So, we have about twenty million people to account for – and of course these are ball-park numbers I'm dealing in, but they are pretty close to what we can expect to be confirmed after the snow melts – which is an entirely different and terrifying issue.
These twenty million – including the fifteen million infirm and elderly -would have had to endure the most arduous conditions over the subsequent three weeks. When power failed, if they didn’t have propane LPG for heating, the falling temperatures would have not supported human life for very long. Add to that a severe lack of food and, more importantly, water, and we have a critical scenario. I do not think that many of these people are still alive under the thirty foot blanket of snow covering the UK.’
The Prime Minister interjected.
‘Thank you Ambassador. You are absolutely correct. We all find it very distressing and difficult to believe that such a thing could have happened. The numbers involved are indeed, horrendous. This disaster is unprecedented in the history of modern man and, sadly, we will probably never properly recover.
Perhaps after a brief pause, we can discuss the fate of those Britons and foreign residents we know to be alive. After all, these people are possibly our only hope for a meaningful future.’
Day 24
Tuesday 7th January
East London
Brady’s helicopter sped across East Anglia towards London using the GPS for navigation as it was impossible to map read. The only structures showing above the snow were church spires, silos, blocks of flats and the odd electricity pylon. Occasionally a pine tree was visible. Larger towns were discernable because of their shopping centres and general urbanisation. Apart from that, the landscape resembled a huge white snooker table. The glare was brutal and Brady realised that ski goggles would be essential to prevent snow blindness, so they had a spare pair each in their Bergens.
‘Have you done a lot of snow survival, Ross?’ asked Brady, shouting in an attempt to be heard over the engine noise, even though they were wearing headphones.
‘Loads,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been on ops in Russia, the Falklands, Argentina and the Balkans to mention but a few. But don’t tell anybody!’ he joked.
‘I thought you’d be an expert. That's great; I’ve only done the Snow Survival Courses at Bad Kohlgrub and in Norway. I spent nearly three years teaching your ‘Ruperts’ ski-survival. However, I’ve never ‘operated’ in snow – I’ll be looking to you to keep me out of trouble. I suggest you lead and I follow.’
Ross responded firmly.
‘Not a good idea, Andy, you lead the nav and I’ll watch your back and keep any bad guys at a distance. If I’ve got my head in a GPS I can't look after you now, can I?’
‘Agreed,’ said Andy, smiling broadly.
As they approached the outskirts at Epping, where the M25 and the M11 met – if they had still been visible – the helicopter swerved violently left, completed a one hundred and eighty degree turn and descended to zero feet.
‘What the f…?’ grunted Andy, as they were pinned to their seats by the extra g-forces.
The pilot rapidly filled them both in.
‘I spotted a group of figures, maybe thirty or forty, dead ahead about a mile away. I’ve got strict instructions to avoid any ground contacts. I’ve already told you that shots were fired yesterday.’
‘Your call,’ agreed Andy, ‘but what now?’
The pilot then gave them the really bad news.
‘My fuel is limited, so I can only divert off track for a few minutes before I need to set off for my base. The original drop is around ten miles behind us now – that's about five minutes flying time. I can drop you at my alternate, a block of flats at Woodford Green. It's only about three or four kilometres as the crow flies from Walthamstow, so you should be okay. That's if we avoid any more people on the ground. If I see any more near the drop, I'm off – those are my orders – I do not let this aircraft fall into survivors hands.’
Ross and Brady exchanged glances. They had no choice but to comply with the pilot’s instructions.
‘Right, put us down in Woodford, ASAP!’ replied Brady.
‘You’ll be alright,’ reasoned the pilot, ‘the building is only four floors high and access to the surface should be safe and easy enough.’
Brady was not so certain, as he had little idea of the strength of the crust below. However, it was only 0800, so a cold night’s frost may well have formed a ski-able surface which would not have been exposed to the sun’s rays as yet.’
‘Fine, we’ll prepare ourselves for de-planing.’
The heli pilot turned back towards London and aimed his craft at Woodford Green. His nav system showed five minutes and forty five seconds to the drop. He kept his eyes peeled for other signs of life and was hugely relieved to see nobody near the target area. He didn’t know what his two passengers were up to and he really didn’t care. All he wanted to avoid was being waylaid by desperate and hostile survivors. After all, he wasn’t even bloody British!
As the chopper approached the drop off point, he started a running commentary of height and range to the rooftop. He also tried to describe conditions in the general area and on the roof itself.
‘It looks like there is a small structure on the roof, about two metres square. Essentially, it's clear of snow – I'm going to hover at about two metres above that. You’ve got one minute to the drop zone and then I’ll give you one minute in the hover – after that I'm away for my breakfast,’ warned the pilot.
Ross would go out first and Brady would pass down the packs, skis and poles. They had their rifles slung across their backs already. The pilot manoeuvred the aircraft over the small building, descended to six or seven feet using visual cues, and suddenly shouted: ‘Right: go, go, go!’
