The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light (13 page)

Within minutes the ferry was in the
Solent
.
Although they couldn’t see the horizon, they could feel the motion of the sea
on the ferry as it cut through the water.

Rhys presumed he would have about an hour before they
would be docking at
Yarmouth
so, instead of sitting and waiting obediently like
the rest of the survivors, he began searching the boxes that were inside the
containment room using the limited light from the matches.

The metal hulk of the ferry edged into position
alongside the jetty in the
port
of
Yarmouth
on the
Isle
of Wight
. Rhys casually sat on a
wooden crate beside the other survivors as they waited in the faded candle light
to be released. Following several metallic bangs and judders caused from the
ferry manoeuvring into a secure position, they could hear movement once again
from nearby areas of the ship. The thud of feet running along metal gangplanks,
shouts and directions muffled by the thick containment room walls, and the
monotonous beeping of a loading vehicle reversing, were sounds they could hear
from within their cell. Eventually, a closer sound caught their attention - the
chain on the other side of the containment door was being pulled down and with
a creak and a groan the door slowly slid aside. They all squinted as light
flooded into the room.

'Ok, everybody out,' instructed their jailor as soon
as the door had opened wide enough to allow them to step out in single file. It
was the same man that had escorted them to the ferry on the mainland, but Rhys
noticed a change in him. He seemed more nervous and kept one hand rested on the
gun that was slung across his chest, as if he felt like he might be needing it
at any time. 'Quickly now.'

In silence they walked out of the containment room,
along a network of corridors to an exit hatch. Connecting the hatch to the
ground, and balanced at an awkward angle, was a metal gangplank that they were
expected to walk along. Rhys kept his hands in his pockets, trying his best to
conceal the items he had stolen from the boxes during the crossing.

The guard nervously looked up at the sky. It seemed a
natural instinct for all of the survivors to keep checking the sky for signs of
the creatures. The ferry crossing had taken slightly longer than expected,
whether that was down to the inexperience of the ferry pilot, or the wind Rhys
could feel whipping against his face, he couldn’t be sure. Glancing past the
rear of the ferry, Rhys could see the open water of the
Solent
. The
waves appeared to rise high out of the water and the mainland could not be seen
through the spray kicked up by the wind. The sky was a dirty grey colour and
everyone knew what happened when daylight became limited. That would explain
the guards’ nervousness. Everyone seemed to be hurrying around them, trying
desperately to get everything off the ferry before the creatures came out. Rhys
recognised the guard who had taken his sword, shouting orders to others to hurry
up, his voice echoing off the walls of the concrete dock.

As soon as the survivors were standing on solid ground
the guard instructed them all to help and carry some of the boxes that were
stacked up outside a low building. Rhys watched a miniature pick-up truck move
some of the heavier crates from inside the loading bay of the ferry and into a
warehouse. He peered round the side of the building. Inside he could see his
motorbike lined up alongside other vehicles: a couple of four wheel drives, a
small minibus and three lorries. None of the people that were frantically
working around him looked like his son. He picked up a box and followed
everyone else into the flat roofed building and stacked it where he was
instructed. He then dashed back outside along with the other survivors to
collect another.

A high pitched squeak ripped through the air.

Rhys searched the sky for signs of a creature, but saw
nothing. Instead his attention was drawn to the rear of the ferry where the
loading bay doors at the back were being pulled shut. As the last of the crates
were placed inside the warehouse, one of the guards reached up with a long pole
and pulled the shutter door down to crash against the floor. He then padlocked
it on both sides and rattled it to make sure it was secure.

'Hurry!' shouted one of the guards as he rushed past
Rhys and collected the last box. Everyone raced towards the low building,
abandoning the ferry and quayside that moments ago had been a hive of activity.
'Take the box in or we will leave you outside!' said the guard again.

Rhys followed the guard into the building and stacked
the box with the others. Two more guards darted through the door immediately
after him. The man standing next to the door already had the key in the lock
and as soon as the last man leapt through, he pushed the door into its frame,
turned the key and locked the door. Guards and survivors all moved together
without saying a word through another door which was also locked behind them.

