Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

Consequently, the five unwilling lighthouse keepers were thrust into a desperate survival exercise. Millar and Kris proved to be excellent organisers and planners. Because the lighthouse was also a restaurant and bar, there were plentiful amounts of food and water in stock. They used propane LPG for heating and cooking, and a substantial log woodpile was quickly transferred into the ground floor reception area. They all slept on the first floor, one room for the Boynes, one for the Millars and one for their son – although this changed to just one room after a week due to LPG rationing. They cooked and ate in the kitchens where a wood burning Aga kept them warm during the day. The lighthouse walls were thick stone, so provided excellent insulation against the wind and snow. Unfortunately, the electricity for the ‘light’ failed after two days – on the Tuesday – and the emergency generator ran out of diesel after a further twenty-four hours. It was doubtful whether anyone would have seen the light even if they were out at sea, as visibility was less than zero!

  This awkward state of affairs continued until the fifth of January, when suddenly the snow stopped falling and the wind dropped. The lighthouse was eighty-six feet high, so although the snow outside was nearly forty feet deep in places, the occupants of the lighthouse had an excellent all round view of the Scottish countryside and Irish Sea. They saw nothing but snow!

  Totally relieved that they had made it through, the five lighthouse custodians set about letting someone know that they were still alive. However, they had only reached this point safely because they had had the resources to do so. Without food, water and warmth they would have perished. The Boynes would probably have died if they had returned home with all of the other guests from the lighthouse. To a great degree it was pure luck that had kept them alive.

  Clearly, the light was non-functioning, so they hung out a sheet facing the sea with a ‘Save Us’ message scrawled upon it, and waited.

  On Friday the tenth of January, a passing helicopter from a Royal Navy frigate spotted the signal and one hour later all five were lifted to safety.

  Day 23

  Monday 6th January

  Tamworth – West Midlands

  Jeff was almost ready to leave the safe haven in the factory unit they had been using as a shelter since the snow began to fall. His wife, Lyndsey, was tremendously excited to be setting off to find their home, which probably lay buried some ten miles distant.

  Jeff was not so confident.

  Firstly, he was unhappy about leaving secure, warm and proven accommodation only to venture out into the unknown. He knew that they were relatively fit, but three weeks of inactivity and dodgy rations had caused a loss of weight for both of them. He felt stiff of body and musty of mind. Jeff wasn’t at all assured that they would find their house, one of many concealed in the snow covered countryside. He didn’t possess an appropriate map and his compass skills were sketchy at best. It was many years since he had successfully completed his Duke of Edinburgh’s Bronze Award and he couldn’t imagine that Lyndsey would be much help. He felt in his heart that she would soon start flagging in the conditions, and it was highly likely that they would end up plodding back to the factory unit within forty-eight hours. Nevertheless, he loved Lyndsey dearly and realised that he must indulge her on this occasion – otherwise he was fairly sure that their relationship would break down.

  It was in this mood that he turned to his wife and asked her if she was ready to go. It was 9am.

  ‘Yes I bloody well am, Jeff. Let's get going, for God’s sake. You’ve checked me over at least twenty times, and you can't put this off any longer. I know you don’t want to go, Jeff, but you must understand my feelings. We must take a chance – and if we fail we can always come back here, can't we?’

  ‘Yes, love,’ Jeff muttered resignedly.

  Jeff had organised the exit point onto the surface from an upper window that remained clear of snow. The overnight cold had frozen the previous day’s melt into an icy crust, and they planned to lower themselves gently onto the surface and, if the crust held, would trudge away. So, he had decided to go first, just in case of a disaster. Jeff had securely affixed his ‘Heath-Robinson’ snow shoes, pulled on his backpack and swung his legs over the sill, and sat on the ledge about two feet above the surface. He gently lowered himself down onto the snow, and slowly transferred his weight fully onto the improvised snow shoes.

  He held his breath and waited for the snow to give.

  It didn’t!