The pair didn’t need sixty seconds – they did it in twenty-five. The pilot checked over his shoulder that the cabin was indeed vacant, applied engine power and soared away. He was out of sight and sound in another sixty seconds.
There was now absolute silence on the ground. Brady and Ross crouched, half buried in about four feet of snow. The exposed nature of this small construction, and the down-draught from the chopper had caused snow to drift or topple off into the main mass surrounding this small block of flats.
They remained immobile for at least five minutes and when Brady tried to make a move, Ross put a gloved hand on his shoulder, shook his head and mouthed, ‘wait.’
They held their position for another ten minutes, observing and listening. When Ross was totally satisfied that it was safe to move, he nodded at Brady.
‘What’s our next move, Ross?’ Brady conceded.
‘Work out a way down onto the main surface, so that we can ski away.’
‘Well, if we can get down from this extension, the edge of the main building is almost level with the highest body of snow,’ offered Brady.
‘I know,’ agreed Ross, ‘and it's probably not an accident either; whoever picked this drop-off had great 3D satellite intelligence.’
‘More assistance from Annie,’ thought Brady.
They pushed the snow from their platform onto the main roof, so that they could don their rucksacks and fit their skis. This done, they tentatively tested the surface with their poles and dropped warily onto the snow.
It held.
Ross immediately set off across the surface, briskly followed by Brady.
They were finally on their way.
Day 24
Tuesday 7th January
Sandringham House, Norfolk
The formal part of the briefing at which the PM, HM the Queen and senior members of her family attended finished around 2.30pm.
Ann Fletcher summarised the plight of British refugees around the world, who were now stranded just about everywhere. She outlined short term exigencies to deal with this problem – but did not cover the long term solution, which she intended to discuss with Sir Ian before they revealed their plan to the media.
She also
touched on the rescue programme which was moving into place as she spoke. Shipping, aircraft and men were being stationed around the UK coastline, preparing to pick up survivors. This operation should start the next morning. In addition, cruise liners were being repatriated and recruited to act as hospital ships.
This most sensitive issue was not mentioned. The disposal of millions of bodies would be a monumental and politically charged issue which would need careful consideration. This would be a job for the new Cabinet – which was the first order of business when she and Sir Ian were finally alone.
‘Excellent job, Ann,’ - he commended his protégée warmly. ‘However, we need to examine your files and recruit a team to help with this recovery. To be frank though – and this must stay between us – I can't envisage a resolution being achieved in our lifetime!’
‘I agree, Ian,’ said Ann sadly, ‘I don’t think people really comprehend the enormity of the disaster. It's on a par with a nuclear holocaust – except that it's a damned sight worse because the whole country is affected – and even when the snow is gone, there will be no infrastructure, no transport, nowhere to live or work, no communications, no power and – potentially - fifty million bodies to dispose of!’
They sat quietly for a minute contemplating this horrific vision of the future.
‘Nevertheless, we must make a start and try to do something for our people. I foresee several priorities:
Rescue
Resettlement
Finance
Governance
and finally – and by no means least:
Preparation for the flood that's surely coming!’
It was at this point that Ann, for the first time, really grasped the fact that the lives of all Britons, in every part of the world, had permanently changed.
Day 22
Sunday 5 January
Southampton General Hospital
Deputy Ward Sister Doris Ekins had survived.
Just how Doris had survived, she wasn’t quite sure herself. But she had, and she’d carried many people with her, to a point where they now impatiently and anxiously awaited rescue from the third floor of the West Wing annex of the hospital.
Not unreasonably, they, like many others, expected the government agencies – police, fire and armed forces perhaps, to come swarming across the countryside and whisk them all away to safety within a few hours of the snow stopping.
They'd have a long wait!
Doris had had a torrid time at the hospital. She had been one of the few nursing staff on the night shift when the really heavy snow started on the Sunday evening. The next day’s events had been scary enough with very few doctors, nurses, administrative, manual and commercial staff or even new patients reaching the hospital. Consequently, Doris had remained at work, slept in one of the rooms set aside for nursing staff and when she rose at midday – it was to a virtual ghost-town.
Most of the night shift had gone home but only about ten percent of the day shift had made it in to work. Doris lived alone in a suburb of Portsmouth, so she had nothing to rush home for. She was a career nurse in her early fifties who had dedicated her life to the sick. She had worked in this hospital all of her working life and had shunned advancement to Ward Manager, as Doris much preferred to work with the patients rather than be bogged down with paperwork and hospital politics.
