,” said Piotr who was looking at the snow from under his shelter. “This isn't normal.”

  “It could make things a bit difficult,” I said, looking up from my hammock as the snow began to collect in the sagging tarp above me. “I can just about navigate in it but it'll be slow going.”

  “It's beautiful though.”

  “Surely you're used to snow by now?” I laughed.

  “You never get tired of snow, my friend, even in the taiga where it will kill you.”

  Riley emerged from her tent with her hat on, looking up as the snow fell onto her face.

  “You must be kidding!” she said. “Snow? Fucking snow?”

  “Yup,” I said. “And it will be a whole lot worse by morning.”

  And it was. I didn't really drop back to sleep but I was dozing when I finally woke with the kind of shocks you sometimes get in a vivid dream. I was disorientated for a moment because the woods were so well lit - the dawn's rays being reflected back off the snow. It was ankle height and Riley was struggling with her tent door, trying to get out of it without letting too much in at the same time.

  “This is a fucking joke!” she called from inside. Piotr was already awake and had his stove going, boiling some tea and pacing up and down to get warm. My tarp was sagging badly now that it was loaded with snow and I gave it a shove from underneath, sending a minor avalanche down in front of me, missing my boots by a few inches. I lit my stove too, eager for a coffee before facing life outside of my quilt.

  “Do you need some help?” asked Piotr as Riley pulled herself out onto the snow. It clung in small clumps to her jumper and she brushed violently at them till most of them had been shaken off.

  “No, I don't. I need to go home, that's what. You guys aren't meant to get snow like this!” she cried.

  “I agree, but here it is,” I said.

  “I need a coffee.” Riley dragged her pack into a flattened patch of snow and got her cook kit out. I'd just got a boil going by the time she started and I led back drinking it with no small amount of satisfaction. I put some more water on to make my breakfast with. There was something special about life in winter and I savoured it as often as I could. Perhaps it was the ingrained sense of achievement for overcoming the cold, some kind of evolved instinct that took the challenge of the toughest part of the year to heart. Sitting there, warm and well fed, seemed to smack of human pride at surviving all the way to the top of the food chain. Or maybe it was nothing like that at all.

  “Are you okay there?” asked Riley with plenty of sarcasm. “Hanging there above us normal fucking mortals.”

  “You had a choice - again. You chose to sleep on the dog-shelf.”


  “Dog shelf?” asked Piotr.

  “Yeah, the shelf for the fucking mutt,” said Riley, stamping her feet. “I'm going to keep regretting this, I know I am.” She took the lid off her pot and began swearing even more. “How long does it take to boil some water?”

  “It'll get worse,” said Piotr. “I can see it.”

  “Thanks Sergei,” snarled Riley. “That's a big help.”

  “You've never seen snow?” he retorted.

  “Not in countries that say they don't get much!” She gave up on the boil and poured the hot water into her waiting MRE pouch and her cup, stirring the instant coffee with as much venom as she could put into the long handled spoon. It slopped over the sides and she stomped over to me with her hands full, sitting down on a pad under my tarp.

  “At least you have a clear patch,” she said without looking at me. “You can at least share that.”

  “Tell you what, we can swap tonight. Will that make you happy?” I said.

  “No.”

  I finished my breakfast and led back, watching her eat from the foil pouch with a delicacy at odds with the rest of her appearance. She carefully avoided getting any of the beans and bacon on her fingers as she dipped her spoon in and when she sipped her coffee she blew gently across its surface. Only once did she turn to look at me and I could have sworn there was a faint smile upon her lips when she did. My heart decided that it was a good time to skip a few beats.

  “We have a long way to go,” said Piotr, packing up his gear. “And it'll get colder. It's a bad omen.”

  “A moment ago you were saying how warm it is,” said Riley with a little more kindness this time.

  “Yes, for all the years I've been coming here the weather has always been warm compared to Russia. But now...” He kicked at the snow with his boot. “Now I do not know.”

  “We'll manage,” I said with some confidence. “I've weathered it before. I once spent a few weeks out in the worst of it hunting down a young couple from Canada. I survived.”

  “You got them back?” asked Riley.

  “No, they died of hypothermia,” I said. “But they weren't trained like a former Ranger and a Russian tracker.”

  “Gee, I'm filled with confidence now. Any more of this and we'll be skipping there. You're a fucking legend, Miller.”

  We set off and I put on my cleats to fair better across the snow and icy rocks that lined our path. We continued on that morning and late into the afternoon though I worked a few breaks in this time, stopping once in the morning for a hot drink and once in the afternoon as well as a half-hour dinner. I drank hot water, saving my coffee for the mornings whilst Piotr seemed to have an endless supply of tea. I started to wish I'd brought a bag of nettles to brew with if only for the flavour. Any that were out in the wilds were probably buried under the snow. It's not that I liked nettle tea in particular, it's just that it tastes better than hot water and that isn't saying much. Rumour has it, there's some vitamins in it. Maybe Dad just told me that to make me drink it.

  That night we built a large fire and sat round it trying to warm ourselves up before retreating to our sleeping bags. More snow was falling now and the landscape had become a maelstrom of whirling flakes and ice-cold wind that stung any exposed patches of skin. The woods we were in blocked most of the gale but we could still hear it roaring in the distance, howling like a beast desperate to hunt us down. Only the crackling flames and the heat from the orange glow brought us any comfort.

  “I think my toes are frozen,” said Piotr, untying his shoelaces and putting on a thicker pair of grey socks.

