Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  Sir Ronald vacated his seat in Lord Irvine’s private office, making room for the military Triumvirate. The First Minister wanted a brief update on conditions in the UK before going on parade before the Fourth Estate later in the day.

  They had some disquieting, astonishing, and quite candidly, utterly preposterous news to impart.

  Z-Day 1

  19th January

  Carmarthen, Wales

  Kelly Rook – or now, just ‘The Rook’ – had died badly.

  Kelly had lived on her own in the small hamlet of Meidrim, near Carmarthen in Wales.

  When the snow began to fall, she had been at home, tending her small rural business.

  The entrance leading to the narrow track to her home was barely visible from the main road through the village during the day, let alone at night. The muddy path curled its way down towards her house, which stood next to the common and straddled a small stream. Consequently, it was no surprise that the large two-storey building had been named ‘The Mill’.

  She lived there alone and ran a small cottage industry selling antiques and second hand junk, vegetables grown in her extensive garden and frozen wood pigeons she had shot in the patch of woodland to the rear of her property. A small dog, a cat and a talking parrot made up the ensemble, which co-existed very happily in the tiny Welsh community.

  At first, the snow was merely an inconvenience.

  However, after a few days she realised that it had become a survival situation. She was relatively isolated, living next to the common, as the main village lay about fifty feet above her. It wasn’t long before she was completely cut off and found it impossible to even venture outside. At first, she had abundant supplies of logs for fuelling her wood burning stove, which in turn heated water in a cistern in the loft space. She also had a tank of central heating fuel oil, but this became redundant when the main electricity supply failed.

  So she used candles for light and moved herself and the pets into the kitchen where it was warmest. Food was in good supply, as her domestic freezer was full to bursting in preparation for Christmas; so for the first week she survived.

  But only just.

  Water soon began to run short.

  She used the wood burner to melt snow, but after ten days, the blizzard had raged so fiercely that she was unable to access her supply of logs, which lay stacked in the carport outside the back door. This door now had four feet of snow drifting up against it, preventing her exit, however much she tried to clear it.

  Consequently, she had no heating, no hot water in the tank, and no way to provide herself with water. She was unwashed, freezing cold and the animals were beginning to smell, and had started to get seriously on her nerves. To make things worse, she developed a severe case of diarrhoea, which had now made the two toilets extremely unsanitary and unpleasant.

  She became progressively weaker and colder and had clearly picked up an infection, for which she desperately needed antibiotics.

  On Christmas morning, the cat died.

  On Boxing Day, she discovered the dog gnawing at the cat in hunger. It snarled viciously when Kelly attempted to approach.

  On the twenty-seventh of December, the dog also died, having vacated its bowels all over the living room where Kelly had laid the cat and imprisoned the dog.

  The stench was unbelievable.

  Kelly retreated to the kitchen and freed the parrot, which couldn’t be bothered to even leave its cage.

  Kelly died of exposure on New Year’s Eve.

  On New Year’s Day, the parrot pecked out her eyes and gnawed at her neck.

  Twenty-four hours later, the parrot also expired.

  Kelly’s demise was representative of many, many thousands of Britons trapped in their homes by the snow.

  Her death had only been a matter of time, but was hugely significant in the months to come.

  ***

  On Saturday, the eighteenth of January, some two weeks after the snow had ceased, a Chinook helicopter landed on a small hillock high above Meidrim, and a troop of soldiers de-planed and began the search for survivors in the small village and surrounding area.

  They accessed several farmhouses and were surprised that some were empty. There was ample evidence of the occupant’s attempts at survival, but few bodies were found at each scene.

  This occurrence soon became commonplace, with only a moderate percentage of the properties giving up corpses. The Lieutenant in charge became concerned, and then alarmed at the apparent lack of dead bodies, and so called his troop together at the small chapel that lay at the top of the village.

  When the pre-emptive attack came, the soldiers put up a brave fight, but within two hours, not one of them was still alive.

  When the helicopter returned for the scheduled pick-up, not a living soul was there to meet them.

  ***

  ‘The Rook’ stood alone. Motionless – arms hanging lifelessly at its side.

  The creature had no eyes. The sockets were empty and the lids torn away.

  Its’ clothing was filthy and hung in shreds, barely covering the once prized modesty – not that this concerned it one iota.

  ‘The Rook’s’ skin was covered in pus-infested sores, and the throat had an enormous gash exposing gore and infected secretions. Its face was dotted with peck marks – the result of unjustified retribution from the starving parrot. Her fingernails had rotted and had fallen out, as had chunks of her hair. The remainder hung in lifeless, filth ridden hunks.

  'The Rook' presented a vile, revolting and truly horrific sight.

  She, or rather, it, was …… undead!

  Day 160

  Friday 24th May

  St Kitts, West Indies

  Since eliciting the information about Chloe/De Marco from Ignatius the estate agent, Brady had initiated a stake out on Coconut Breeze, her villa in the foothills above Middle Island.

