Nuclear Midnight (7 page)

They found shelter for the night in a small wooden shed, filled with machinery and sacks of foul smelling fertiliser. Amongst the sacks they discovered the bodies of a man and a woman, with a young child only a few years old. Like the outcasts who had been denied entrance to the fallout shelter, they were moulded around each other, their expressions dull, lifeless, suspended until the world thawed and the process of decay rotted them into the fertiliser they had so desperately huddled against for warmth. Alex and Tina clung together in the opposite corner of the shed, both too cold and frightened to allow themselves anything more than a fitful sleep.

When morning arrived they rose wearily and forced down some dried fruit and cereal biscuits which Margaret had made for them the day before. Outside, the weather continued to clear, the fog of the previous day having dissipated leaving a blackened, snow-covered landscape. The light had even improved slightly, so that they could see over the countryside for several kilometres in each direction.

They made good progress northwards all that morning, only deviating from their route to avoid the patches of fog which still persisted in the valleys. By early afternoon the gently sloping land had given way to hills and large open pastures. Alex estimated they must have reached the start of the moorland, possibly only twenty kilometres from the coast. He was beginning to consider how they would cross the Channel when the sudden appearance of smoke coming from over a rise, drove all such thoughts from his mind.

They crept forward, taking advantage of the natural cover of the ground, to observe what was happening. From a hilltop concealed among shattered birch trees, they cautiously looked down on a dozen, ragged people stoking up a large bonfire below them, while others were cutting up what looked like cattle carcasses. While they watched a cattle grid was dragged over to the fire and mounted across two boulders. The sides of beef were then brought over and thrown on the grid. Soon the smell of roasting meat started to waft in their direction. The aroma reminded them that they hadn't eaten a decent meal since they had left the Wanes. Although they knew they couldn't risk asking for food, the smells and the sight made them linger.

‘I’ll be a nice tasty roast when it’s done,’ a voice observed from behind them. They turned round sharply to find a short, stocky man carrying a stack of firewood under one arm.

‘You two look like you're off on a couple of days leisurely hiking,’ the man continued, surveying them with a faint smile.

‘We’re heading for the coast,’ Alex explained, angry at himself for being caught off guard so easily.

‘On your hands and knees, that'll take some doing, I shouldn't wonder,’ the man continued with a grin.

‘We were just being cautious,’ Tina answered coldly. ‘We've already seen a couple of murders.’

‘Haven't we all, lass? But that still doesn't explain the outfits.’

‘A family gave them to us a few days ago,’ Alex replied defensively.

‘You should've stayed with them. Around here you'll be shot and robbed if you look half decent.’

‘And who are you?’ asked Alex, ignoring the comment and springing to his feet.

‘Me?’ The man smiled. ‘Shall we just say I'm a freelance poacher? We're all that these days, aren't we? How else can you survive?’

‘So, you're on the run from the government?’ Alex asked.

The man gave a short sarcastic laugh. ‘I've got news for you, guv. We're all on the run from the government. If they catch you stealing food, they'll shoot you if you don't stop.’ He paused, rubbing his bristly chin. ‘Come to think of it, they'll shoot you even if you do stop sometimes. Who knows what happens to the poor bastards they take away with them?’

‘So you have had contact with the government then?’ Alex asked.

‘Oh, I've had contact with them all right. Six of our group were shot in a village yesterday by the military.’ He nodded toward the fire. ‘Take a good look at them. Six days ago, forty sick and homeless people started off from Bristol because they had no food and the government wouldn't give them any supplies. Since then, some have died from the sickness, some have been arrested and some shot. There's only sixteen of us left now. We've lost our families, our homes, and now the government's trying to take our lives.’ He took a deep breath and seemed to become calmer. ‘You've been lucky, you've managed to keep out of their clutches, it seems. But watch your step from now on. And mind what I say, every man in uniform that you meet is your enemy.’

They listened to him in silence, glancing at each other.

‘Come on,’ he said, walking towards the fire. ‘I’ve found some cows tied up in a barn a little way back. They were half starved, but at least they're not contaminated. In spite of your fancy clothing, you're probably as hungry as the rest of us.’

Without further comment he strode off down the slope. After some hesitation, Alex and Tina followed.

