Rogue Evacuation

by Simon Neilson

  ROGUE

  EVACUATION

  Surviving Is The Only Hope We Have Left

  A Diary Of Survival

  by

  Simon Neilson

  A Wild Wolf Publication

  Published by Wild Wolf Publishing in 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Simon Neilson

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales, or any other entity, is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  www.wildwolfpublishing.com

  For Vivienne,

  who not only inspires me every single day but helped me finish this novel with her undying love and support.

  DIARY ENTRY 1

  Curfews? I know they were essential, but I missed nights out, or at least having the choice to go out. I missed my family.

  That was before.

  Travel in and out of London was restricted, with the capital under emergency law and boroughs cut into segments. Going south of the river was a ‘no-go’. South London had been described as a dead-zone, so they said. Personally, I had no desire to go there. The military controlled the bridges, so unless you were in possession of the correct ‘movement pass’ you would not be allowed to travel south, let alone out of London.

  So what was going on?

  It started 18 months ago. Most of the populated world was in turmoil. Famine, war, financial difficulties and disasters ravaged every corner of the globe. The Independent Conflict happened so quickly.

  Two political parties sprung up, the Nationalists in Scotland and the Republicans in England. Straight away the Monarchy moved abroad in exile as these two political groups came to power.

  That is when the conflict began. At first it was just border skirmishes, after this the wall went up to separate England and Scotland. It was just after the Scots took and held Carlisle that the situation deepened. The English forces retaliated by bombing Glasgow, Aberdeen, Edinburgh and Dundee. Things got pretty bad, Manchester was wiped off the map, I mean obliterated, and then it came.

  The bomb.

  The impact in South London was huge. I was north of the river at the time, but the ground shook, smoke and dust clouds rose up into the sky. It was after this incident the curfew kicked in and the streets became deserted.

  The first piece of news I was able to come by was an anti-government blogging site by a person posting under the name of Gov_Block. It stated that there was an outbreak of some kind of infection in South London which was ravaging the people who still lived there.

  ‘Dead rising’ was the description Gov_Block used. As for the war, well I didn’t get much information on that particular subject as the government controlled the news, internet and television.

  There were mandatory blood tests enforced. I remember the medical staff from the government visiting the depot and taking samples from all of us. Nobody would explain why they did this, the explanation was that we had no choice and had to supply some blood.

  Everything we heard or saw was controlled by the government officials. There were independent bloggers, like Gov_Block, who the government tagged as ‘renegades’ or ‘terrorists’ and if you were one of those bloggers and you got caught, it was never a good ending. Executions I’d heard. It was even an offence to read their blogs, but I still tuned in to try and establish what the hell was going on.

  The curfew in London was from 6pm to 6am, but even during the free-movement times there were checkpoints everywhere.

  Everybody had been given movement passes. These got stamped at every checkpoint and if you did not have your pass, then you got arrested and god knows what happened to you then. I always kept my pass with me at all times so that I would never find out.

  Let me be very clear about one fact, I was not a renegade or a terrorist, I wasn’t even sure if they were an organised group of whether they were names the government gave them. I was just a person stuck in the capital with no obvious way out.

  All I wanted to do was go home. I wasn’t even sure if home existed any longer.

  DIARY ENTRY 2

  I lived in a small bedsit in North London, a few miles from the old financial district, in an area called Sector 2.

  All the old London boroughs had been given sector numbers and this was where I lived. This bedsit was courtesy of employment and a movement pass. I was pretty low down in the social order. Therefore, I got the less attractive accommodation.

  My room had an armchair, a table, wooden chair and an open fire with a spit and griddle, which allowed me to cook food, but good food was rare to come by, unless you had a really good contact on the black market.

  To ensure the curfew succeeded, everybody trapped in London when it got sealed off were given places to live. Not the most desirable properties, but it was better than being out after 6pm with the threat of being shot. Some lucky people still had jobs, though monetary value was non-existent and bartering had made a come-back.

  I had a job at a transportation depot, my payment was in the way of credits which I then swapped for food, water, and any other supplies I needed. Let me tell you, those credits did not go very far.

  After 6pm I heard helicopters hovering above, the sound of jeeps, trucks and tanks rumbling around the area. This happened regularly. Now and again a searchlight would pass by my window. Gunfire was normal. I don’t know who or what was being shot, but it scared me.

  I logged onto Gov_Block and the news from South London was not good.

  I was able to access the blogs via my wireless phone, this still worked as with all other wireless phones, but the danger was the phone could be tracked by the government security. Fortunately, an ex-convict who I worked with at the depot managed to chip my phone so it was a lot harder to track.