  He had hired a 4x4 vehicle, using the hotel concierge to make the booking. He insisted on a built-in satnav, explaining that he planned to circumnavigate the island and didn’t want to get lost.

  At 11am on Thursday he drove out towards the area of Middle Island, having programmed the satnav. He took the coast road and travelled west and north past Brumaire, Boyds and Trinity. The entire journey was only five or six miles and almost before he knew it, the satnav was instructing him to turn right onto the road leading up to the villa. It was a purpose built, tarmacked road, lined with palm trees and expensive looking villas lying well back, and spaced at about three hundred metre intervals. The 4x4 was hardly necessary! There must have been recent road improvements.

  Coconut Breeze was about a mile up on the left, and an extended purple flowered jacaranda branch hanging over the stone wall lining the property almost concealed the moderate iron-crafted nameplate. A tall, spiked, iron gate guarded the villa, and Brady spied a dog handler with his alert Alsatian standing idly on the front driveway.

  ‘Well-guarded,’ thought Brady. ‘Something to hide?’

  He continued another half mile up to the end of the lane and parked up for a few minutes.

  He considered his options.

  It was a very quiet and clearly exclusive area. If he lurked in his car waiting for Chloe to arrive, then it wouldn't be very long before somebody questioned his presence. So he decided to drive back to the coast road and take a drink at the ‘Sprats Net’ bar and restaurant, which he had noticed in Old Road Village as he'd passed on the way up. He could consider his alternatives over a relaxing cold beer.

  Five minutes later, he was sitting overlooking the ocean with a long, frosty Carib draught beer. He attempted to rationalise the situation. What choices did he have? He couldn’t just sit and wait outside the villa – it might be months before this De Marco woman re-appeared. Of course, he could just walk up to the front gate and ask to speak to her. That might work. In the final analysis, it might even be his best chance. Alternatively, he could go back to Ignatius and question him further, but decided that he'd only do th
at as a last resort. He didn’t want to spook the woman.

  Brady’s other option was to perhaps rent a villa and wait it out. He might just bump into her by accident at a beach bar or restaurant. However, that might take weeks or months - or even years – or never! He couldn’t just rely on luck.

  On the other hand, he could just park at the end of the road and follow any car that turned up it in the vague hope that it might be Chloe. No, that was a ridiculous idea. He'd be spotted and moved on within hours – if not minutes.

  No, he'd have to enlist some further assistance – and he knew just the four ladies for the job.

  Decision made, Brady finished his beer and returned to his hotel, where he instructed the concierge to book him another table at the Four Seasons. He would have to endure their demanding and lascivious company for another long evening.

  ***

  Meanwhile, back in Brussels, the new First Minister was attempting to make sense of the strangest discussion he had ever undertaken.

  His three military advisors had set out the findings of an extensive and comprehensive review into conditions on the UK mainland since the beginning of March. Sir Ian James, the Prime Minister who had been appointed by Queen Elizabeth after the suicide of the previous incumbent, had resigned on the third of March.

  Confusion and recriminations had followed, and when the details of the gold theft came to light, the UKRA administration was cast into complete disarray and disrepute – from which it would never recover. As a direct consequence, by the end of March, Lord Irvine had been approached by the military to take over as First Minister, when they decided that a firmer and more reliable hand was required.

  Lord Irvine had brokered the Breton plan with the full support of the military, and consequently had allowed them to supervise the continuing rescue and recovery mission in the old UK. His interest in that aspect had been minimal up until now, as he had already privately acknowledged that as a viable and habitable country, it was finished – for up to at least fifty years or more at any rate.

  And, what he had just heard confirmed that view beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  ‘Dear God! Is what you are saying really true? How can it be? Surely, this is the stuff of fiction? What you are saying is simply not possible! Please tell me this is all just a horrible dream – a distasteful hoax!’

  The three military advisors exchanged worried glances before the Air Force Marshal confirmed the situation, amplifying the report lying on Lord Irvine’s desk.

  ‘Sir, I can assure you that, however implausible, the findings of the report are indisputable. After we have finished here, I would strongly suggest that you accompany us to the mortuary in the basement of the British hospital here in Brussels, to view the remains of three bodies snatched from the mainland by our troops.’

  Lord Irvine was shocked to the core. He could only slowly shake his head and indicated that Lord Harris should continue.

  ‘If I may, I will summarise the situation as I see it, relating the story of the operation instigated to rescue snow survivors up to the current point in time. I believe that it is critically important that you are fully aware of all of the facts concerning this phenomenon. There will be widespread scepticism and you will need to explain the crisis from an indisputable position of knowledge. To this end, in a few moments a Professor John Forbes will be meeting with us to clarify a few of the ‘facts’ regarding the unprecedented crisis about to envelope this part of the world.’

