Nobody at that time could have guessed that the Army would one day take over the Jollity Camp. The night Sebastian had seen Captain Smedley and Charlie Rubenstein in the pub had been a week before the Great Snow. Everything had been normal back then. The Jollity Holiday Camp had been the same dingy, depressing place it always was in winter – which is to say slightly more dingy and depressing than it was in summer. Come spring it would be back in action, providing cheap weekend breaks to old aged pensioners, cash-strapped families and anyone who thought it might be fun to experience a “classic rock music” weekend featuring “all your favourite stars” (which meant some wrinkled old geezers who’d had a hit or two in the lower end of the Top 100 some time back in the 1970s).
Before the Great Snow, there had been no hint that the Army would be requisitioning the place. Why would they? Nobody knew of the calamity that was about to strike: the snow, the plague, the deaths, the red-eyes. Nobody knew all that was going to happen. So why had Captain Smedley even been in Stony Cove? Why had he been talking to Charlie Rubenstein? It was almost as if he’d had advance warning. Of the disaster that was just one week away. It was as though he – and the Army? And the Government? – were already making plans.
Every day, Sebastian watched the Camp. Most days he saw Captain Smedley, walking around, inspecting things. Sometimes he was in the company of Lieutenant-Colonel Digby. Sometimes Charlie Rubenstein was with him.
The people inside the Camp rarely bothered about what went on outside the Camp. Sebastian’s presence behind the railings soon became as mundane and uninteresting as the weeds that grew in the disordered world beyond the Camp. A wandering sheep would have drawn more attention than Sebastian did.
Because nobody paid any attention to him, Sebastian saw things that officially weren’t supposed to be happening. He saw one of the whitecoats taking a young girl prisoner behind a chalet block, ripping off her underwear and pushing her against a wall; he saw the soldiers mocking a boy prisoner, calling him “retard” and “gaga” and “moron” and “shitbrains”; he saw a nurse hitting a boy patient so hard that he fell onto the ground and lay there, curled up, sobbing to himself as the nurse walked on laughing to herself. He saw Cheerful Charlie Rubenstein groping a short, slightly plump sandy haired boy through his jeans and when the boy cried out, Charlie bent the boy’s arm behind his back and told him he’d break it if he didn’t shut up.
The boy with the sandy hair matched the description that Gloria had given him of her brother, Ben. When the Gang of Five had their next meeting in the candle-lit basement, Sebastian told her that he’d seen Ben. But he didn’t tell her what Charlie Rubenstein had done. He just hoped that one day Charlie, and all the people like him, would get their come-uppance. If, and when, the Resistance finally won.
One day Sebastian saw Freddie. He was walking through the middle of the Camp, from the chalets towards the Dining Hall. He was too far away to speak to. Even if Sebastian had shouted, Freddie probably would not have heard. And even if he had heard, he might not have responded. There was something about Freddie that was dead. There was no vigour in the way he walked, his shoulders were slumped, his eyes fixed on the ground. Gloria’s brother, Ben, was with Freddie. Ben had the same lifeless look about him. Freddie and Ben were their targets. The ones the Gang Of Five were going to help to escape.
Once Sebastian had seen Ben and Freddie, he realised what a monumental task they were undertaking. Neither Ben nor Freddie seemed fully aware of their surroundings. The idea of getting them to take part in a workable escape plan was ludicrous, hopeless, not even worth considering seriously. And yet he had to consider it seriously. Ben was Gloria’s brother. Freddie was Sebastian’s friend.
Often there was a third man with them. The third man was different. Sebastian stayed by the railings, watching, until the three of them came out of the Dining Hall and strolled back towards the chalets. The three young men made the same journey for lunch and for dinner. Sebastian noted the times of these excursions.
He came back the next day and the day after that and saw that the three companions took meals at exactly the same times each day. It was the third man who interested Sebastian. At first sight, it was easy to think that he was just like the other two, that the light of intelligence burned dimly in him. But watching him more closely, Sebastian became convinced that it was all an act. The third man was not as he appeared. His eyes were not fixed on the ground as he walked; they flicked from side to side, observing, studying.
After a few days of watching the three young men, Sebastian realised that, just as he was watching them, the third man had been watching him.
One evening, as Sebastian made the circuit of the perimeter fence, he saw the third man in the amusement park. He appeared to be strolling along listlessly. But when he drew near to where Sebastian was standing, he said, “Good evening. You’ve been watching us.”
Sebastian was too taken aback to say anything.
“Oh, don’t be shocked. I know all about you. Your name’s Sebastian. I’m Matteo. I think we can work together.”
Escape
Stony Cove: June
The Plan
Geoff, Jonathan and Matteo were sitting on the floor of Leila’s chalet. Leila was sharing the bed with the dog Bobby.
“The original plan was just to get Ben and Freddie out,” Matteo explained, “They thought that two was the optimal number. Any more would be too big a risk. But neither Ben nor Freddie are in any shape to get out under their own steam. They need help. I told Sebastian I could provide that help. As long as you three came too.”
“I’m flattered you thought of us,” Jonathan said, “But also a bit suspicious. I mean, why would you want us along? You hardly even know us. And, like they said, the more who try to escape, the bigger the risk of being caught.”
