The Quiet Government Men continued 2

Taylor was ready to get out through one of the hatches. No intention at all of going with the convoy or inside the bus / tunnel along with the soldiers or the mob. His spine crawled with anticipated claustrophobia at the prospect. His route home across country was already planned, away from the strangled main roads and the panicking refugees. The Jeep was ready with every off road accessory he could find. He would fire the dam charges with a much-reduced delay and then light out of there, over the doomed grass patterned concrete road to where they dare not follow. He was going home to get her and the kids, the only important things in his life.

***

He arrived home in the dark, twenty-four hours later. Rain lashed against the Jeep, the wipers barely clearing the screen before it was awash again. The wheels gushed through deep puddles, the Jeep slowing and then running free again. The streetlights were off. The storm centre had moved away but the horizon lit up with lightning every few seconds. He’d never seen weather like it; nobody had.

           He turned into his street and parked outside the house. Nobody about; a ghost town. He ran down the side path and hammered on his back door. No one in. He unlocked it and groped for the torch that usually sat on the windowsill. Not there. Fumbling in a drawer found a puny key ring novelty torch; then the wind up torch in his filing cabinet. His "green" torch; some decent light.

            The note on the table read:

“Gone to shelter up above the reservoir. Everyone must go to high ground where evacuation will be organized.  Kids missing you, and me – hope you catch up. Love S xxx”

 

His heart thumped in his chest. Feelings of panic rose up making his breathing shallow. He cast about, gasping. What to do? Away from home a week longer than planned, he thought his hometown was on high enough ground to be safe from flooding. As they retreated inland with the Army and Civil Defence teams, as first one sea defence and then another succumbed to the North Sea, he thought they were safe. Then he began to really worry.

            His mad dash across the countryside; he would have nightmares forever, of getting stuck or being intercepted by officialdom, his only goal to get home and be reunited…

            Reservoir? After helping empty one reservoir on the command of the emergency authorities, he didn’t want his family near or in the hands of a selfish frightened mob like that last one. He calmed himself, counted to ten, took deep breaths; this panic attack wasn’t going to help anything. There would be no benefit from emptying the local reservoir, little threat from it overflowing, he thought. It was up high and fed by the two controllable river branches which could be closed or diverted; two rivers which led to the sea. In full spate, they could bear reasonable sized barges. They must be evacuating people by sea! By sea to where?

            In his agitation, he nearly jumped out of his skin as a flash of lightning lit up an apparition in the doorway. Only old George from two doors away. He wore an oilskin coat and a waxed cotton hat. They dripped all over the floor. If Sal were here, he’d be scolded.

‘They’ve gone, son, they were taken by the Special Police. The whole street, the whole town I reckon, though most left ten days or so ago, in their cars,’ George said.

‘Special Police? What Special Police, George?’ he said, startled.

‘You’ll know them soon enough, if you follow them up there.’

Taylor felt like exploding. Did the old fool think he wouldn’t follow, would stay here in the dark empty house without them?

‘Look George, I haven’t got time for guessing games, why are you still here?’

‘I remember secret police from the war. If they took you, you didn’t come back.’

- George is old, but not that old; some stories he’d picked up no doubt.

Taylor waved the note. ‘It says they’ve gone up to the reservoir, to high ground. Come on old boy, let’s go. You’ll die here. What you going to live on?’

George made to leave in the opposite direction.

'I can catch him quick enough,' Taylor muttered.

He went to the phone; dead. Mobile phones stopped working days ago, the lightning played havoc with the phone masts. His mind’s eye saw silhouettes; the dark cloaked soaking wet figures of Sal and the kids, Rachel and Andy, being led away by dark men with guns and helmets.  

Looking wildly round the room, he mindlessly sought a memento, some reassurance, some comfort, something to carry with him out of this hell. Over the TV, on a shelf where he sometimes dumped the contents of his pockets, he saw the fob watch. A Christmas present, he never found a waistcoat to wear with it. Clockwork, not batteries, he could wind it. He pocketed it, and then undid the backs of a pair of family photo frames seized at random.  He took out the photos. His fingers fumbled, glass shattered into shards on the tiled stone floor glinting their omen up at him. 

Control! Calm down man!

 Into the study, the dead computer; all that information; with no power, useless.

He lifted a tape drive backup then discarded it. Instead, he picked up his handful of USB memory sticks from a drawer. All his digital photos and quite a lot of music must be on one or other of them. One of them held local ordnance survey maps for his sat nav. They may come in useful one day, don’t know why, he thought. Securing them all, including the scribbled note, in a dry inner pocket, he shot upstairs darting his head into the bedrooms. Small pale ghosts giggled with mischief – Ha Dad! Fooled you! We would have called you back, really!

            The ghosts dissolved into crumpled, hastily abandoned, duvets.

