Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  Mike approached the back door and knocked loudly several times. There was no response. He couldn’t afford to delay in the snowstorm for too long, so he took a chance and kicked the door in. It gave way easily. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him and waited.

  Nothing happened. Silence. No one home. Brilliant!

  He looked around and tried the light switch. No power. Gas then. There was a gas Rayburn, still alight, in the corner. He checked the fridge for milk. Plenty, so he poured out a litre into a pan and placed it on the hot hob. He searched the cupboards for Bovril or OXO and found plenty. Then he looked for another flask, and sure enough, there were three at the back of a cupboard. Old but functional. Probably a fisherman’s house. God knows where the occupants were now.

  The milk boiled and Mike filled two of the flasks into which he had added coffee and sugar. He then filled another pan with water and boiled that up to add to the OXOs. This all took about fifteen minutes, in which time he rifled the fridge and pantry. He boiled up a tin of chicken soup which he would drink there and then, taken with some bread. He put some cheese, ham, cold chicken, 3 meat pies and more bread into a plastic bag. This would be enough to last him until he got home. He then put £20 on the sideboard, his conscience salved.

  Mike then used the facilities to relieve himself, grabbed his bag of food, another with the four full flasks and took a scarf which was hanging behind the kitchen door. He then returned to the tractor and got the engine started – mercifully first time. He checked the Sat Nav – one hundred and sixty eight miles to go. Only fifteen or twenty hours if he was lucky.

  Mike steered the tractor back onto the A1 and continued his journey. His stop had only taken fifty minutes. The windscreen wipers were working full time, but kept going despite the strain. With any luck he would only have to stop to refuel a couple of times. He had plenty of diesel so he wasn’t worried on that score. His main worry was the possibility of bumping into someone more powerful than himself who wanted his tractor. He really should avoid all contact.

  Therefore, he decided to parallel the A1 staying off the main carriageway. He moved through the hedgerow and continued to about fifty metres inside the road edge so that he was driving on arable land. He used the Garmin in large scale to monitor his position and turned the sound off. The voice was going beserk with route changes – re-calculating! RE-CALCULATING!

  Mike found it more tiring but he felt more secure. There were bound to be people – really desperate people – just waiting for an opportunity to escape their fate and steal his digger.

  He continued up towards Doncaster and progress slowed. He had to dodge around conurbations and farmhouses. He was averaging about six or seven miles per hour and his ETA for home was going backwards. He reached the A1(M) at Bawtry by 1pm. That was fifty miles in eight hours – seven really - if one discounted the food-stop.

  The Sat Nav showed 153 miles to run. At seven miles per hour, that was twenty more hours. His revised ETA was now 9am tomorrow morning – later if he rested. He’d tried his wife several times on his mobile phone. The charger had been invaluable but the Vodafone network was down, so he couldn’t even give her some hope and reassurance.

  He'd been up over eight hours and he needed some rest, so he looked for somewhere to park up safely. He saw a copse about one hundred metres ahead, and about two hundred metres from the motorway. He pulled up into the small wood and parked. He kept the engine running and tried to get some sleep, after eating a meat pie and drinking a cup of hot OXO. He dropped straight off.

  Mike was woken suddenly, about two hours later, by a loud banging on the side window. He was disoriented and confused, and it took him several seconds to work out where he was. But the banging continued and then started on the other side. Two burly men were gesturing angrily and shouting against the wind.

  Fortunately, the engine was still running, so Mike put the tractor into gear and drove off as quickly as the visibility allowed. The Sat Nav was down but searching for satellites. However, all Mike wanted to do was get away from these two maniacs. He accelerated to about fifteen miles per hour across the fields and in these conditions it was enough to leave the men in his wake. Nevertheless, he continued as fast as he could in order to put as much distance between him and his pursuers as possible. He could stop and fix his position when it was clearly safe to do so. He bumped his way blindly over the fields in a roughly northerly direction for about twenty minutes – scared to death that these idiots might keep him from his family when he was so damned close.

  However, what Mike didn’t know, and what the Sat Nav didn’t show, was that at Wadworth Bar, the A1(M) crossed a river. The motorway had a splendid bridge which spanned the obstacle – but Mike’s tractor wasn’t on the motorway.

  Visibility was less than twenty metres and it was far, far too late for Mike to react when the digger plunged over the riverbank and fell and tumbled forty feet into the cold and icy waters below. Mike wasn’t strapped in and smashed his head against the cab ceiling on impact. It knocked him cold, which was a blessing really because at that point the windscreen shattered and burst into a million pieces and Mike was thrown, unconscious, into the river.

  The tractor sank to the bottom and within ten seconds there was no trace that he’d ever been there at all.

  Day 3 – Grantham, Lincolnshire – 2:30pm

  Brady positioned his skis on the surface of the snow and clipped his boots into the bindings. He recovered the ski poles and set off down the street in the direction of ASDA.

