Aftermath: The complete collection

by John Wilkinson

  ‘A long time’ replied Sergeant Davis.

  ‘Too long’ laughed Rhino, giving Chris an elbow that would wind a wrestler.

  ‘We met at training, must be-’

  ‘Seven years ago’ interrupted Rhino. ‘Annette and I had just had Zack.’

  ‘Yeah that’s right. We breezed through training at that age, wouldn’t like to do it now.’

  ‘You’re both youngsters’ I laughed.

  ‘Compared to you Driver, we’re still a glint in our fathers eye’ laughed Rhino. ‘Chris is Zack’s God Father, he’s been great with the boys, they love spending time with him. Very helpful when Annette and I wanted to spend a little time together alone, army life doesn’t really afford you a lot of that.’

  Sergeant Davis and Rhino were sat opposite me, I noticed matching tattoos on both their right hands, and asked them about it. Sergeant Davis looked a little embarrassed, while Rhino couldn’t hide his amusement. ‘It’s just the company tattoo’ said Sergeant Davis, trying to move the conversation along. ‘Look, it’s a white top, red bottomed diamond, with a sword cutting across both. Under that is the Lancashire red rose, with our regiment name.’ As Sergeant Davis became redder and redder, Rhino became more and more enthused. ‘Tell him the truth’ said Rhino.

  ‘What? I’ve told him.’

  ‘If you don’t explain about the tattoo, I will.’

  ‘Explain what?’ I asked, intrigued by what was unfolding. There was a small period of silence, in which the two of them stared at each other, making facial expressions, before Sergeant Davis finally gave in and spoke.

  ‘All right. As you can probably work out, there is another story to the tattoos, and I would like to thank Rhino for giving me the opportunity to share it with you. When we completed basic training, it’s fair to say there was some alcohol partaken. We were young and fucking stupid, as are most at that age. Anyway, I don’t recall anything about the said night, I just remember waking up and seeing this image on my hand, and thinking what the fuck have I done?’

  ‘Tell him what it was’ laughed Rhino, making no attempt to hide his amusement.

  ‘It was Deirdre Barlow.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Deirdre Barlow, she was in Coronation Street years ago.’

  Rhino hit the floor in fits of laughter, much to the visual annoyance of Sergeant Davis.

  ‘So many questions’ I said. ‘But first, why?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t even fucking watch Coronation Street.’

  Everyone burst out laughing, even Sergeant Davis, although he still didn’t find it as funny as Rhino.

  ‘I was sure it was pen’ said Sergeant Davis. ‘I had it under the tap, scrubbing it, until it was red raw. But it didn’t come off, her face remained, starring back at me.’

  ‘I suppose I should take some of the blame for this.’

  ‘Some of the blame? You are completely to blame.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose I am. Chris has a liking for the older lady’ laughed Rhino. ‘So I helped him pick a suitable tattoo while he was inebriated.’

  ‘I don’t like older women.’

  Rhino raised his eyebrows at Sergeant Davis, and flashed him a grin, before continuing.

  ‘On a night out around Preston, while we were training, Chris ended up taking a lady home at the end of the night, that was old enough to be his grandma.’

  ‘She was thirty eight.’

  ‘More like fifty eight. Let’s be fair, Chris is a good looking fella, out of all the trainees that year, he was the most successful with the ladies, which made his decision that night even funnier.’

  They seem close, Chris and Rhino, I suppose that’s what you get in a company like Blue and White, it’s more than friendship, it’s something altogether stronger. We laughed at stories from the two of them all the way along the M61, some including Chris’s younger brother Little D. Just before we turned onto the M62, the light coming through the back windows of the van diminished. I had a look outside at the devastation surrounding Manchester, and didn’t recognise what I was looking at. We were a good few miles from the epicenter, but very little was still standing. Buildings in rubble, everything was flat. The sky around us had significantly darkened, and the vehicle was hit sporadically with short violent storms. It was the closest I’d been to Manchester since the day of the attack, it’s hard to believe anything survived around here, I was lucky. The vehicle came to a stop just after joining the M62, pulling over onto the hard shoulder. We sat there for a few minutes, so I went to the back window to investigate. Sergeant Davis banged on the metal panel between him and the driver, and shouted at him for an update as to what was happening.