  Gov_Block said that they were eating the dead in South London. That was pretty shocking to find out. If that news was true, it would explain why all the bridges had been blocked off. There was security everywhere. At first it was the military that patrolled the city, clad in intimidating gas masks. The security men dressed in black combats took over as the soldiers were required at the border fighting the Scots.

  When the curfew first came into force, the renegade bloggers started to disappear one-by-one. Swift new laws were brought in and it did not take long for the IGS to enforce them. There were a variety of new offences which you could be arrested for:

  Not In Possession Of A Movement Pass

  Breaching Curfew

  Working Without The Required Permit

  Unlicensed Broadcasting

  Being A National Of Scotland

  Treachery

  Oh…So I don’t confuse you with abbreviations, IGS stood for Internal Government Security, these were the figures dressed in black who patrolled the capital instead of the military. They were far more hostile than the soldiers and would not think twice about shooting someone dead if they believed the law had been broken.

  It was for one of the offences mentioned above of how I met Duncan. He had been ducking the authorities for a long while.

  I heard him running outside
, just after curfew.

  DIARY ENTRY 3

  I heard the jeep approaching and peered out through the small window into the fading evening light. The street I lived in was a cul-de-sac, but there was a path leading off into the park and then onwards to the neighbouring estate.

  Duncan obviously was not familiar with the area. He stood in the street frantically looking for an escape route. I could see from my first floor window that some armed IGS guards with torches were making their way on foot through the park to the alleyway.

  The jeep was coming from the only entry and exit point into the cul-de-sac. I could hear it getting closer and closer. It was like all the other jeeps that patrolled the area, one guard driving and one or two in the rear of the jeep manning the heavy machine gun or the spotlight.

  I opened the window slightly and whistled down to the street below. Duncan glanced up and I ushered him to the front door. I rushed downstairs and let the panting figure of Duncan into the narrow hallway. I placed a finger to my lips and quietly shut the door.

  We made our way back to my bedsit at the top of the staircase and I told Duncan to take a seat on the rickety chair. I made my way to the window. I had a black blanket which was folded over the top of the pane. I pulled it to one side so as not to be seen looking out the window.

  Waiting for a moment I heard the rumbling engine of the jeep outside, the humming sound alerted me that it had stopped. Slowly, I peered through the side of the curtain and saw some of the IGS guards searching gardens. The spotlight from the jeep passed across the walls until it reached my window. I quickly jumped back and let the light pass by. It shone brightly through the small gap, illuminating a small corner of the room.

  After a few minutes I heard the voices of the guards who had given up on their search and the jeep pulled out of the cul-de-sac. I waited a while, not speaking to my guest. Suddenly in the distance I heard gunshots. The guards obviously had more pressing things to deal with. Finally, I looked over at Duncan.

  “My name’s Duncan. Thank you, my friend,” said Duncan.

  It was then it became apparent by his accent why the IGS were hunting him down. Duncan was Scottish, so now I would be classed as a collaborator. I did not say a word, I walked to the cupboard and pulled out my last tin of beans and handed it to Duncan.

  Apart from the obvious Scottish link, I was curious to know more about my guest. Duncan told me he had been in South London when the explosion occurred, he didn’t explain further. I was eager to know if the renegade blogs were close to the truth. Duncan just nodded and did not elaborate further.

  He then pulled out a pouch from his jacket and started to select pictures from the leather casing. He explained to me that he had been taking photographs of the devastation. The first photograph I looked at was a demolished tower block.

  Duncan told me this was in Peckham, South-East London and that he used to live there.

  The next photograph was very upsetting. It showed widespread devastation and dead bodies in the street around Wimbledon.

  Talking to Duncan, I thought he would be anti-English, but he had no stance on the Independent Conflict. He never said a word about the war. Shortly after our brief introductory chat, Duncan fell asleep. I felt on edge, I could not do this. The thought of being arrested or at worst executed was not on my to-do list.

  The morning came. I must have drifted off just after Duncan. It was the sound of the door-bell which woke me. Peering out the window, I saw him clad in the intimidating black uniform of the IGS.

  DIARY ENTRY 4

  As I mentioned previously, the IGS, or Internal Government Security, were responsible for policing, especially here in the capital.

  The conflict on the border between England and Scotland meant that more and more soldiers were required at the front, so the IGS replaced them in patrolling London.

  The figure stood outside the front door downstairs. As I peered out the window I saw the black uniform with the IGS logo on the sleeve. He waited for a moment and then posted something through the letterbox. I waited until he got into the jeep and left the cul-de-sac before going downstairs.