  However, it was more of a ski-slope than a street. The traffic lights at the junction were sticking forlornly out of the snow, still changing randomly from red to green and back to red in some crazy attempt to control invisible traffic. He couldn’t quite workout how they were still functioning.

  Barely any vehicles were visible. Those abandoned in the past forty-eight hours were now almost covered by four to five feet of drifting snow. The blizzard continued and a strong, gusty wind beat at Brady’s’ back. He skied diagonally across the junction – there was no point in following the road – and headed for the entrance to the ASDA car park which was only a few hundred metres away. He saw no one and as visibility was only about twenty metres he was unlikely to spot them anyway. Only a fool would be out in this, he reflected ironically.

  The first entrance to the supermarket he encountered was a small side opening in the car park wall. It was completely blocked with a snowdrift. There was no way through at all so he immediately set off for the main side entrance about fifty metres further up the road. This provided a better chance of access. Although there was a huge pile of snow, foolhardy potential customers had created a path of sorts over the past two days, and Brady was able to ski through the gap into the car park proper.

  Despite not being able to see very far, it was clear that the vehicles in the parking bays were almost buried and would not be going anywhere. Many had as much as two feet of snow piled on the roof and had drifting up the sides. It made a weird Gaudi-ish landscape and Brady was reminded once again that the country was in dire straits.

  He worked his way to the main entrance, which had a large canopy covering and protecting an area of about twenty metres square, and housed the shopping trolleys. These were protected by the Plexiglas screen surrounding them and the area under the canopy was reasonably accessible. Snow had swept in at either side and at the front, but the two front sliding doors were clear, surprisingly. Brady wondered if there were other people about keeping the entrance clear. He would adopt extra caution.

  In fact, there appeared to be no one around and the shop had no lights on. Then he remembered - the power cut! He stopped at the entrance and detached his skis. He lifted his goggles and peered in through the glass frontage. There was a small inner entrance hall with two further sliding doors protecting the main shop. He could see no one in the store. He banged on the doors although he suspected that even if there were any people inside, they wouldn’t be able to hear him.
>
  Nobody came and Brady soon recognised that he would have to break in. He had two options and the first didn’t appeal to him. If he broke the glass he may injure himself and in addition would attract the hostility of anyone inside trying to take shelter. Therefore, he decided that he would force the sliding doors apart and slip through. There was some drifting snow at the base but not enough to prevent access. He took out his large Bowie knife and forced it through the join in the sliding doors. When he had prised a small gap and separated the glass, he quickly jammed in one of his skis and then used it as a lever to force a gap wide enough to squeeze through, which he did, pulling his skis in after him.

  One down, one to go and no one had appeared to help or hinder him. He employed the same trick to pass through the second door and as it slid closed he looked around the shop, expecting at least someone to challenge his presence. However, there appeared not to be a soul in the shop, so Brady removed his gloves, goggles, hat and balaclava in order that he could see more clearly.

  There was a trolley lying abandoned near the entrance, so he tossed in his skis and discarded clothing, and set about filling his shopping list. He was hoping that the children’s toy section would solve his first problem – one of transporting his goods back to the house. Clearly, he could not carry much himself in a small haversack – but a child’s plastic sledge would do the job nicely. So he looked up at the aisle indicators hanging from the ceiling and saw that toys were off to the left of the shop. He walked quickly to that area and to his delight discovered a shelf full of bright red sledges. He selected the largest and put it in the trolley. He continued along the aisle, and it led to assorted household goods and there he spotted the next item on his list. Haversacks.

  He grabbed the most expensive adult large with as many pockets as possible. He needed to carry a great deal of supplies and equipment back to the house. The haversack went into the trolley and he continued towards the escalator – which although not working was flat and he could push the trolley up to the clothing section. He wandered around the deserted floor looking for items of clothing he thought might be useful for the journey. Socks, under garments, gloves, scarves. He had most of this equipment at home, but he believed that just a few spares may come in handy. He looked at the anoraks on the rails but quite frankly, none were any better than those he already possessed.

  He took the other dead escalator down to the ground floor where he noticed a rather sweet, sickly smell that was fairly unpleasant - probably vegetables beginning to rot. However, he had no time to investigate and continued to fill his list, which sat on the child’s seat at the rear of the trolley. He picked up an assortment of batteries as he passed a display, plus a large coil of heavy tow-rope from the car spares section. Half a dozen plastic cigarette lighters might come in handy, as matches got wet.

  Next stop was the tinned food aisle. He didn’t take much as it was heavy to carry, but some may be useful to eat before they left for the coast. He then collected a generous supply of packeted instant meals - just add hot water and eat. Pot Noodles were too bulky but there were plenty of good alternatives on the shelves. Some packets of soup were thrown into the trolley plus chocolate – eighty percent cocoa – and biscuits. He also picked up a dozen assorted boxes of OXOs which were light, nutritious and warming.

