Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  Carole and Jim stood as if turned to stone. They couldn’t believe their ears and could say nothing.

  Floods of tears flowed from both sisters as they hugged each other, with Jim joining in unashamedly.

  ‘Is it really true, Grace? Are we really going to escape this nightmare?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she replied, ‘you are going to escape alright, and the bloody UKRA can go to hell!’

  Day 39

  Wednesday 22nd January – 0800

  Cheltenham, England and Brussels

  Dame Susan Macintyre woke with a start.

  She hadn’t a clue where she was and sat up in bed.

  It took about ten seconds for the fog to clear and for her to realise exactly where she lay.

  She threw the duvet back, sat on the edge of the bed and checked the bedside clock.

  8am.

  What in Hades was this place?

  What entitled the government – the powers that be – to decide who should live or die; to choose who should be in control when the smoke settled.

  And so much for their bloody plan.

  It hadn’t worked – their survival of the fittest, their unnatural selection. The bloody snow had seen to that!

  How ironic it was.

  The only surviving brainiac was her!

  All this planning, all this building, all this preparation, all this money spent. And for what?

  For one forty-something spinster spook.

  The joke was certainly on somebody.

  Suzi stood up, stripped naked and took a shower in her private bathroom. It really was like a five star hotel. Incredible – perhaps she’d go for a swim later!

  She dressed in the trendy tracksuit and soft shoes provided after drying her hair, and by 9am she was ready for the fray.

  She was going to find out exactly what was going on here, and just precisely how she was going to get out!

  The permanent staff bustled around as she took breakfast. Major Lord joined her for a coffee and brought the comms man, Lieutenant Ray Wilson to meet her.

  ‘Ray will show you round the comms set up, ma'am, and show you what's going on outside on the CCTV. It's pretty bad. Today’s Thursday the eighteenth and life outside has all but stopped. In any case, I’ll leave Ray to fill you in. I’ve got a meeting with the chef.’

  ‘Thank you Major,’ replied Suzi icily, ‘I’ll have some questions for you later, I'm sure.’

  Major Ford gave her an old-fashioned look and moved away, allowing Ray Wilson to brief her on the current situation.

  ‘Perhaps we can go to the radio room ma'am, and I’ll bring you up to date.’

  Dame Susan followed the Lieutenant from the Royal Engineers across the main lounge and into the comms room. It was crammed with computers, television monitors, radio sets, telephones and commercial TVs with digital set top boxes attached.

  ‘We still have the ability to listen out ma'am, but the BT lines are down. The snow has brought down power lines, and pylons and TV masts are becoming choked with drifting. This is affecting their ability to function. The internet has failed and mobile phones are useless, either because no-one can recharge or the provider has stopped its service. TV stations have stopped broadcasting as staff and equipment succumb to the cold. Power stations are ceasing to function and the first power outages have already occurred. It's Armageddon out there.

  All forms of transport – car, bus, train, aeroplane have ceased to operate. Before the electricity failed on the surface, we had links to CCTV at strategic points around the capital - and they showed us that the ferocity of the storm is unprecedented. People are literally dying in the streets.’

  Suzi was surprised that the country and its infrastructure had collapsed so rapidly.

  ‘Is nobody in control out there?’

  ‘We do have radio contact with Downing Street. The PM and some of his aides and staff are skulking in the cellars. Their set up is similar to ours, but not quite so sophisticated. It's very difficult to excavate under No 10. We can also speak to Sandringham. The Queen and the majority of her family are safely sheltered, and are in excellent hands. Other contacts include the Embassies in Paris, Bonn, Madrid and Rome. We have no contact outside Europe. I suspect that our dishes on the surface are snowbound.’

  ‘So, what is happening out there? What's the prognosis?’

  Lt Wilson didn’t pull his punches when replying.

  ‘Basically – it's snowing out there – like it's never snowed before. Before they went off the air, the met men predicted up to two weeks of incessant snow. It's unparalleled – anywhere in the world. The consequences of such a storm for human life is cataclysmic. You ask what is happening out there, ma'am. In short, people are dying – and in huge numbers.’

