Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  ‘What's that Clo? Bad news?’

  Chloe didn’t know what to say. Should she reveal to Brady that she had been in contact with her mother? What would he say? How would he react? Ann was not Brady’s favourite person and this proposal to meet would probably meet with disdain and then disbelief. Nevertheless, she couldn’t continue to hide her mother’s presence from Brady. Yes, he would be extremely displeased when he discovered that Chloe had revealed their approximate location to Ann, but that was now water under the bridge.

  She decided to come clean.

  ‘Have you ever wondered what happened to my mother?’

  For a second, Brady was perplexed at this question out of the blue. And then the penny suddenly dropped.

  ‘Oh dear God,’ he exclaimed, ‘she’s here isn’t she?’ immediately jumping up and scanning the courtyard below for signs of Ann Fletcher.

  ‘No, Dad! She isn’t here. Well, not exactly. Not here – in Cabopino. She's in Fuengi. She wants to meet!’

  Brady sat down and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘How, in God’s name did she find us?’

  Chloe reddened and replied timorously:

  ‘Well, I might have accidentally sort of told her.’

  You WHAT?’ blasted Brady. ‘Why the hell did you do that? How long has this secret liaison been going on?’

  ‘Well, it was only once,’ stuttered Chloe, and went on to explain the method of contact used and the reasons why.

  Brady calmed down slightly, but remained furious.

  ‘You do realise that the CIA/FBI/MI5 might be led to us via your bloody mother. They are hot on her heels – they’ve already got Susie Mac. If Ann is here, then you can be sure that the forces of law and order are not far behind. There is no way that we are having a meet with that woman. In fact, we are getting out of here – PDQ! Your plan to go to Breton is now sounding exceptionally attractive. Shit, Chloe, are you really that stupid?’

  Chloe was suitably contrite and after brief consideration, realised that her father was correct.

  ‘I'm sorry, Dad, I didn’t think.’

  ‘Well it's too late for that now. First thing tomorrow, I'm going out to buy a motorhome. We can spend tonight searching the web for dealers in the local area. We need to get packed and you can start arranging to get some cash from one of your accounts. €50,000 should do it. I want to be on the road by Thursday morning at the latest. We are getting the hell out of Cabopino and away from your mother. Jesus, I'm surprised that we haven’t been arrested already. Shit, Chloe!’

  Chloe remained silent in her embarrassment. She was mortified by her stupidity and realised that further comment or argument served no further purpose.

  So, the pair hit the internet, searching for motorhomes, arranging money supply, planning a route to Breton and intermittently rising from their chairs to start packing.

  Brady was horrified by Chloe’s naivety. However, there was no point in crying over spilt milk. The mistake had been made and now it was time to remedy the situation.

  They were on the run again.

  Would it ever end?

  Day 194 / Z-Day 159

  Wednesday 25 June

  Spain/Breton/UK

  'The Rook' had departed the hill overlooking Swansea long before the allied air attacks began on Monday morning.

  She and five of her most senior lieutenants had instructed the horde to abandon the salvage operation on the Tennessee and head east. Those with weapons teamed up with ammunition carriers and commenced the long plod towards Kent and Sussex and the stepping off points, planning to join up with those of their vile compatriots already there.

  The mutant army was instructed to spread out and to travel through wooded areas in order to make attacks on them more difficult for the human aircraft. This policy worked to a certain degree, exposing only small groups of her followers to strafing and bombing. As a result, the bombers expended far more ordnance than was absolutely necessary, and often only a handful of the horde was destroyed by a full bombload. It was a war of attrition that the humans were losing.

  It was a battle of slow destruction and 'The Rook' had calculated that she could lose half a million of her army and still successfully invade Europe. She had also worked out that realistically, the humans could not possible destroy that many mutants in the piecemeal manner that her tactics had forced upon them.

  She was winning.

  ***

  Brady was up at 6am on the Wednesday morning after a busy night preparing for their escape – if going to Breton could be described in that manner.

  He had found several caravan dealers, but only one stood out. A company called Eurodog, which was located only fifteen kilometres away, and had three motorhomes for immediate sale. Brady had phoned the owner and he was happy to entertain a possible buyer at his leisure – but had insisted on cash payment – the vans available being priced up to €30,000.

  Therefore, Chloe had been busy with her banks. As it was quite late in Spain, she was running out of working hours, so she had to phone Hong Kong, which was just opening for business. After a round of security checks, e-mails and red tape, she managed to obtain €250,000 which she inferred was required immediately to buy a villa. She had also e-mailed her bank in Marbella, advising them of the transfer and demanded that she would be withdrawing €50,000 in cash the next morning at 10am from the closer Riviera branch. She had little confidence that the Spanish would comply and expected interminable delays, but she could but try. In any case, she rang the local branch of La Caixa at one minute after opening time, spoke to the manager and insisted that the €50000 must be ready at 10am, or the remaining balance would be extracted and transferred to another bank which would be ‘more co-operative’.