  ‘Nothing to worry about’ he replied. ‘We’re just waiting for someone.’

  Out of the window, I could see a long stretch of motorway, as the wind blew ash and rain across the lanes, making it hard to see. Out of the darkness came a vehicle, travelling along the same part of the motorway towards us, it slowed down around thirty yards away. As it did, our vehicle started up again, and we continued with it following us. We stayed in convoy for around fifteen minutes, before we came to a stop again. The lock on the back door screeched as it was unlocked, and the doors opened. Stood outside in the rain were three men, in long trench coats, one was smoking a cigarette, that he dropped onto the floor and put out with his foot. One by one they climbed aboard, as the middle guy introduced them. ‘My name is Keenan, Mr Torriero’s head of security. This is Mercer and Blake, we’re here to show you a little hospitality, when we get to the camp.’

  We introduced ourselves before they threw us a set of fabric bags, and told us to put them over our heads. We were about to enter the camp, and it was procedure. The vehicle continued for a few miles, with our hearing the only sense we could rely on. The rest of the journey was in silence, it occurred to me they might not have wanted us to see what the city looked like, if the community were being mistreated. The final stretch consisted of much stop starting, as we entered the camp through all the security and protocols. When we stopped, I heard Torriero’s men stand up in the back of the van, open the double doors to the vehicle and climb out.

  ‘Take your bags off’ shouted a voice from outside. I removed it, and let my eyes get used to the view. We were ordered out of the vehicle, and got our first view of the camp, and its inhabitants. As we climbed out, we were presented with our first grim sight. The vehicle had been parked on a car park, with around seventy vehicles, and as many spaces. A bridge ran across the edge of the car park, towering over us, carrying a train track. Hanging from the deck were the bodies of around twenty men. They had rope around their necks, and their limbs had been hacked off before they had been set alight. Keenan saw our reaction to the sight, and told us they’d been a group of men who had tried to overthrow Torriero, and were here as a reminder to everyone. I think the decision to remove us from the truck in front of these bodies was pre planned, a warning to us about who we’re going to deal with. The darkness surrounding Manchester had not stretched as far as Leeds, although we were still surrounded by the muggy ash and rain clouds we had grown accustomed to, but at least it was dry. Keenan ordered Mercer and Blake to check us over for weapons, which they did. He removed the handguns, and told us we would get them back when we leave. I wasn’t so sure, and was glad I had just bought a Glock, and not my Welrod. I could see the edge of the camp from the car park, and the security we’d just come through. Along the edge were burnt out vehicles, metal hoarding and barbed wire fencing. The security was similar to ours, with the trailer to an articulated lorry used as a base, on the side of the main road into the city. I’m not altogether familiar with Leeds, so I can only describe what I saw. The buildings within the camp seemed to be in good condition, the windows had been boarded up, or fastened with clear PVC sheets. The streets were very compact, barely a space to swing
a cat, with large square buildings, mostly red brick structures. The men within the camp can be put into two distinct groups, one set with their long black trench coats looked like Torriero’s men, the others look more like simple town folk. We were walked along the side of the bridge, that towered over us, passing all the dead bodies hanging from the deck, to a set of stone steps. They climbed up the side of the bridge, at the top was a couple of guard posts, and through them the camp centre. Concrete bollards had been erected across the road, with two guards patrolling the area. The camp opened out in front of us, and we got a better understanding of its true size, which was significantly bigger than Camp Blue. It didn’t seem to be as densely populated, the streets were mainly housing estates and rows of terraced houses. Most looked occupied, and work was being carried out on some buildings. We followed the main road, past the bollards and onto a street of terraced houses, it was long, and stretched far into the muggy distance. ‘This is where Mr Torriero’s men live, all these houses are occupied by fighters’ Keenan remarked, pointing down the street. ‘And the next street, and the next.’

