Aftermath: The complete collection

by John Wilkinson

  I felt better waking up in my own bed, with children around me. I will never complain about the bizarre conversations the children involve me in ever again, I really had missed their company. I tried a little light training in the afternoon, but I was collared by Captain Jones, and ordered to leave it until after Christmas Day, and spend some time with the children.

  The twenty third of December came and went, with little to report. I spent most of the day making sure we had all the Christmas presents wrapped, ready for Father Christmas. The supply runs had brought back over a hundred more presents than we needed, but the whole operation still took some serious organising. A large meeting room was set aside in the football stadium, and we had a team of around seventy, working in lines, each with a different job, until we had one thousand five hundred and forty two presents wrapped, labelled and organised by hotel floor, and room numbers. The boys presents were wrapped in green paper, the girls red, just as an extra precaution. A team of fifty would deliver the presents on Christmas night, leaving them by the front door of each room containing a child. Each present had to be matched with a child, and then signed off using the list I created with the census. My involvement in this process allowed me the perk of hand picking Emma and the boys presents, from a multitude the supply run came back with. The first reports from the reconnaissance teams that left the previous day started to come through late on the twenty third, Torriero was yet to make a play, with the largest amount of men to leave the camp in one day only around thirty to forty. While the majority of his army remain within the camp walls, we continue to be a step ahead of him. The only concern seemed to be a couple of reconnaissance teams, who had not made contact, and had been due to do so. A fresh attempt would be made to reach them in the morning.

  On the morning of the twenty fourth, I had to scrape the children off the ceiling, they were so excited.

  ‘It’s Christmas Eve Dad’ shouted Emma, bouncing on my bed as I tried to remain asleep. ‘Father Christmas will be coming tonight!’

  ‘You think he will find this place?’ I asked, rolling over and admitting defeat in my attempts to sleep.

  ‘Of course he will’ shouted James, suddenly taking an interest. ‘He’s magic.’

  ‘I suppose he is. Don’t expect too much though, there are a lot of children in this camp, he’s only going to be able to bring one present each I think.’

  ‘Will we be able to stay up, and see him’ asked Josh.

  ‘What do you think?’ I smiled.

  ‘No’ he laughed.

  ‘Exactly, you don’t want to scare him away before he’s left any presents.’

  Two vehicles left camp first thing in the morning, while everyone slept, heading for the last known coordinates of the missing reconnaissance teams. By the end of the day, they had returned with no sighting of them, they’d just disappeared. But they did report seeing a large black aircraft in the sky over Nottingham. Their official report described it as such: The size of a football pitch, mirror black in colour, and industrial in design. It hovered in the same place for over an hour, before they moved out, leaving it hanging in the black sky. It sounded similar in description to other sightings we have received reports of, from different locations. The army’s belief, based on all available evidence, is there’s only one large alien aircraft, and it has been spotted in different locations throughout Great Britain, mainly more down south. But it never causes a threat, we had only reports of it hovering in the sky. There have been sightings of a few small aircraft, but again, not offensive, just worker like vehicles. I have often wondered what was happening in other countries, but it’s a mystery, I can only assume something similar to here. But we can only deal with what’s in front of us, other countries will have to sort out their own shit. I had a quick visit to the medical centre in the late morning, to have the bandages removed from my right hand. The doctor was happy with how it was healing, although it was quite a shock to see it, particularly for the children, I have to admit I often forget it’s missing. In the afternoon, what remained of Blue and White Company were called into a meeting in the hotel. We expected to be finding out who our new sergeant was, but as we arrived, it became clear it was about something else. The room was full of companies, maybe twenty, we lined up as General Morris came onto the stage. He explained the technicalities of an operation to destroy the mills used for destroying female bodies, due to take place straight after Christmas. The mission would involve the destruction of twenty one mills, with locations scattered across the country, one mill per company. It was set to take place on the morning of the twenty seventh, and should be completed within twenty four hours. The mission would only go ahead, based on reconnaissance reports of Torriero’s movements, which presently were restricted to his own camp. Blue and White Company got Higherford Mill, in Barrowford, Lancashire. We were given a moderately detailed drawing of the building, and a report confirming all known information, but it added up to not much. When the meeting had concluded, we walked against the tide, to speak to General Morris about the naming of our new sergeant. He was quite dismissive, and refused to be drawn on it, telling us it would be sorted out before we leave. I cannot pretend the preparation for this operation has been anything but a joke, it doesn’t fill me with any confidence about its success. The rest of the night was spent winding the children up into a Christmas frenzy, before bedtime. They all said they would stay awake as long as possible, but were open mouthed and asleep by nine pm, so Bernard and I put them to bed. I had an early night myself, and heard Santa’s little helpers, delivering the presents, as I drifted off to sleep.