  The Air Marshal paused to sip his tea and commenced his narrative:

  ‘We now know that Dame Ann Fletcher was not murdered in the car in Brussels, but more likely it was her ‘doppelganger’, the unfortunate Carol Leslie who ended up in the ditch with Richard Castle. That was on the thirteenth of February. We also know that the three women, Fletcher, her daughter and Macintyre flew to Caracas, where we lost them as they disappeared to another, as yet unknown location, probably in the Americas. The search for them continues and we are drawing ever closer to bringing these women to justice.

  However, whatever opinion one might have of the vilified Dame Ann, one must acknowledge that she used her boundless initiative and force of character to set up the UKRA here in Brussels, and prompted the Rescue and Recovery operation over the UK. Without that superb effort, many thousands of survivors would have perished. She achieved a great deal with her vision. She coordinated a fantastic plan, bullying the other European nations into co-operating with the rescue. She co-opted equipment and personnel from all over the world. At the final count, over forty three thousand souls have been picked up alive from the mainland. Sadly, over ten thousand have subsequently died of their deprivations. The last living survivor was flown out of the UK on the last day of January.

  The corpse recovery and burial programme at the designated island sites has now been suspended. The thousands of volunteer gravediggers have been withdrawn and resettled. I will come to the reason for this move in due course.

  Royal Naval shipping continues to patrol for bodies floating in the seas off the coast, and heavy lift helicopters are returning the bodies, after identification, to the UK. I regret to report that the cadavers are being dropped into the main Scottish lochs. This appears to be our best option. It was felt wholly inappropriate to dump the bodies on land, where they would be a target for the vermin that is now reasserting itself. The prevention of disease is an important factor.

  Up to now, just over one hundred thousand bodies have been dealt with in this way. It is extremely distressing and exhausting work for the servicemen involved. We will be addressing their resettlement in great detail, and there will be special treatment and rewards for these people. Agreed?’

  Lord Irvine nodded.

  ‘To continue. The Air Force and Army Air Corps have been conducting daily missions across the country since the beginning of March, even though since the middle of April setting down on the surface has been forbidden. Again, more of that later.

  The Royal Navy has intercepted three hundred and sixty five vessels attempting to land illegally – to loot, one can only assume. Eighty-three of these boats have been sunk, with their crews, by gunfire; fifty five have been rammed or run down and the remainder scuttled after their crews were apprehended and returned to their home countries for criminal disposal. Many are now languishing in European jails. Many have told extraordinary stories of their experiences on land in the UK. There have been wild claims asserting that cannibalism is taking place on a wide scale.

  Since the 1st of May, the Royal Navy has fired on and sunk any and all unidentified vessels without warning. If a boat enters the three-mile limit without authorisation, then it’s down to Davy Jones locker she goes - and quite rightly so. These thieves are intent on desecrating what has become a National Graveyard. We will show them no quarter.

  The RAF has shot down twenty-two light aircraft and one jet. Any aeroplane below thirty thousand feet is fair game.

  So, to summarise. The UK is now closed to any unauthorised personnel. Our armed forces are patrolling night and day and have been successful - up to a point. Clearly, the British coastline is vast. A determined assault in a remote location is bound to succeed. However, it appears that looters may have bitten off more than they can chew.

  Physical conditions on the surface are appalling.

  As we know, it snowed for three weeks. The thaw came and with it rain. This caused extensive flooding which only exacerbated the situation. As you are aware, the snow destroyed many buildings, the thaw drenched the interiors, and the flood has washed everything away. Millions of corpses – both animal and human – are floating in huge piles of detritus – consisting of building remnants, plant life and all of the other vestiges of modern existence. It is truly disgusting – totally uninhabitable.’

  Once again, the RAF officer paused. He was now ready to introduce Professor Forbes, who had been waiting in another office along the corridor.

  ‘Which brings me onto the main subject of our meeting today. Ju
st what the hell is going on in the UK. There are millions of dead. We have rescued tens of thousands – yet there is still human movement on the surface. And to explain the possibilities is our ‘guest speaker and expert,’ Professor John Forbes of the Cambridge Institute for Paranormal Activity, Massachusetts. He should be able to throw some light on the matter. I suggest, sir, that you keep an open mind. I do not need to remind you that one hundred and sixty seven servicemen have been reported missing or killed since the thaw began – all without reasonable explanation. In addition, the gold extraction force in London is under constant siege. This situation is very real.’

  He picked up the phone and called for Professor Forbes to be admitted.

  The four leaders of the British people sat in numbed silence until a gentle knock came on the door. Professor Forbes, forty-ish, tall, slender and bespectacled entered the office and took the seat offered. He had a large black leather briefcase, which he set down by his feet.

  Lord Irvine spoke.

  ‘Professor, thank you for attending our meeting today. I understand that you can enlighten us as to what may be happening on the British mainland.