  I looked into some of the houses as we past, through their living room windows. The belongings of their true owners still in place, where they are now a mystery. The end terraced house came with its own garage, that had a slogan painted on the door. ‘Fuck off out of Leeds Torriero,’ which was being painted over as we past. Further on, we came to an area of waste ground, with an outdoor play area, surrounded by a high metal fence. The once green fields were playing host to a training exercise, consisting of hand to hand combat. There was certainly some form of organisation, however it didn’t stand up to training Camp Blue recruits suffer. A gun range had been set up inside the outdoor play area. Through the metal fence, I could just about make out the soldiers, firing at the targets, mainly consisting of road and traffic signs. If they were hard to see, they were easier to hear. ‘That’s an M6 rifle’ stated Sergeant Davis, as the sound echoed around our ears. Rhino nodded in agreement, as Keenan smiled to himself. ‘Mr Torriero has been stock piling weapons for as long as I’ve been in his services’ he said, ushering us along. ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘How long have you worked for him?’ Sergeant Davis replied.

  ‘Over twenty years.’

  ‘Is that common?’

  ‘I’m the longest serving member, a good fifty percent of employees have been with us for over ten years though. Mr Torriero rewards those who do right by him, and don’t mind getting their hands dirty.’

  We left the training, and continued into the centre of the camp, soon the gun fire was a distant sound, as we came to a more industrial area. Two large stone chimneys had toppled over, taking out neighbouring buildings, there were bricks scattered across the roads, that had been cleared away to allow access. There was an operational scrapyard, with men working on something, but we weren’t taken close enough to identify what, ‘It’s top secret’ remarked Keenan. I noticed a few large trucks that were moving different loads around the camp, one that past us had burnt out vehicles aboard. We past security, and entered the industrial area. With most buildings restricted, Keenan took us to a large factory, with many people milling around outside. Inside was a large collection of weapons, from rifles, bazookas and mortars, to knives, grenades and hand guns. It wasn’t the stock pile of weapons we had seen photographs of, but it was equivalent in size. We weren’t shown any of the buildings with tight security around them, they only showed us what they wanted us to see. Keenan looked at his watch, before declaring Mr Torriero was going to be waiting for us, ‘We need to get moving.’

  Mercer arrived in a car, and we all climbed in. He drove us to the town hall, in the centre of the camp. We went through more security, and another area of housing. But these properties were big, expensive looking buildings, ones that would’ve cost a significant amount of money before the war. We had to go through security bollards before we reached the estate, everything about this area looked clean and comfortable, a luxury not afforded to many people anymore. Keenan later informed us that he lived on that estate, alongside Torriero’s most trusted and loyal men. They had kicked out all the residents, mainly elderly, and taken their homes. We went through a last set of security, and onto a small estate, housing around seven large official looking buildings, before pulling up outside one. We climbed out and had a look around, the buildings were impressive, with intricate stone work and huge bay windows. Most of them looked empty, but a few had security guards around them. The town hall had ten stone steps leading off the footpath, in between two large stone pillars. The grey stone walls looked damp, but recently cleaned of dirt and mould. Any windows missing, were boarded up with sheets of plywood, and tarpaulin that flapped in the wind. I noticed a large industrial skip, down the side alley, by the Town Hall. On closer inspection it was full of dirt, stones and rocks. Concrete slabs were placed across the top, broken into pieces, removed from somewhere recently. ‘Get back here’ shouted Keenan, ‘You only go where I tell you to.’