As they moved through a series of other doors, the
mood between the guards appeared to improve. They knew that with every door
that was locked, they would be safer from a creature attack

At the end of a long corridor they reached a room that
was set out like a temporary canteen. There were already some people wandering
around inside unloading boxes of food and water. As they entered, everyone
lined up in front of the first table. Guards were checked in and survivor's
details were logged. The next table had food and drink. Everyone was allocated
the same amount, which they took over to one of the long tables. Although they
were all survivors, the guards kept themselves separate to the newcomers.

‘Move along,’ instructed the guard that Rhys
recognised from the security gate on the mainland.

‘Are these all the survivors there are?’ Rhys asked.

‘No. This is just a safe house for the staff that work
on the docks. The main bulk of the community is over at Osborne House.’

‘Queen
Victoria
’s home?’

‘Yes. Main operations are organised from there. The
land around the house is going to be cultivated into farmland. Everyone has a
job or function in the community, depending on your skills. You will be transported
over there when it is safe to leave the dock tomorrow.’

‘What happens to all of the boxes and crates that were
brought over with us?’ Rhys asked.

‘They are held at the House and distributed
accordingly.’

‘When do I get my motorbike back?’

‘You don’t. Anything you arrived with immediately
becomes the property of the community. In times like this we have to share what
we posses for the good of everyone.’

In the containment room they had been held in, Rhys
had seen boxes full of pots and pans, others with books and paper, wine and
water, but also one with expensively framed paintings, and another with carrier
bags full of jewellery. If all these things automatically became the property
of the community, it would be rich indeed. But wealth was to be had in food,
water and safety, rather than in valuable possessions. Rhys wondered whether
the money was being creamed off the top by the management of the community,
whilst other survivors were unpaid members, working for its food and being
thankful for it. Rhys realised that being part of this community would only be
slightly better than being a slave, whilst others enjoyed the finer things that
could be salvaged.

Rhys moved along the line, giving his name and
profession at one table then taking his bottle of water and food rations to sit
beside Will.

As Rhys ate the cold baked beans that were on his
plate, along with several dry cheese crackers, he continued to survey the room.
Along one wall was a line of rolled up blankets and assorted cushions and
pillows. As well as the canteen and administration room, Rhys realised that it
was also going to be their sleeping quarters for the night. Next to the door
they had entered was a wooden rack and box where all of the guards had handed
in their guns. Whilst the others ate and chatted, one man stayed next to the
weapons, cleaning and checking each one before reloading it if necessary and
propping it up in an organised row on the rack.

Rhys’s thoughts returned to Steffan. So far, all of
the people he had met going to the
Isle
of Wight
, or manning the dock bore
no resemblance to his son. If there was a larger volume of survivors at Osborne
House, he hoped that that may be where he might find him. But he thought back
to the Wailing Wall in
London
. The couple he had met there had said that a man
called Steven Knight had gone to the
Isle
of Wight
to rescue a girl that
had been taken. From what he had seen and could work out, Rhys presumed he was
now part of the community that Steven had set out to find.

Steven
,
Georgia
and Tracker drove away from
Newport
without the benefit of having the headlights turned
on. It made the drive a lot slower than they would have liked, but they
couldn’t risk exposing themselves, especially as they got nearer to Osborne
House.

Once they had left
Newport
, the road opened out with fields on either side. A
limited amount of light from the moon highlighted the edges of the stone walls and
shiny car roofs. Occasionally a curious creature would swoop down towards the
car and block the view through the front window.

The straight road they had been travelling along
gently inclined upwards and turned to the left. A signpost indicated that they
were approaching a roundabout. As soon as they turned the corner Steven could
see the silhouette of a primitively constructed building amongst the plants in
the centre of the roundabout. He tucked the car into the grassy embankment and
waited to see if their approach had been noticed by any guards that may have
been watching the road. They had assumed that, like all other human survivors,
the members of Coldred's community would be hiding from the creatures at night,
but knowing that Coldred had a supply of antibiotics and the knowledge to make
a vaccine they couldn’t be sure he hadn’t posted immunised guards on all
approaches to Osborne House. But Coldred may have casually presumed that other
humans were no threat to his food supplies during the night because of the ever
present threat from the creatures.

There was no movement coming from the checkpoint.

Steven turned off the engine and pointed towards the
building in front of them. Tracker had already seen it and nodded to Steven.
All three of them picked up a gun, quietly opened the doors and stepped onto
the road.

They crept towards the building as quietly as they
could.