Back downstairs, he went outside, through the front door this time. He didn’t lock it; something told him he would never return.

There he was, old George, down the street, waving his stick at the storm. Climbing into the Jeep, he turned the key; quarter full of fuel. That was it, no electricity; no fuel pumps. If necessary, he could siphon fuel from an abandoned car. He had the necessary in the back.

Starting the engine, he moved off, edging the passenger window down as he came alongside George.

‘Get in George, come on man.’

George dithered for a few seconds then got in and slammed the door shut. Much to Taylor’s wonder, he put on his seat belt.

‘Let’s have a look see; anyone about down in the town centre.’

Elongated drops of white rain, lit up by his lights, swooped towards them. “Back! The other way! Not here,” they seemed to tell him. The main beam flared and bounced dazzle back into his eyes. Something wasn’t right ahead, at the bottom of the hill near the river. Taylor squinted and strained to see ahead with lights both on and off. Weird, but it looked like the centre of town was under water. Getting out, he peered through the rain. Not only was the lower town underwater but the level was rising.

His sixth sense alerted him. Something was wrong. He edged backwards to his door.

Out of the dark, a surging frothing wave headed towards him.  Jumping back in, he reversed retreating up the hill, water lapping at his front bumper. Swinging the Jeep round, he jammed the gears into forward and accelerated away. It was head for high ground but, why the reservoir? Nothing there; just farmland.

***

‘Now, George, tell me about these special police.’

‘You don’t believe me do you? Think I’m potty…’

‘No, it’s just new to me. I was stuck up in the Wolds. I had to drive off road on tracks, railway lines and stuff. All the roads were blocked with refugees in their cars. It’s taken me a day to drive thirty miles. There are no cars here though, it’s very odd.’

‘How d’ye find your way then?’

Taylor tapped at the sat-nav.

‘One of these things for hill walkers and off road types.’

‘Best you ask it for another way then,’ said George, pointing ahead.

Ahead the road stretched away more or less straight but with dips and hollows all the way to the reservoir. Taylor remembered bright summers’ days, a pleasant roller coaster ride with the reservoir appearing on the high parts, disappearing with the lower parts and reappearing again, tantalizing picnic intent families, windsurfers and leisure sailors alike as they drew nearer. He stopped for the second time in ten minutes, the way ahead blocked by water filling the dip.

The rain had eased but there were still rumbles of thunder from behind them. He eased himself out. He began to feel paranoid. So near yet so far, his decision-making reserves were fading with exhaustion. No driving through the water in the dip; it must be a metre or so deep. It didn’t seem to be rising. He looked back the way they had come. A flash of lightning lit the horizon again. He could see the sea, as if he was on a beach at night during rough weather. No, his imagination was in overdrive. The sea was eighty miles away. George joined him.

‘Town’s gone.’ He nudged Taylor and pointed over the flattened hedge to their right. Taylor shone the torch. A jumble of dozens of wrecked cars piled up in the fields. Looking down, Taylor saw the muddy marks left by tracked vehicles.

Bulldozed off the road.

George gave him a knowing look and then pointed to a slight rise to their left.

‘There’s a track to Top Farm yonder. It will circle us round to the village, Eltham village, by the dam.’

‘Looks like we have no choice, eh George?’ They got back in the Jeep; Taylor turned around, found the track and drove off the road. The way was blocked. By a five-barred gate.

‘Can you…?’ but George was out and heading towards the gate without prompting.

‘I’ll shut it behind us. Keep the animals in,’ he said.

This is no time to worry about the country code, you daft old man, he thought, but he was glad of the company all the same.

George was back at Taylor’s window. ‘Locked, with a chain and a hefty padlock.’

He got out, rooted around in the back of the Jeep and pulled out a steel towrope.

‘Hold the torch, George.’

‘Whatever you’re going to do, you’d best hurry,’ Taylor looked over his shoulder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Behind them, the road they had just left was swimming with water and filling up under the hedge. He had not imagined the night beach scene. Was it following him; biding its time? Watching, waiting, until he was trapped, back against a wall with nowhere to go?

He hissed and hooked the towrope through the chain and ran it back to the Jeep’s front strongpoint.

‘Get in George, if it snaps it’ll cut you in half.’ He selected reverse, revved the engine and dropped the clutch. The wheels spun then gripped and the Jeep shot backwards to be arrested by the rope. Something snapped and the Jeep was free. He got out again. The chain had broken. Breathing a sigh of relief, he dragged the gate open and, about to disentangle the rope, he saw the water was now up to the Jeep’s back wheels. He undid the rope, flung it away and climbed back into his seat. They shot through the gate and on up the steep hill.