  Suzi gazed at a monitor that displayed the scene on the surface at the main entrance to the building above.

  It was a complete whiteout!

  The blizzard was intense and snow was drifting well above the height of cars. It was quite clear that human survival in those conditions was nigh on impossible.

  She didn’t quite know what to think or say or do.

  So she stood up, thanked the Lieutenant and walked back into the anteroom. She approached the bar and asked George Cohen for a double vodka, which he poured without comment.

  Suzi downed the spirit in one and slammed the empty glass on the bar top.

  George Cohen was phlegmatic.

  ‘You’ve been speaking to Ray Wilson then, ma'am.’

  ***

  By the 22nd of December the snow had been falling without a break for about a week, and Suzi remained the sole senior executive to reach the GCHQ Comms protection facility.

  And it appeared that this state of affairs was not going to change.

  The permanent staff continued with their daily routines, but slowly adopted a more relaxed posture and morphed into guests rather than part of the workforce. Suzi soon became bored and asked Robert Lord if there was job she could do. He shrugged and indicated that there wasn’t enough work for his team to do, let alone find employment for an intelligence analyst. There was no real intelligence to analyse anyway.

  Suzi suggested that she might assist Ray Wilson in the comms room and Lord agreed.

  ‘Perhaps you can contact as many other survivors as possible and collate a report on their location and progress, he suggested.

  Suzi readily agreed and spent the rest of the day, Monday the twenty-second attempting to make contact with as many stations as she could.

  The first call was made to the ‘Doughnut’ in Cheltenham proper.

  The news was not good.

  When the snow began the previous Sunday, only the weekend shift were present and no senior staff were at the facility. By Monday morning, the weather was so bad that nobody on the next shift made it into work – on the contrary, weekend staff were being encouraged to go home.

  The man in charge was a Grade 4 civil servant and by Tuesday, he had received instructions to shut down intelligence operations and concentrate on survival. He had done his best, but was fighting a losing battle.

  He had forty-three personnel under his command. All were mainly low-grade analysts and technicians plus a handful of admin staff, cooks and cleaners. The building was cut off, the electricity had failed, and they were using LPG in the staff canteen to provide heat and food. Their outlook was bleak.

  Suzi had been told not to reveal her location, and if pressed was to state that she was staffing a government listening post. She certainly was not to reveal that she was living in a deluxe underground five star hotel!

  The Prime Minister’s office was not remotely interested in her situation, and the senior Royal Protection Officer at Sandringham was polite but dismissive. Clearly, Suzi and her bunker were of no practical use to anybody, and consequently they had little concern for her personal situation.

  She radioed the Embassies in Europe and those that answered gave as many details that they had concerning the situation in Britain
. It was harrowing, and the storm was predicted to last until early January!

  They also described the growing chaos and influx of refugees into France, Belgium and Holland, and more than once Suzi privately and guiltily thanked her lucky stars.

  At the end of the day, she prepared a briefing for the staff and made a brief presentation in the anteroom before dinner was served.

  ‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we are on our own for the duration. It seems that – excepting for my fortuitous presence – this project has failed to achieve its primary aim. I'm not saying that I'm not grateful, but whoever designed this concept clearly didn’t contemplate this specific scenario! With that in mind, I believe – with Major Lord’s permission – that should I assimilate myself into your small community and muck in. My friends call me Suzi – and so should you.’

  Robert Lord stood up and responded.

  ‘Thank you Dame Susan – Suzi – we appreciate your sentiments and accept wholeheartedly. However, I suggest that we maintain a basic military discipline, but I'm happy for Christian names to be used for present, As you all know I am Robert. Now, Gordon, what have you got lined up for Christmas?’

  There followed an animated discussion concerning the coming festivities, all agreeing that it was pointless to continue in sackcloth and ashes. Yes, they all had family out in the snow – but they accepted that particular risk when they accepted their position on the team. In a nuclear holocaust relatives would certainly have been killed. Therefore, they decided to continue as best they could – keeping fit, healthy and sane.

