The End of Everything | Book 9 | The End of Everything

by Artinian, Christopher

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Olsen said.

  The dark mahogany door swung open and in stepped a middle-aged man donning the same uniform as Olsen, Parkes and the rest of the massive army wore. “We’re ready.”

  “Everyone’s been briefed?”

  “Yes,” the man said, nodding.

  “Very well. We’ll be out in a moment.” The man left as quickly as he had appeared. She turned back to look at Parkes. “This is a real gift. This Safe Haven place, with its position and its weapons cache, it’s going to give us the perfect base of operations on the west coast.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke. “All those years I was in parliament, I achieved practically nothing, but now…”

  “The years you were in parliament you achieved plenty. And it’s because of your time in parliament that we’re in the position we’re in now. Your followers, your army, they’re all here because of you, because of what you stood for … stand for. Your years as a hard-working MP, making connections, networking with like-minded people over here, in Europe, in the States, it gave you the knowledge and resources you needed to get us here. And finally, out of all this chaos, something great is happening.”

  Olsen smiled and stood, placing the mug of coffee down on the table. “Come on then, my loyal friend. Destiny awaits us.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Robyn and Wren continued their vigil. They stared into the distance as the sun gradually made its ascent. “Everyone is ready,” Mila said as she walked up behind them, causing both sisters to jump.

  “For Christ’s sake,” Robyn said as she turned towards her friend. “You can’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “I was not sneaking up. I was merely walking. It is not my fault if you behave like a frightened rabbit at every sound you hear.”

  “I suppose I’d better get into position,” Wren said.

  “Wait a minute,” Robyn replied, pulling the Glock 17 from her rucksack. “You said you were going to show me how to use this thing.”

  “Yeah,” Wren said, taking it from her. “Basically, you line it up with what you want to shoot, and you press that triggery thing.”

  “That’s it? Isn’t there like a safety switch or something on it?”

  “Not on that model, no.”

  “Anything else?”

  Wren shrugged. “Make sure the end with the hole in it is pointing away from you.”

  “Wow! I’m really glad you added that bit, Sis. No way could I have figured it out otherwise.”

  “Yeah well … you always were a bit dim, weren’t you?”

  They threw their arms around each other. “See you in a bit.”

  “Yeah,” Wren said then headed off with Wolf by her side.

  “At least it is a better day than yesterday. No rain and howling winds,” Mila said as she and Robyn turned back towards the climbing sun.

  “Oh yeah, you’ve got to have a nice day for an ambush. It takes all the fun out of it otherwise.”

  Mila pulled the rifle from her shoulder. “I could shoot you, you know. People would believe me if I said it was an accident. I am very convincing.”

  The two friends laughed. “It’s a good look for you.”

  Mila looked at the SA80. “Nein. I would take my swords any day. There is nothing graceful about this.”

  “To be fair, I don’t think your swords would do you much good here.”

  Mila shrugged then slid the straps of her rucksack from her shoulders. She retrieved two bottles, which had been wedged in to remain upright. In the mouth of each of them was a protruding fuse made of wadded rag. The smell of diesel was strong. “Here,” she said, handing one to her friend.

  “I thought we were going to use cotton wool for the fuses.”

  “Change of plan. We’re keeping the cotton wool for first aid.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably not a bad idea.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The convoy was vast. Olsen and Parkes rode in a black-and-purple rock band tour bus with tinted windows and all mod cons. They sat in a small room at the back together, while a group of tech heads, comms people and planners resided in a lounge area nearer the front of the bus. The coach was about three-quarters of the way back in the convoy. They were going to find a suitable base outside of Torridon where she would control operations, but she had no intention of getting involved in any of the fighting herself. She was way too important for that. The entire fate of their future rested on her shoulders, and it would be irresponsible to go glory hunting in battle, at least that’s what she told people. The reality was she would never put herself in harm’s way.

  All her life, she had done nothing but give speeches and stir hatred. Everybody had to peddle in something and hate was her preferred stock. It was easy, and people ate out of the palm of her hand. People always wanted to blame someone else for their own misfortune, and if somebody could offer them a reason for all the things that were bad in their lives, they would grasp on to it with both hands and never let go.

  Even before the outbreak, she had garnered a devoutly loyal following. Her particular brand of extremism had given her a cult-like status. When she had started out, the meetings she had held were in the back rooms of pubs and sleepy village halls. At the last election, her party received nearly fifteen per cent of the votes, and she was touring around the country filling arenas. TrueBrit was almost like a religion. Of course, it cited itself as being Christian, but there was very little that was Christian about its message.

  She ran the whole operation like a big top preacher. Donations rolled in thick and fast, and support for her came not only from within the UK but from groups with similar ideologies all over the world. There were people from every walk of life who subscribed to her philosophy, and when the prime minister gave his momentous speech on how Britain and Ireland would combat the outbreak that had affected the rest of the world, she knew it was her time to flourish.

