IMPACT (Book 1): A Post-Apocalyptic Tale Page 6

  His eyelids grew heavy. He started slipping into a strange sort of sad slumber, the boat rocking him gently. But, just as his mind began to drift, as it does before sleep sets in, he heard Alice’s voice call out.

  “Land!” she cried.

  Chapter 12

  Bately

  Bang!

  A perfect shot. The shredded remains of the target went flying through the air. It happened so fast, Paul could hardly believe it.

  “Good job, Catherine,” said Bill, nodding with approval.

  “Phew,” said Catherine, lowering the rifle and handing it to Lance Corporal Billings who stood beside her. “I suppose I’m not that bad, after all.” She looked at the remains of the cabbage, thirty feet away, and couldn’t help smiling.

  “You did great,” said Bill.

  Moore and Paul shared an embarrassed look. They hadn’t fared quite as well.

  Bill had decided they each needed some basic firearm training before setting off on the expedition to Ashford. Given the lack of ammo, most of this training had consisted of theory, but they each got three actual shots to practice their aim. “It’s not much,” Bill had said, “but it’s something.”

  At first, Paul was reluctant. Firing bullets was something he didn’t exactly associate with spreading the Word. “We’ll have two of your men escort us, won’t we?” he had asked Bill, hoping his mild irritation wouldn’t translate into his tone. “What’s the point in us all learning how to use a firearm?”

  It was Catherine who had replied. “Because there’s no knowing who might need to shoot, Paul.” The implication being, thought Paul, that some of them might die or be severely injured during their trip. Unlikely, but far from impossible. They all needed to be able to fend for themselves.

  Paul had never shot a weapon before. In fact, he’d never even touched one. He had felt terrified when Bill had handed the rifle over to him. He knew that elsewhere in the world, rifles and guns had been commonplace before the impact, even among civilians. But to someone like him, who had no experience with them whatsoever, simply touching this metal machine, designed exclusively to kill or maim human beings, was enough to send shivers down his spine.

  “Here, hold it like this,” Lance Corporal Billings had said, guiding his hands along the rifle’s body, then gently twisting his shoulders, setting his torso in the correct position. “Okay. There you go.” Paul had felt the eyes of the others upon him as he tried to align the sight on the tip of the barrel with the little aperture half way down it. But it wasn’t easy. He had a whole host of minuscule, involuntary body movements he’d never noticed before that seemed entirely dedicated to preventing him from aiming correctly. Then, when he finally thought he’d got it, he held his breath and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing.

  “Err…” Bill began, somewhere behind him, “Father, do check the safety, before you–”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Paul had said, trying to release the safety. He felt oddly embarrassed and rather nervous. Realising his tone had been a little harsher than he’d intended, he added, “Thank you, Bill. Sorry about this.”

  “Don’t worry. Relax. Try again.”

  Paul loosened his neck a little, then did his best to get into a decent firing stance. And shot.

  Bang!

  The noise hadn’t been quite as loud as he’d expected, but the recoil was definitely harder. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as the butt of the rifle sprang backwards. He obviously hadn’t been holding the weapon correctly.

  He peered towards the vegetable with a curiosity that took him by surprise. For an instant, he really hoped he’d hit the cabbage.

  It was a miss. Not a close one.

  The muffled chuckles of two of the younger Guard members told him just how bad his shot had been. The two shots that followed were only slightly better.

  At the end of it all, Paul stood, head slightly bowed. As he handed the weapon back to Billings, he smiled shyly. “Not quite my forte, apparently.” The others laughed. They were warm laughs, and Paul realised the firearm had unsettled him more than perhaps it should have. But was it just the embarrassment of his ineptitude? Or is it because Cathy saw you as inept, he asked himself. Paul rapidly dismissed the question. It wasn’t something he was eager to consider at the moment.

  Moore had had two close misses and one shot on target. When he stood, he too had that same humiliated look Paul had worn, and mumbled something about his eyesight.

