Safe Haven, page 3
"What's WWMD?"
"What would Mike do?" she replied with a smirk. Emma let out a small giggle. "We've got to get back to him, Emma," Lucy said more seriously this time. "I have to see him again. I have to tell him I'm sorry."
Emma took hold of Lucy's hand. "If you hadn't done what you did, he'd be dead now. He's the most hot-headed person I know, but he's not dense. He'll realise what you did was to save him."
"That's sweet of you to say. But I need to make it right." For a moment, Lucy felt the urge to cry, but she quickly gained control. "Come on, we need to get inside and get safe."
The pair climbed out of the cab and headed to the doors of the container. Emma lifted the bolt and daylight rushed into the lorry, revealing seventy-five terrified women.
"Listen," Lucy said, bringing the frightened mutterings to a halt. "We need to get inside quickly; we're too exposed outside. Stay quiet, do as we say, and you'll be fine."
She nodded to Beth and Sarah who immediately climbed down and began to help the other women while Emma and Lucy climbed up onto the loading dock to look for a way in. There was a small frosted glass window towards the end of the dock. It was six feet off the ground, but there were plenty of discarded materials around to build some makeshift steps.
Emma stacked a couple of boxes and climbed up to it. She held up three pieces of thick cardboard to the glass and punched hard. "Fucking bastard," she yelled as she cradled her fist in her other hand. The glass remained unblemished, as she grimaced and tried to numb the pain.
Lucy ran back to the cab of the lorry and looked underneath the driver's seat. There was a large, grimy crowbar laying on the carpet. She grabbed it, climbed back onto the loading dock and ran to where Emma was still shielding her hurt knuckles.
"Move sweetie," she said as she swung the heavy black tool. The glass splintered but did not shatter as she anticipated. "It must be reinforced," she said taking subsequent swings.
Eventually, it caved, and Lucy reached in to release the catch and lift the window frame open. She brushed the shards away and climbed inside. Emma climbed in after her, still grunting from the pain of her hand.
Beth and Sarah had got all the women out of the lorry and were helping the final few up onto the loading dock. They walked past the enormous padlocked roller shutters to the small opening that Lucy had created.
Lucy and Emma looked around the dimly lit store room as the first of the women began to climb in. Most of the racking was empty except for a few boxes of till rolls and some old EPOS terminals. As they headed into the room, further away from the source of light the small window provided, they instinctively withdrew their weapons. The room was narrow but long, and if this had been just a stationery cupboard as the last remnants on the shelves suggested, it gave an indication as to how big and busy the DIY superstore must have been before commerce came to a grinding halt.
The pair paused at the door looking towards each other in the dimness.
"That's everybody in,” called Beth as she climbed through the window and down onto the sturdy plastic crates below.
"Remember, stay quiet, and follow our lead," said Emma as Lucy turned the handle to the door.
The pair headed through the opening simultaneously, each raising their weapons to shoulder height. The sun's rays poured through the huge skylights of the silent warehouse. They advanced, keeping a careful watch for movement. They headed through the heavy plastic doors and onto the shop floor, pausing to make sure all the women were still following. Beth was the last through. She was carrying the crowbar and had it held high ready for action. The group slowly moved towards the front of the store, scanning their surroundings, alert for any sight or sound that seemed out of place. They reached the tills.
"Drop your fucking weapons!" roared a gruff voice as armed men in military uniforms sprang up from behind the cash desk.
More rose from behind the customer service desk, then the sound of running feet heralded the arrival of more still. The women were completely surrounded and some began to scream uncontrollably. Lucy's face flared, neither her nor Emma lowered their guns.
"I said drop your fucking weapons!" the voice shouted again. This time its owner walked forward. A tall, muscular figure pointed his rifle directly at Lucy. "I won't tell you again."
Emma and Lucy lowered their weapons and carefully placed them down on the floor. Two men broke rank and went to collect them while the rest of the rifles stayed aimed at the group.
"Stop your fucking caterwauling as well, otherwise I'll stop it for you," he shouted, and immediately the terrified screams turned to confused and muffled sobs.
"Who are you people?" Lucy demanded.
"Your worst fucking nightmare," replied the man.
***
Mike had taken Jake back to the house and carried him up to bed. He explained to Sammy that their little brother was in shock, and she needed to stay with him in case he came around, while he went into the village to look for survivors. He hated the thought of leaving them, but he had no option.
His original plan had been to drive down in his gran's camper van, but on finding it completely siphoned of fuel, he ended up taking a bicycle. The last thing he wanted was to go on a seven-mile bike ride, but in the absence of all other transport, he didn't really have an option. The black smoke hadn't abated since he first saw it. He hoped there were survivors. He hoped he could find some clue as to where the raiders had taken Lucy, Emma and the others, and he really hoped he could find some motorised transport. After fifteen minutes of cycling flat out, he arrived at the outlying houses of the village. Doors had been kicked in and he saw two lifeless bodies lying face down on a lawn. He dismounted and walked across to them.
They had been shot in the back of their heads. He lifted the face of one to see it was his gran's friend, Dean Marsh, a sixty-five-year-old retired English teacher who suffered crippling arthritis.