  She and the key members of her party began their campaign of misinformation. The government, security and intelligence services were far too concerned with the real disaster that was unfolding to contemplate that someone even as amoral as Olsen would try to use what was going on to their political advantage. They had a huge war chest and spent millions purchasing supplies. They had people inside the army who siphoned off weapons and ammunition until they had enough to form their own militia.

  Inside information told them where and when to hijack further shipments, which barracks to raid, which supply warehouses had the least protection. When everything was in place, she issued a call to arms. By that time, the first outbreak had occurred in Portsmouth, and people were terrified. It was not a hard sell.

  Using contacts at the port authorities, the coast guards, and the oil companies, she mounted an escape plan for the chosen—her followers. They spent months aboard oil rigs and commandeered cruise ships. They trained, they prepared, and she made sure she kept the message alive. They would get back to land, clear it of all the detritus living or dead, and start again. They would build a utopia. It would not be easy, but together they could achieve anything. The message resounded with everyone in her flock. Fear had gripped them, but Olsen and her plan gave them a sense of purpose, a real hope that maybe for them it was not the end of all things. Now, day by day, town by town, the plan was coming to fruition.

  She looked across towards Parkes. “Okay, spill it.”

  “Spill what?”

  “There are only the two of us. I can tell something is troubling you about this and I know you’re far too loyal to raise concerns in front of anyone else, so what is it?”

  “It’s… nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Don’t you think this is overkill?”

  She looked through the tinted window at the long line of vehicles stretching out in front of them. “We need this to be decisive. We can’t afford mistakes.”

  “Agreed, but we could do it with half the vehicles we’re using right
now.”

  “We’ve got hundreds more and thousands more men and women dotted up and down the coast. Why are you bothered about the vehicles?”

  “It’s not the vehicles, it's the fuel. Our reserves are getting lower and lower.”

  “Look, we need this base on the west coast. That takes priority over everything. And Springer is working hard on transferring us over to biodiesel.”

  “Biodiesel is a joke. The resources we need to manufacture it are as hard to locate as real diesel. Springer’s a fool.”

  “Oh ye of little faith. I have confidence in him.”

  “I’m glad one of us does.”

  “Look. Your objection is duly noted, but the rewards outweigh the risks.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, realising there was no point in arguing any longer.

  She smiled again. “Mark my words, by this evening you’ll be wondering why you ever doubted me.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “I’m starving,” Robyn said, taking off her rucksack and pulling out a Starbar. “You want one?” she said, offering it to Mila.

  “It is beyond me how your mind works.”

  “A girl’s got to eat,” she said, peeling off the wrapper and biting off a big chunk. She struggled to manoeuvre it around her mouth, and a small dribble of chocolate spittle dribbled down her chin as the outsized piece of confectionery pushed against the inside of her lips.

  Mila shook her head. “Sie sind eine Schwein.”

  “What?” Robyn asked as a small piece of nugget flew out of her mouth towards Mila, who just managed to dodge it.

  “Pig. You are a pig,” she said, and they both chuckled. Robyn continued to chew and smile as she brought the binoculars back up to her eyes. “How your sister put up with you for so long is… What is it?” Mila watched as her friend stopped chewing and the smile disappeared from her face. “Robyn. What is it? You are scaring me.”

  Robyn quickly brought the binoculars down, spat out the chocolate and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “We’re screwed. Stay here,” she said, handing Mila the field glasses and sprinting away.

  Mila’s confusion did not last long as she looked herself. It was still some way in the distance, but it did not take a genius to see the convoy was colossal. The two-hundred-metre channel that they were hoping to trap them in would not be long enough to trap the first quarter, let alone all of it. “Scheisse!”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Robyn tore along the top of the cliff, hurdling over rocks and crags. She passed several of the theatre troupe who were already in position and could only look at her with their mouths agape. She could see the concern on the faces of Wren, Chuck, Emmy and Larry as she approached.

  “What is it?” Wren asked, rushing towards her.

  “It’s massive. The convoy is massive. No way are we going to trap them all.”

  “How massive?” Chuck asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s big. Really, really big. Our plan’s shot.”

  There was a short pause before Wren spoke again. “No. No, it’s not. The whole point is to create a blockade.”

  “That wasn’t the whole point,” Robyn replied.

  “Okay, but that was the main thing. Create a blockade then get back to Safe Haven. We can still do that. Chuck, how good are you with that rifle?”

  “It’s a bit like riding a bike. You never really forget.”

  “Go back with Robyn. We’ve got the easy part at this end; most of the work’s already done. Take out the driver of the last vehicle into the channel then light him up. If you can get another, that would be a bonus, but remember, we retreat before they have a chance to get a single shot at us. Everyone else will release the Molotovs, and it will be chaos down there. Yes, we might not get the whole convoy like we wanted, but we’ll hurt them, and we’ll get done what we need to get done.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” Chuck said as he and Robyn made their way back along the cliff top. “For the life of me, I never thought I’d be taking directions from a sixteen-year-old girl.”

