Flare

Chapter 27

Slough was still burning. Heavy black smoke roiled in the sky ahead of us, mixing with the clouds until it became hard to tell which was which. Below the smoke, a haze of heat and the occasional flame could be seen as we approached the M4, and we both slowed.

“We need to go around.” Emily pulled the map from her leg pocket and unfolded it, holding it up and motioning me closer. Our heads almost touched as we studied it together and I was acutely aware of the closeness.

There was something about her firm competence, her strength in more than just the physical, that drew me as much as her quick wit and dimpled smile. It was all I could do not to brush back the stray lock of hair that fell across her brow, turning the instinctive movement of my hand into the tugging of my collar, releasing a wave of musty sweat that spoiled the moment as she grimaced.

“We can take the M4 west,” she said finally, “and loop around by smaller roads until we’re heading back towards the M40. What do you think?”

I nodded, pleased to be asked for my opinion for all its redundancy.

“I can’t see any other way. It adds time onto the journey but I don’t see us being able to make our way through that.” I pointed at the flaming town.

She tucked the map away and we set off, angling northwest as we drew closer to the motorway.

It was just after midday by the time the road came in sight, and I picked up my pace as the six empty lanes came into view but Emily suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

“What?” I said in alarm, looking around.

She held up a hand for silence, head tilted to one side.

“Do you hear that?” She asked.

I shook my head but then I heard something, a faint rumbling that grew louder even as I listened.

“What is it?”

She pulled me off the road and up a wooded embankment overlooking the motorway, tucking herself down at the top of the hill and motioning for me to do the same.

I dropped down next to her and looked out over the huge road.

“Those sound like four tonners,” she said, looking east to a bend about half a mile away.

“Four what?”

“Four tonners. Four ton army trucks, used for transporting soldiers and carrying supplies.”

Relief flooded through me and I got to my knees.

“Oh thank god! If the army has mobilised then it’s not as bad as we thought!”

She reached up and yanked at my waistband, pulling me sprawling back to the ground.

“Let’s not go and worship them just yet,” she growled, “we don’t know who they are or what they’re doing. We don’t even know it’s our army. I can think of any dozen countries who use four ton trucks, it could be an invading force for all we know.”

I lay back down properly, thoroughly chastened. It seemed that I was destined to make a fool of myself every few minutes and no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t seem to help doing it.

Perhaps sensing my frustration, Emily squeezed my shoulder and gave me a quick smile before returning her attention to the road.

A few moments later a pair of olive green trucks drove into view, travelling no more than five miles per hour. Thirty or so soldiers in woodland camouflage trotted along behind, all armed with rifles and carrying small rucksacks that looked like the side pockets of Emily’s Bergen strapped together on a yoke.

As they drew closer, a ragged wave of humanity came into view behind them, hundreds of tired, hungry looking people with pinched faces, some of them sporting recent injuries but all carrying rucksacks or holdalls. Those very few not carrying bags were instead burdened down with children too young to walk, and on either side of the column soldiers walked in a loose cordon a few metres apart, eyes as much on the people they were escorting as any threat from the outside.

I couldn’t hear any conversation over the truck engines, but none of the walkers appeared to be talking much in any event, and as they drew level with us an older woman in a faded red jumper and corduroy jeans dropped to sit at the side of the road, fewer than ten metres away from our hiding spot.

The next soldier in the outer cordon bumped up against her, placing one booted foot under her arse and giving her a gentle shove.

“Come on, on your feet Grandma,” he said, not unkindly but without much enthusiasm either. “You know the rules. We don’t stop for another hour at least.”

The woman looked up at him, exhaustion stamped on her features.

“Just leave me then,” she said, her voice barely carrying to where we lay hidden.

“I can’t do that either,” he said, slinging his rifle to grab her under the armpits and haul her to her feet. He looked at the passing civilians and grabbed the arm of a burly teenager.

“Oi, you. Keep her up, keep her walking. Both of you go without rations for the rest of the day if she doesn’t keep up.”

The teenager took hold of the woman with surprising speed, and for a moment I thought it was borne out of care for the elderly, but as the soldier moved on the youth grabbed her hair painfully in one fist and twisted hard, making the woman scream.

“Listen bitch, I ain’t going without food for you, so you fucking walk or I’ll make you wish you was dead. You get me?”

I felt Emily’s body tense next to mine and I almost climbed to my feet, thoroughly shocked at behaviour that was so, well, un-British, but then I saw that neither the other civilians nor the soldiers did more than glance over at the anguished scream, the civilians looking back down at their feet and the soldiers returning their attention to the roadsides as the woman was prodded onwards.

I shared an astonished look with Emily. Whatever orders those soldiers were following, they didn’t seem to be particularly concerned with the welfare of their charges.

I turned my head to get a look in the back of the trucks, assuming they were filled with those too injured to walk, but instead I saw boxes and bags of food and huge pallets of bottled water, all guarded by a pair of soldiers in each vehicle with heavy machine guns and grim expressions.

“I’m glad you stopped me,” I whispered, seeing Emily nod her head as she looked closely at the soldiers.

“Do you know who they are?” I asked quietly.

“It’s hard to tell from here, but I think the patches are the Guards, which would make sense if they came from London, but I can’t be sure without getting closer.”

I shook my head. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on it. We’ll wait until they’re past and then head after them, but only as far as we need to, then we’ll turn north again.”

We lay silent after that, not moving as the soldiers passed just below us, eyes scanning the undergrowth but without any real suspicion of finding anything to worry about.

Emily had chosen our spot well and despite our vantage point the undergrowth kept us well hidden from view. The stream of people seemed to go on and on, but eventually the back markers passed us with another two trucks full of supplies, and as Emily stood I worked my cramped legs to get the blood flowing again.

“How many do you think there were?” I asked as I got to my feet.

“About fifteen hundred civilians, a hundred and forty soldiers or thereabouts. I can’t help but wonder where they’re taking them.”

“I shudder to think. Was it just me or did they look more like prisoners than rescued civilians?”

She nodded. “They did, and I don’t like it. Come on, they’re far enough away now, I think we can follow them without getting spotted.”

I put a hand on her arm.

“But only as far as our turning north, right?”

“Of course. Don’t worry Malc, your little girl comes first. Maybe after we’re back we can try and find out what’s going on, but not yet.”

With a final glance along the road to make sure we were alone, I followed her down the steep bank and onto the tarmac, following in the footsteps of the soldiers as we resumed our journey.