by Tim Lebbon
They left the big house at almost 6 p.m., Huw leading the way in their Mazda. On any normal day he would have reckoned on a relaxed ten-hour drive with a couple of stops for toilet breaks and food.
But this was not a normal day.
* * *
“Twenty-four hours,” Kelly said, and Huw glanced across at her in the passenger seat. She was examining her phone, the light from the screen revealing how drawn she looked and giving her face a terrible grey tinge. “Maybe less,” she muttered.
“Huh?”
“Seems to be spreading faster.” She didn’t look up from the phone. Huw resisted the temptation to glance at the screen and looked ahead instead.
Once they were away from Usk, the roads seemed only slightly busier than normal. Huw had already started to wonder whether the gridlock in the town had been more due to the accident in the main street than any sense of panic or mass migration. There were the empty shops, true, but it was more likely that people were huddled in their own homes than pouring out onto the roads. That’s what the authorities had been telling people—Stay at home, stay safe. And at times like this, most people would do as they were told.
To begin with, at least.
So why was Huw running?
He’d played this question over and over in his mind in the hour since they’d left Glenn’s house. Glenn’s big, secure house, where they could have stored enough food and water to last for weeks, which was large enough for all of them to exist together reasonably comfortably. And although safety was the priority for all of them, his thought processes were rarely straight and defined, and he realised that this decision boiled down to one factor: Ally. He’d almost lost her once before and he was not prepared to risk that again. He knew that Kelly felt the same way. Their protectiveness of their children had manifested in very different ways since the accident. Kelly wanted to wrap Ally and Jude in cotton wool, keep them in sight at all times, not let them do anything risky, and generally be there to protect them, standing between them and any potential danger like a royal food-taster ready to take the poisoned bite.
With Huw it was different. He still felt an aching, almost agonising need to make sure no harm came to the children, but he also understood the concept of freedom. He wanted them to live good, great lives, have whatever opportunities he and Kelly could give them. He wanted them to live, not simply exist, and Ally’s near-death and subsequent disability only amplified that.
For Huw and Kelly, fleeing their house, friends and home town amounted to the same thing, though for different reasons. She wanted to put as many obstacles as she could between the vesps and her children, distance being the one she could partly control. And Huw wanted to preserve their futures for wild, wonderful things.
Jude sat in the back playing on his little iPod Touch, tapping the screen frantically as he tried to vanquish zombie hordes. Lynne seemed to be sleeping. Ally was working on her iPad. Huw loved reading her analyses of current events, and he wondered what she had to say about all this. Maybe soon, when they were safe, he could start reading what she had written.
“You called Mags and Nathan?” Kelly asked. The names landed heavy, and Huw felt a stab of guilt.
“Not yet. I’ll text them when we stop.”
“Maybe they’d want to join us up there.”
“God, I hope not.” Huw’s relationships with his sister and brother were troubled. Mags and Nathan did not talk to each other at all, and his contact with both of them consisted of a few awkward phone calls each year, and an occasional visit. The visits rarely lasted more than a day, and the calls several minutes, filled with hollow platitudes and promises to be in touch more frequently in the future. It was strange. He loved them as siblings, and there were no overt problems between them. But the three of them were all so unalike that contact felt like an imposition rather than a pleasure. His own life—work, family, friends—was busy enough. The guilt he felt upset him at times, but not enough to do anything about it.
I’ll call them soon, he thought. Mags lived with her girlfriend in London. Nathan and his wife lived on Anglesey. Soon enough.
“Just saying, you might want to let them know.” Kelly was an only child. She sometimes told him he was lucky having a brother and sister, and he had never been able to make her understand why they weren’t closer. Probably because he didn’t really understand himself.
Close to Ross-on-Wye, the traffic suddenly became heavier. Both lanes were slow-moving, and in the distance Huw caught sight of a warm glow in the dark sky. Something was on fire.
“What’s happening?” Ally asked from the back. Huw glanced at Kelly, and she turned around and started signing. He kept his eyes on the road.