  Catherine turned out to be an excellent shot, and both men couldn’t help but feel slightly emasculated. “Well boys,” she said with a smile, “looks like you’ll just have to stick close to me.” They all had laughed.

  The expedition was to include a party of five: two Guard members selected by Bill; Catherine to evaluate the usefulness of any medicine they might find; Moore, who would guide them to the warehouse; and Paul, simply because he had insisted on tagging along. He felt the urge to prove, not only to himself, that he could contribute to more practical tasks. Sitting in on the Council meetings and celebrating Mass were things he was proud of, but he needed something more.

  Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to prove his worth by shooting.

  * * *

  “You’ll need to travel in the LMM-ready Land Rover Wolf. We can’t afford to send you off in the petrol vehicles,” said Bill as he ran his finger along the map of southeastern England spread out on his desk. They were gathered inside his office in St. George’s Elementary, a single, large room that also functioned as the Guard’s HQ.

  “The Wolf is at the Southern Outpost. Jack and Timothy are stationed there now,” Bill tapped a spot on the map along the coast, roughly half way between Deal and Dover. “Should take you about 15 minutes to get there.”

  The Outpost was nothing more than a small hut beside the sea that the Guard used to monitor the arrival of refugees from the continent. It was constantly garrisoned by a couple of Bill’s men.

  “We’ll drive a regular vehicle, meet them there, and swap means of transport, correct?” asked Catherine.

  “Exactly,” said Bill, dipping his chin. “Remember, the Wolf is slow. Max speed will be about forty miles per-hour, and you’re not going to travel along the motorway, so you’ll likely average less than that.”

  “If we take side-roads and travel through the countryside, it’ll be what, about thirty or thirty-five miles give or take,” said Edward.

  “Yes. Worst case scenario, it should take you a couple of hours to get to Ashford,” said Bill.

  Paul was observing the scaled-down rendition of Ashford on the map. It seemed so unthreatening, just another medium-sized town among the green pastures of Kent. But he knew this map described a world that was long gone now. They wouldn’t be travelling through the orderly country depicted by that chart with its trusting assumption that all was good in the world.

  Bill raised his eyes towards them. “Do not hang about in Ashford. It’s not safe there. You find the warehouse, grab the meds, and leave.”

  * * *

  “Sure you don’t want me to come along, Dad?”

  Mathew, Edward, and Paul were halfway up the steps to the church. They’d arranged for the boy to stay with Father Claudio while they were away.

  “No son, it’s fine. We’re only going to collect a few vegetables in a town nearby. Boring, really.” The lie nagged at Edward’s conscience a bit, but they’d agreed not to tell Mathew the truth. The boy would have insisted on joining and he didn’t want that.

  Mathew nodded, not quite convinced. He studied his father’s expression for an instant before seemingly deciding all was okay.

  They stopped at the church’s entrance. Edward had intended to say goodbye as casually as possible; as he normally would. Now that the time had come though, he was hesitating. Although their plan was quite straightforward, there was a chance – slim as it may be – that he might not return. Images of the swarm of afflicted inside the warehouse with their vulgar, barbaric violenc
e broke into his imagination before he could whisk them away.

  “We’ll be back in the evening,” he said, doing his best to ignore the sudden void he felt inside his chest. He noticed Paul’s sympathetic eyes upon him. He felt this mild-mannered priest knew exactly what he was going through. Despite that, he couldn’t help wishing he were alone with his son.

  “‘Kay, Dad,” Mathew leaned forwards and gave his father a quick hug. “See you later.”

  Paul leaned his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come, I’ll introduce you to Father Claudio.”

  Just as they stepped inside the church, Edward called out, “Be good, boy.”

  “I will, Dad,” said Mathew with a smile.

  Edward turned. As he walked away, fighting the urge to look back, he breathed in deeply, then exhaled as slowly and steadily as he could.

  “He’s a little odd, at times, Father Claudio,” whispered Paul as he and Mathew crossed the church’s humble nave. “But I think you’ll get along.”

