A NEW BEGINNING  (Part 1 of 3)

by Richard Banks

Without Conner there would be no hope. He is our leader, our guide and mentor. He has rescued us from despair. We are battered, traumatised, but despite all that has happened we have survived and daily grow in our resolve to keep going and never give up.

        He tells us that this is the year zero of a new age. He has freed us from the prison of memory; right now there is only the present and the future. There can be no looking back, the measure of our lives is to be found in each new day; if no worse who knows it might be the start of better. The green mist that covered the land is slowly rising into the sky. Its poisons hatched it may, one day, drift off into space. At present, it is a shroud through which the sun glimmers but never shines. Although it is July the weather is cold and leaves flutter down from the trees.

        Today we have twenty miles to walk. We journey towards Halmouth from whence the radio transmissions of a ferry company can sometimes be heard, incomplete snatches of conversation between crackles of static electricity. There is a ship at sea, maybe more. This may be the nearest thing to normal that still exists. Elsewhere radio and TV stations no longer transmit, the internet’s down and there’s been no gas and electricity for over two weeks. More people have died than survived. There is widespread panic and a breakdown in law and order. Nowhere is this worse than in the Cities and larger towns and no one goes there who doesn’t need to. In the villages through which we pass whole communities have perished and there is no one to stop us from breaking into shops and taking whatever food we can find. We avoid conflict, but do what we have to to survive; nobodies lives are more important than our own.

        After three hours we come to Little Hallop where there is a medieval church and a teashop with a garden that only a few weeks ago sold cream teas to a constant stream of visitors. Today the buildings remain undamaged, as they do elsewhere, but no living person remains. We come across two bodies outside a public house, otherwise, the villagers are in their beds where they perished with the coming of the mist. For now, no one has an explanation for what’s happened. How some folk have survived when most have not is only one of many unanswered questions. Maybe those still living only have a stay of execution, time alone will tell.

        On the main street, we find a grocer’s shop. To our relief, the door is shut and bolted. Everything that was inside when the mist came down is still there. Conner rings the bell. When no one answers he forces open the door and we go in. The shop is gloomy and instinctively Laura reaches out for the light switch which, of course, no longer works. The freezer has also ceased to function and an unpleasant smell is seeping out from within. We fill up our backpacks with tins and bottles from the shelves and are in and out in less than twenty minutes. The sooner we are back into open country the better, we are not the only ones scavenging for food. If we are spotted by another, larger group they may take all that we have.

        Conner leads the way. He has a compass and map that keeps us clear of the main roads and towns. Three weeks ago he was a school caretaker doing odd jobs for his more affluent neighbours, a former squaddy whose martial skills had no place in civilian life. Now he is our Chief. The world has changed and the future hinges on people like him. The twelve survivors he leads are now as irrelevant to the new world order as he was to that which preceded it; Tom was a stockbroker, Ellie a buyer for a fashion house, Laura a florist, and the others, including myself, computer gazing administrators. In case you’re wondering, my name’s Kate. There are also three children, the youngest of whom is eleven.

      A motorway bars our way. Devoid of its normal traffic it is used only by bikers who have taken over the petrol stations and prey on anyone who isn’t them. While the pumps still work the road is their racetrack and the roar of their machines can be heard day and night. This evening is no exception.

      We arrive just before sunset at the top of an embankment that slopes down to the road. To our left, a few minutes march away, is a bridge to the other side but any chance of a safe crossing is dashed by the sight of three men on the far side. We duck down behind some bushes. Conner observes them through his binoculars and confirms that they are armed; there is smoke from what may be an encampment. We have no choice but to wait until dark, move further down the road, and cross it on foot. There are six lanes and two hard shoulders, plus a fence on the central reservation between two crash barriers.

        We stay hidden watching the bikers roar by. In the course of the next hour, there are ten of them, the roar of their engines audible for seventeen seconds before they pass. If we start to cross when the road is quiet we will, most likely, reach the other side without mishap, providing we can find a way past the fence. When it is dark Conner sets off with a pair of bolt cutters to see if he can cut a way through. If he is seen by the bikers it will not go well for him, but he keeps close to the ground as they pass and in the darkness is unseen. He returns with the news that he has been successful but that the gap he has made is only wide enough for two people to squeeze through at the same time. His plan, therefore, is for us to make six separate crossings of two persons. He will be the last to go, alongside Alan, a retired banker, who being the oldest in our group will struggle more than most to make it in time.

        We wait until the next biker thunders by and as the sound of his machine fades into silence we listen out for the next one. When there is silence Bill and Judy begin their dash across. The rest of us watch as they scramble over the first crash barrier and through the fence before fading into the darkness. When twenty seconds have elapsed we assume they are safely on the other side. We listen for the approach of another bike but when nothing is heard Ellie and Clem set out. They are over the first barrier when the next rider is heard, but by the time he is past they have surely made it to the other side. The bike just gone is still audible when the sound of the next one can be heard. We wait until it has passed before Andy and his son make their move. When they are up to the fence and the road is still quiet Tom and Val follow on. For over a minute there is silence. Then the next cyclist roars by and I set-off with Laura. We are scarcely through the fence when the sound of the next bike can be heard. We have seventeen seconds to complete the remaining distance. It should be more than enough but Laura who is gasping for breath is struggling to get over the second barrier. I pull her over it and as she tumbles to the ground her backpack falls from her shoulders. We snatch it up and drag it along between us. We are close to panic but keep going, throwing ourselves down on the grassy slope of the opposite embankment. As we do so the headlights of the motorbike light up the tarmac over which we have just passed.

        We establish contact with the others who have already crossed. Everyone is OK apart from a few cuts and bruises. Only Conner and Alan remain on the other side. What has been difficult for forty-something Laura will likely be worse for Alan. No doubt this is why Conner is making the crossing with him. Another bike whizzes by. In the silence that follows I picture them starting off but almost immediately the next bike can be heard. They have seventeen seconds at most to get across. I start counting. On ten I think I hear them scrambling over the first barrier. The fence should take them only a second or two more. On thirteen I catch sight of their dark shapes struggling over the second barrier. They have three lanes and the hard shoulder to cross; they are not going to make it. I hear Conner’s voice saying to go back. If they lie down flat on the central reservation any possibility of a collision is avoided and they may not be seen. But for one of them logic no longer applies; he breaks free of the other man and runs as fast as he can towards us. He is halfway across when he is caught up in the headlight of the bike that a split second later ploughs into him. The cry of terror that precedes the collision is followed by the thud of metal on flesh and a shower of sparks as the bike overturns and somersaults down the road. There is shouting from the men on the bridge, more shouts as the petrol tank explodes, and then a quieter voice we know only too well. It is Conner. The rest of us are numb with shock but he is calm, in control. In his mind the only thing that matters right now is what happens next and that is to get as far away, as quickly as we can. “We’re all here,” I tell him. All, that is except Alan. That bit I don’t say, and as we scramble up the embankment he is already no more than collateral damage. More than ever I want to survive, the only thing that matters right now is me.

 [To be continued]

  Copyright Richard Banks