  He took two precarious steps, then two more and then gently made a small orbit of the yard. The snow miraculously held- although in many ways he wished it hadn’t.

  He smiled up at Lyndsey and walked over to the exit window.

  ‘Brilliant! It's okay. Now you lower yourself in the same way and I’ll grab your hand to steady your descent. Smoothly now, gently does it!’

  Lyndsey was already waiting on the sill ready to go. She immediately lowered herself to the snow whilst Jeff took her gloved hand and kept her steady. She was equally successful and after a few tentative steps she beamed at Jeff.

  ‘There, I told you it would be fine, didn’t I?’

  Jeff smiled but inwardly sighed. He realised that this was just one tiny step on a very long and arduous journey.

  ‘Okay, darling, let's make a move. We should go in ….that direction,’ pointing towards the bearing he had taken earlier. He had picked out an object protruding from the snow as a basic guide. Otherwise they could easily end up going round in circles.

  ‘You follow about five yards behind me, slightly to one side, just in case I fall through. We’ll walk for about thirty minutes and then stop to map read and check our kit. I reckon we can make about one mile per hour in these conditions, so, in theory we could reach the house tonight – but I doubt it.’

  ‘The longer you keep whinging on, the later we’ll get there, so stop moaning and get moving!’ Lyndsey was relentless!

  Jeff kept his own counsel and moved off slowly and without further comment, one steady pace at a time, checking the stability of the surface every time he placed a foot down. Lyndsey followed with no such caution and several times Jeff had to ask her to keep the full five yards to his rear. All she did was cast him a contemptuous look.

  They made steady progress throughout the morning, resting every half hour to check their position, take a drink and re-tighten their snow shoes. Jeff was not at all sure of his position, and could only hope that he would spot the old Norman Church tower which was in the adjoining village to theirs. If he could find that, he was reasonably certain he could find the general area of their house.

  He was surprised by Lyndsey’s progress and could only assume that the adrenaline was pumping her forwards. At 3pm, they rested once again for checks and as Lyndsey chomped on a biscuit, she was casually scanning the horizon through her snow goggles. All she could see was the occasional electricity pylon, the odd pine tree top and several church spires. Then she spotted something different.

  ‘Jeff – what's that? Over there – sticking out of the snow. It's not a church spire or building – what is it?’

  Jeff peered in the direction of Lyndsey’s pointing arm and lifted the small pair of binoculars from round his neck to his eyes.

  ‘Well done, love,’ he cried, ‘You’ve done it. It's St Thomas’s in Dalston. It's what we've been looking for – I’d say just over a mile away.’

  Lyndsey let out a whoop and made a small jump of joy, which was an error, as on landing she sank about eighteen inches into the snow. The afternoon sun had softened the crust sufficiently to significantly weaken it.

  ‘STAND STILL!’ shouted Jeff, ‘Stand still!’ Lyndsey’s face was a picture! But she stood still as ordered, a look of terror on her face.

  Jeff approached a shocked and surprised Lyndsey, grabbing for her hand. She seemed to have stopped sinking, so he walked gingerly around to her rear and grabbed her firmly under the arms.

  ‘Now, I’ll lift whilst you extract your legs slowly from the hole. Slowly now, don’t distu
rb any more snow.’

  Jeff heaved and lifted and Lyndsey bent her knees as she removed her lower legs and snowshoes from the hole. Jeff twisted and plonked her down on more secure ground to his left.

  ‘Are you alright, love? Please let that be a lesson. This stuff is treacherous and we must treat it with respect. Now, let's get over to the church, it's going to be dark soon. We’ll probably have to spend the night there.’

  ‘Oh no, Jeff, can't we make it home tonight?’ she pleaded.

  Jeff was now running out of patience.

  ‘No Lyndsey. For God’s sake, will you just listen to me for once! We cannot travel in the dark and we must have shelter overnight. Can you see anywhere else to stay? Well, can you? No! So, just get walking and for once in your life just trust my judgement and stop questioning every bloody move I make!’