'If possible, try not to shoot,' whispered Steven.
'The sound will carry easily in the quiet air.' He indicated for the other two
to go round one side of the building whilst he approached from the other.

Tracker and Georgia both nodded.

Now that they were closer, Steven could see that this
make-shift checkpoint nestled amongst some ornamental grasses was made from
steel scaffolding poles bolted together to form a triangular shaped building.
It was open at eye level for the guards to look out and each one of the three
sides faced an approaching road to the roundabout. The roof flapped slightly in
the breeze. It was made from thick tarpaulin sheets and stretched over the
metal poles to try and form a tight waterproof roof. Each sheet was bound onto
a pole by rope wound tightly through metal eyelets. This had the effect of
creating a tinkling sound every time the wind blew causing the eyelet to tap
repetitively against the hollow steel. Below eye level the sides of the
building were made from various scraps the builders had found including metal
panels that were hammered and twisted into shape, wooden planks torn from
pallets and shop signs as well as bricks and stones piled together to form a temporary
wall.

Steven edged closer to the checkpoint. He couldn’t
hear any sounds that would betray the presence of humans inside the building.
Where each of the three sides of the building came together there was a narrow
gap which Steven assumed the guards used as an entrance to move in and out.
Keeping his head down, he crept towards the nearest apex of the triangle and
peered inside. Because of the lack of light entering the makeshift building it
appeared very dark. Steven could just about make out the outline of three
boxes, one along each side of the building, but nothing that resembled a human.

Steven looked over towards Georgia and Tracker who
were approaching a square section of building that was completely covered by tarpaulin.
Steven shook his head, indicating to Tracker that there was no one in his
section. He stepped through the gap at the apex and into the centre of the
triangle. At the far end was an enclosed part that joined onto the square
building that Georgia and Tracker were standing next to. From his side, Steven
could see that the covered section was accessible by a knotted piece of string
that tied a section of tarpaulin onto one of the poles.

Steven looked out of the checkpoint towards Tracker
and waited.

Tracker found a small gap where the sheeting was
loosely tied to its frame and carefully lifted it out so that he could peer
inside. Steven knew that the inside would be pitch black and impossible to see
into, but unless they checked they wouldn’t know if there was a guard on duty
or not. If they drove past the checkpoint, a sleeping guard may become alerted
to their presence by the noise from the car engine and raise the alarm.

Steven began to unpick the knot in the string that was
holding the door flap closed from his side. As the tension in the string
loosened he gripped his gun tightly with one hand and pointed it towards the
covered section, then began slowly peeling the tarpaulin flap back so that he
could move inside. It was so dark that it felt like he was walking into an
empty void. He carefully nudged his foot forward, relying on the toe of his
boot to feel if anything was on the floor in the absence of his eyesight.

The first thing he felt was something solid. As he
reached out his free hand he felt the cardboard sides of a box. He tried
desperately to listen for sounds of someone sleeping, the gentle intake of
breath or the sticky sound of someone swallowing, but there was nothing.

Without warning, the fabric covered house was suddenly
flooded with light.

Steven squinted, trying to protect his eyes from the
sudden change, but he knew that his life depended on being able to see who had
turned on the light. His mind instinctively knew, from the position of the
shadows that the light had come from behind him. He spun round and gripped his
gun tightly, ready to fire. As he turned and his eyes became more accustomed to
the light he could see the outlines of two people, both with guns in their
hands facing his direction.

'Nothing more than a store room,' said the person
holding the flashlight. Steven recognised the voice; it was Tracker.

'Turn the light out,' Steven said desperately.

'Don’t worry, the tarpaulin will block out the light to
anyone outside,' Tracker replied.

'I know,' agreed Steven. 'But the flap you've just
entered through is still open.'

Realising his mistake, Tracker spun round, grabbed the
flap and thrust it tightly against the pole opposite, ashamed that he had
forgotten.

'Turn the light out!' Steven said again.

Tracker flicked the switch on the handle of the
flashlight and the room immediately disappeared into darkness once again.

'Do you think anyone would have seen it?'
Georgia
asked.

'I don’t know,' replied Steven, 'it depends if Osborne
House has guards posted at the windows.'

'It was only for a few seconds,' said Tracker, trying
to be positive and play down his oversight.

Steven began edging his way in the dark towards
Tracker and Georgia, guided by the sound of their voices. 'Come on. Let's get
back to the car. There's no one here so we can safely drive on.'