  Duncan was awake now. I told him to stay where he was. I collected what had been posted through the letterbox and then made my way back upstairs staring down at the leaflet. As I entered the bedsit I noticed Duncan was waiting for me, anxiously. I handed him the leaflet and he stared down at his own face, be it a slightly younger picture but it was definitely Duncan. Underneath his photograph were the crimes he was being hunted for

  “WANTED – FOR BEING A SCOTTISH NATIONAL & CRIMES AGAINST THE GOVERNMENT”

  “What have you done?” I asked.

  Duncan walked over to the window and peered through the curtain. He did not reply straight away and I waited for some sort of explanation.

  “It’s too dangerous for you to have me here,” said Duncan eventually.

  I looked at my watch. I knew I had to make it to work. I told Duncan to stay put and not to go near the window.

  Work! Huh! That’s a joke. I didn’t get paid like most people before the bomb dropped. I got credits that I could swap for rations. This payment was for moving boxes of supplies onto military vehicles that disappeared as soon as full. I don’t know what I was loading onto the trucks. It could be food, medical supplies or even weapons. We were not even told the destinations.

  It was just after the truck I was loading disappeared off through the security gates that I heard my name crackle over the intercom. I made my way to the security office, slightly anxious. You only got called to the security office if it was really serious. My mind was racing.

  As I entered I saw him standing there in the corner of the office, his stare burning into me. My heart began to thump. Gazing at me with an intimidating glare was the IGS Commander who had knocked on my door earlier. Oh my god…..Duncan! My heart began to race and I could feel the panic rising up inside my body until my throat dried up.

  “We forced entry to your lodgings about an hour ago.” His words were cool and calculated. I just sat back and waited for my fate. “Do you have any idea why we would do this?” He asked, pushing a piece of paper towards me.

  Looking down at the table I saw the wanted poster with Duncan’s face on it. I composed myself then shook my head. After a moment I looked up at the piercing eyes of the IGS officer.

  “This man is an enemy of the government,” said the officer. I stayed silent, but could feel my body heat rising. “A man fitting his description was seen leaving your lodgings this morning. Do you know anything about this?” He asked.

  I shook my head. He paced round behind me and I looked at my boss who was sitting opposite. He just stared down at the desk not wanting to look at me.

  “Why would I?” I asked in the best calm voice I could produce.

  “This man is very dangerous. We believe he was responsible for the South London bombing by way of guiding the Scottish forces to the capital.” The IGS officer stood still behind me. “We need to know his whereabouts.”

  Leaning over me I could smell his onion breath, his body came close to mine.

  “I have no idea who he is,” I said.

  “Lucky for you that your lodgings were not damaged,” he continued.

  I looked at him very puzzled.

  “Sorry?” I asked without even having to fake the emotion in my voice.

  “Well it is obvious that you were the victim of a burglary. Fortunately none of your belongings appear to have been stolen.”

  The IGS officer moved towards the door of the office.

  “Burglary?” I asked in an equal tone of confusion.

  “I just thought I should let you know that this dangerous fugitive is here in Sector 2. Should you see him, I want you to contact us immediately.”

  Turning on his heels, he collected all the paperwork and nodded to my boss. The door clicked shut as he left the room. My boss slowly looked up and gazed at me across the table. I was now breathing heavily with relief and sweating
.

  “I hope for your sake, you know nothing about this man,” said my boss. I shook my head in response. “Carry on with your work,” he continued.

  “Thanks,” I said and I got up, moving towards the door.

  “They’ll be watching you now, so be careful.”

  Leaving the room I felt the relief wash over me. Duncan? It dawned on me that my life was now at risk because of this man. Did the IGS suspect me of assisting Duncan? No, they couldn’t or else I would be under arrest. What did the IGS officer mean about Duncan being responsible for South London?

  I finished work late due to being behind with the loading. I had to get a special pass as I would be arriving at the bedsit after curfew. Four times I was stopped on the way home by IGS patrols.

  The curfew makes the streets eerie and deserted. As I got closer to the bedsit I heard lots of gunfire followed by a loud explosion. I rounded the corner and saw a lot of security personnel standing around. It was a checkpoint.

  I had my papers checked and was on my way. I then saw what the commotion was all about. There was a car which had burst into flames. Somebody had tried to run the checkpoint. I just wanted everything to go back to the way it was.

  I got closer to the bedsit and wondered if Duncan had come back.

  DIARY ENTRY 5

  Sitting in the dark I stared out of the window. I could see the sky in the distance glowing south of the river. It was like daylight over there, but I knew that South London was actually burning.

  The IGS officer was correct. Duncan was gone by the time I got home. My door was split at the hinges where the IGS had forced entry. Duncan did not leave a note, but I wasn’t surprised by this.