Flare

Chapter 13

Ralph drove as if the devil himself were chasing us, speeding along country roads that were little more than a single lane but were supposed to accommodate two-way traffic, hedgerows and small wooded copses flashing past at frightening speed.

So far we hadn’t encountered any abandoned cars, but I had a very real fear that his ageing reflexes wouldn’t hit the brakes in time if we did, and I was haunted by visions of us ending up parked in the back seat of another car, bleeding out slowly with no one to come to our aid.

“So,” I said, more to distract myself from the constant threat of imminent death than any real desire for conversation, “Harriet mentioned something last night about the farm not being worked at the moment. What’s all that about?”

“Government thing. Too many farms producing food means the market gets flooded, so some farmers get paid to let their fields lie fallow. The owner lives in London now, gets paid every year for just having the land while we keep an eye on things. Works pretty well for us, we get the cottage paid for and a bit left over, and in turn he leaves us to it. ‘Sposed to end next year, but I reckon he’d be wise to start getting everything ready now after last night.”

I nodded in agreement. I’d heard of the deal before, but until I’d seen the sheer number of fallow fields we’d driven through that morning, I hadn’t realised just how wasteful a thing it was. Hundreds of acres of prime farmland were just sitting there, the fields slowly succumbing to nature while the government paid for it to stay that way.

We’d been on the road for about twenty minutes, passing the occasional house and the odd farm, but other than that we could have been alone in the world. The shotgun was an uncomfortable weight in my lap, and I’d begun to develop a nervous habit of making sure the safety lever behind the barrels was engaged, my thumb rubbing it every few seconds.

“Where is it that we’re going, exactly?” I asked as Ralph slowed a little to take a blind bend.

“Place called Milford, just southeast of Guildford. It’s a fair sized village, and a lot of the area’s built up now, so I’m taking the back roads. Don’t want to bump into trouble if we can help it, just want to find Emily and get home safe.”

I couldn’t argue with that sentiment, and despite my fear of the man the night before I found myself warming to Ralph. He was a simple, uncomplicated man who seemed to know his place in the world and was happy with it, with his family coming before everything else. It was a view I appreciated, and I genuinely hoped that we would find his daughter as easily as he seemed to think we would.

The sun was climbing high in the sky now and the heat in the car was oppressive. I’d opened my window and Ralph had done the same, but the wind coming into the car seemed as hot as that already inside, bringing with it the smell of dry grass and too-hot engine.

“Does it seem hotter to you than usual?” I asked, thinking back to what Jerry had said that morning.

“The whole month has been hotter than usual, but now that you mention it I do think it’s gone up a few degrees today. Bugger.”

I looked up as he pressed hard on the brakes, bringing the car to a shuddering halt. A silver 4x4 pickup had been abandoned square in the middle of the road, leaving a narrow gap on one side that Ralph aimed for, scraping the passenger side against the steep, stony bank and probably taking some paint off.

Ralph muttered something too low to hear and picked up speed again, leaving the 4x4 behind in moments. He didn’t drive quite as fast as before, however, and after another twenty minutes we reached a crossroads with a sign showing that Milford was only two miles away.

Not long after he took the turn we began to see houses, just one or two at first, but then more and more until we were driving along a street, semi-detached properties overlooking the road with large front gardens and driveways.

Most of the gardens had people in them. Some just milled about, but not a few had barbecues going, presumably to use up the last of the meat from the fridge or freezer before it spoiled.

Each and every one, however, turned to stare as we drove past, some pressing against their fences to get a better look while others waved at us to stop.

“Should we stop?” I asked Ralph uncertainly. While none of them had the fevered, desperate look from the airport or the air of violence the youths in Redhill had had, I still wasn’t comfortable being in the position of having the only working car for miles around. Despite the shotguns, it would be far too easy for someone to just take what they wanted, and I gripped the weapon tight as my stomach began to churn.

“No,” Ralph said, looking back in the mirror, “I don’t reckon they can tell us anything we don’t know already.”

We drove on in watchful silence, Ralph taking a snaking route through the village as the houses went from semi-detached to terraced, then got smaller and smaller until they seemed to crowd in on each other. I didn’t need Ralph’s warning to know that we were entering a much less salubrious area.

“Emily lives here?” I asked, keeping a careful eye on a small group of lads who had jumped to their feet at the sound of our engine and were now watching us in turn, their faces unreadable.