They all moved out of the covered section of the
checkpoint. Steven carefully retied the string back onto the scaffolding pole
to try and hide the evidence that anyone had visited the makeshift building in
the guards' absence, then they walked back down the road towards the car.

Osborne House was signposted along the road to the
left of the roundabout.

Steven drove once again. No one said anything. The
road was poorly lit, especially when cloud covered the moon, but slowly they
crept forward.

'There's a turning before Osborne House that goes to a
private estate called Barton Manor,' said
Georgia
as she held a map up to the window so that she could
read the road markings in the moonlight. 'If we leave the car there we should
be able to cross the fields on foot and approach Osborne House unseen,'

Steven kept driving whilst
Georgia
constantly checked the map making sure they were
progressing in the right direction. After several minutes the road became
shrouded with shadows from the overhanging trees.

'The turning should be just up here,'
Georgia
instructed Steven.

Steven pulled off the main road and drove through a
gated entrance and along a straight road that was lined on both sides by
equally spaced trees. To the left, and in the distance, Steven caught an
occasional glimpse of a creamy coloured building with a tall clock tower that
he recognised as Osborne House. Ahead and to the right of the road, a
collection of buildings that made up Barton Manor began to loom. The occupants
of the car couldn’t be sure whether this collection of buildings were occupied
or not so Steven turned off the access road, squeezed the car through a gap in
the trees and into a clearing hidden beneath the canopy of the small copse.

'We can't take everything with us,' said Steven. 'We
need to travel light. Let's split the antibiotics up three ways so we all have
some in case we get separated. It would be better if we left the rifles here
too and took smaller weapons that can be concealed under our jackets.'

'I agree,' said Tracker. 'If we get spotted during the
day, we need to be able to blend in with the community.'

'If we can't spot Annie it may be necessary to become
part of the community until we can locate her,' suggested
Georgia
, remembering the little girl they had been separated
from at The Bank of England.

'What about the other survivors?' asked Steven.

'There's no way we can take everyone back to Fort
Halstead,' answered Tracker.

'Maybe we need to find Coldred's supply of antibiotics
and distribute them to everyone in the community rather than just the select
few.'

'What about the vaccine?' asked
Georgia
.

'If it has already been created, the community should
have access to it,' replied Steven.

'Then maybe we need to take Coldred out of his
position of power.'

'There are only three of us. It would take many more
to depose him, and his supporters,' Tracker said with a shake of his head.

'There will be many more people working in the community.
It wouldn’t be the first time an uprising has toppled those in power,' replied
Steven.

'But you saw them at the Bank of England, they have
lost their passion for life and all hope for the future. Coldred has not only
stripped them of their wealth, but he has also drained their spirit too.'

'With more time Coldred will only grow stronger and
his influence and control over the community will grow. Do you remember what
Jonas said in the holiday bungalow?'

'The community is allowing the elderly and disabled to
die because they are the weaker members of the group,' answered
Georgia
.

'Exactly, but it doesn’t stop there. When he
discovered us at The Bank of England, Coldred attempted to get rid of us
because we were inconvenient to his plans,' Steven reminded Tracker.

'He is grooming a community that only includes the
stronger members of society that will follow and obey him without question.'

'Time will only strengthen his position.'

'But what can we do?' asked Tracker.

'We need to try and encourage the people to take
control if they want to live in a free community. Their human spirit needs to
be ignited and their defiance and stubborn nature should not let them give in
to their fate,' said Steven.

'But how?'

'They need someone to lead them and make them listen.
Someone like a King maybe,' said Steven smiling at Tracker. 'Surrounded by a
royal home, you are in the perfect position to make a difference.'

'But… but I'm not a King,' stuttered Tracker.

'You are a member of the royal family and in the
absence of the monarch, you represent them. In times of crisis, people need
someone to follow.'

'I don’t know,' was all Tracker could say as a reply.
He fell silent, distracting himself from the conversation by dividing the
remaining antibiotics into three separate polythene bags.

Steven and Georgia decided not to push Tracker any
further. They unpacked and checked the smaller handguns they had and began to
hide them beneath their clothing together with additional bullets. When they
were done they hoisted the two remaining backpacks into the tree just in case
the car was discovered then set off towards Osborne House.