What kind of cowards were these raiders?
Mike's stomach turned in disgust. He stood and walked back to his bicycle. As he advanced further down the road, he saw the old post office in flames. The building had been standing over two hundred years, and within a few hours it had been consumed by the treacherous deeds of these low-lifes. As he approached the village hall, he climbed off the bike and withdrew his shotgun.
"Hello!" he yelled at the top of his voice.
He waited for something, for anything; a sound, a movement. But nothing came. He walked up to the entrance. The safety glass had been booted in, the posters taped to the back of it, shredded by the splinters. He pushed the door open and walked inside. His trainers squeaked on the varnished floor.
"Hello!" he shouted again, but again he was greeted with silence.
He looked around. Plastic chairs had been toppled over and doors to adjacent rooms broken in as the raiders hunted for anything they could use, anything they could loot. He pulled one of the plastic chairs to its feet and slumped into it. He slid the rucksack from his back and carefully placed the shotgun down in front of him.
Mike sat forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and placing his face into his hands. He felt helpless. The soldiers, his gran and his friends were whereabouts unknown, the village that was their home, their safe haven had been decimated. His brother was catatonic, but worse than all of that, Lucy and Emma had been taken. Mike knew what happened to women when they were taken, it was something he did not want to think about, but the circumstances dictated he must.
The despair fluttered inside him for several minutes, but then the despair turned to something else. Something familiar, something frightening, something powerful. Over the past few weeks, he had grown complacent, he had grown comfortable. Life was good, he was with a woman he loved and his family had been safe, his complacency had softened him, but now rage was beginning to simmer.
He jumped to his feet and picked up the chair, flinging it with all his might across the hall. Its legs broke through the safety glass at the top of the entrance door and it stuck there frozen, like a piece of modern art. He flung the rucksack back over his shoulder and picked the shotgun up, pumping it violently. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he knew that he would not stop until Lucy and Emma were with him again.
He began to march back out into the morning sun when he heard a muffled thud from behind him. He jerked around and raised the shotgun. He slowly headed back into the hall. It sounded like it had come from the back, near the stage.
"Hello?" he shouted. He lowered his weapon.
If there was someone hiding, it wasn't going to be a raider. He listened carefully, but there was no further sound.
"It's Mike. Mike Fletcher. I'm by myself, the raiders have gone. Is there anybody in here?"
A black wooden panel fell forward from the side of the stage and a figure stumbled out. It was Ruth. She looked bedraggled and worried lines streaked her face, but there were no signs of tears.
"Oh Mike," she said, rushing forward with open arms.
The pair hugged tightly. It was an unusual friendship that had started when Mike had broken into her library in the North Yorkshire market town of Skelton. Despite an awkward start, Mike had taken a liking to Ruth and her two colleagues, Richard and David. They were all quirky and socially inept, but he had a sense for understanding good and bad and these people were definitely good, kind, and decent. As they hugged, Mike saw more people emerging from the cramped conditions underneath the stage. Richard and David came out next, followed by Dora, one of the deaf girls from Sarah's school. She was holding hands with a fellow pupil and formed a chain of eight as they all clutched each other hard, frightened to face the outside world alone. Next to come out were Beth's siblings, Annie and John, and then eleven more children Mike had seen in the village, but couldn't put names to.
Ruth broke the embrace, and she looked at Mike's face. "Where's your family?"
Mike broke eye contact and looked down. He exhaled deeply and then told her. By the time he had finished the story and Dora, who was the only one of the children who could lip-read had translated it for the others, he was back in Ruth's arms. As awkward as she was with relationships she felt a motherly bond with Mike which neither understood, but both were grateful for.
Mike pulled away. "They've taken everything by the looks of it. Food, fuel... anything they could get their hands on. You need to come back to the house with me. We've still got Daisy, she can provide milk. We've got the boat," he said turning to Richard and David. "You two can catch fish. There are mussels on the rocks down at the shore and there's food in the forest you can forage. I didn't check Gran's poly tunnel, they might not have got down to that. You can't see it from the house."
"Don't you mean, we, Mike? You keep saying you. Don't you mean we?" Ruth asked.
"I've got to find them Ruth. I need to get them back."
"Mike, that's insanity," almost dismissing what he said. "There were hundreds of those men, all heavily armed. It would be suicide."
"I don't need to go to war with them, Ruth. But if I can track them down, I might be able to figure a way of getting our people back."
Ruth brushed her hands over her face as if trying to wash away a waking dream. "Dear God Mike, you need to think about this. Sammy and Jake need you. We need you!" Her plea fell on deaf ears; he had already made up his mind. "At least wait until your gran and the soldiers come back... please Mike. I don't think you've had time to think it through." She looked at him, desperately trying to catch his eye, but he was staring beyond her and into the future. The next time she spoke, she sounded like a school teacher telling off a pupil. "I mean, honestly, what are you thinking? How can you possibly go after these people? You've already said all the fuel's gone. You need to stay here, wait until the yacht returns, and then form a plan with Hughes, Barnes, and Shaw."