The group at the fire eyed them with a mixture of suspicious looks and envious stares. By its light, they became fully aware of the contrast they represented to this company. Very few appeared to have escaped injury. Severely burnt arms and faces, broken limbs and festering wounds were abundant. All wore tattered or burnt clothing, often ill fitting, probably because the garments had been picked up along the way. Many had badly singed hair, or were in the process of losing it through radiation sickness. A glazed look of shock still lingered on many faces as though intelligent thought had been simultaneously burnt away with the holocaust.

‘Not a pretty lot, are we? And we're the fit ones; those who were really bad we had to leave on the way,’ the man commented aloud.

‘Where are you all going?’ asked Tina, hoping to change the subject.

‘Cornwall, probably. Anywhere there might be food and no military,’ the man replied, throwing the last of his wood onto the fire. ‘You're welcome to join us if you like. The more able bodied people there are, the better our chances of survival, as I see it.’

‘We were thinking of trying to reach Wales,’ Tina replied.

‘Wales?’ The man's face became thoughtful. ‘Yes, North Wales is a possibility. Harder to get to than Cornwall, though, isn't it?’

‘Yes, but it's even less inhabited, so we thought it's not so likely to have been a target,’ Alex answered.

‘True enough, but also less likely to have food, and the Welsh mightn't take too kindly to intruders. Still, it's as good a plan as any, I suppose.’

By this time the rest of the group had all but forgotten the strangers, being more intent on the progress of the cooking. When the food was declared ready, it was charred on the outside and almost raw on the inside, but it tasted wonderful! Alex and Tina tore into it eagerly. So did the others, although Alex noticed that after a few mouthfuls most of them seemed to lose their appetites.

Afterwards the man introduced himself as Cliff Benfield, a carpenter from Bristol. He hadn’t been in Bristol when the bomb detonated, but returned later to find his family had been killed by the blast. 

‘There was no warning, you see,’ he continued. ‘I just happened to be out of town on a job. That close to the detonation, most of the electrical systems and circuity had been fried by the blast. The population was on foot with no transport and little food. I lost my van to a mob soon after I arrived back. With no food and the government barricading the warehouses, a group of us decided to head for the country. We've been living off what we can find, and dodging patrols, ever since. The military seems to have control over the major towns, but for the moment, at least, the country is free of them.’

Well that explained why Cliff looked in better shape than the others, Alex thought. He was just about to mention the government broadcast he had heard when the camp suddenly became flooded with light.

Everybody immediately began running in different directions. Cliff, more nimble than the rest, dived into the shadows, swearing, and Alex and Tina followed suit.

A voice from one of the surrounding slopes boomed: ‘You're under arrest for looting. Anyone who tries to escape will be shot!’

Almost immediately there were gunshots and a scream of pain as someone was hit.

Alex drew his revolver and unlatched the safety catch.

Tina gripped his arm. ‘Put it away,’ she hissed urgently. ‘If you start shooting they'll find us in no time.’

Alex hesitated.

‘Do as she says, you idiot,’ Cliff growled.

Alex flicked the safety catch on and hid the revolver.

‘Come on, this way!’ Cliff motioned them.

The three of them struggled up the slope leaving long snaking trails in the snow. Behind, some of the group had been arrested next to the fire; others had been shot while trying to escape. Spotlights were now probing the surrounding slopes for people they had missed. Above them more beams of light appeared, making long, careful sweeps of the many leafless bushes and defoliated trees.

Cliff stopped by the base of a large tree. ‘We’ll have to stay here. I can't see any better cover up ahead,’ he whispered.

The descending beams began to draw in towards them, accompanied by the crunch of footsteps in the snow. Below, gunfire was followed by a voice demanding surrender.

‘Corporal!’ a voice shouted. ‘There are three trails down here leading toward you.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ came the reply from directly above where they lay.

‘We’re trapped,’ Cliff groaned. ‘Throw that bloody gun away.’

Before Alex could respond, however, a spotlight blinded them.

‘All right, stand up, hands away from your bodies,’ the corporal shouted.

More lights homed in on them as they slowly rose to their feet.

‘Dawes, search them!’ the corporal shouted.

A blond man about Alex's height clambered down the slope and began frisking Cliff.

‘He's clean, corporal,’ he announced. Stepping up to Alex he repeated the process, his grey eyes focusing suspiciously on Alex when he found the weapon.