  Consequently, they fell into a routine of athletic pursuits, snooker competitions, card schools, swimming and reading. Unfortunately, there were no massages!

  Christmas came and went, and a brief seasonal service was conducted by Bob Lord in the chapel. The ten survivors quietly remembered their relatives and friends out in the snow and then repaired to the dining room, where Gordon Banks had prepared a feast fit for Royalty.

  Lobster cocktails, pate, asparagus, rich soups and Parma ham for starters; turkey, goose, beef, and honeyed ham for the main course with every trimming imaginable. Champagne flowed as Major Lord relaxed the drinking restriction for this one day only, and a giant Christmas Pudding with brandy cream and custard, followed by a cheeseboard and port finished off the superb repast.

  There were even Christmas crackers and a ‘Secret Santa’ sack, wherein everyone had wrapped and placed a small present, and members of the team each pulled out a surprise gift – mainly alcohol based.

  A fantastic day was had by all. The clearing away and washing up was shared, whilst Gordon relaxed and supped brandy. Silly Christmas games were played until the small hours until the party started to break up, and the merrymakers staggered back to their bedrooms. Bob Lord suspected that pairing off was in progress – including Gordon the chef and Roger from admin, but he said nothing and ignored the possible consequences. Everybody seemed happy enough, so he left well alone.

  And talking of being alone, Suzi and the gallant Major were the last to leave. Both sipping large brandies, they chatted idly about their situation whilst Suzi was inwardly debating whether to let Robert have his real Christmas gift. She was undecided and contemplated that the snow couldn’t last forever, and she didn’t want a tame puppy dog sniffing round her when she reached civilisation again. In any case, he was a good ten years her junior – but on further consideration, that might be a bonus rather than a drawback!

  Robert Lord was also considering his options. He was almost certain that Suzi was ‘game for a laugh’. She had provided enough positive signals throughout the day and if he made a move now, he was sure that the day would end with a bang!

  The only debate in his mind was whether to take her back to his own private quarters, or perhaps he should gamble and attempt a visit to the ‘special’ room down the corridor. Again, he was almost positive that Suzi was very excited by the prospect, but he was uncertain as how to broach the subject.

  In the end, the decision was made for him.

  ‘Robert, thank you for such a lovely day. In other circumstances, it would have been perfect, but…..’

  ‘I understand, Suzi, but we must play the cards we are dealt. There really is no profit to be made by moping and brooding about what's happening outside. Can I walk you to your room?’

  Suzi saw what was coming and didn’t hesitate.

  ‘Of course, Robert. How gallant of you!’ she teased.

  They both stood up, Robert took her by the waist and they kissed passionately. Suzi said nothing when he led her to her door, but pulled him inside, kicking the door shut and falling in a heap of arms and legs onto her double bed, pulling at each other’s clothes in a frenzied passion.

  Major Lord realised that the ‘special’ room would have to wait until another day, and so applied himself to the matter at hand, which at that particular moment was Suzi’s voluptuous breast squashed into his face.

  A ‘special’ night ensued in any case.

  ***

  The next morning, everything returned to normal. Robert Lord had snuck back to his own room at around 7am, and most of the team slept through until mid-morning. Banks, the chef, rustled up a huge brunch consisting of cold meats, pickles, salads, mashed potatoes and bubble and squeak. Plenty of coffee and fizzy water was consumed and the afternoon was taken up with DVD showings of ‘The Great Escape’, ‘A Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special’, followed by ‘It's a Wonderful Life.’ Most retired to their rooms early, and the pairing up of the previous evening was not noticeably repeated.

  Although drinking restrictions had been once again temporarily lifted, most of the team drank sensibly or not at all.

  The days passed slowly and the reports of European chaos continued to filter in. Consequently, there was little that they could do except monitor the situation. New Year’s Eve was muted, as it was their sixteenth day in captivity, and the novelty was wearing thin. However, Major Lord maintained standards and the group functioned efficiently and in good humour.