  “That's why I love my gear,” said Riley. “These boots and socks are unstoppable. I got 'em online last year, a fucking bargain. This jumper? Man, it was cheap - and fucking good quality too.”

  “I will take your word for it,” said Piotr. “You no longer have your army-issued gear?”

  “Nah, that stuff is crap, man. I got rid of that the moment I got my tab. It's like they fucking want you to shop elsewhere knowing the stuff they give you is shit anyway. Most of us bought new gear from the guys online who cater for troopers and give us discount. Before Syria I had these boots and I still have them now. Fucking awesome.”

  “What about you, Miller?” he asked me.

  “I got a load through the Colonel and just boxed them up in the garage. I stocked up on things like that, things I couldn't replace myself. I have enough until I die I think.”

  “He gave you US shit?” said Riley.

  “I don't think so. I got the same ones my Dad used to get and he never had any complaints.” I lifted a foot and showed her the boot. “They seem to have done okay for me.”

  “Yeah, they're not so bad I guess,” she said.

  “If it isn't broke - that's what you say over here, isn't it?” said Piotr. He poked the fire with a long stick and sparks kicked up into the frosty night air. “In Russia we have good brands of shoe. These I have for years and they must have seen most of the taiga. Only one pair ever failed me.”

  “Yeah?” she asked.

  “American brand. I forget what name.”

  “I should have known you Commies wouldn't like our gear.”

  The conversation passed around the fire and for the first time I saw Riley begin to warm to Piotr who took her scathing remarks with the mature ease of an older man, a veteran. I didn't say much - my own life had been sheltered for the most part and what I knew of the world outside my own was limited, but I enjoyed watching the exchange as the flakes fluttered softly to the ground, tumbling over and over until they became one with the others.

  In the morning we pressed on, much slower now that navigating had become a much more careful process. Any landmarks I had were submerged in snow and more often than not I relied on my compass and the odd bit of ruined building here and there to go by. Piotr, who was more familiar with the snow, often joined me at the front of out little line and helped, pointing out things I couldn't see.

  At some point we crossed a section of motorway which was clogged with the traffic of fifty years ago - now only a line of green and brown hulks parked nose to bumper. The snow had fallen here but seemed unable to find a purchase on the moss and bind weed.

  “Longest traffic jam I’ve ever seen,” said Piotr as we looked down on it from the bridge.

  “That's nothing. I went to New York once,” laughed Riley.

  We negotiated the sloping sides until we were on the tarmac, the bridge having collapsed near the other side. Carefully we picked our way between the cars and overturned trucks. Half way across, Riley called out to us.

  “Look at this!” she cried. Piotr and I squeezed between two hatchbacks and saw her stood in front of one of the better examples of Britain's post-apocalyptic furniture. “It's a Jag!”

  “And?” I asked.

  “This'd be worth a fortune back home! And look at her!” She gestured to the wreck with both hands.

  “Knock yourself out,” I replied and carried on walking. I heard her attack the car with her knife and when she caught up with us she was waving the chrome Jaguar in my face.

  “This'll fetch me a buck or two!” she said.

  “Did you ask the driver?” said Piotr.

  “Driver?”

  “Yeah, look.”

  She turned around and saw the skeleton slumped over the wheel. I'd noticed it before - a single entry wound in its right temple. No exit. .22 maybe. Bullet probably bounced around inside his skull after being fired at close range.

  “Oh,” she said. “He didn't look like he wanted it anyway.”

  As we reached the other side I thought I heard something behind us. Piotr must have thought the same thing because we both stopped in our tracks and turned, looking at each other.

  “You hear that?” I asked. He nodded.

  “It came from up there,” said Riley, dropping her pack and lifting her rifle to her shoulder. She stared down the scope at the break in the hedge that we'd come through earlier, easing off the safe
ty and chambering a round. Piotr began working his own rifle whilst I was still looking at the slope. “Do you want to hazard a guess?” she asked me.

  “Dogs.”

  “Spread out,” she said, walking towards the nearest car and stepping up onto its bonnet. “No point running.”

  I dropped my gear and unwrapped my rifle, letting the case fall to the floor. Then I ran down the line of traffic and got on top of another car, my cleats scratching the metal as I clambered up. Piotr was on Riley's left about eight cars down from her, aiming at the slope as the first animal appeared.

  It's gaunt frame padded out of the break in the hedge and stopped, staring down at us with eyes that glowed green in the reflected sunlight. Riley fired immediately. The dog's head exploded in a spray of blood and bone and its corpse rolled down the slope and landed at the bottom.

  Straight away six others burst from the hedge and sprinted down the slope after it, leaping across the first row of rusting heaps. Riley dropped to her knee, aimed and fired, killing one whilst Piotr managed to wound another. I raised my rifle, sighted the nearest and missed my first shot. I turned in time to catch one running directly at me and I fired again, blowing its chest wide open.

  I saw Riley sling her rifle to give her arms the freedom she needed to draw her pistol. She killed the two nearest her with well-drilled double-taps of the trigger. Piotr clubbed another with the stock of his weapon, following it down to the floor and stamping on its skull. I'd been the lucky one so far - only having to contend with the single animal whilst the others had bee-lined for Riley.

  “All clear?” she called out.

  “Clear,” said Piotr.

  “Yeah, clear - I think,” I replied, jumping down to look at the remains of my kill. The creature was little more than skin pulled tight across a bony frame. I moved its head with the toe of my boot and saw its mouth had only a few yellow teeth in it.