‘This man has a revolver. There's a serial number on it, could be army issue.’

The corporal came slipping and sliding down to join Dawes. ‘So,’ he said, eyeing Alex coldly, ‘where did you get this?’

Alex hesitated. The truth sounded too incredible to be believed. ‘A friend gave it to me, I don't know where he got it from,’ he said weakly.

The corporal barked at once. ‘Sinclair, take this man to the C.O.!’

Alex was parted from the others and marched down to the bonfire.

The C.O., a bulky figure who sat perched on a log, warming his hands at the blaze, inspected Alex with an air of detached boredom.

The soldier saluted and repeated the charge against Alex.

Alex tried his story again, with a few embellishments.

The officer appeared equally unimpressed, his chin sinking further back into his neck as he studied Alex. ‘He looks in better condition than the others,’ he said finally. ‘What he will be doing in the future will more than make up for his sins. Throw him in with the rest.’ He dismissed Alex and his guard with a casual wave of his hand.

Alex was placed in with eight other survivors.

Tina hugged him warmly. Cliff looked surprised to see him.

‘That can only mean they have something worse in store for us,’ he said miserably.

Rapidly marshalled, the survivors started on a twelve-kilometre hike to the coast, more prisoners for one of the fast growing military run work camps now appearing throughout the nation.

CHAPTER 4

The loudspeakers blared.

‘You have all been caught in the act of looting. As looters you have no rights under martial law. You will be required to labour ten hours a day, six days a week. Your period of internment will depend on your co-operation and what you achieve. Food will be provided according to the amount of work done. Any would be escapees will be shot on sight. You have been warned!’

The prisoners, who had so far listened in silence, now burst out angrily, expressing their outrage. They were gathered at the front gates of a large comprehensive school, hastily converted into a work camp. The march from the valley, where they had been caught, had taken four hours. No rests on the way, or stoppages of any kind, had been permitted. Those who were too sick or physically disabled to keep up had been stripped of all valuables, including food and water, and left behind. Of the original nine, only the five fittest remained. They had since been joined by other prisoners; wretched, frightened creatures who swayed on their feet and collapsed against the gates of the camp as though they had been walking solidly for many hours. Alex noticed that, despite their exhaustion, they were all in good physical shape and not one of them was older than his early thirties. Like his group; their weak and elderly probably lay strewn along their route.

Around the perimeter of the camp was a two metre fence, with a coil of barbed wire attached to the top, so as to form a barrier nearly three metres high. Wooden watchtowers, each equipped with spotlights, were spaced along it at regular intervals. The old school fence, two metres in from the perimeter, marked the limit of the inner boundary of the camp. Between the two was the area known as no man's land, where inmates were liable to be shot if caught attempting to escape.

As the light faded, the guards started unlocking the gates. Like beggars scenting a meal, the new intake jostled forward. They could smell warmth in the waves of burnt ash wafting from the distant end of the playground, where the inmates had begun the nightly ritual of stoking up the bonfires against the freezing night. Barely waiting to hear that dinner would be at nine at the school meeting hall, they surged, Alex and Tina among them, towards the fires. Reaching the nearest one, Alex pushed through to the front impatiently, only to be driven back, so intense was the heat. At a more respectful distance, he and Tina stripped off their gloves and balaclavas and held up their frozen hands. All about them, sheets of plastic were being laid on the ground where the heat had melted the snow, and prisoners were kneeling or sitting down with blankets wrapped round their shoulders. Nobody spoke much, or moved far once they had settled themselves.

After a while, when they felt somewhat restored, Alex noticed Cliff on the other side of the fire talking to a large man in a leather jacket.

‘Ah, the country hikers,’ Cliff said, giving a friendly smile when he saw them. ‘I've just met up with an old friend I haven't seen in years.’

He introduced Roy Flemming, also a carpenter from Bristol. Roy was a very striking figure, taller by a head than Alex. Cliff looked almost dwarfish beside him. But it wasn't only his height that was impressive; he was huge in every way. His chest was shaped like a beer barrel, his arms and shoulders were thickly muscled, so much so that they seemed to have swollen over his neck and joined directly to the sides of his head. Only his eyes were small, almost buried in his skull and covered by the thick mat of his eyebrows. He extended a massive callused hand.