  Lyndsey rolled her eyes to the sky and, completely unchastened, set off for the church tower in a huff.

  Jeff kept quiet as he realised that he could never win whilst she was in this mood.

  He was just grateful and immensely relieved that they now had a fighting chance of finding their home. However, how he dealt with Lyndsey when she realised the probable truth would be a different matter.

  Day 25

  Wednesday 8th January

  Sandringham House – Norfolk

  Sir Ian James had been considering the part that the Royal Family had to play in the recovery process.

  He freely acknowledged that the Queen should remain as head of state, but was unsure where she should ‘hold court’. It was unlikely that any of the other British Royal Residences were in a habitable condition, so Sandringham was the only real choice as their temporary home. He planned to move to Brussels as soon as possible – probably during the next seven days – but the entire Royal Family could not stay and ‘live’ at Sandringham indefinitely. Consequently, he had requested an audience with the Queen and other senior Royals to outline his plan.

  ‘Good afternoon, your Majesty. Thank you all for indulging me today. I have some advice to proffer, and hope that you will consent to considering my proposals.’

  The Prince of Wales interjected.

  ‘Good afternoon Prime Minister. We have an inkling regarding your subject of discussion, and it may be that we have pre-empted your proposals. But please carry on and we’ll soon find out whether or not we are of one mind.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Basically, my suggestion is that the vast majority of the Royal Family marooned here in Sandringham should re-deploy to other locations on mainland Europe, and co-ordinate their movements from there with the new government which will be set up in Brussels. I intend to move there very soon in any case. I would propose that each family re-houses itself in Royal Palaces of their own choosing and begin the long, hard road to independent recovery from there.’

  Prince Charles spoke once again.

  ‘Thank you Sir Ian, it appears that we are of one mind. We have already spoken at length on this very issue with Sir Robert and our personal staffs, and have come to the same conclusion. There will be several significant exceptions, however, and these are currently non-negotiable.’

  The PM was somewhat taken aback but relieved nonetheless.

  ‘Please continue, sir. I have an open mind.’

  ‘Her Majesty and my father will remain at Sandringham with their staff, including Royal Protection. My wife and I will also remain. I wish to be included in all major planning for the national recovery. I do not mean to interfere, but I believe I have a significant contribution to make. My two sons and the Duke of York will be offering their services as helicopter pilots and will expect to be deployed at your earliest convenience. The Princess Royal will move to Brussels and represent our interests there as will my youngest brother. The remainder of the family will relocate to palaces throughout Europe and the rest of the world to assist our Embassies with resettlement and issues of morale. They can make a real impact. I have a list of proposed locations which have already been agreed with our potential ‘hosts.’

  Sir Ian was almost at a loss for words, but managed a parting shot.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I believe that this meeting is over. I will implement your proposals immediately.

  Day 27

  Friday 12th January

  Bristol, Avon

  Bryan Wester was a tough cookie and a decent man, if not a chancer.

  Always single, and in his mid-fifties, he lived alone in a small flat in the Louisiana block in Kingsford – a suburb of Bristol. He had been a loner for most of his life, and mainly due to bad luck and being in and out of penal institutions since the age of fourteen. He knew how to look after himself - a muscled and stocky fellow - who stood for no nonsense from anybody and after giving up his life of petty crime, he became a bouncer for local pubs, graduating to doorman at the better Bristol nightclubs and eventually got himself indoors, enjoying several years running smaller bars and clubs.

  He could be charming when required, but did not tolerate fools gladly. At times he rubbed shoulders with some of the West Country’s minor criminals and it was this that eventually caused his downfall. He upset a leading local villain one night – something to do with a woman and a gun – and before he knew it, he was persona-non-grata with the Bristol underworld – although he’d only ever really been on the periphery anyway.

  He was forced to get work labouring and in his mid-forties became a removal man. He lost his little semi in suburbia – couldn’t manage the mortgage - and was forced to live where he was sitting now – in a one bedroomed apartment on the eleventh floor of the Louisiana flats.