Behind them, Glenn started flashing his lights and indicating that they should pull over. The hard shoulder was clear—even with the horrors of what was happening far away, drivers still obeyed the Highway Code—and Huw cruised to a standstill.
“Wait here, I’ll see what’s up.” He jumped out, stretched, and looked back at the lines of headlights behind them. The road was already jammed as far back as he could see. Engines rumbled and muttered, and looking ahead he tilted his head to see if he could hear anything. But whatever was burning was too far away.
Sirens sang in the distance, but Huw couldn’t see any flashing blue lights.
Glenn jumped from the Land Rover and jogged along to him. “Big smash ahead,” he said.
“Looks like it.”
“Seems a lot of people have the same idea as us.” Glenn ran his hand through his long hair, scratching at his scalp. He might be confident, and sometimes brash, but Huw could tell that he was worried. “You keeping your eye on the news?”
“Something new?” Huw asked. In truth, he’d wanted to avoid it while he was driving. Kelly had been checking her phone, but he figured she’d have told him anything important.
“Heard on the radio, something big’s happening around Moscow. Military stuff. They’re saying chemical weapons of some kind. Really confused, but they’re saying there’s no contact between Moscow and the West any more.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Huw asked.
“Well, you know.” Glenn waved his hand. “They. The press, the news, the pundits.”
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Huw said. A flush of unreality washed over him, a coolness tinged with shards of icy fear. They were out in the middle of nowhere in the dark, running from everything they owned and knew, the people he loved most in the world in the car beside him. Events seemed too large and cruel, so indifferent to his own fears and concerns, and all he wanted was to dig a hole and hide with his family for ever.
“Hey, we’ll be fine,” Glenn said. “Really.”
Huw looked ahead along the vehicle-clogged road. It disappeared up a gentle slope and around a forested hillside, and the glow of flames came from beyond. “They’re not fine,” Huw said. “Poor bastards.”
Glenn grabbed his arm. “They’re not us. Now listen, we’ve got to get off the road. Nearest junction is couple of miles ahead, past whatever’s happened up there. But I’ve got another idea.”
“Which is?”
Glenn smiled. “Time for you to follow me.”
* * *
“There’s no way!” Kelly said. “This car won’t handle it!”
“We have to try,” Huw said. “Can’t stay here all night.” He squeezed Kelly’s leg and she blew through pursed lips. She could see the sense. From the back seat, zombies groaned and growled as Jude cleaved them in two.
Ally tapped Huw on the shoulder. He turned around and waited until she turned on the overhead light. Then he spoke slowly and clearly, knowing that she had trouble reading his lips.
“We’re getting away from the road,” he said. “Strap yourselves in.”
“Is there a turn-off ahead?” Lynne asked. She seemed a little dazed, and Huw wondered how deeply she’d been sleeping. He knew that the painkillers she’d been taking could knock her out sometimes, and he was amazed
that the kids hadn’t noticed. But of course, Ally probably had noticed. She just hadn’t said anything yet.
Ally checked her brother’s seatbelt. He glanced up with screen-dazed eyes. “There’s more to life than your bloody gadgets!” Huw would sometimes say to both of them, but right now he wished they could play on their devices for ever.
“No turn-off,” Huw said. “We’re making our own.”
Glenn’s Land Rover passed by on the right, squeezing between the Mazda and the queue of traffic, and Huw could already see what would happen. Once Glenn did what he planned, others would start to follow. That didn’t matter, so long as no one tried to race ahead or do something stupid.
“What’s Glenn doing?” asked Jude.
“Watch,” Huw said. He followed Glenn for a bit, then the Land Rover turned sharply to the left and nudged bumper-first against a bolted metal gate in the low hedge. It pushed forward, the gate eased back against its fixings, then the hinges both blew with audible cracks and the vehicle pushed the gate aside as it entered the field.
“He’ll scratch his car!” Jude shouted, and as he followed through the gate, Huw realised just what this moment signified. It was the first time they had done something out of the ordinary. Packing the car, leaving home early on a Friday evening, going on an adventure, all these had been acceptable in Jude’s mind. He was a bright kid, and fully aware that something bad was happening far away in Europe. But he was also still young enough to believe that the whole world was everything he knew and loved, and anything more remote barely mattered. And now this—driving across a field in the darkness—was the first real out-of-the-ordinary move that they’d made.