  Paul knocked on Claudio’s door. “Enter,” replied the man’s deep voice.

  He was sitting at his desk, a copy of Spinoza’s Ethics open in front of him. Not a good sign, thought Paul. It was the kind of book he read when in one of his moods. Nonetheless, Claudio raised his eyes to the teenager and managed a smile.

  “Welcome, my son,” he said.

  “Th-thank you, Father,” came Mathew’s shy response.

  “I understand you’ll help me out here for a while, while Mr. Moore is away.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sounds like a barrel of laughs, doesn’t it?” asked Claudio, with an ironic twinkle in his eye.

  Mathew couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s great, Father, really.”

  Paul observed the young man in his Metallica t-shirt and white trainers, and thought he was different enough to perhaps intrigue Claudio. Despite all the older priest’s professed aversion to human contact of late, the boy might help him get his mind off things a bit and mitigate his ill temper.

  “Okay then,” said Paul, “I’ll be going.”

  Claudio waved a distracted hand towards him. “Goodbye, Father Paul,” said Mathew, politely.

  As he left the room, Paul shot a meaningful glance towards Claudio. Don’t be tough on him, that glance said, he’s been through a lot. The older man chuckled under his breath.

  He left them, closing the door. Before leaving, he bowed his head against the door and listened.

  “Is that a guitar, Father?” he heard Mathew ask, probably pointing towards the corner of the study where the old instrument lay, covered in dust.

  “Indeed it is. It belonged to one of the local priests, I believe. Do you play?”

  “Just a bit,” replied Mathew. Paul could hear the eagerness in his voice.

  “Ah. That’s wonderful. Classical? I’d love to hear some Fernando Sor.”

  “Ehm. Well. I’m more into heavy metal, Father,” replied Mathew, meekly.

  Claudio let out a long, deep sigh.

  Paul smiled and quietly left the church.

  Chapter 13

  Alice and Adrian

  It took a few seconds for Adrian to spot them.

  He’d followed Ally’s pointing finger, but all he saw were thick, pale banks of fog. He tried to pierce them, narrowing his eyelids and scanning the hazy view, but could see nothing. It was like sailing through hordes of ghostly apparitions, each floating aimlessly above the water and eerily blending in with the others.

  Then there they were, emerging gradually, pushing their way through the mist like towering giants from a fairy tale: the White Cliffs of Dover.

  He had seen them before, of course, when visiting his aunt, but only during the summer. Back then, they had seemed pretty and almost difficult to look at with the sunlight reflecting off their chalky surface. But now, in this constant cloud that had washed away the seasons, the cliffs looked surreal and almost alive.

  As he gazed at them, with his lips slightly parted, he remembered a history lesson from school. Their teacher had told them that when the Romans had first travelled to the British Isles, it had possibly been their first foray into waters other than those of the Mediterranean. These alien waters belonged not to that mare nostrum, the sea the Romans ruled and called their own, but were from the realm of an ancient, hostile divinity – the Titan Oceanus, one that pre-dated both their gods and the Greeks gods; a primordial force of nature they didn’t trust.

  He pictured them as they might have been. Fearfully huddled in their ships, far from the glorious sun of Rome, sailing through the mists of these malevolent seas, governed by an unknown deity. A shiver of both fear and excitement travelled down his spine.

  There were the cliffs. Beyond them lay England.

  They were getting closer to Aunt Hellen’s house. Perhaps, soon, they would be safe.

  * * *

  They had veered north, dropping anchor next to an old weathered pier.

  As the man fastened ropes to the moorage, the children went through their belongings to make sure they had everything.

  Once again, the weather had turned foul and a thin, prickly rain beat down on them.

  “Where are you headed?” asked the man.

  Adrian considered whether it was wise to tell him, but before he could stop her Alice replied. “Bately,” she said. “Ady’s aunt lives there.”

  The man drew a quick breath through his nose and nodded, looking towards the cliffs.