  When the snow had started he'd been off work with the ‘flu and had called in sick on the Monday morning – Day 2. By Wednesday it was patently clear that the snow was here to stay and Bryan decided that it was time to act if he wanted to survive. He'd seen the Prime Ministers television broadcast and realised that he'd have to take drastic steps to ensure that he came out of this in one piece.

  The block of flats had twelve storeys, so there was only one floor above his apartment. Kingsford was not a salubrious area in the slightest – in fact it was riddled with low-life, drug users, long-term unemployed, benefit cheats and wasters. Of course, there were some decent folk living around him, but they were in the minority and were continually terrorised by the scum – Bryan’s word - inhabiting most of the building.

  It was these scum that he feared might inhibit his survival.

  He decided to take basic precautions and moved his bed into the excuse for a lounge, along with food, clothes and other useful stuff he might need. When his little shelter was ready, he decided to carry out a recce of the eleventh floor to discover how many other people were still cowering in their flats.

  There were fifteen other flats on his floor section, and to his eternal shame he didn’t actually know any of the occupants by name. He knew a few by sight and nodded a quick ‘hello’ as he passed in the corridor, but generally he kept his head down. He'd been burgled twice whilst out at work, so he just tried to be invisible – a grey man.

  Accordingly, on the Thursday morning, Day 5, he commenced his little investigative trip around the block. The sixteen apartments on this floor were all facing outwards, linked by an external access corridor/balcony and bordered by three-foot railings, so it was possible to walk from Bryan’s flat, which was positioned by the stairwell, all the way round on the outside of the building to the last flat on the other side, which backed onto his and also adjoined the stairwell, and then around the final corner to his own place.

  The first visit he made was to the flat next door.

  No answer. So, he persisted and after several very loud knocks on the door and still provoking no response, he moved on after making a note of the result.

  He tried the next door and after a few seconds a frail voice responded from behind the heavily bolted entrance.

  ‘Who is it? What do you want? Go away?’

  ‘Hello, Mrs,’ Bryan replied, ‘are you
all right? Can I help you?’

  After a few seconds silence Bryan got his reply.

  ‘Just leave me alone. Go away or I’ll call the Police!’ The old lady had learned to be cautious, trusted no-one and would take no risks. Bryan wasn’t surprised by her reaction and saw no profit in harassing the woman.

  ‘Fat chance of the police helping,’ thought Bryan as he moved on to the next flat. This was also apparently empty, as were ten flats in all. That left five others occupied; three with elderly people on their own; one twenty something girl who had calmly requested that he ‘fuck off’; and one family of four who were friendly enough but highly suspicious of his motives.

  Bryan found this information extremely interesting, because tomorrow, if it was still snowing – as predicted – he would try the apparently vacant flats again, and if empty, he had a plan.

  He stood on the balcony on the eleventh floor and surveyed the scene out towards Bristol town centre. The blizzard was in full flow and as he looked down, the cars in the parking bays had all but disappeared. Snow was blocking the entrances and he thought he saw a body lying semi-buried directly under him.

  It was becoming clear that there was little chance of anyone coming to help him in the short term, and even less chance of anyone re-entering the flats. His main concern now was: who else was still in the block, and what steps would they take to secure their own survival over his? As he returned inside his resolve hardened and he knew what he must do.

  By the next morning, the electricity had failed, so any hesitation or qualms he may have fostered disappeared. The snow still blew relentlessly into the outer walkway as he departed his flat, warmly dressed, and armed with his improvised burglary kit. He had a small jemmy, a hammer and a large kitbag. He also wore a balaclava mask – as he didn’t want to be recognised if caught or challenged.

  He approached the first empty flat – the one next to his – and after checking that he was alone on the balcony, knocked loudly several times. There was again no response, so he put his shoulder to the door, shoved and in three seconds was in with the door closed firmly behind him.