  “My sister’s not like normal sixteen-year-olds. She kind of missed the whole teenage thing and went straight to middle age.”

  “Well, she certainly doesn’t lack confidence. Get ready. Get ready, they’re coming. Get ready.” Chuck rallied his friends as he ran past.

  “I really hope this works,” Robyn said.

  “Well, we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “No, you're meant to say, ‘Of course it’s going to work.’”

  “Well … yeah. Course it will.”

  “I see why you worked behind the scenes now. Not much of an actor, are you?”

  They arrived back with Mila and quickly briefed her. Then they waited.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Everyone remained well back from the edge of the cliff as the roar of the fleet of vehicles approached. “I feel sick,” Emmy said as she crouched down.

  “It won’t be long now,” Larry replied.

  “That’s what worries me.”

  Wren retrieved the Glock 17 from the back of her jeans and looked at it for a moment before placing it on the ground in front of her. “Time to get in position,” she said, turning to Larry and Emmy. The reek of whisky on Larry’s breath concerned Wren no end, but how difficult could it be to throw a bottle, drunk or not?

  “Good luck, Wren,” Emmy said before she and Larry moved further along the ridge. They took their places fifteen and thirty metres down respectively then waited.

  Wren had been in lots of precarious positions before, but this was scarier than most. She placed her hands out in front of her to see they were both shaking to a degree. You can do this. You can do this. She could hear the vehicles begin to decelerate. Okay, this is it. They’re going to stop any second. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

  The sound of the engines changed again, now many of them were idling. Wren could feel her heart desperately trying to leap out of her chest. She pulled the lighter from her pocket and lit the fuse of the first then the second homemade bomb. Now she couldn’t hear anything down below, only her own breathing. This is it. This is it. She placed the Glock in the back of her jeans once more and picked up both Molotovs. This is it. This is it. “This is it, boy,” she said, looking into Wolf’s eyes as he sat and watched. Wren ran forward to the edge of the cliff, her eyes taking in everything in a single glance. The passenger door of the front lorry was just opening. She could see the driver on the radio presumably broadcasting that the road was blocked. The passenger climbed out, inadvertently glancing up. Wren wasn’t sure which of the two of them looked more surprised in that moment.

  She had not anticipated seeing any of them, just vehicles. “Up ther—” His warning shout was cut short as the diesel bomb arced down towards the open door. It smashed against the frame and liquid fire spewed inside the cab of the vehicle and over the passenger. All thoughts of shouting warnings, all thoughts of reaching for his sidearm were now forgotten as he fell to the ground engulfed in flames. His tortured howls sent a chill running down Wren’s spine. The chill spread to the rest of her body and froze her blood as she watched the driver, trapped in the confines of his cab, with his seatbelt still on desperately trying to unbuckle it as flames spread all over him and the inside of the compartment. She could hear his screams of pain too, and, enemy or not, it was a horrible death to inflict on someone. Her heart sank a little before she lobbed the second Molotov cocktail towards the barricade.

  The bottle smashed on the roof of the van and two lines of fire ran in either direction. She could see more Molotov cocktails being lobbed down into the channel below. She pulled the Glock from the back of her jeans and aimed at the tyres of the second truck. Everything had happened in a matter of a few seconds, but they were images that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Chuck fired five shots towards the driver of the final vehicle in the channel. The motorcade stretched way into the distance, but he couldn’t think about that now.
He had a job to do, and he was doing it. Robyn and Mila released their Molotov cocktails, one immediately immersing the front of the van in flames, the other lighting up the bonnet and windscreen of the wagon behind.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Wren fired four, five, six shots, eventually managing to take out the front passenger side tyre of the vehicle behind. More shots rang out from further along the ridge, but then that was it. The initial few seconds of the surprise attack were over, and the sound of gunfire from below began to fill the air as did the smoke from the burning vehicles.

  The instructions and the plan had been clear. Release the bombs, cause as much damage as you could with the rifles until fire was returned, then get the hell out of there.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Olsen was still looking at the radio in her hand when the sound of gunfire began. She sprang from her seat with Parkes following close behind her. They ran from the quiet room at the back of the bus passing the tech-heads, planners and comms experts who were still staring in horror towards the radio handset that had just announced their plans had all gone to hell.

  They stood next to the driver as they watched the smoke beginning to rise in front of them. “What the hell?” Parkes asked.

  Olsen rushed back into the small lounge. “Get the drones up. Get them up now!”

  Two of the men almost jumped to their feet and ran towards the front of the bus. The door opened, and they jumped down. Olsen stood there fuming as she heard the luggage compartment open. She walked back to the front of the bus and continued to watch as more smoke billowed up ahead. The gunfire had stopped as quickly as it had started, and now the only sound in the bus was that of confused and frightened voices on the radio.