  Suzi became a tad tipsy leading up to midnight, and spontaneously knocked on Bob Lord’s bedroom door at around 2am. He led her to the ‘special room’ where she indulged in a few fantasies, and spent three hours handcuffed to the bed wearing a great deal of rubber and massage oil. Both were late risers, and seemed to be walking bow-legged for the morning period.

  On the fifth of January, Roger Hunt came running out of his office babbling excitedly.

  ‘It's stopped snowing. I’ve checked with Downing Street and Sandringham – and it's definitely stopped snowing. Thank God!’

  Major Lord strolled wearily over to the comms room from his private office to view the CCTV of the area round the building. There was no sign of falling snow and he witnessed the blue skies in every direction.

  ‘Lieutenant Hunt is correct,’ announced the Major, instantly returning to the formality of using his rank, ‘it appears to have stopped. We will double check with Downing Street, and I will consult the orders for evacuation procedures. In the meantime – I think a bottle of fizz is in order George.’

  A cheer went up round the room as people scrabbled to take a confirmatory look at the CCTV.

  Dame Susan watched Lord return to his office and approached his door.

  ‘Need any help, Major?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied non-committally, ‘there are strict procedures for vacating the facility, but mostly they apply to a nuclear or chemical environment. That doesn’t apply here. We don’t need to complete sniff tests or send a guinea-pig out into the atmosphere. Our biggest problem is digging ourselves out through the snow if we make it to the surface! By the look of the CCTV cameras, the snow is almost forty feet high in places. I also wonder how the building upstairs is coping structurally.’

  Suzi was mildly mystified by his caution.

  ‘What do you mean – dig ourselves out? Why can't we just take the lift up to the fifth floor and walk out?’

  The Maj
or looked up tiredly and tried to explain.

  ‘It's not that easy ma'am. Firstly, if the roof has given way under the weight of snow, then we don’t really know how far the lift will go up. Say we reach the fourth floor and it's secure, all we will have done is exposed ourselves to a snowy tomb. How do you propose we dig ourselves out? Even if we could, we don’t have snow survival clothing or skis. How would we travel? How far would we get? Who is going to pick us up? There are many questions to be answered, before I can authorise a full evacuation. For the interim, we are far better advised staying put. I will make contact with the new British government in Brussels – I understand that several high-ranking politicians and diplomats have set up an alternate administration in the city, and will be co-ordinating rescue operations. It may be several days until they are ready to get us out. In any case, we have contingency plans, which I will discuss in due course.’

  Suzi was impressed. The Major was clearly on the ball and not prone to knee-jerk reaction. However, she pressed him on one point.

  ‘Won't you at least try the lift?’

  ‘Look behind you, ma'am.’

  Suzi turned around and she found Neddy Stiles dressed in combat gear and warm outer clothing.

  ‘Reporting as ordered, Major.’

  Suzi held her arms up in apology.

  ‘My error Major. I won't interfere again. Sorry.’

  ‘Thank you ma'am. Perhaps you could instruct chef to prepare something special for dinner tonight. We finally have something to really celebrate this evening.’

  As Suzi departed, Captain Stiles entered the Major’s office and received his orders. Five minutes later, he had travelled through the two air locks and the reinforced lead door, and was standing at the lift awaiting its arrival. It appeared to be functioning, but just to check he sent it up to the fifth floor, waited, and brought it down again. All seemed well.

  He entered the lift and selected Floor G. The elevator climbed upwards and stopped on the Ground Floor. The doors opened and he was relieved to encounter no snow. However, it was very dark and he required a strong torch to find his way. He walked out into the corridor, shining the light this way and that, checking for structural failure. There was none. He entered an office, raised the blinds, and was confronted with snow packed up against the window, rising above ceiling height. He completed a brief tour of the ground floor, taking in the reception area and the kitchen/cafeteria. Except for the cooked food laid out by Dame Ann, which Neddy found mildly surreal, nobody had been here, but both areas were entombed and freezing.