‘In the early days we had a few running battles for control of key areas in the north, but they were only small, we lost men, but still held the areas.’
‘I think I might have seen the aftermath of one of those battles,’ I interrupted. ‘We walked over a field full of dead bodies, thousands of them, frozen where they fell.’
‘Where was that?’
‘I cannot remember exactly, I think it was between Edinburgh and Dumfries, it was before I reached you wasn’t it?’ I said, looking to Bernard for some help.
‘Yeah’ he replied, ‘You mentioned something about it.’
‘We lost contact with a division from Fort George in Inverness’ replied Captain Riddle. ‘They were on their way here following an operation to obtain a mains generator from a factory on the outskirts of Peebles. When they didn’t turn up, we sent out a team to investigate, but found no trace of them.’
‘This wasn’t a team though, it was an army of some kind. There was thousands of bodies, field after field of them.’
‘Well it wasn’t a battle we were involved in, but I’m sure there are other army’s and factions, all fighting the same fight as us.’ Captain Riddle asked me to show him on a map where I believed the field might be located, which I did as best I could. ‘So your not planning on attacking Torriero?’ I asked.
‘No, but a battle is approaching, we have several reports from lookout points, that he is moving men in preparation for an attack.’
‘Are you more concerned with the creatures or Torriero?’
‘We are more cautious about things we don’t understand, but each day we are learning more. Torriero is just a puppet, he has taken on the mantle of the creatures mouthpiece, we need to learn more about them if we want to win this war.’
‘Are you ready?’
‘We are always ready, we have over six thousand soldiers, with superior weapons and ammunition, and we are training all men over the age of seventeen for combat.’
‘How many men does Torriero have?’
‘We’re not hundred percent sure, but our reports suggest around three thousand, and a large majority of them are not really his men, just desperate people they have picked up along the way.’ We had a walk around on the raft to stretch our stiff legs, it was the size of a London bus, made from salvaged wood and rope. Two speedboats were needed to pull it, which were now moored up at the front of the raft, bobbing up and down on the tide. The soldiers offered us a place on the raft, but I explained, after getting this far we wanted to complete the journey on our own, besides they hadn’t finished their job which could take a further few hours. We took directions from them and continued down Garstang Road towards Blackpool, as the weather started to close in, and the winds picked up. The night was on its way, and we really wanted to reach the camp before it became to dark to navigate. We followed the A586 by boat until the water started to decrease before Blackpool, quickly reducing until the bottom of the boat was bouncing off the road beneath. When it wouldn’t move any further, Bernard and I jumped out into the cold, knee deep water, and pulled the boat up onto the tarmac. I leaned over to catch my breath, and put my hand into my jacket, down the neck of my jumper to the wound throbbing on my neck. The bandage had come away, bloody water covered my fingers, so I tried to patch it up as best I could. ‘We are near the sea’ shouted Emma. ‘Look James, sea grass, this is the grass you get near the sea.’ The brothers ran over to Emma, who was on her knees with her hands in the gritty sand by the side of the road, she lifted them into the air, letting the sand tumble to the floor. The long wavy black grass was clumped together in patches, it blew around as the coastal winds picked up. I took a deep breath in through my nostrils, and convinced my self I could smell the sea. We set off again, all on foot, with the rope attached to the boat still rubbing on my painful neck wound. ‘First one to see the sea is the winner’ I shouted, hoping it would give the kids enough motivation to keep walking. As we got closer to the coast, we came to a roundabout, with the town stretching out in front of us. Bleach white holiday houses with water stains high up their walls, debris and rubble had collected in the gardens, and in piles around the edge. Wooden torches had been set alight and placed on either side of the road, to help people find their way, made from what looked like scavenged pieces of wood. From a distance they resembled a runway for an approaching plane at night. There were people inside some of the houses, I observed them moving from room to room, inspecting the damage, and cleaning up. A man was standing in a garden three houses down from the roundabout, he stopped what he was doing and watched us pulling the boat towards him until we were close enough to speak. ‘You won’t need that boat’ he laughed. ‘The waters gone, all of it.’ He was an old, wrinkly gentleman, with white hair and missing teeth. He had a pair of dark blue overalls on, and was cleaning his garden as we arrived. ‘Is this your house?’ I asked.
‘I’ve lived here for seventy nine years’ he replied, throwing a roll of sodden carpet onto a pile by his overflowing bin. His house was a small cottage with a wooden fascia, the garden stretched from the front of the property, around the side to the back, all of which looked well maintained, if a little damp.
‘Did it flood?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, everywhere flooded around here. I prepared for it but it wasn’t enough, it made the floods of two thousand and fourteen look like a drizzle.
‘Did you see the water arrive?’
‘I did, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen.’
‘What happened?’
‘I was helping my neighbour, Bill, chopping a tree down in his garden for fire wood, it was the first morning we could get outside in weeks, as we’d been suffering from violent storms for as long as I can remember. A few other neighbours had the same idea and we’re taking the opportunity to get some jobs done. The main thing I remember about that morning was how strangely calm it seemed, I remember looking up at the sky and thinking we might actually be over the worst of it. When we had loaded all the wood into Bill’s garage, I nipped into my house for a toilet break when there was a tremendous noise outside, I ran to the bedroom window as the water hit.
