Flare

Chapter 53

Breakfast was a subdued affair, partly due to the fact that Lindsay had shared with the camp the news Emily had given her about the radiation detectors.

In my surprise at finding the Melody’s captors here, the radiation had all but slipped my mind, but it was all anyone here could talk about as we joined the many that squeezed into the kitchen for a bowl of lumpy porridge and a mug of coffee, with more queuing patiently outside.

Melody was unusually subdued that morning, and had been since we’d come back to find her awake and sitting up, silent in the darkness but with tears glistening on her face. She refused to talk about it, however, so I left it alone and hoped that whatever was bothering her would come to light with time.

Once we finished eating it was time to say our goodbyes. Emily and I were both keen to get an early start, wanting to get on the road and away from the gloom that overhung the farm.

Lindsay stopped us in the yard, two full packs in her arms.

“Take these,” she said without preamble, “food and drinking water, and a first aid kit. I hope we meet again one day.”

I took the packs and stowed them in the car, then shook her hand. Emily and Melody did the same, then Emily asked if Lindsay had a road atlas and a pen.

Lindsay sent one of the ever-present children to go and fetch them from her room, making small talk about the weather while we waited.

When the boy ran up with the map and a red marker, Emily took the map and scanned the pages until she found Surrey, then put a small red cross on the map and handed it to the police officer.

“That’s where we are,” she said, “if things get too bad up here and you need somewhere to head for, come and find us. The farm is huge, even bigger than this one, although the land hasn’t been used for the last ten years or so. Oh, and keep the Landrover with our thanks.”

Lindsay thanked her and shook her hand again, then waved us off as we got in the car and drove up the bumpy dirt track, Melody in the back on her own with a new pen one of the children had given her, already writing furiously in her diary.

I sat in the front with Emily, silent as we drove out of the gate and waved to the guards, then pulled onto the roundabout and south onto the M6.

“I’m going to try and work our way across country when we get past Birmingham,” she said after a few miles, “see if we can get onto the M1 and then go clockwise on the M25. I don’t fancy bumping into the Secretary’s men.”

I nodded in agreement. “I’d better see if I’ve got any change for the Dartford toll.”

It was a weak joke, but it brought a smile to Emily’s face.

“Dad?” Melody looked up from her diary. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go on.”

She paused as if searching for the right words, her face deadly serious.

“Those men are dead, aren’t they?”

I exchanged a quick glance with Emily.

“Yes darling, they are.”

She paused again, looking down at her diary, then back up at me.

“Am I a bad person because I’m pleased they’re dead?”

I wished that I was in the back with her, able to put my arms around her. No eleven-year-old should have to ask that question, but I immediately understood how important it was that I answered it, and answered it well.

“It’s never a nice thing when anyone dies,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but sometimes, just sometimes, there are people so bad that if they carried on living they would make other people’s lives even worse. Those men were like that. If we’d let them go, they would have kept on hurting people, and that wouldn’t be fair on the people they hurt, so we had to do something that no one liked to stop them.”

“You had to kill them?”

I looked to Emily for help, but I could see from her face that she was as lost in the minefield as I was.

“There wasn’t any other choice, love. But they hurt you, and Nana, and so it’s natural for you to be relieved that they can’t hurt you anymore. I’m not pleased that they’re dead, but I am pleased that they won’t hurt anyone else.”

She thought about this for a long moment and then nodded as if she’d come to a decision.

“That’s why I’m pleased too,” she said, and returned to her diary as calmly as if we’d been discussing the weather.

Glancing out through the window, I looked up at the heavy grey clouds that threatened rain, wondering if they still contained radiation this far south. I couldn’t be sure, I was no expert after all, but it did make me wonder about the other nuclear power stations dotted across the country, and suddenly wished for a working Geiger counter.

The weather had definitely turned, the long dry spell shattered overnight as storm clouds continued to build. It made me worry about the future, about how we would survive when the cold storms of winter hit, but then I reminded myself that humanity had survived for thousands of years before electricity, and no doubt would survive for thousands more even if we never clawed back what we’d lost.

The rain finally began to fall as morning turned to afternoon, a light spattering at first but quickly intensifying to the point where the wipers struggled to keep the windscreen clear. It rattled off the room like a thousand crazed drummers, adding to the noise of the half-century old engine until I could barely hear myself think.

We’d passed Birmingham late in the morning, a few of its taller buildings just visible through the rain-smeared windows, and when we reached the M42 Emily turned off and drove confidently along smaller roads that had me lost within minutes.

We finally came out on the M1 just above Luton, the road here often half-blocked with abandoned vehicles, many starting to show wear from the elements after a week or more in the open.

We were drawing close to the M25 when Emily tapped the fuel gauge and looked over at me.

“We’re running low,” she said with a grimace. “It might run like a dream but it drinks fuel.”

I waved a hand at the cars we were passing.

“Take your pick.”

She pulled over near a tangle of cars and we got out, having no choice but to risk the rain.

“We should be ok this far south,” Emily said dubiously, but just in case we made Melody stay in the car despite her protests.

All of the cars had been locked, as if the drivers expected to be able to return for them, but the windows were easy enough to smash with screwdrivers from the small toolkit we’d found in the boot of the Traveller.

Although the central locking systems were fried, we quickly developed a simple method of smashing a window, unlocking the driver’s door and then climbing in to pull down the back seat and access the boot that way, searching for hose or tubing that we could use to syphon petrol from the tanks.

In the end Emily gave up looking, instead lifting a bonnet and ripping a length of tubing from the engine. I produced an empty petrol can from the boot of another car, and then sucked on the end of the tube that she had put into a petrol tank, spitting out the fuel when it rushed into my mouth and made me gag.

We filled the can and transferred it to the Traveller several times, then filled the can once more and put it in the boot where it filled the car with the headache-inducing smell of petrol.

We climbed back in and Emily started the engine while I turned to Melody.

“You ok?” I asked, and she nodded.

“Yes, but I’m bored now.”

“I know,” I said as we pulled away, “but it shouldn’t be too long now.”

Emily glanced back over her shoulder. “Two hours, I think, maybe three because we’re going the long way around. Can you last that long? We can play a game if you like?”

Melody nodded. “Ok, what should we play?”

Emily smiled. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s each think of the thing we miss the most from before the flare. I’ll go first. Ice cream. Mint chocolate chip ice cream with marshmallows on top. Malcolm?”

I smiled and shrugged. “Easy. Skinny lattes with vanilla. Melody, how about you?”

She said nothing for a moment and I looked back to see tears tracking their way down her cheeks.

“My mum,” she said quietly, “I miss my mum most.”

For the next hour, we travelled in silence.