  Miraculously, as it transpired, the cash was ready and waiting, in €100 and €200 notes, and after signing for her money she and Brady drove up to Eurodog, which lay in the foothills above La Cala de Mijas.

  Two of the vans were too small, but the third was perfect. It was a German-built, fully winterised Spanish registered Burstner A-Class. It was a 2008 plate but in immaculate condition. The 'van slept 6 and had all the extras: DVD/TV, three way fridge, Gaslow refillable bottles, Solar Panels, Alarm, Tracker, rear-view camera, utensils and loads of storage. It was ideal for their purpose and Brady knocked the dealer down from €28K to €23k for cash and no questions asked. There was the question of an NIE (Spanish NI Number) but the dealer was not prepared to lose the sale over a trifling detail. He stated that he would ‘deal’ with the problem. What the authorities didn’t know about, wouldn't hurt them. This suited Brady as he knew his name would not be inserted into the administrative system.

  Brady drove his new motorhome up to Camping Cabopino and checked in for the night. They spent the next few hours visiting the local Lidl to stock up with food, consumables and booze for the journey ahead. They bought maps and the helpful camper on the next pitch gave them an old edition of the ACSI Campsite location booklet. He even loaned them a copy of the ACSI CD-ROM which they copied onto their newly purchased laptop. This provided details of all of the possible campsites they may need en-route to, and in, Breton.

  Next, they emptied their flat and villa of personal items, transferred the luggage to the Burstner, and handed the keys to Jorge with €50 and a request to return them to the landlords when he got a chance. Rent had been paid in advance for six months, so there were no financial issues. The deposits were lost, but Brady said that Jorge could have them if he could persuade the landlord to refund the money.

  Finally, they went for a pizza at Da Bruno which lay right outside the campsite……and guess who was also enjoying an early evening meal.

  Brady almost turned and ran, but Chloe restrained him, grabbing his arm.

  ‘Dad, please. Can we just talk to her. Please. If the CIA are waiting for us – we've had it anyway. What have we got to lose?’

  Brady relaxed a fraction, and halted his sprint for the exit.

  ‘Oka
y, but don’t expect me to be nice!’ he complained.

  They approached Ann, who looked up with no surprise.

  ‘I wondered when you’d turn up,’ she purred, ‘I've been on your tail all day. I didn’t think you’d let Chloe come to Fuengirola. I must say, I'm staggered that you didn’t spot me. Maybe it was that innocuous old Citroen that kept me camouflaged …..and this new hairstyle?’

  Brady was flabbergasted.

  ‘I cannot believe that you have come all this way to haunt us. Chloe said you were on a cruise in the Panama Canal.’

  ‘Oh, I was dahhling, but some bitch from my past recognised me and I had do a vanishing act. I knew Chloe’s approximate location and came here. The rest was child’s play for a woman of my resourcefulness!’

  ‘Oh mother, do shut up!’ warned Chloe, ‘you are not helping yourself. Dad is so furious that you’ve followed us here and put us all in such danger.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly, dahhling, there is no danger. I shook the bastards off weeks ago. The trail is cold. I'm Marie Poitier now of Geneva…and you?’

  Brady was giving nothing away.

  ‘Mind your own bloody business, Ann. I've taken just about all I am going to take from you. We’re telling you nothing!’

  Ann was smirking in a way which was intended to deliberately infuriate Brady.

  ‘And your lovely new motorhome, Mijnheer?’

  Brady was struck dumb.

  ‘Mother, how did you…. Oh yes you’ve been following us. You’ve seen it and I suppose you just asked at reception for our names. Well, what do you want now?’

  A waiter approached the table and took their orders whilst Brady silently considered his options. Meanwhile he ordered a Calzone pizza, whilst Chloe ordered the habitual fillet steak and fries and a bottle of white Rioja to wash it down.

  ‘I’ll also have a large brandy, as quick as you like,’ added Brady as the waiter departed.

  ‘Oh, and another glass of Dom Perignon,’ called Ann.

  The three sat in silence until the drinks arrived, Ann picking at her Paella. Brady swallowed the brandy in one gulp and took a deep breath. The warm, invigorating liquid surged through his bloodstream and after a minute or so, he calmed down enough to muster a smile.

  ‘My God, Ann. How do you bloody do it? I just can't keep up with your bloody scheming and brass neck. How do you get away with it?’

  ‘Skill and talent, dahhling,’ she gloated, ‘and on a completely different subject, when are you off to Brittany?’ I can't bear to call it Breton; I just can't abide what that idiot Irvine is doing.’

  Brady was flummoxed yet again.

  ‘How…..?’

  ‘Oh, you have a very helpful little neighbour on the campsite. A flash of thigh, and a glimpse of cleavage and he revealed all. You should really be more discrete dahhling!’