  “I heard it’s quite safe there. You should be all right.”

  They just stood there, three figures in the mist.

  “We’re almost home, Ady,” said Alice, with a big smile. She was happy, which was good to see, yet Adrian couldn’t shake his uneasiness at the man’s presence. Alice turned, unexpectedly, towards the man and gave him a big hug.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, her cheeks sinking into his raincoat.

  Adrian felt all his muscles tense up. He brought a hand to his coat, ready to draw the knife. But he lowered it, when he noticed the man’s expression.

  He was standing still, as if frozen. His arms widened, palms facing each other. He stared, speechless, down towards Alice. Adrian saw him fold both his lips inside his mouth, and squeeze them between his rotten teeth. He then closed his eyes and cried a single, trembling tear before rapidly wiping it away when Alice withdrew from her embrace.

  He’s a worm, though Adrian, a harmless worm.

  Alice stood next to him and, with a warm motion of her eyebrows, she gestured to him to leave. Adrian nodded.

  They turned their backs to the man and began to make their way up and away from the beach. Adrian was almost sure they needed to head north, then east a little. It shouldn’t be too hard to find Bately.

  As they climbed a grassy slope that rose between the white rocks, they heard the man behind them call out. “Stick close to that young lad!” he cried. “He’s a good boy!”

  Alice smiled and took his hand.

  Chapter 14

  The Southern Outpost

  They had wind in their hair.

  It was odd for this minute detail to impose itself so clearly, but Paul couldn’t remember when he’d last been inside a moving vehicle.

  He couldn’t help but smile as he watched his companions’ hair dance crazily, powered by the powerful gusts of air pouring into the vehicle.

  “Fun, isn’t it?” asked Catherine, one hand on her temple in an attempt to tame an unruly lock of hair. Paul smiled. It was.

  They were travelling south, towards the Southern Outpost, the five of them quite comfortable inside the army Range Rover. It was going to be a short ride, but they were enjoying the speed. Once inside the LMM-ready Wolf speeds would decrease significantly.

  They were escorted by Lance Corporal Billings, who had helped with their awkward firearms training, and Lieutenant Robert Neeson, a serious-looking 23-year-old man who had, Bill told them, been wounded in action. A long jagged scar, running from his forehead and disappearing be
neath his shirt collar, was a life-long reminder of that unfortunate experience.

  “Have things been difficult with the ‘wraiths in Bately?” asked Moore, turning his head towards Catherine, who sat at the opposite end of the passenger seat. Paul occupied the seat between them.

  “It has, yes,” she replied. “Ahm… I prefer the term ‘afflicted’, although there is no correct medical term, as it were.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Moore, apologetically, “I suppose it’s not as harsh.”

  “Yes, I agree. Nero’s Affliction. I wonder who came up with the name,” said Catherine, pensively.

  “Must have been someone on Sean’s bulletin boards, online,” said Paul. “They seem to have a predilection for these names. You know, like something out of a fantasy novel or a video game–”

  “Or the Bible,” interjected Catherine and immediately blushed, her milky-white Gaelic skin turning red. She quickly turned to look outside the window.

  “Europa carried the plague too though, didn’t it?” asked Moore, apparently oblivious to Cathy’s faux pas. “I doubt the infection could have spread so rapidly to the West otherwise.”

  “I believe they all did,” said Paul. “Although I’ve heard the effects of being exposed to Nero’s area of impact are far worse than what we’ve seen here.”

  They were quiet for an instant, each silently considering the atrocity of an even more ruthless form of the affliction.

  “Here we are, people,” said Billings from the driver’s seat, jolting his passengers from haunting images of tortured souls.

  * * *

  The Southern Outpost was little more than a shed.

  As they stepped out of the vehicle, Paul thought it looked vulnerable and defenceless against the formidable view of the stormy Channel waters before it.

  The two men stationed there, Privates Jack Wallace and Tim Greene, snapped to attention as their superiors approached the cabin.