“His is a big car, mate,” Huw said. “Did you see it crumple that gate?”
The Mazda hit the rough ruts in the field and rocked left, right, left again. Otis barked from the boot. Huw saw Ally turning in her seat to pet the dog, and the barking reduced to a gentle whine.
“Dad!” Jude protested. “He’s four-wheel drive! We’ll get stuck or broken, or something.”
“I’m following in his tracks,” Huw said. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?” Kelly whispered beside him, just loud enough for him to hear. Huw gripped the wheel with both hands. It fought against him, jarring left and right as he followed Glenn’s tail lights across the stubble-field. The chassis struck the ground with a thud. Jude cried out, startled, his shout turning into an excited giggle.
“Thank God it hasn’t rained for a few days,” Lynne said. Huw nodded. But the ground was still damp, the soil heavy, and in the glare of his headlamps he could see heavy clots sticking to Glenn’s wheels. If the Mazda picked up enough dirt and it compacted beneath the wheel arches, the wheels might seize and they’d be stuck here. There was room in the Land Rover for all six of them, Otis, and the supplies and luggage they’d brought, but it would be an uncomfortable squeeze.
Glenn slowed a little, changed direction, then moved off quickly. Huw pressed on the gas. If he slowed too much or stopped, they might never move again.
It struck him just how much of a risk they’d taken, and glancing in the rear-view mirror only reinforced that. Past the kids’ and Lynne’s shadowy heads, past Otis where he swayed back and forth in the boot, he could see the brightly lit line of traffic a few hundred metres away. No one had followed them. Maybe everyone else knew what a bad idea this was.
Kelly’s phone rang. “Glenn,” she said as she answered. She held the phone to her ear, nodded, said, “Okay,” and hung up.
“What?” Huw asked.
“Gate, maybe onto a lane, but it’s uphill. Glenn said he’ll move quickly, but for you to take it a bit slower in a low gear.”
Huw nodded. “All okay back there?”
“Affirmative!” Jude said. Ally caught his eye in the mirror but didn’t smile. Her face was ghosted by the iPad light. He couldn’t see Lynne and she did not reply.
The Land Rover lurched away ahead of them, throwing up clots of mud that pattered across the Mazda’s windscreen and bonnet, sticking. Heavy, wet mud. Fuck it, Huw thought, and as the ground sloped upwards he pressed gently on the gas. The car seemed to drag itself up the slope, back end slewing and spinning, and Jude giggled again. Come on, come on, Huw thought. The Land Rover had nudged the gate aside and was now parked behind a hedge a little uphill, and he saw Glenn standing behind the vehicle at the open gateway, waving them on, then gesturing slowly up and down with his flat hand: Slow down, take it easy.
They made it. The car lurched from the muddy field into the lane beyond, and Huw almost wasted the whole effort by driving into the ditch. But he parked up, handbrake on, and released a held breath. He melted into his seat.
“That was fun!” Jude said. “Let’s do it again!” Otis barked in agreement.
“Let’s not,” Kelly said. But she smiled at Huw, and he could see that her own tension had been partially released.
He got out of the car and stood with Glenn close to the broken gate. Looking back downhill towards the gridlocked road, the hill looked even steeper than it had seemed before.
“Japanese engineering,” Glenn said.
“Hey, it was all down to the driver. So which way?”
“You got a satnav?”
“On one of the gadgets, I’m sure,” Huw said.
“Got an in-car charger?”
Huw’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t even thought of that. Why would he?
Glenn grinned. “Fucking Luddite. Hang on, I’ve got a spare one. Jude want to ride with me for a bit?”
“Sure, I’ll ask,” Huw said. But even as he bent to Kelly’s open passenger window he was already wishing he’d made up a reason to keep his son with him. He trusted Glenn implicitly, but right then he wanted his family together.