"Ruth. We don't know when they'll be back. The only hope I have is trying to find a vehicle that still has some fuel in it and head out now. I need to try and pick up a trail while there still is one. I know which road they took, and that's something. A slim chance is better than no chance at all."
Ruth let out a deep sigh. She knew it would be impossible to try and talk Mike out of going after his sister and Lucy. "But how Mike? How can you go after them if you've got no means of transportation?"
Mike's shoulders sagged. He knew that was the single biggest problem. His best intentions meant nothing without a viable vehicle.
"What about Angus Macdonald?" Richard, one of the other former librarians, said, stepping forward.
"Who?" Mike replied.
"Angus Macdonald. I bet the raiders didn't get as far as him. There's a dirt track to his place that runs at the back of the campsite. He doesn't even have a water main. He's got his own well. He's a funny old sort, cantankerous, swears like a drunken sailor, but I take him books once a week, and we seem to get on.
"Does he have a vehicle, Richard?" Mike asked, not interested in the old man's biography.
"I think he has just what you're looking for, Mike."
Within minutes, Mike and Richard were heading up the track behind the camp site. Mike had given instructions to Ruth and David, and the small group were heading out of the village, the older ones, protecting the younger ones from the horrifying sights where ever they could. Most of the children were traumatised, but Ruth and David had spent the last few weeks working closely with all of them as their teachers. A bond of trust had built up and given them all a stability which many of them had lacked in their lives before the disaster.
"Let me do the talking Mike," Richard said with uncharacteristic authority in his voice. "He can be difficult, but he's a good man. I just don’t want you to rub him up the wrong way."
Mike smiled to himself. A few weeks before when they had first met, Richard had been scared of Mike. It reassured him to realise that he had grown in confidence. He had lost weight and grown a goatee. The man had come into his own, and all it took was the apocalypse.
After half a mile or so, the pair reached a clearing in the heavily wooded surrounds, Angus was already in the garden. He was sitting in his wheelchair with a book on his knee trying to fight off the need to nap. As Richard creaked open the wrought iron gate, Angus jerked his head up in surprise. "What the fuck are you doing here? You only came yesterday. And who the fuck's that with you?" he said in a slurry voice.
"Hello, Angus," Richard replied.
"Hello, Angus, hello, Angus. I can never get any fucking peace round here, if it's not her jabbering away, there's always some bastard coming up from the fucking village wanting something or other."
"Angus, pipe down," Richard demanded. "Listen, where's Christina?"
"What do you want to speak to her for?" the old man asked.
"I need to speak to both of you, urgently. Now where is she?"
"She's in the house somewhere, probably concocting some foul smelling stew to poison me." He turned his head towards the doorway. "Christina?" he shouted but to no response. "Christina?" he shouted again, but still to no avail. "Christina, we've got fucking visitors," he yelled one final time before beginning to cough violently. "She's probably got her hearing aid turned off again. She keeps doing that. Tells me nothing I say is worth listening to anyway."
A much younger looking woman stepped from the doorway out into the beating sun. She was drying her hands on a tea towel and smiled at the two visitors despite only recognising one of them. Angus was still coughing as she came out. She looked towards him and just rolled her eyes.
"Hi, Richard, who's this with you?" she asked.
"Hello, Christina. This is Mike Fletcher, a friend of mine. Listen, something terrible has happened."
Angus brought his coughing under control and looked towards Richard with a serious expression on his face. Christina stopped drying her hands and froze. Neither of them had known Richard a long time, but they knew he was not one for hyperbole. If he said something serious had happened, then it had.
Richard laid out the full story for them. By the time he had finished, Christina had flopped down on the doorstep, her legs too weak to take her weight.
"All dead you say?" Angus said distantly, wishing he could disbelieve what he had been told, but knowing it was true. "My brother. My brother Calum. him too?"
"I don't know, Angus, but we haven't seen any other survivors," Richard said. "I don't know how you managed to miss it. The noise was..." He looked towards Christina and her hearing aid, then to Angus, who had aged ten years in a matter of minutes, and he broke off.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Mike said, interrupting the mourning that had already begun behind the old man's eyes, "but I really need your help."
The old man looked up at him. "How on earth could I help you?" he asked in a much softer voice now, gesturing towards his wheelchair.
"Richard told you they kidnapped nearly all the women who could be of use to them...well I need to find them. I need transport," Mike said, not breaking eye contact with Angus.
"And what will you do when you find them?" he asked.
"Whatever I have to, to get them back."
Mike expected the old man to scoff at him, to dismiss him, but instead, he turned his head to the doorway. "Christina, take Richard and this laddie to the garage. Give them whatever they need."
"Do you mean..," she began.
"Whatever they need," Angus interrupted.
The three of them headed round the house to the large double garage. Inside there were two cars and a motorbike with a tarpaulin carefully draped over it. Mike peeled back the cover to reveal a black motorcycle, it looked like it had never been used. "Wow!" he said looking at the Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14 and almost salivating. "This belonged to Angus?" his voice rising in disbelief as he reached the end of the question.