‘What did it look like?’
‘Like a tsunami, the wave came straight down the street, taking with it anything not fixed down. The whole house shook, I thought it was going to tear apart. It took Bill right off his feet, he never stood a chance, none of them did.’
‘Was he killed?’
‘I can only presume, I never saw him again, I tried to help but most people drowned before they realised what was happening. It came without warning, like something out of the bible.’
‘How long before you got help?’
‘I was stuck in my house for days, just trying to stay alive, living off what little food I had in the property. The water stuck around for days, stinking the place out with dead bodies, until it slowly started to disperse. A few weeks later soldiers from the camp arrived, and started the clean up, removing the bodies and draining the water.
‘Are you going to go to the camp?’
‘No, I’m going to stay right here, my first wife died in this house, and my second wife died in this house, and this is where I will see out my days.’
‘Are you okay for food and water?’ Bernard asked, rummaging through his rucksack.
‘Yes I’m fine thanks, the camp sent some soldiers into town, who helped me get my house in order. Your children look like they could do with a good home cooked meal, and a wash!’ He laughed, pulling a face at them. The children smiled nervously, not entirely sure what to make of him. He told us to leave the boat on his drive if we didn’t need it, he could use it for fire wood. We packed up our rucksacks and said farewell, it was much easier walking without the boat, everyone was excited to be this close to the camp. The children were running around, climbing on debris, and talking to anyone they came across. There w
as row upon row of dirty, cheap looking bed and breakfasts, leading up to the promenade. As we neared the junction, the true devastation caused by the floods became apparent. The North Pier should have been stretching out in front of us, but it wasn’t there, all that remained was planks of wood sticking out of the sea wall, splintered and jagged. It was nowhere to be seen, completely swept away. In front of us, there was a small wooden sign, recently erected on a patch of waste ground, with a black arrow pointing left and the words ‘Camp Blue this way’ written on. ‘Where’s the sea daddy?’ Shouted Emma, climbing up a pile of rubble that had once been the sea wall. I looked out over the dusty beach, straining my eyes, but I couldn’t see it. In all the times I have been to Blackpool both as an adult and a child, the sea had always been visible. On holiday I would always look forward to donkey rides across the beach, splashing in the shallow water, it was never that far out. I went down the stone steps to the sand, with everyone following behind, and walked out a few metres. I listened carefully for any sound of water, but the only thing audible was the winds sweeping across the barren land. It looked like a desert, the sand was lifting into the air, and blowing around, hurting my eyes. I knelt down and dug with my hands, into the dry, gritty sand, only reaching moisture at around a foot and a half deep. I looked up to find everyone gathered in a circle around James, who was knelt in front of a small stream. It was a very thin, straight funnel of water, around six inches in width, that went out towards the sea, way beyond my eyesight. I looked back to the road and could see the water trickling out of a hole in the sea wall, I got back down onto my knees and started to dig a hole by the side of the water, the boys stopped what they were doing and came over to help, as we made a dam with the excess sand. The water slowly climbed up the dam, knocking the top off before finding its way back into the stream, flowing in the direction of the sea. I followed it for a few minutes to the point where another thin, stream joined it at an angle. I still couldn’t see the sea, I took my binoculars out to get a better look, but with all the dust and sand blowing around, it was futile. I walked back to the others, and we cut across the beach towards the Central Pier. On the way, we past a further four streams, each one smoothing its own passage through the sand towards the sea. There were more pieces of wood jutting out of the sand, marking the place where the Central Pier once stood, which was also missing, lost to the storms. We walked up the steps, beside the missing pier, and back onto the promenade. The winds were beginning to pick up, I zipped my jacket up as far as it would go, and did the same for each child. The sea wall, that had stretched along the full length of the promenade had gone, destroyed by the force of the foods, the only sign it ever existed, was the odd stone or brick left standing. More shockingly, Blackpool Tower was missing, all that remained was the twisted black metal base, as though a giant had ripped it out of the ground like a weed. Probably the marker most walkers would have been looking for, to identify where they were, gone from the skyline. Some of the buildings to its right, and behind had been demolished, but there was no sign of the tower eye. Many of the buildings along the sea front had collapsed, most of them shops, any still standing had suffered with the floods, and ransacking. After a few minutes walking, we came to another sign for the camp, directing us left along Woodfield Road, with the fire torches following the same direction. ‘It’s this way dad’ said Emma, pointing up the street. Walking through Blackpool had brought back so many memories for me, I wanted to take a look at the Pleasure Beach, before we made our way to the camp. It was pitch black outside the torch lit area, and took around thirty minutes walking to reach. The huge hoardings that carried the parks graphics, had been torn down in the winds, pieces of it lay in the ground of the theme park, piled on top of each other. The place looked like a builders site, vast areas of nothing with the odd structure still standing like a lone soldier on the battlefield. The site was also lit up with what looked like battery powered flood lights, giving