  One child or another woke me up every hour, until at five I accepted defeat and allowed them to check if Father Christmas had been. They were so excited, it was lovely to see, they still believed. This world may have robbed them of their freedom, but it hadn’t taken their child like wonder. ‘Josh, wake up’ shouted Emma, shaking him until he responded. ‘It’s Christmas morning!’

  ‘I’m up’ he said, rolling over, and trying to continue with his sleep.

  But she was relentless, as I know all too well. She had the boys up, ready, and hovering by the front door within minutes, both still yawning but excited. When we opened the front door, and they saw Father Christmas had been, their faces lit up. ‘I knew he had been’ said Josh, shaking with excitement. ‘I heard him.’

  ‘When did you hear him?’ Emma asked.

  ‘During the night, and the reindeers, I heard them outside.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I wasn’t scared though. I knew who it was.’

  They ripped open their presents, wrapping paper flying everywhere.

  ‘I knew it’ shouted Emma, pulling an ‘Annie’ fashion doll out of the wrapping paper. ‘Just what I wanted, I’m going to be a fashion designer when I grow up.’

  ‘A dinosaur’ shouted Josh. ‘I wanted a dinosaur more than anything. This is the best Christmas ever.’

  ‘I got loads of toy cars’ said James, aiming his excitement towards his brother.

  ‘I know what we can do with those?’ Josh shouted, giggling as he stomped his dinosaur across the top of them. ‘My dinosaur can smash them, and then eat them, all the way into his tummy.’

  The rest of Christmas Day was quiet, no army movement, and no deaths. Each floor had their own Christmas lunch with all the trimmings, crackers, hats and bad jokes. I invited Lauren to take her meal on our floor, it was these children she spent most of her time with, and they would love to spend the day with her. After we had all eaten, our floor continued the celebrations with a festive charades, only Christmas songs, films, books and plays were allowed. It past a few hours, and was a lot of fun. When it came to moving, we had all eaten so much, I could hardly extract myself from my seat. The children were all spent, I felt as fat as a pig, and in need of my bed. I was going to spend the next day training, to build some of my stami
na back up.

  There was a short meeting on the twenty sixth, to confirm the go ahead for tomorrow. We were told to attend another meeting in the afternoon, when we would be introduced to our new sergeant and recruit. I don’t know why they couldn’t tell us at the first meeting, they like wasting everyone’s time in the name of protocol. For the rest of the morning, I did some physical training on the beach, with Little D and a couple of other soldiers, building their fitness. In the afternoon, I joined Little D, Keane and Murphy at the entrance to the meeting room, in the stadium. When we got the call to enter, the door was opened and we filed in. There was three other men in the room, General Morris, Sergeant Welsh and Adrian Harper. As soon as we entered that room, everyone knew what was about to happen, and no one was happy. ‘Thanks for your patience men’ said General Morris. ‘I know you have been anxious to find out who your new sergeant will be, and I’m happy to confirm it will be Sergeant Welsh.’

