Flare

Chapter 49

The grass was slick under my shoes as I tottered unsteadily towards the garage, concentrating on keeping my balance with only a few inches of garden visible. Anyone watching probably would have been howling with laughter, particularly when I walked head first into the garage wall and nearly brained myself, but I found the door with groping hands, feeling the cold metal of the handle through the rubber gloves.

I tugged hard, feeling the warped wood protesting as it refused to budge, but I pulled again, harder this time, and it finally popped open with a speed that nearly took me off my feet.

I stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind me and took the bag off my head, careful to touch only the outside.

It was dark in the garage, but I could make out the dim shape of something large covered by a dust sheet just in front of me.

Scanning the shelves, I saw an old torch that had seen better days in the seventies, but to my surprise it came on when I flicked the switch, the feeble beam just enough to see by.

I pulled the gloves off as well, leaving them on top of the bag just inside the door, and tugged the dust sheet aside to see what was beneath.

For years now, I’d know that Frank was working on a ‘project’ in the garage, with the only sight I’d ever had of it being the occasional engine part he’d brought into the lounge to work on over a sheet of old newspaper while the rest of us sat there in front of the TV. I’d often thought it just an excuse, a reason not to have to talk to his confusing southern son in law, but as the dust sheet came free I realised just how wrong I’d been.

I saw wood first, clean, polished lines over long windows that stretched back for half the length of the car, and then smooth, green steel that curved gently towards the front.

Gleaming steel, polished to perfection, wrapped the headlights, the grill and formed the bumper that curved around the front of the car, and through the window I could see that the keys were in the ignition.

“Well that won’t have any processors in it,” I muttered to myself as I opened the door and leaned in to turn the keys.

The ignition clicked, but no sound came from the engine.

Wishing Emily was here with me, I pulled what I hoped was the bonnet latch and was rewarded with a click. Lifting the bonnet, I found an engine so clean I could see my reflection in it, but even to someone with my limited mechanical knowledge the problem was clear. There was no battery.

I shone the torch across the cluttered shelves that lined the walls, moving around the garage with a sinking feeling as no battery immediately made itself obvious.

Then, just as I was about to give up, I found a large, plain cardboard box and opened it to see a brand new looking battery, plastic covers still over the terminals.

Pulling them off, I took the battery in shaking hands and slotted it into the compartment under the bonnet, then attached the leads. Dropping the bonnet, I headed back round to the driver’s door, careful not to drop on the inside of the car, and turned the key.

The engine coughed and spluttered but didn’t turn over. Cursing, I tried it again but got the same thing. Worried that I might drain the battery without ever starting the car, I decided that Emily’s deft touch was needed.

Putting the gloves and bag back on without getting my skin wet was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but after several minutes of swearing and tugging I finally got myself ready and headed back out into the garden. I made a beeline for the patio doors as rain hissed and pattered off the bag, frighteningly close as I realised that the only thing between me and a potentially lethal dose of radiation was a washing bag.

I heard the door slide back as I came close, stumbling over the step and nearly falling into the lounge, the door closing behind me the second I was through.

“Well?” Emily asked as her gloved hands pulled the bag from my head.

I smiled. “Ever wanted to drive a Morris Minor?”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Looks like he completely rebuilt it. Only problem is that I couldn’t get it to turn over.”

“Did you use the choke?”

“What choke?”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty seven, why?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. So it’s working?”

“I guess. I had to put the battery in, it was on a shelf in the garage, but if you think you can get it started then we’ve got a way out of here.”

I began to peel off my outer layers but she stopped me.

“Hang on. If it’s working there’s no sense in getting changed then having to put it all back on again, we may as well go now.”

“But what about the rain?”

She shrugged. “Melody and I will have to get dressed up too, then we’ll all go out and get in the car.”

“But what if it doesn’t start?”

“What else do you suggest?”

I was about to recommend staying put until the rain stopped, but then my eyes dropped to the detector that Emily still wore, the black circle stopping the words before they came out.

“Fine, let’s get it done then.”

Emily called Melody back into the lounge and she came bouncing in, stopping short when I warned her not to touch me.

She and Emily helped to dress each other in what was left on the pile while I looked on, pleased that Melody was coming back out of her shell so quickly despite the seriousness of our situation.

It only took them a few minutes, and when they were done they stood in front of me in a bizarre mishmash of clothing and household goods that reminded me of a bad pantomime, but hopefully it would be enough to keep them safe and dry.

With our bag still in the Landrover, there was nothing else for us to take apart from what we had on us, with the exception of Melody’s diary which she insisted on slipping into an inside pocket.

“Right, are we ready?” I said, and got nods from both of them.

Lowering the bag back over my head, I pulled the door open and stepped back out into the rain, hurrying to the door and pulling it open so that they could slip inside.

I pulled it closed once they were through, then we all stripped off our contaminated clothing and threw it in the far corner.

Once free of her outer clothing, Emily made a soft noise in her throat and began running her hands over the car as one might a lover.

“You like the car then?” I said, slightly bemused.

“Oh, this isn’t just a car,” she breathed with a look of reverence. “This is a 1968 Morris Traveller. We had one of these when I was a kid, we used to pack it full of stuff and take trips to the seaside.”

She turned and looked at me with a beatific smile on her face.

“Some of my happiest memories are being in a car like this. Your father in law had good taste.”

“Shame it wasn’t genetic,” I muttered, but she had already turned away, sitting in the driver’s seat and pulling out a small knob in the centre while she gently pressed the accelerator.

She turned the key and the engine started immediately, the clanking whirr of its old but rebuilt engine filling the small space as it came to life.

“It sounds perfect!” She called over the noise, “Open the door and let’s get out of here.”

Melody climbed into the back while I tugged at the large garage door, the sliders squealing loud enough to wake the dead as it finally slid up into the roof.

Rain still pelted down outside, deadly puddles forming in the gutters, and I prayed that the car was well-built enough that it wouldn’t leak.

Climbing into the back with Melody and wrapping my arms around her, I watched through the windows as we pulled away, leaving the bungalow and its dark memories behind.