A positive spin off of the snow was that there were hardly any new arrivals at A & E, mainly because most ambulances were marooned in the snow. Scarcely anybody had turned up for pre-arranged appointments, and those that had, had struggled through the blizzard raging outside only to be quickly despatched back to their homes. There were barely any doctors, nurses or consultants to attend to the patients, so it was pointless for them to remain at the hospital. A negative spin-off was that there were only two surgeons remaining on the premises. Consequently, without the statutory nursing support all surgery had been suspended. It took almost all of the nursing resources just to keep the place ticking over – that is: attending to the patient’s basic needs. Specialist care, such as physiotherapy or occupational therapy, soon died out. There were just over one thousand beds for inpatients at Southampton General, of which just over eight hundred were occupied that morning. None of the planned new inpatients had been admitted that day, and as many as possible had been discharged first thing Monday morning, when the staff quickly realised that the weather was going to cause problems for the ex-inpatients reaching home if they delayed their departures.
Therefore, the depleted nursing staff stationed themselves at their normal wards and tended their charges. Doris was a geriatric specialist, so returned to find her twenty-two old folks not so patiently waiting for a nurse to appear. There was a cross-section of ailments on her books – from acute gout to severe dementia – but the common factor was old age and many of these people were very frail. She had her work cut out and had only two fellow nurses to assist with the onerous task of keeping these patients alive. The last hot food they received was at lunchtime and when the power started to fail during the evening, matters turned from bad to worse.
She tried all the tricks she knew to keep the old people warm through the sub-zero night, but as the temperature dropped and the heating failed, they faced real peril.
By the morning she’d lost most of her charges to the cold.
Doris was devastated but phlegmatic. There were many more patients to care for elsewhere in the hospital, so she applied herself to the task in hand and set about saving as many of these as she possibly could. The senior hospital administrator was actually extremely efficient, and decided to form an action committee to deal with the crisis. Doris was seconded to this working group and became heavily involved with the effort to preserve as many lives as possible.
It wasn’t an easy job.
Because the back-up power did not kick in when the main power failed and there were no engineers to sort the problem, not only did no surgery take place, but intensive care machines ceased to operate and those patients, sadly, died very quickly. It wasn’t very long before the hospital morgue was full and corpses had to be stored in makeshift mortuaries in the basement of the building. People froze to death during most nights, and the daily burden to transport these bodies with some semblance of dignity to the morgue became increasingly difficult and stressful.
Consequently, it was decided to move all patients up to the third floor and keep everyone in as small a space as possible. This was judged to be the best option for keeping people warm, feeding them and treating their ailments. By Day 7 of the crisis there were approximately four hundred people existing on the third floor of the hospital – doctors, nurses, patients and administrators all trying to survive in the extreme cold.
Food, or rather a lack of it, was a serious issue and would continue to be so until rescue arrived. The restaurants, kiosks, vending machines, shops and patients cupboards in the hospital had all been plundered and the supplies transferred to the third floor, where it was strictly rationed. A vast cache of bottled water had been discovered in the basement, which essentially saved the lives of those who made it through till the snow eventually stopped. Of course, there was no hot food to warm the body and soul – not even a hot drink – so, as a result, not only did morale suffer, but also the already frail health of the patients deteriorated rapidly.
Days were spent in abject misery with staff trying their utmost to cheer the patients along, but they themselves were growing weaker and colder, so it was becoming ever more difficult to maintain morale. The daily death rate increased and Doris strongly suspected that none of them would make it through unless it stopped snowing in the very near future.
However, it didn’t, and to make things worse, the top floor roof of the annex caved-in on Day 15, but luckily there was no serious damage to the third floor ceiling, so water did not start seeping through straightaway.
There were less than two hundred survivors on the third floor by the fifth of January and they were in a pitiful state.
Doris was amongst them, and because they were living above the surface of the lying snow, the sunshine streamed through the windows when they tore down the improvised insulation which had been acting as a sort of double glazing against the cold.
They hadn’t the strength to transfer the growing pile of corpses to the cellar, so they were now laid out in rows in one of the wards on the same floor. There was no need to worry about decomposition until temperatures rose again, so each body merely had a sheet draped over it, with a brief form of ID, to preserve some sort of reverence.
Someone had shambled down to the maintenance store in the basement and found a tin of black paint and a few brushes. The nurses provided the sheets and a message was painted onto three adjacent sheets and hung from all four sides of the building.
‘RES CUE US!’ read the message for all to see.
But no-one came.
On the sixth of January a helicopter flew by about two miles away but did not approach the building. Doris and her fellow survivors grew yet more despondent and came close to complete despair. They were cold, hungry, weak and their spirits were at rock bottom.
They truly didn’t know what to do next.
Day 3
Tuesday 16th December
Walthamstow, East London
Chloe Fletcher and the Townsends had spent most of their day off work snuggled up in front of a roaring fire, playing board games, cards and drinking mulled wine like it was going out of fashion. They all eventually returned to their own houses and beds after a particularly hearty supper and rose from their warm beds the next morning fully expecting the snow to have abated, forcing them to make the slushy journey into work.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 56