Too late. Jude had opened his window, heard Glenn, and he was already slipping his trainers back on.
“Okay with this?” Kelly asked softly.
Huw shrugged, thinking, No, not at all.
“You know how he loves Glenn,” his wife said, and as always she spoke sense. “And it’ll give Ally and Mum room to get comfortable. Might be a long drive.”
“What’s the time?”
“Almost eight.”
Twenty-two hours, he thought, although what they’d worked out had been distinctly unscientific. He nodded at Kelly’s phone.
“All bad,” she whispered. “Come on. Let’s get moving.”
* * *
I didn’t like travelling in cars. The reasons were complex, and not all so obvious.
The last thing I remember before the crash is sitting at the table in my grandparents’ kitchen, the smell of toast just a little too burnt, the taste of thick strawberry jam and rich butter, the sight of Granddad sitting at the far end of the kitchen smoking and laughing at his own jokes, Gran moving around on unsteady legs as she cooked breakfast. Granddad stood and brushed crumbs and ash from his trousers. Gran admonished him, but gently, because little Ally Mally was with them. Granddad clapped his hands, Gran jumped, I laughed. And then I was in the hospital bed, and I would never hear again.
Later, asleep in the hospital and then when I was finally back at home, fragments of the crash intruded into my dreams. They were fleeting and painful, and at first they’d been frighteningly real, so grim that even as a little girl I’d understood that I was reliving exactly what I had witnessed. My grandfather driving, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, grizzled, yellowed hands resting lightly on the wheel, one finger tapping in rhythm to the music that whispered through the car’s speaker. Gran in the passenger seat, turning to her husband and laughing as she said something that I would never hear. The sudden sense of something wrong, jarring movement. The impact.
But then those unreliable dream memories started to become even more nightmarish. I couldn’t stop them coming, and soon could not discern truth from terror. Granddad grasped the wheel and turned to me, his head almost all the way around on his head, cigarette scorched against hi
s lips and mouth pulled open in a wide-toothed grin. Each tooth looked like a slab of burnt toast. His hands were the claws of a giant parrot gripping the wheel, nails curved into talons. Gran was still turned to speak to him, and her mouth was too wide as she said, “Isn’t it time to kill Ally Mally?” The blur, the impact, and I always woke as the windscreen hazed into a million pieces.
A nine-year-old girl who had been through a terrible ordeal, I could never shake the idea that those were the last words I ever heard. Isn’t it time to kill Ally Mally? Even though I knew they had never been spoken, the memory of them stung.
My world had gone quiet, and my mind became frantic in its efforts to fill the void left behind. I’d suffered a serious head trauma and damage to the brain, broken collarbone, several cracked ribs, and lacerations that had required over fifty stitches. Bad dreams were the least of my doctors’ or parents’ worries.
My parents told me that was my way of dealing with things. At the time we could still only communicate in writing, and I’d kept that slip of paper with my mother’s graceful handwriting that said, This is how you cope. I’d stuck it in a frame above my bed, and sometimes when things seemed too tough I looked at it, and it could have meant anything.
My ways of coping had become many, and as time went on the truly nightmarish dreams became much less frequent and intense, confined mainly to times when I was ill.
Now I was fourteen, my memory of my dead grandparents remained a complex thing.
The other reason I hated travelling in confined vehicles was that, ironically, they made me feel cut off from those around me. During the daytime I could tell when Mum and Dad were chatting in the front, but I could rarely read their lips. Whoever was in the passenger seat might turn around and try to sign to me, but it was difficult to do twisted half around, with the seat and headrest between us. If Jude was in the back with me we could sometimes hold conversations, but he was more likely to be engrossed in a game on his iPod.
In the darkness it was so much worse. With Jude now travelling in Glenn’s Land Rover, Lynne and I had more room to stretch out in the back. But it was Otis who brought me most comfort. I sat with one arm over the back seat, stroking him where he was lying beside the suitcase and hastily piled bags. He didn’t have much room and he’d curled into a ball, nose to tail. I could feel an occasional rumbled sigh as I stroked him.