Glad he kept the Jeep now, he would never have made it back tonight in an ordinary car. He’d fancied something comfortable, greener; without rattles. As it was he was too late, he’d missed them. In his frantic cross-country dash he’d turned off the radio – a single repeated recording;

 

“Do not, repeat not, try to find friends and family. Go straight to a police or army checkpoint. They will take care of you…”

***

Top Farm was a huddle of buildings with its barns and sheds scattered around. It was deserted or at least, with the lights off, no one came out to meet them.

‘Black uniforms,’ said George, picking up the conversation from earlier. ‘Like riot police but not, like something from the Space Wars films. They shot your mate with one of those Taser guns. He was calling them all sorts. They just fired at him once and he went down. They carried him to the buses. No argument from the rest after that.’

‘Stupid old hippy,’ Taylor said, ‘Wish I’d seen that. What’s happening over there by the reservoir?’

They could see flickering lights ahead on the peninsular in the distance. Bright lights like the ones used on night time  road works. Judging by the moving headlights of vehicles, a lot of activity. They had less than a mile to go but the lightning flashes seemed to reflect more water than land. No obvious route suggested itself in the dark.

‘Let’s wait until daylight, George, eh?’ Driving the Jeep into a hay barn he switched off.

‘You OK?’ George said.

‘Frantic rough cross-country rides are no good for my back these days. It’s sore as f...’

His head thumped with tension. Scratching around in the glove locker found him some paracetamol. The hay looked so inviting.

            ‘I’ll go and find some water,’ George said.

***

At dawn Taylor awoke to the smell of hay, farmyard manure and diesel fuel. He heard the chatter of rain on tin roofing; no sign of George. He looked around, only half aware of his predicament. Outside, the rain came down in a steady drizzle. The storm centre must be elsewhere. He wandered over to the Jeep, poked about inside, found a battered paper cup wedged under his seat; dunked it into the bucket George must have found last night and filled with water. He drank deep. I should drink water more often, this is nectar, he thought.   A half melted chocolate bar lurked in the armrest bin and he devoured half of it. -  

Where was George? Has he cleared off in his fear of the police?

A voice came from behind him. ‘Don’t move.’ He turned and received two sharp barbs in the chest and a fierce jolt of electricity. It threw him to the ground; he banged his head hard on the hub of the Jeep’s front wheel.

- Special Police - flashed through his mind as he passed out.

***

‘Which part of  “Don’t move” didn’t he understand?’ said the black uniformed trooper to his three colleagues.

A sergeant pushed forward. He looked down at Taylor.

‘You’re too trigger-happy with that thing Collins. He was no threat; nor was that poor old man you killed on the way in.’

‘I didn’t kill him. He had a heart attack.’

‘Thanks to you.’

The sergeant glared Collins down then kneeled to take Taylor’s pulse.

‘He’s lucky and so are you. We’ll have one of our little chats when we get back. Load him up. Let’s go; we won’t be driving round here in twelve hours.’ We won’t be here at all in twenty-four, he thought.

***

Taylor came round inside a dark functional vehicle, alternately bouncing up and down one minute, drifting serenely the next. His head was sore and he reached for the bump on his head. He was manacled with one of those plastic cable ties. Please let me wake up in my own bed, he prayed. A light shone in his face.

‘You’re awake then. What were you doing at the farm?’

‘Who are you? Why am I tied up? What’s this coffin we’re in?’

‘We are SP. You had to be restrained for your own good. An amphibious vehicle, if you must know. Now, it’s your turn. What were you doing at the farm?’

‘OK Collins, back off. Not everybody wandering around the countryside is a criminal,’ said the one with three stripes as he shouldered Collins aside.

‘He could be a looter. We were told we could shoot looters.’

‘Look Collins, we were told it may be necessary to shoot them, not shoot them if we feel like it. Now, clear off out of my sight before I shoot you.’ He turned to Taylor.

‘Sorry, he’s a tad over zealous. Worse, he’s on my squad today. Were you looting?’

He winked.

A human, thought Taylor. They still exist.

‘Of course not, what’s to loot from a farm? Unless there’s a black market for cattle fodder in the new age.’

The man laughed at his bitterness.

‘I like a bit of dry sarcasm. Don’t try it on Collins though. He just pulls his trigger and never asks questions afterwards. Anyway, Mr Taylor, my name’s Sharpe. Nick Sharpe. Have some water and a biscuit.’

‘How do you know my name?’

Sharpe held up his wallet, leaned over and tucked it back into Taylor’s jacket pocket.

He held out his wrists for Sharpe to cut his bonds. Another trooper passed him back a water bottle. The biscuits were wrapped in dark blue plastic with the label: Z rations – Field Ops - Biscuits.

He gave Sharpe a rough outline of his past thirty-six hours. Sharpe grunted; ‘You could come in handy in all this.’ He turned to glare at Collins; ‘unlike some.’ He continued.

‘You wouldn’t have made it last night. You’d have bogged in and we wouldn’t have seen you. We saw your lights up on the hill last night and came for a reconnaissance ...tbc