“Oh, it’s quite simple,” Matteo replied, “I need you. I can’t cope with Freddie and Ben on my own. I need you to help.”
“Then why not just leave Freddie and Ben here and try to break out on our own?” said Leila, “Surely that would be the best thing.”
“We also need Sebastian’s help,” said Matteo, “In fact, it all depends on Sebastian.”
“What about the dog?” said Geoff, patting Bobby’s head.
Matteo ignored the question. “OK, so let me explain how we are going to do this.”
*
The plan was simple. It was so simple that it amazed Jonathan that he hadn’t thought of it himself. The Camp was divided in two parts by the road that led in a straight line from the main gates on the west side to the perimeter railings on the east where it widened slightly to provide a space for vehicles to turn around and go back towards the main gate. To the south of the road lay the main entertainment facilities: The Jollity Building containing the Jolly Pig & Whistle Bar, the coffee bar and some shops; to the right of that was the King’s Building containing the Rock’n’Roll Ballroom, the Old Time Ballroom and the Dining Hall. The sports field was to the south of the Jollity and King’s Buildings and would have overlooked the cliffs above the sea on its southern edge but for the perimeter railings that encircled the entire Camp. To the right of the sports field was the amusement park. The amusement park was at the very eastern edge of the Camp, just to the south of the turning place on the main road running through the Camp. Cross the road from the amusement park and you arrive at a locked building which, according to a faded sign was ‘The First Aid Room’. The building looked derelict. Unlike the Jollity Building, the King’s Building and the chalets, it has not been repainted or renovated. Its windows were boarded up. Its doors were locked. Nobody seemed to know what, if anything, it was used for. But that wasn’t important, as far as the escape plan was concerned. What was important was that the building was right next to the perimeter railings, no more than six feet or so away. And it had a flat roof. What was even better was that the roof was a few feet higher than the tops of the railings.
It would be the simplest thing in the world t
o get a ladder, climb onto the roof and take up some sort of board. The board could be positioned so that one end rested on the roof itself and the other end rested on the tops of the railings. Then they would be able to clamber across the board, lower a rope to the ground and get away.
The ladders, and boards would be easy to find thanks to all the repair and decoration work that was still being done around the Camp. As for the rope, that wasn’t a problem either. Matteo had found some climbing ropes stored in a cupboard in the Games Room which had formerly been a gymnasium.
Yes, the plan was simple. Too simple. Because there was one thing that made it impossible to achieve. The watchtowers. There was a watchtower just to the north of the First Aid Room and there was another watchtower just to the south, near the amusement park. Even though one of the towers might occasionally be unoccupied when a guard sloped off (against all rules) for a beer or a kip, it would be inconceivable that both towers would be simultaneously unmanned. In any case, even if they were, the roof of the First Aid Room would still be visible from all the other five watch towers around the perimeter fence. At least one of the guards would be bound to see them. When the guards saw them, they would shoot. With the guns they had, they would be unlikely to miss. And they shot to kill.
*
It came at twilight. It was a 36,000 litre tanker – a big, squat lorry with a cab at the front and a big, squat fuel tank supported by four wheels at the rear. Jonathan couldn’t figure out why Matteo had taken him to go and watch it. Tankers like that had been a common sight in the rural areas of the West Country. They brought heating oil to houses and farms which used oil to power their central heating and their Aga and Rayburn stoves. Sometimes they delivered red diesel for the tractors and combine harvesters too.
The tanker turned left down a small tarmacked side-road between two blocks of chalets about a hundred feet from the main entrance. Jonathan and Matteo sauntered past that roadway and then turned down a roadway parallel to it, dividing two similar blocks of chalets. They stopped half-way down the road, just outside a yellow-painted chalet and leaned against a wall. They did a reasonable impression of the semi-stupefied, aimless dawdling that was common among the campers, so they aroused no suspicion from anyone who might notice them. In fact, their dawdling was far from aimless. They had positioned themselves at a point where they could observe the oil tanker. It had stopped close to the northern perimeter fence. Here there stood two huge plastic fuel tanks raised up on concrete plinths. The driver of the tanker had already got out of his cab and opened the cap at the top of one of the fuel tanks. He had unfurled an extendable fuel pipe which led from the tanker into the opening in the tank. Once this was securely positioned, he got back into his cab and, shortly after, a rhythmic, mechanical pumping sound indicated that fuel was being transferred out of the tanker and into the fuel storage tank. After about ten minutes, the pumping ended, the driver rolled up the fuel pipe, replaced the lid on the fuel storage tank, got back into his cab and turned the tanker around in the direction it had come.
*
“So fuel tankers come in and fuel tankers go out again,” said Leila, “I don’t see where that gets us. We can’t hide in the fuel tank, that’s for sure. And the guards check for stowaways in the cabs of all the trucks and lorries that come and go. I’ve seen them.”
Matteo smiled. “Nobody’s going out that way. Going out isn’t the important bit. Coming in is what matters.”
Leila gave him a Basilisk glare. “I’m not with you.”
“The tankers bring in diesel for the generator, right?”
