by Tim Flanagan
'But what can I do?' Peter asked.
'Now is the time to embrace the magic inside you Peter, not hide it. You can open the links and channels between everything that is invisible to the mortal eye. Scarlet has similar gifts to myself. Whilst in the Underworld, she learnt to communicate with plants and animals with the energy of her mind. The three of us have a unique ability to observe nature and the world around us that most humans choose not to see.'
'What are we waiting for Edgar to do?' Scarlet asked.
'Sir Edgar is a White Knight; his heart is pure and honest. When he protected us in the forest clearing his sword emitted a wave of pure white energy. For a soul as black as the creatures, the light was the complete opposite to themselves. Like magnets, you cannot force opposite polarity together, they repel each other. The white energy hurt them and forced them away from us, but it also burnt their eye, and if they cannot see, they become weak. There are not enough people left on this planet to destroy the creatures when they are at their most vulnerable, but nature is everywhere, we will call on the plants to fight on our behalf. Then, hopefully, the human race will have a chance at survival once more.'
Scarlet continued to drive along the motorway, following the signs towards London.
By mid afternoon the sky was beginning to turn a murky grey colour and their thoughts returned to the need to hide from the creatures for the night. They had reached the mid point of their journey but if they remained on the motorway they would be exposed and easily attacked. Either side of the road were flat fields, but on the horizon up ahead there were roof tops and chimneys, indicating a built up area and a greater chance of finding a hiding place. The signs on the motorway informed them they were approaching Warwick.
'We need to get off the main road,' Scarlet said, conscious of the growing darkness in the sky.
Lady Flora nodded. They drove off at the next slip road which took them towards a roundabout elevated above the motorway. Scarlet was just about to take the first exit signposted towards Warwick when Lady Flora pointed to the opposite side of the carriageway. Beneath the roundabout was a narrow path covered in parts with puddles of shallow water. It cut through a series of trees then went beneath the road inside an underpass.
'Go into that tunnel,' instructed Lady Flora.
Scarlet turned the steering wheel and carefully picked her way between some of the cars that had crashed into signposts and traffic signals. When they were directly above the tunnel Scarlet nudged the car off the road and slowly edged down the embankment, resting on the breaks all the way, until the car bumped over a ledge and came to rest on the path below the roundabout. Scarlet negotiated the small car along the path and into the concrete tunnel.
'Stop the car,' said Lady Flora, but she had already opened her door.
As soon as Lady Flora had stepped onto the path, Scarlet could see the entrances to the underpass slowly becoming covered by a dense mesh of plants and trees. Lady Flora was sealing them inside the tunnel, just as she had done beneath the embankment beside the dried up riverbed.
Everything inside the tunnel went pitch black.
18. Across the Island
Under direction from Georgia, Steven swung the car away from the holiday park and along narrow roads where the verges banked high over each side blocking the view except for the immediate road in front. They took the route south, away from the top side of the island were they would be more likely to come into contact with other members of Coldred’s security teams. After a while they turned away from the coastline and followed a minor road that would eventually take them to Newport and the centre of the island. The Isle of Wight was not a large island, so Steven was happy to get as much distance between themselves and the two men they had left in the bungalow, as possible.
After an hour of driving Steven slowed down and began picking a more cautious route along the roads. Fortunately, there weren’t any where near as many abandoned cars as there had been when they travelled around England.
From the back seat of the car, the walkie-talkie Tracker had taken from one of the men in the bungalow suddenly crackled into life.
‘This is Jonas,’ announced a mechanical voice distorted by static.
Tracker picked up the handset, but didn’t respond to the voice on the radio.
‘You were wise to run,’ continued the voice. There was a pause. ‘I wanted to let you know that we have been found by our colleagues and to warn you: if the creatures don’t get you, we will.’
‘They must have been picked up as soon as we left,’ said Tracker to the others in the car. ‘I knew there was something wrong in the way I answered the radio. They probably use code words.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Steven. ‘They’re a long way behind us by now.’
They passed lush green fields that rolled away in every direction. On occasions they caught fleeting glimpses of the northern coastline in the distance, together with the reflective blue surface of the Solent. As the number of houses alongside the road began to increase, they assumed they were approaching the populated town of Newport.
Steven drove cautiously, watching for any signs of movement in the road ahead, but everything was dead and static. Georgia scanned the shops for survivors, looking through the shattered glass windows or open doorways, but saw nothing. There was evidence that scavengers had looted the shops for food or supplies, but that was probably some time ago. From the backseat Steven could hear the occasional click as Tracker loaded the weapons, making sure they were ready to use if necessary.
Steven parked the car at the side of the road and turned the engine off.
‘Why have we stopped?’ asked Tracker, leaning forward through the gap between the front seats so he could see the road ahead.
Steven pointed to the map that rested on Georgia’s knee.
‘The north side of the island is divided by the river Medina which stretches down towards Newport. Osborne House is here,’ Steven pointed to the east side of the river. ‘The only way to drive to Osborne House is via the car ferry at the northern mouth of the river where it is widest along the coast at Cowes or by driving down the length of the river to us here at Newport then back up the east side.’