  Raw meat, fish and veg were not really that useful as they were heavy and bulky and would deteriorate. He did pick up some frozen pork sausages and chicken nuggets which they could cook, cool and then use as snacks en-route.

  He was coming to the end of his list and decided to make one more sweep of the supermarket, aisle by aisle, to ensure that he had missed nothing and to see if he was inspired to take anything else. He was really glad that he did so, because what he discovered saved him a great deal of trouble as his visit to the camping shop became unnecessary.

  Right in the top corner of the shop was a display celebrating a recent Scouting achievement and here, in the middle of winter, was a mini display of camping equipment. What deep joy! Brady couldn’t believe his luck. There was a waterproof tarpaulin, firelighters and best of all Camping Gaz cookers, lights and cartridges. He took out the rucksack from the trolley and filled it with as many mini-Gaz cookers and refills as it would take. He stuffed a load of firelighters in the outer pockets, pulled up the zippers securely and replaced it in the trolley.

  He continued his trawl of the shop, picked up the odd item which he deemed useful, and then headed for the main doors to pack up his kit for the short trek home. He was doing a mental calculation in his head regarding the total spend and he reckoned that £300 should cover it nicely. So he wrote out a cheque, put it on a check-out counter with his business card, considered his conscience clear and hoped someone found it at some time in the future.

  He placed the sled on the floor and started to arrange the consumables on top of the tarpaulin that he had laid on top. He created a tidy package by pulling the excess tarp over the top which now fitted squarely on the sled, tied the whole thing up with the tow-rope, ensuring that the cargo would not slide off during the journey home.

  Just as he was preparing to don the haversack, he pulled up with a jolt.

  ‘Just what the hell do you think you are doing, mate. Looters can be shot, you know!’

  Brady turned round and was faced with a man in his thirties, dressed in a large anorak, and carrying a baseball bat menacingly at shoulder height. He had two henchmen, one on either side, similarly armed– ready to spring into action. However, Brady could see that they were nervous and unsure of themselves. They were probably quite shocked to discover Brady and didn’t quite know what to do. So, Brady took control.

  ‘ Hello,’ he quipped brightly. ‘Are you shoppers trapped in here like me?’

  ‘No, we are not, mate! We are ASDA security staff and you are fucking trespassing!’

  ‘I’m sorry’, said Brady, ‘but I thought this was a supermarket and according to the front door you are open. So I came in, did some shopping, paid and now I’m going home. What’s the problem?’

  The men looked belligerent.

  ‘What do you mean, paid? The tills aren’t working. How could you pay? Tell me that, mate?’

  ‘Just look behind you, at till number twenty-two, and you’ll see my card and a cheque for payment, signed by me, dated today, which more than covers what I bought. Go on; just get one of your colleagues to check.’

  The men looked at each other and the leader nodded at one, who walked over to the till and picked up the card and cheque. He read the card and almost looked relieved.

  ‘It says he’s a Wing Commander at Cottesmore. Cheque looks OK. Seems he’s telling the truth.’

  The first security guard was not mollified.

  ‘How did you get in? There’s no power to the doors.’

  Brady decided to bluff.

  ‘The doors were open, so I just came in. Didn’t see the harm. There wasn’t any sign saying you were closed, so I got my stuff and now I’m leaving, if that’s alright with you?’ Brady’s tone was calm and non-threatening.

  The men stood in silence for several seconds as if making a decision. Brady just faced them down, keeping eye contact with one hand on his Bowie knife sheath.

  The leader eventually responded grudgingly:

  ‘I’m not happy about this, mate, but I’d rather see the back of you than keep you here. We don’t want any more people on our hands. Leave the stuff and fuck off!’

  Brady, although relieved, was not prepared to leave his shopping. They would need it all for the journey.

  ‘I’ll go but I’m taking my gear. I need it and you’ve got plenty in here. Enough for an army for six months. You won't miss this stuff and anyway, I’ve paid for it – so it's no skin off your nose – mate!’

  He related this statement with more than a little menace in his tone and as a result, one of the henchmen spoke up.

  ‘Let him go, Dave. Just get rid of him. He might have friends and come back if we keep his
stuff. Let’s just be rid of him!’

  Dave, the leader looked non-plussed, but decided to take the easy option.

  ‘OK, mate, take your bloody gear and just piss off. Now!’

  ‘No problem, my friend, I’ll be ready in a trice. If your compatriots could just hold open the doors I’ll be away,’ said Brady brightly. He realised that he had won the argument and now had the upper hand.

  Brady pulled on the haversack, tied the tow-rope around his mid-riff and put on his headgear and gloves. He picked up his ski poles and slid through the inner door which the two henchmen were politely holding open. Once through, they forced the outer doors apart and Brady skied straight out before they changed their minds. He didn’t look back but moved out into the storm with his booty. He climbed the slight slope up into the car park and made for the exit, breathing a huge sigh of relief. He was trembling slightly and realised that he'd had a close shave.