“A few streets over. This is the quickest way.”

I pointed to half a dozen men sitting in garden chairs in the street, empty beer cans littered around their feet as they watched us pass.

“I think the long way might have been better.”

He nodded, his face grim.

“Think you might be right, but too late now.”

As I looked up at the houses, I could see faces pressed to the windows, the whole street seemingly watching us pass. Ralph put his foot down, taking the next turn and I sighed with relief as they disappeared from view.

The street we were on, however, seemed little better. Two lads in their twenties were cycling towards us, bulging backpacks slung over their shoulders and scarves pulled up over their faces despite the heat.

“No points for guessing what they’ve been doing,” I said as we passed them, their looks changing from challenging stares to open fear as I hefted the shotgun.

Ralph just shook his head, saying nothing, and took the next turn into a street that seemed tidier, the houses slightly larger and the gardens well looked after.

“This is it, number 24,” he said, pulling over and looking up and down the street before getting out.

I followed suit a little more clumsily, trying to keep my weight on my good leg, hold the shotgun and look around to make sure we were safe at the same time.

There was no one in the street, although I could smell barbecuing meat from not too far away and hear the faint buzz of conversation. Several of the houses, however, looked as though they’d been broken into, doors yawning wide and windows smashed.

Having decided that we were relatively safe, Ralph marched up to the door of the nearest house and knocked loudly. I followed more cautiously, still looking around to make sure that no one was watching us.

“Emily, it’s Dad,” he called, face pressed to the glass of the front door, “I’ve come to take you home.”

After a few moments, I saw a shape through the glass as someone approached from the other side, then the door opened on the chain. I couldn’t see past Ralph, but from the smile on his face I knew it had to be Emily.

The door closed again and then opened hurriedly, a hand beckoning us inside.

“Get in, quick,” she said from behind the door, “it’s not safe outside.”

Ralph hurried in and I followed, Emily closing the door behind us. I turned and stuck out my hand to introduce myself, but instead of shaking hands with the dowdy, fifty-something school-teacher type I’d been expecting, I found myself face to face with an attractive woman of athletic build who was several years younger than me, with short brown hair and hazel eyes that looked me up and down challengingly.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she said to her father, ignoring my hand, “but who the hell is this?”

For the first time since I’d met him, Ralph looked uncomfortable.

“Emily, this is Malcolm, er, Malc, he calls himself. He and his friend Jerry pitched up in our barn last night and your mum decided to take them in against my better judgement. Turns out they’re ok, though, we used Jerry’s car to get here and Malc agreed to come and help.”

She switched her gaze back to me and I felt like a fly under a microscope. Her eyes dropped to the shotgun, then travelled down to my ankle, the bandages showing above the tongue of my trainer. Finally, she shrugged and held out her hand.

“Hi, Emily. Sorry to be rude but the last twelve hours have been… difficult. No one knows what’s happening, but there are no police anywhere and some of my neighbours have started helping themselves to anything or anyone who takes their fancy. I’ve been barricaded in my bedroom most of the day, listening to them going from house to house. I’ve got no idea what’s happened.”

“It was a solar flare,” I said, “my friend Jerry is an astrophysicist, he can explain it properly when we get back. Which we’d better do as soon as we can if things are as bad here as you say.”

I looked meaningfully at the door and she nodded.

“I’ve packed a bag already, I was going to wait for nightfall and then cycle to the cottage,” she said, “wait here and I’ll grab it.”

She gave Ralph a quick hug and a smile, then disappeared upstairs to return a few minutes later with a camouflage Bergen backpack, heavily laden and tied down professionally. She had also changed into a pair of black combat trousers and a green t-shirt, and had a small bum-bag cinched around her waist.

“Right, I’m ready,” she said, “let’s go.”

I’d been expecting a long wait while she packed, and was greatly relieved that we would be going so quickly. Being in a town was making me nervous, and her retelling of events from that morning had made me even more so.

Hobbling to the door, I opened it and stepped outside, only to backpedal rapidly, almost banging into Emily as she came out behind me.

There, standing around the car with everything from baseball bats to golf clubs, were almost a dozen men ranging from eighteen to fifty, and every one of them was staring as us in a way that made me know deep in my bones that they were itching to use them.