‘Roy's been telling me how he was arrested for helping an old man over a fence,’ Cliff continued.

The huge man looked slightly embarrassed, smiling at this interpretation. ‘Well, that's not quite true,’ he said, his voice slow and good humoured. ‘The man did happen to be carrying a sackful of stolen goods and I was doing a little more than just helping him over the fence.’

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Tina.

‘A couple of days.’

‘And how do they treat you?’ Alex asked.

The carpenter shrugged. ‘Hard work and not much food,’ he commented. ‘Still, in a way we're lucky. The damage around here is largely superficial so they don't have any major rebuilding projects going on.’

‘Roy thinks I'll be put to work repairing buildings the same as him,’ Cliff added.

‘And us?’ Alex asked.

‘Labouring, I expect,’ Roy answered, his ruddy features becoming momentarily serious. ‘That can range from anything from searching for wood, to stoking these fires, to clearing up partially collapsed buildings in town.’ He turned to Tina. ‘Women generally do lighter work in the kitchen,’ he went on. ‘But you'll find out what you'll be doing soon enough.’

Roy's words were echoed in a loudspeaker announcement later that night. New prisoners had to assemble in the schoolyard in the morning to be assigned their duties.

Dinner was in the school assembly hall. The new prisoners, now numbering over forty, were told they were part of the sixth and final meal sitting. Since the hall could only take a hundred people at any one time, and there were six hundred prisoners, feeding was a lengthy business, even with only half an hour allocated to each sitting. The meal had to be collected from huge vats at the end of the hall, eaten, and the plates washed and returned. Any slow eaters had their food confiscated and their ration reduced. By the time Alex and Tina were served, twenty minutes of the allocated time was up. This left only ten minutes to gulp down a watery soup in a mug and eat a cold stew consisting of rice, potatoes, beans and meat. It tasted foul, but there was little waste. The new prisoners in particular attacked their food as though they hadn't had a square meal in days. Neither Alex nor Tina felt hungry, but both were too smart to pass up the opportunity for food.

When they had done their duty in the washing up queue, they trooped outside again where they found Cliff and Roy waiting for them. Roy had promised to show them where to find some spare mattresses and a place to sleep. He led them to a small building hidden amongst a patch of bent and broken beech trees. The sign at the front read ‘ART SCHOOL’. Inside the walls were painted in a multitude of swirling primary colours, giving the place a slightly insane feeling.

‘This building was only opened up yesterday,’ Roy explained. ‘I moved in straight away before it got too crowded.’

The room they entered was already half filled. Huddled forms under grey army issue blankets already lay along the walls. Roy fetched three reasonable looking foam mattresses and some blankets from an annexe and quickly returned.

‘I'm sorry I can't give you more than one mattress and two blankets each,’ he apologised. ‘But if the guards catch you with more than your ration you'll lose the lot.’

He divided the blankets between them and headed for a vacant corner of the room.

‘Why are there so many people already asleep?’ Cliff asked.

‘These people have been working all day. They're too exhausted to do anything but sleep once they have some food inside them.’ He paused for a moment and looked around the room. ‘You'll understand why after a few days,’ he added quietly.

The air in the room was only marginally warmer than outside. There were radiators along the walls, but from the way the inmates ignored them it was obvious they were not working.

Alex asked if there was any form of heating other than the fires.

‘Not for us,’ Roy shook his head. ‘The guards have their own generators, though, which also supply power for the kitchen and the searchlights around the perimeter fence. What I do is to warm myself in front of the fire until I feel like I'm going to burn up and then quickly go to bed. That way you might fall asleep before you feel cold again.’

Alex and Tina were too weary to take Roy's advice. Tina pulled their mattresses together and cuddled up close, while the two men continued talking. Tina snuggled against Alex’s chest and was asleep within minutes, too tired to discuss anything.

But Alex lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds around him. Outside the wind had strengthened, hurling powdered snow against the boarded up windows in fitful gusts, setting off a creaking, quivering song as the boards strained to burst the nails that held them. New prisoners came in constantly to collect their mattresses and blankets and fight for the rapidly vanishing floor space, like so many dishevelled dogs. Alex recognised many of them from the intake he had seen at the gates. Like Cliff's group they wore the same bizarre mixture of tight and loose fitting clothes. One man even had a woman's blouse on, over a tight pullover. Their varied costume probably represented the clothes of many corpses now lying stripped and frozen on the moors.