  Not a word was spoke by any of us, I think a few were desperately holding their tongue, as their disgust threatened to boil over.

  ‘We needed to replace Sergeant Davis with a man of similar stature, and experience, and those men are not easy to find. Sergeant Welsh has many years experience to call upon, with a long distinguished service history, with many successful tours under his belt.’

  ‘Has he?’ Replied Little D, his destain boiling over.

  ‘Have you got something to say Private Davis?’ General Morris responded.

  ‘No sir, nothing at all.’

  ‘We are all sorry for your loss private, Sergeant Davis was a credit to his unit.’

  ‘Thank you sir.’

  ‘But we need a replacement, and Sergeant Welsh ticks all the boxes.’

  General Morris stepped aside, to let our new sergeant address his company.

  ‘First, I want to speak a little about Sergeant Davis, who I know was well liked within this company. War is war, Sergeant Davis was a good soldier, and I’m sorry for your loss, but we have to look forward. Hopefully with a little time I can earn your respect as he did, and we can make this company not just good, but great. Adrian Harper is joining us, I hope you’ll give him as warm a welcome as me. Go and get some food, I want to hold a training session and a briefing after lunch, so meet me at the rifle range at six pm sharp.’

  We left the meeting room, and decided to go and get some lunch together, as we had much to discuss. We headed to the dinner hall on my floor, with a little persuasion the guard checking vouchers allowed us all in, as we had military matters to discuss.

  ‘I cannot believe the arrogance of the prick’ spat Keane, sitting down with his food.

  ‘We can make this company not just good, but great’ snapped Murphy. ‘What a fucking clown. I swear I’m gonna chin him.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about it now’ said Little D. ‘They’ve made us scapegoats. They don’t wanna deal with the problems Welsh is creating, easier just to stick their head in the sand.’

  ‘It’s bullshit, we end up losing the best sergeant this camp has, and he is replaced with this prick’ shouted Keane.

  Little D was quiet, it was hard to see how he had taken it, he was the least expressive member of the company, except for Adrian. You had to feel sorry for the bloke, walking into this, he looked as uncomfortable as any man I have ever seen. But he is a good choice for our new recruit, we could have ended up with a lot worse. We will just have to make the best of it. Welsh took the rifle exersise after lunch, we all remained tight lipped, and just got through it. He was fairly derogatory about us under his breath, a typical coward, while doing nothing himself, sitting at the table going over paperwork.

  We were all up early the next morning, ready for the off, but the mission was postponed due to bad weather. A storm had rolled over, battering the camp from three am, and looked in for the day. In fact, it was relentless, for the next two days we couldn’t get out of the camp for the storm, that covered the whole of the north west. Communications went down across our reconnaissance teams, and stayed down for days. But it was just as bad for Torriero, who couldn’t make any moves. A couple of the buildings used as classrooms flooded, needing work to clean them up. Sandbags were put down around any areas susceptible to flooding, which were already known due to the previous storms.

  When communications returned on the twenty ninth, the reconnaissance teams confirmed there had been two small gun fights between Torriero’s men and the army. Both battles had ended with no casualties for the army, two dead for Torriero and five arrested. For those two days, there was very little to do, except continue training to complete my recovery, and sit around anxious to get going. Endless rounds of ‘Shit Head’ were played, with us still unable to halt Keane’s winning habit. On the third day, we got the opportunity to help furnish a cinema room, that was being set up on the ground floor of the hotel. The supply team had sourced the largest television they could find, with a whopping one hundred and ten inch screen, from a retailer in Blackpool. Electrical shops had managed to avoid most of the looting, with no electricity, and food and water the only thing people really needed. Fortunately at the camp, we can get most things running with a petrol generator, after draining all the local gas stations in the aftermath of the nuclear attack, and storing it all on site. The generator was positioned out in the back yard, by the industrial bins. The camp builders had gone to a lot of trouble, even drilling a hole through the back door for the cables, so the door can remain shut, reducing the generator sound to a low buzz. The room was filled with around a hundred chairs from storage, that had once sat in the assembly hall at the local community school. The plan for the cinema room, was to show children’s films during the day, and films for adults at night. With a large selection of dvds collected, a weekly selection could be drawn up, and distributed so people can plan what they want to watch. That night those who helped build the cinema room were given the first viewing of a film, ‘The Inquiry’ a gritty British crime story, set in Liverpool. It had been months since any of us had sat down and watched any entertainment, a rare luxury that seems a lifetime ago. The story was great, and took our mind off the situation, if only for a few hours.