‘It looks like we will be joining up with that route ourselves,’ said Tracker.
‘Indeed. If I was living in Osborne House I would make sure the roads approaching it were being guarded.’
‘But, if the ports are being monitored so closely, the community wouldn’t need guards on the approach to the house, would they?’ asked Georgia.
‘There may be renegade lawless groups of survivors that still live around the island. They might try to take food or supplies for themselves from the community. Remember Coker and his boys in Bewerley?’ replied Steven. ‘When people get desperate they become dangerous. I’m certain Coldred would have set up some security.’
‘What do you think we should do?’ asked Georgia.
‘We should approach Osborne House at night,’ said Tracker. ‘We have the antibiotics. The creatures keep there distance from us.’
‘But Coldred also has antibiotics. As well as the vaccine,’ replied Georgia.
‘We don’t know how much he may have. He may only be providing protection to selected members of his community, but that might include his guards,’ said Steven.
‘If there are survivors living around the island that are not part of Coldred’s community, for their own safety, they will keep out of sight of the creatures at night,’ said Tracker. ‘Coldred might not think night time security would be necessary.’
‘Then we might be safer leaving Newport under cover of darkness. We stand a better chance of reaching Osborne House undetected,’ agreed Steven.
He started the engine again and began coasting down Newport High Street, alongside the pavements that would once have been packed by tourists. As soon as the road crossed the tail end of the river Medina and entered the east side of the town, they spotted a small hotel set back from the road. Ste
ven parked at the steps to the entrance. The gentle purr of the engine had been reassuring in a world that was empty of noise. As soon as it was turned off, the silence became almost deafening.
They took their hold-alls and weapons from the car and entered the building. Although they knew there were not likely to be any survivors in the building, they quickly checked the rooms to avoid any surprises.
The next two hours were spent in silence in one of the rooms at the front of the hotel, whilst they waited for night to arrive. They took turns napping whilst the others performed tedious routines just to waste the time. There was only so much organising of the hold-all contents and cleaning of weapons that could be done, and they were all beginning to feel useless sitting and waiting.
Never before would they have thought they would be glad to hear the familiar screaming of the creatures in the distant sky as they emerged in the muted light of dusk ready to hunt. Steven looked out from the window and watched the black winged creatures skimming over the top of the houses, dodging the chimneys with an easy tilt of their wing. Live food had become harder for the creatures to find. So they watched, circling from above or patiently waiting from a vantage point on top of a building, for any sign of life.
Steven, Georgia and Tracker each swallowed a second antibiotic tablet for the day. Although they had taken one as usual that morning, they had agreed to double the dose for their night time adventure so that the effects didn’t wear off whilst they were stalking Osborne House. As an extra precaution, they sprayed some of the diluted antibiotic water that Beth had developed at Fort Halstead, liberally over their clothes.
Steven pushed the door to the hotel open and stood in the frame ready to move to the car.
Outside, the road was quiet.
Black shadows jumped and skipped along the roof tops, just visible against the darkening sky. With their weapons loaded and ready to use, they moved out of the hotel as one group, cautiously working down the steps towards the car.
A playful chirping erupted from the roof of the hotel.
The humans had been spotted.
In response, other creatures suddenly appeared in the sky, circling above the road.
Steven and Georgia were the first to reach the car. They opened a door each, ready to jump in but were suddenly knocked off their feet onto the road. Steven’s hold-all skidded across the ground away from them as he desperately held onto his hunting rifle, ready to fire if needed. A black creature had landed on the roof of the car and was beating its long stretched wings as it tried to balance on the shiny metal surface. By the limited amount of light, Steven could just about make out a strange change in the surface of the creature. No longer was it smooth leathery skin, but seemed to be made up of interlocking scales, larger and more obvious around its back and head.
‘Wait!’ Steven shouted to Tracker, as he noticed him aim his shotgun at the creature. ‘Gunshot noises travel over long distances. We don’t want Coldred’s community to be on alert before we get there.’
A breathy rattling sound seemed to be coming from the creature as it sucked air into its body, testing a scent it was unfamiliar with. It hopped off the top of the car and onto the road next to Steven. Once again it sniffed at the air. It knew there was something different about these humans, but wasn’t sure what. Slowly and cautiously Georgia reached into her bag and began blindly searching for something, whilst, all the time never taking her eyes off the creature. She felt a cold canister in the palm of her hand, pulled it out and sprayed some of the antibiotic solution into the eye of the creature. In a deafening scream of pain the creature stepped back from the couple on the floor and tried desperately to shake its head and force the liquid from its eye. As it attempted to get away, it stretched its wings once more, knocking Georgia in the shoulder, as it created enough lift to escape. It grabbed Steven’s hold-all from the road and flew high up between the houses and over the top of a roof, taking its reward with it.
The other creatures continued to chirp from the hotel roof, but kept a safe distance from the humans.