At ten o’clock the guards came to blow out the lanterns, and to order quiet. The command was almost unnecessary. Within minutes of lights out all talk had ceased and different sounds became dominant, tonal snores and the constant howling of the wind. In the total darkness, with Tina fast asleep in his arms, Alex’s mind slowly relaxed into an exhausted dreamless sleep.

A high pitched screeching burst from the loudspeaker system and tore into the bones of even the heaviest of sleepers long before light. Shortly after, their tormentors, the guards, appeared, each carrying a small wooden truncheon.

A guard leaned over Alex and poked him. ‘Come on, rise and shine.’

Cliff was watching from his own mattress, close by. ‘Can't you see you're disturbing his beauty sleep?’

The guard ignored him.

‘The quicker you move the quicker you can have some grub!’

‘And the quicker we do your dirty work,’ Cliff added.

The guard glanced across at Cliff briefly, but chose to ignore the comment.

‘What’s wrong…is it too difficult to talk and prod someone at the same time?’ Cliff continued.

‘I don't like this anymore than you do,’ the man replied, ‘but until the government can rebuild the country…’

‘Rebuild the country!’ scoffed Cliff. ‘The military doesn't even have control of it. Last I saw of the military in Bristol the local population didn't seem too friendly to them.’

The guard's face hardened. ‘If it weren't for us, you'd all be still wandering around in your shit, killing each other for scraps of food.’

‘So we should be grateful to the military for killing us instead,’ Cliff responded scornfully.

The guard flushed. ‘If we didn't stop the likes of you from murdering and looting, the whole country would still be in anarchy.’

‘Hey, want to hear a secret?’ Cliff whispered, beckoning him closer.

The guard leaned forward suspiciously.

‘The whole country is still in anarchy, they just haven't told you yet.’

Several people listening to the exchange, laughed at this.

‘We already have control all the major towns in England!’ the guard replied angrily.

‘Oh yeah, by imprisoning the population in forced labour camps. And if anyone objects, that's fine, you just shoot them. After all, anything is justified under martial law.’

The guard glared at Cliff. The anger was vivid on his face, but he seemed at a loss to know how to reply.

‘You have five minutes to get down to the mess hall,’ he said finally before striding off down the room.

By this time Alex and Tina were awake. Cliff caught them watching him.

He shrugged. ‘I'm not the subtlest of buggers, I know,’ he said dryly, ‘but prancing down the room waking everyone like we were in some type of holiday camp!’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘It made my stomach turn.’

Breakfast was lukewarm oatmeal porridge with sugar, no milk and a weak mug of tea. The shivering inmates consumed it in silence; the line of whom stretched the length and breadth of the mess hall. It was six in the morning. Above the freezing mists and endless cloud banks that clogged the earth, the sun was just clearing the horizon. But at ground level the temperature was minus twelve, the wind was freshening and more light snow was falling. The prisoners clutched their mugs and drained them before the tea lost all its warmth.

Tina was beside Alex, her arms tightly wedged between him and another inmate. She finished the porridge, licked the spoon, then wiped the bowl with her fingers and licked off every morsel, until it looked as if she had washed it up as well. In contrast, Alex ate his breakfast slowly and deliberately, his mind elsewhere. She nudged him, impatient to reach the warmth of the bonfires for half an hour before the work parade at seven. Alex came to with a start and stared at her as if he did not recognise her, but before a word was spoken, Cliff and Roy sat down at the two vacant seats opposite.

‘Sleep well?’ Cliff asked with a grin, which Alex and Tina were fast learning meant he wasn't just inquiring after their health.

‘Very well,’ Tina replied.

Alex nodded agreement.

‘Good, because I want you both to be as alert as possible, so that you can absorb every detail about this camp.’

It came as no surprise that this suggestion should emanate from Cliff and they didn't need to be told what was behind it. Cliff seemed to have an innate hatred of authority. The idea of passively accepting imprisonment had probably never entered his head.

‘What are you planning?’ Alex asked.

Cliff leant closer. ‘At the moment nothing definite, but from what Roy's been telling me it's nearly impossible to escape from the camp once the gates have been locked for the night. During the day, however, work parties are constantly being sent out to projects all over the place.’