  The weather on the morning of the thirtieth was deemed good enough for the launch of the mission, codename Operation Cannon Fodder. General Morris briefly spoke to us before we set off, to tell us this mission was only the start of war, and dealing with the creatures was just as important as Torriero. The convoy of Vikings left Camp Blue at eight am, with Welsh handing out detailed drawings of Higherford Mill, and the surrounding area.

  30/12/27 - Time 22:50

  We only stayed in convoy for around twenty minutes, just before we reached the M6, we all split up to follow our respective routes. A couple followed us onto the M65, but then followed the signs for the south, as we continued towards Burnley. The weather was still rainy, short storms would drift over the top of us. There were a couple of longer snow falls, and it was bitterly cold in the Viking, the heater having to work overtime. It felt like the weather was about to change for the worse, the calm before the storm. On the road, our biggest worry was an IED attack, we tried to stay in the fast lane where possible, assuming they would set any bomb up on the inside lane. The motorway was mostly clear of traffic, only the junctions for Blackburn and Burnley had abandoned vehicles in the lanes going in and coming out of the towns. As we got closer to junction thirteen, traffic cones appeared at the side of the road, and roadwork signs. ‘Fifty miles per hour zone, speed cameras are working’ read one, as we past a stretch of motorway around a mile long, with freshly built concrete barriers along the central reservation. ‘Number thirteen, this is the junction’ said Keane, turning the map around in his hands.

  ‘You sure?’ Replied Welsh. ‘It doesn’t mention Barrowford, it says Nelson and Kendal.’

  ‘This is it’ Keane answered, as Murphy moved across the
carriage way, and down the slip road towards a roundabout at the bottom. Much of the road had been fenced off, with orange and white plastic barriers. The roundabout had a collection of freshly cut tree stumps in the centre, and a couple of council vehicles parked on the junction. Much like the motorway roadworks, more work that didn’t get finished. We took the second left, following the sign for Barrowford, past a large abandoned college building on our left, to some blacked out traffic lights. There was a small humpback bridge ahead, which we carefully and slowly past, into the centre of the town. Murphy pointed out a man stood outside a property on the left hand side of the road, he ran into his terraced house when he saw us approaching, and closed the door behind him. I looked up at the windows of the houses as we continued, the inhabitants must have been nervous, hiding behind twitching curtains and boarded up windows. After around a hundred yards of terraced houses on both sides of the road, the buildings stopped on the right hand side, as the river came back around, parallel with the road. A three foot high stone wall was keeping the river from breaching the road, the fields on the other side were not so lucky, the water stretching out around fifty yards, to where steps took the land up to a wooded area. I could see a playground, under the waves, the rusting metal frame of a swing and a slide, the only thing breaking the surface of the water. The road bent to the left, passing a white pub on the left, set back off the road. In front of it was a cobbled seated area, but all the wooden tables and chairs had been removed, probably for fire wood. Only the rusting metal bases for the parasol umbrellas remained, positioned sporadically. As we came to a stop next to a looted, but newly built supermarket on our left, another little humpback bridge appeared ahead, leaving the road we were travelling on, at a right angle arching over the river. I hadn’t noticed the two men standing guard on it, until they spotted us, and started to fire their rifles in our general direction. They left their positions and sprinted across the road in front of us, and around the corner as the road bent to the left.