“Right.”
“The generator provides power for the Camp, right?”
“I suppose so. I haven’t given it any thought.”
“Then you should do. The generator provides the power. The power is needed by the searchlights on the watchtowers. As long as the searchlights are in action, our escape plan won’t work. We need to climb up onto the roof of the First Aid Room. We need to use some boards to make a bridge from the roof to the railings and then we need to use some ropes to get down on the other side. With the searchlights on, all seven of the watchtowers would see us. We’d be dead meat in a matter of seconds.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Leila.
“So we have to sabotage the generator.”
“Ah! Good idea,” said Leila, “How does one sabotage a generator.”
“Sugar,” said Geoff, “I seen it in a film. They put sugar in the petrol of a lorry and that wrecked it. The engine wouldn’t start.”
“So we pour sugar into the generator?” said Leila, somewhat sceptically, “How much sugar would be need exactly?”
“There’s a problem with that,” said Jonathan, “The generator is right next to the fuel tanks. It’s this great smelly machine about the size of a small delivery truck. First of all, I reckon we’d need an awful lot of sugar. And secondly, it’s right next to one of the watchtowers. They’d see us messing about with it for sure.”
“Ah but they won’t,” said Matteo, “You haven’t been following, have you?”
“Apparently not,” said Jonathan, “I have no idea what you are on about.”
“The tanker driver,” Matteo said, “He’s going to sabotage the generator for us.”
“With sugar?” said Leila, “If that’s your brilliant plan, I am seriously under-impressed. Frankly, I think we’d have more chance of getting out in a wooden bloody horse!”
But that wasn’t the plan at all. And it wasn’t Matteo’s brilliant plan. It was Sebastian’s. He’d been planning it for a long time. And it all relied upon Teddy.
Teddy
For weeks, Sebastian had watched the lorries go in and come out again. On the way in, if the guard at the main gate recognised the driver, he waved him through; if he didn’t, he asked to see his authorisation. On the way out, all vans and trucks were inspected. The back doors were opened, a soldier got inside and checked that only what was supposed to be in the vehicle really was in the vehicle. Cars were similarly checked, both inside the car itself and in the boot. When a fuel tanker left the Camp, a soldier climbed up to the cab to verify that it contained only the driver. The fuel tank itself was never checked because there was no way it could contain anything but fuel. But sometimes a soldier checked beneath big vehicles just in case someone might have been foolish enough to try to hitch a ride clinging onto the undercarriage.
There was another important commodity that went into and out of the Camp: people. Not all of the staff lived inside the Camp. Some, such as Sebastian’s Aunty Brenda, lived in town, walked into the Camp in the morning and walked out again in the evening. He’d heard stories of some wartime escapees who’d disguised themselves as German officers or women and just walked out through the front gates. But the guards at the gates of the Jollity Camp knew all the locals who worked there. Fooling the guards wasn’t just a matter of fabricating official ID cards. They were on first-name terms with the local workers. Dressing up as a whitecoat or a cleaning lady wouldn’t deceive them for a second.
Sebastian quickly formed the opinion that it would be impossible to smuggle anyone out of the Camp. Then he turned his attention to smuggling things into the Camp. Things that might be useful in a breakout. Guns maybe, or explosives? The guards at the gate rarely checked the goods being carried by vans and trucks. They might give a cursory glance to verify that a van purporting to be transporting food was indeed transporting food or that a lorry that claimed to be carrying bags of cement for rebuilding work was in fact carrying bags of cement. But they seldom bothered doing a more detailed search. So it would, in principle, be possible to smuggle weapons into the Camp. There were just two problems. The first problem was that the goods were checked inside the Camp when they were unloaded. If a bag labelled ‘Cement’ was found to contain hand-grenades, or if a van that was supposedly carrying tins of beans happened to contain a box of high-power rifles, that would certainly be noticed. But it was the second problem that was the real
clincher: Sebastian had no idea where he could lay his hands on guns or bombs. So the weapon-smuggling scheme was a non-starter.
It was when he noticed that the flat roof of the First Aid Building was at about the same height as the top of the railings that the entire escape plan flashed fully formed into his mind. He realised at once that it would be simple for any would-be escapee to get out that way just so long as there were no searchlights operating. The searchlights were powered by the generator. The generator was fed fuel from two big plastic fuel tanks. The fuel tanks were topped up several times a week by fuel tankers. The fuel was the key.
When he’d been a child, one of Sebastian’s uncles had bought a diesel-powered sit-on lawnmower. Every month or so in summer, his uncle would take a fuel can down to the local garage and fill it up with diesel which he would then bring back and pour into his lawnmower. One day, in a fit of absent-mindedness, his uncle had filled the can with petrol instead of diesel. When he sat on the lawnmower and tried to start it up, it made a couple of wheezes and a sputtering noise and then it stopped dead. Petrol, the young Sebastian had discovered, was not the same as diesel. Try to run a diesel-powered engine on petrol and bad things happen. So all he had to do was to get the tanker driver to fill one of the fuel tanks for the Camp generator with petrol instead of diesel.
The Exodus Plague | Book 2 | Imprisoned Page 17