us just enough visibility to see what was going on. There were men working on the clear up, sorting through the different materials, looking for anything worth salvaging. All the broken roller coaster track was laid out across the edge of the site, twisted red and blue metal, there seemed miles of it. Many of the attractions colourful plastic fascias, were shattered and smashed, and left in piles. There was a large metal trailer connected to a truck, loaded with tables and chairs, all neatly packed on top of each other, ready to be moved. The children were staring open mouthed at all the broken rides, their faces pressed up against the rusty metal railings. I could see the realisation appearing on their faces, of how things are going to be for them now. I decided they had seen enough, so we set off along the promenade in search of the sign for Camp Blue. The ash clouds to our left were darkening, and the winds had picked up, sending long drifts of gritty sand into the air. The children spotted the sign for Camp Blue from around twenty yards away, it was lit up like an illumination. They ran over standing next to it, and then tried to hide behind it, thinking they could trick us. Once we turned onto Woodfield Road, we past an elderly couple walking in the same direction. They moved slowly, arm in arm, we past them on the opposite side of the road, and spoke only to say hello. It was amazing how much light the torches gave off, flooding the area with a yellow glow. Emma asked me if Ella was still safe. ‘She’s here’ I said, lifting the elephants head out of my pocket, and leaving it poking over the edge until she noticed her and smiled. ‘Can you keep her safe until we get to the camp dad? I have slept without her for a few nights, maybe Josh would like to look after her now?’ I looked across to Josh whose face had lit up with the suggestion, so I pushed Ella back down into my pocket.
It only took us thirty minutes to find the camp, just outside it we approached an abandoned tram, flanked on both sides by a high wire fence, stretching across to the terraced houses on either side of the street. It was too high to climb, the only way past was through the tram itself, and that had a pair of armed guards inside. It was a dark blue in colour and ran an advertisement for the Pleasure Beach on the side, its glass-less windows had been boarded up with sheets of ply wood. The inside was lit by a generator, standing outside gently buzzing. To the right of the tram, built into the metal fence was a gate, large enough for a vehicle to pass through. It was padlocked and guarded, boxes of rubbish and discarded items lay by the side. Before we reached the tram, I told everyone that unless I said otherwise, we were to continue pretending Emma was a boy, called James. One of the guards climbed down the steps to meet us, ‘Welcome to Camp Blue, how far have you guys travelled?’
‘From Edinburgh.’
‘Really? That’s some distance my friend, you must be tired. You’re nearly there now, just a few formalities to go through. Can you sign into the census book, with the name, age and previous address of every member of your party.’ The guard didn’t tell me his name, but I could see on his uniform he was Officer Abbott. He was a smart looking, well groomed man, with brown hair and a large duffel coat, which was open revealing his uniform. We followed him up the steps and into the tram where the other guard was standing, he acknowledged us before showing me where the census was. Inside the tram all the seats had been removed, and a long wooden table stretched the full length of tram, pushed tight up against the boarded up windows. On it was a census, a walkie talkie, some magazines and a couple of pens. There were a few chairs scattered around with clothes hanging off them, and the remains of someone’s half eaten dinner. The cold wind blew through the carriage, ruffling papers and rattling the wooden boards. The guard removed the walkie talkie from on top of the census, the pages blew over as he turned the book to face me. I moved across to the table, took my rucksack off and opened the book. Holding the pages down with my arm, I looked down the list of names, searching for the reassurance of female one, but there was none on the first page. I turned it over and continued to scan down the list until I reached Sarah Platt. Then more appeared, Nicole Guyer, Debra Gibson and Helen Bentley. I picked up the pen to wr
ite my name, Nathan Driver, thirty seven eight, Edinburgh. I though for a second what to write for Emma, and then wrote James Driver, age seven. I looked at my watch for a time, seven thirty nine p.m. November the twenty fourth, two thousand and twenty seven. Although my initial impression of the soldiers was they were trustworthy, I wasn’t prepared to show my hand until I had seen the inside for myself. I added James and Josh to the census as best I could, and then handed the pen to Bernard, who filled in his information. The blustery wind was blowing straight through the tram, the tag on the large suitcase sat by the exit, was flapping in the wind. ‘Are there security bases like this at every approach to the camp?’ I asked, zipping my coat back up to my chin.
‘Yeah, there is no way of getting into the camp without going through one of these first, it’s very secure. We also have lookouts at every approach, high up in buildings, before they reach here. Anyone approaching will be reported via the walkie talkie, just as you were. Two men, three children, on foot, two large rucksacks. Now gentlemen, do either of you have any weapons?’
Bernard and I looked at each other, before he replied, ‘We both have a hand gun.’ I took my Welrod out of my pocket, pulled the magazine out, and handed them to the guard, slightly apprehensive about giving up the weapon that had got me this far. Bernard handed over his handgun, and all the ammunition he was carrying in his bag. ‘Can you step over to Officer Wilson, so he can check you, don’t be offended, we have to make sure no weapons enter the camp we don’t control.’
Aftermath: The complete collection Page 26