  At this stage Brady gave up and Chloe took over.

  ‘What's your interest mother? We’re leaving because you’ve compromised our safety. We were happy here until you stuck your nose in.’

  Ann smiled weakly.

  ‘Well, dear, what do you think? I'm in as much peril from the forces of law and order as you are. It's simple. I want to come with you!’

  ***

  Whilst Brady was recovering from the unbelievably crass suggestion that Ann join them on their flight to Breton, the wretched Professor John Forbes lay in his isolation room at the decontamination centre on the outskirts of Brussels.

  He and Abraham were in a terrible state. Abraham da Silva was completely transformed and spent his hours struggling to free himself from the restraints which confined him to the bed in his private room. Nobody had entered the room since Forbes’ unfortunate encounter as it was patently clear that there was nothing to be done.

  As for the Professor, he was well along the road to transmutation. With two positive conversions documented, the Director of the CIA, who was now supervising the decontam centre, would soon inform the ‘Junta’ that their worst fears had been realised.

  Unless a human victim was actually devoured upon contact with a mutant, he or she would transmogrify within seventy-two hours. The slightest exposure to mutant gore – a scratch or even just skin contact - would induce onset of the change. Therefore, if the mutants came ashore in France, any human coming into contact with these creatures was liable to be infected, and then in turn would transform and join the horde within three or four days.

  The implications were clear. Only minimal contact with these mutants should be permitted. They must be destroyed at a distance. Hand to hand combat was to be avoided at all costs, unless protected with impermeable clothing.

  A new way to destroy the horde must be found, and found quickly.

  The head of the CIA looked down at John Forbes with feelings of profound regret and pity. The man he once knew and greatly admired was gone forever – corrupted by the very parasite he had striven to defeat for most of his adult life. He hadn’t really been prepared for this vile new strain and it had taken him unawares. Now, there was no hope for him – or perhaps for anyone.

  Suddenly there was a deafening crack – like a giant whip – and the observation window was splattered with a brown sludge. The Director stepped back in an involuntary defensive action and went for his personal weapon. At first he thought that the glass was compromised.

  However, the pistol would not be required. As he tentatively approached the glass, checking that it was secure, he peered down into the isolation room occupied by Forbes and took in the grim sight below.

  John Forbes lay still, at peace if you like, his head gone – shattered into a thousand pieces.

  'The Rook' had disposed of the two threats to her security. Abraham Da Silva had suffered a similar fate, his bedroom a scene of bloodied gore, now sliding sickeningly down the walls.

  ‘Oh dear God,’ whispered the Director. ‘If they can do this at will, then we can't possibly fight them and hope to win.’

  He instantly grasped the implications of this horrific event. If the population at large learned of this development, then the panic of the past week could be likened to a garden party by comparison. So, he made an instant decision based on the need for damage limitation; turned to his senior aide, drew him aside and spoke quietly but with the absolute authority that went with his rank.

  ‘Walters, I'm returning to HQ to brief the President. You stay here and supervise these people. Nobody , and I mean NOBODY, is to communicate with the outside world. Confiscate their phones, disarm them and lock them all up in one room. Do not let them out until I give you permission – that means from me, Walters, do you understand?’

  Walters nodded, following orders as he had been trained to do.

  ‘In addition, disconnect all computers from the net and all land lines are to be cut off. Destroy everything. Not the computers, but the means to communicate with the outside world. When this lock down is complete, contact me.’

  The Director departed the facility and drove out of the compound. He instructed the driver to park outside, whilst he approached the Guard Commander on foot.

  ‘Major, you know me and my authority?’

  ‘Yes sir. Do you have orders?’

  ‘Yes Major. From this point in time, nobody – and I mean NOBODY – , he repeated, is to enter or leave this compound. The gates are to remain permanently closed and your guards are to remain on the outside of the perimeter. I repeat, there are to be NO exceptions – not even POTUS. Do I make myself clear. Chain the gates closed and await my further instructions. Questions?’

  The Major was perplexed, but knew his duty. The order was clear. He would check with his military commander in due course, but for the present, he was content to follow the Director’s instructions.

  ‘No questions, sir. Your orders will be carried out.’

  The CIA man turned and got back into his car and drove way.

  The decision was made.

  No contact would ever be made again with the occupants of the compoun
d.

  No embarrassing or dangerous information would ever leak out. Walters would see to that.

  None of them, including the unfortunate Walters, would ever leave that compound alive.

  The knowledge they possessed was far, far too dangerous.

  ***

  ‘What!’

  Brady was incredulous.

  ‘You, the bloody Wicked Witch of the West, who has betrayed and deceived everyone you’ve ever known at every turn for the past twenty years, expect me to let you come with us to Breton? You're mad, woman!’

  Chloe was similarly stunned.