Steven helped Georgia back onto her feet.
‘Did you see the changes in their skin?’ he asked excitedly. ‘They are still adapting. Soon they will be protected from the sunlight, allowing them to hunt during the day.’
‘That puts us in even greater danger,’ said Tracker, ‘and will make our job even slower. Which is unfortunate because we now have to work even faster.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Georgia, dusting herself down.
‘We now have fewer antibiotics. There were some inside your hold-all that the creature took.’
19. Obedient Migration
Rhys had ridden the motorcycle towards Lymington with relative speed. He had slept little during the night; too preoccupied with piecing together some of his son's life by looking through his belongings and placing photographs in chronological order. The creatures' screams continued well into the night. From the occasional peep through the window, Rhys could see that the creatures seemed to concentrate their hunting efforts in the sky above Richmond Park and the woodland south of the Thames.
Once it had been safe to leave, Rhys made his way through the country roads of the New Forest and approached Lymington from the north, then followed the signs for the ferry crossing to the Isle of Wight. He wondered what he might find on the island and what he would do if he discovered no trace of his son. He rode along the side of Lymington River. There were boats moored up in the marina, whilst directly ahead of him the river opened wide to meet the Solent. As he followed the signs and turned off the road, he noticed a barrier barring the way to the ferry terminal car park where cars would have normally checked in for the next crossing. Standing next to the barrier was a man armed with a rifle and dressed in hunting gear, with a baseball cap shading his eyes.
The man watched Rhys intently.
Rhys knew that he couldn’t turn around; the guard would have heard the throaty roar of the motorbike coming from some distance away and had already seen him. The only option he had was to continue up to the barrier.
The man held up his hand and signalled for Rhys to stop.
'Turn the engine off and remove your helmet,' shouted the man over the noise of the motorbike. Although he took a step forward, he appeared wary and cautious, keeping a safe distance from Rhys.
Rhys did as the man said. At the far end of the parking area, he could see several people loading boxes, crates, and barrels into the open loading doors at the back of a ferry.
'Are you clean?' shouted the man. Rhys stepped off the bike and lifted up his hands for the man to see. 'Have you been ill?' the man asked once again.
'No,' Rhys shook his head.
'What are you doing here?'
'I heard there was a community on the island. I wanted to join,' Rhys lied.
'Really. And where did you hear that?'
'I was in London, some survivors there said a group had moved to the island to build a community. Is this where we cross?'
'We cross when we have enough supplies and survivors worth taking over. We can't afford to waste fuel. How old are you?'
'Does it matter?' Rhys asked.
'The community can't take everyone. Do you have a skill?'
'I was a doctor in south Wales. What happens to those you don’t take over?'
'They make their own little groups, try and survive as long as possible, but the creatures usually get them in the end!' There was a sneer on his face as he added the last part. 'Doctors we will always need, but you will have to be go through decontamination first. Your bike and any valuables will have to be left, as well as any weapons you have.'
By now another armed man had casually walked over towards the barrier and together they both inspected the motorbike.
'Keys please,' the second man asked Rhys, holding out his hand. Rhys had no choice but to agree. He placed the keys into the palm of the man's hand. The other guard had noticed the Donestre sword that was strapped to the side of the bike
and was beginning to remove it.
'Where did you get this sword?' he asked.
'Found it in an antique shop,' lied Rhys, watching the man lift it up and swing it round as if attacking an imaginary enemy.
The bike and Rhys were taken towards a building at the far end of the car park next to the waiting ferry. Whilst the bike was left outside, Rhys was taken through a door and into the building. The pockets of his clothes were emptied, before being taken away from him. He was then sprayed with a strong smelling disinfectant and told to take some new clothes from the jumble piled up on a desk. He quickly picked some jeans and a shirt that looked about the right size, and, for nostalgia's sake, grabbed a grey hoody. Rhys quickly dressed then collected the photos that had been inside his pockets, carefully hiding them in a secure pocket inside the hoody. He then followed the guard through a series of rooms, each with boxes stacked inside, no doubt full of supplies to take back to the island. The man unlocked another door and Rhys was pushed into a waiting room.
Before he realised it, Rhys heard the dull click of the door being locked behind him.
To one side of the room was a large window that looked out towards the harbour and the boats in the marina. All around the room rows of metal chairs were fixed together in long strips and bolted to the ground like the waiting area in an airport. And, just like an airport, people were sitting in the chairs, looking bored, nervous, tired and impatient. Several pairs of eyes turned to look at Rhys as he stepped inside the room, curious to see who had entered, but they quickly turned back to watch the boats on the other side of the marina. In one corner of the room Rhys noticed a water dispenser but the transparent blue bottle had long since been emptied and didn’t look like it was going to be refilled anytime soon.
Rhys sat down on the nearest available chair. He made a point of looking at everyone for something that seemed familiar compared to the face he had spent the night studying, but no one resembled Steffan. He nodded to a young man who was slouched in the chair opposite, hugging a piece of paper close to his chest.