  We walked up the steps to the front doors, where we were checked for weapons again by security, before we entered the building. The inside was clean and well maintained, long corridors and high ceilings. The walls were covered in beautiful paintings and pieces of art, ornaments sat upon carved wooden furniture. Green and other colours were all around us, plants and flowers, vibrant and bursting with colour. I touched a flower petal as I past, which was plastic as I suspected, but they certainly brightened up the place. They must have raided every DIY shop within a twenty mile radius, to obtain this much greenery. Keenan took us along the corridor, with its worn decorative rug, and into the first room on our left. He told us to wait for Mr Torriero there, and shut the door behind himself. The room was a meeting / dining room, with a large dark brown wood table in the centre, and twelve wooden chairs. Rhino and Sergeant Davis sat down as I had a look around the room, that was kitted out as elaborately as the rest of the building. Along the left hand side, and following the back wall was a bookcase from floor to ceiling. There must have been a thousand books, rarely seen in yesterday’s digital age. I pulled a few books out, and blew the dust off them, they included: Last of the Mohicans, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels and all of Shakespeare’s back catalogue. True classics, but amongst which I found Mein Kampf, Hitlers penned book. There were other paintings on the walls, plastic floral displays, and expensive looking cutlery and dining sets. We waited in the meeting room for over forty minutes, wondering what was about to happen. What was Torriero going to look like? Act like? It was fascinating, however our patience was beginning to wear thin when the door swung open, and in strode Torriero, with Keenan following behind. ‘Gentlemen, sit down’ he said, as an old lady followed the pair in. She approached the table with a tray, and placed it in front of us. It consisted of a pot of tea, and five cups, with a selection of biscuits. We were all slightly taken aback by the elderly lady, which was not what we expected to see. She poured five cups of tea, as Keenan sat down on a chair by the door. She smiled at everyone, as she past the tea out, and then left, after a kind acknowledgment from Torriero. I wasn’t sure who she was, she looked a similar age to Torierro, and maybe had a slight look of him, but I could be seeing what I wanted to see.

  ‘Right, we might as well get straight to business’ said Torriero, sitting opposite us at the head of the table. He was an older man than I expected, maybe even in his seventies. He was a bit taller than me, maybe six two, with greasy neck length black hair, swept back off his balding head, and a full black beard, with grey sideburns and a grey streak below his nose and mouth. He spoke with a Scottish accent, but I could hear a poor attempt to cling to his Italian roots somewhere in his dialect. ‘I cannot lie, I’m very disappointed that no generals felt this meeting was important enough to grace it with their presence.’

  ‘I have been given full authority to negotiate on behalf of Camp Blue’ said Sergeant Davis.

  ‘Th
at’s all well and good Officer-’

  ‘Sergeant Davis.’

  ‘That’s all well and good Sergeant Davis, but I feel it’s disrespectful, to say the least. I want you to be under no illusion, if these demands are not met, no agreement will be made today.’

  ‘What are you demands?’

  ‘They’re not my demands, they’re the creatures demands. Make no mistake, a war with the creatures will only end in the elimination of the human race.’

  ‘I don’t understand how you can be so sure about that? They have done fuck all on this planet.’

  ‘I have seen what they’ve done to other planets, and what will happen here.’

  ‘How have you seen it?’

  Torriero paused for a few seconds, before trying to answer Sergeant Davis.

  ‘The creatures have shown me, they have their ways.’

  ‘But how can you trust what they’ve told you? Taking their word.’

  ‘It’s not their word, they’ve shown me. Have you ever wondered why humans haven’t gone back to the moon? I few astronauts walk on it, it’s the most impressive feat humans have ever achieved, and then we stop, happy to float around on a piece of metal in space. NASA Astronaut Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, claimed he and other astronauts saw buildings on the dark side of the moon that were not built by us. There were aliens with spaceships far more superior than ours, using technology decades away from us. They are mining the planet, and have been doing for over eighty years, but they’ve nearly finished. When they’re done, they are heading to the nearest planet to plunder its resources, there is no way to escape the inevitable. They plan to mine earth, and when they have finished, there will be nothing left alive.’