The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light (5 page)

Steven drove the Range Rover along the M3 towards
Southampton
.
They had decided to make their way to the
New Forest
,
following the smaller roads that would eventually take them to Lymington, at
the edge of the south coast of
England
. It was at Lymington that they expected to find
guards that Coldred had left to man the port, filtering the people who were
allowed to join the community on the
Isle
of Wight
. But,
Steven
,
Georgia
and Tracker had no intention of driving as far as
Lymington. They planned to take another road through the forest, leaving the
cars on the coast at
Milford-on-Sea
. From there it would then be a trek on foot to get to
Hurst
. The information leaflets they had collected in the
tourist information centre, estimated the distance between
Hurst
and the
Isle
of Wight
to be only about one
mile. The only drawback to crossing there was that there was no port on either
side of the
Solent
. If they could get across the water, they would land
on a sweeping area of sand called
Colwell
Bay
, a popular place for tourists. If they remained
undetected, they could then join the road network and begin moving around the
Isle of Wight
. They would have to leave the Range Rovers on the
other side of the
Solent
, but, if the island was anything like the rest of the
country, they knew there would be an abundance of abandoned cars for them to
acquire that would make moving around the island a lot easier. At around twenty
seven miles wide it was possible to negotiate the island by foot, but using a
car would provide them speed as well as protection.

Everywhere was quiet. Only the hum of tyres against
the tarmac broke the oppressive silence. In the distance an occasional movement
in the sky caught his attention, the last of the creatures hunting before
resting during the brightest of the daylight hours.

Apart from the other Range Rover that drove directly
behind him, there were no other vehicles on the road, and no sign of any other
humans. At least, not ones that were alive. Occasionally they would see cars
abandoned by the road side, but nothing slowed their progress. Coldred’s convoy
had already come this way, clearing a path as it went. Some cars showed signs
of being struck and shunted to the side of the motorway. On the horizon he
could see the silhouettes of houses and trees, the outline of a busy city. A
few thin black wisps of smoke drifted in a gentle line towards the sky,
evidence of either life, or, more likely, evidence of destruction and chaos.
Most of the humans they had already met had quickly learnt that hiding from the
creatures was the easiest way to survive, and smoke would only generate
unwanted attention from the creatures.

In the passenger seat beside Steven sat
Georgia
, curled up in the foetal position, resting her head
on a rolled up blanket that was wedged against the window. Steven enjoyed
having
Georgia
around him. He felt an overwhelming feeling to
protect her. He smiled to himself, enjoying the warmth inside his chest that
was created every time he looked at her, despite the looming problem they were
driving towards.

At
Lyndhurst
they turned off and took a different road to the
south west side of the
New
Forest
, safely avoiding
Lymington. The road towards
Christchurch
was slower to navigate around, a clear sign that
Coldred’s convoy had not gone that way. Cars were littered at the sides of the
road like discarded sweet wrappers. Others were abandoned and wedged amongst
trees. The wild horses that had once roamed the forest had long since abandoned
their home, either eaten by the creatures, or moved on to safer, denser areas
of the countryside. In the thicker covered areas of the forest where the trees
cast a dark shadow over the road, Steven noticed large bat-like shadows perched
on some of the higher branches, their heads wrapped beneath their thick
leathery wings whilst they slept.

At
Christchurch
they turned left and took a road back east along the
coast as they tried to keep out of view of any potential guards posted at
Lymington or at
Yarmouth
on the opposite side of the
Solent
. In a
world where nothing moved and everything was silent, two cars driving in convoy
would easily be spotted.

At
Milford-on-Sea
the two Range Rovers pulled into a car park that
looked out over the big expanse of water: the
Solent
.

Once he had turned the engine off, Steven sat quietly
and looked out of the front window. The waves gliding in to crash onto the bank
of shingle below whilst to the right, a neat row of beach huts stood
overlooking the sea, only made different by the distinctive and bold colours
they were painted. On any other occasion, this would have been a peaceful place
to sit and enjoy watching the sea, but today was not that day.

Steven glanced to his left and saw the tip of the
Isle of Wight
.

‘Wake up,’ Steven said gently to
Georgia
. He carefully placed a hand on her arm, being careful
not to touch her wound.

Georgia
opened her eyes, blinking as the light reflected off
the sea.

‘Are they The Needles?’ asked
Georgia
, recognising the three formations of rock that stuck
out from the sea at the side of the island.

‘Yes. We’re here,’ replied Steven with a hint of
dread.

There was a tap on the window pane that made them both
jump. Tracker’s face peered in through the glass. He held onto the peak of his
cap against the breeze that blew off the sea.

Steven and Georgia got out and stood in the car park.
It seemed strangely eerie to see an empty car park that would normally be
packed with tourists, jostling for a place to leave their car whilst they
enjoyed the seaside town of
Milford-on-Sea
.

‘That’s where we’re going,’ said Tracker pointing to a
bank of shingle that protruded out into the sea. ‘It’s called Hurst Spit and
the fortress is at the end. It’s about a two mile walk.’

They stood and looked at the narrow track. It
miraculously appeared to be floating on the sea like a bridge that was only
connected at one end, the other balanced dangerously above the water.

‘We won’t be able to take everything with us,’ said
Tracker as they examined the supplies that were inside the back of the car.

‘We can only take what we can carry,’ replied Steven.
‘We must choose what is essential for our journey.’

‘How long do you think we will be over there?’ asked
Georgia
.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Steven. ‘Food and water we can
probably find, but it’s the antibiotics that will limit the amount of time on
the island. Especially if we rescue some survivors – they will need antibiotics
as well.’

‘We take all the antibiotics we have,’ added Tracker,
‘and try to leave the island as quickly as possible.’

‘Coldred will have a supply of antibiotics, as well as
a limited amount of the vaccine,’ said Steven.

‘Yes, but you can be certain they will be securely
hidden.’

They stuffed what they could into hold-alls including
the antibiotics, some food and bottles of water, additional clothes and a first
aid kit so they could redress
Georgia
’s wound. They also took two maps of the
Isle of Wight
, a shotgun or rifle each, together with small hand
guns and additional boxes of cartridges and bullets, a compass, hunting knives,
and some rolled up polythene sheets that Tracker had borrowed from a camping
store. They each put on a waterproof coat over their fleeces, expecting the
walk to
Hurst
to be a cold and blustery one. Steven and Tracker
took the two largest bags, whilst
Georgia
swung a smaller hold-all over her good shoulder.

Once they were ready they began to walk.

To start with it wasn’t too bad, but as the path
extended further out into the mouth of the
Solent
, the
air became colder, blowing directly off the sea and mixing with salty spray as
it hit the rocks and blew into their faces.

On the left of the path, some small boats were moored
up in the deeper parts of water, but the trio had no way of getting to them.

They continued to place one foot in front of the
other, but it was becoming more tiring and difficult with every step.

To make things worse, the weather had slowly begun to deteriorate.
Dark clouds had gathered over the
English
Channel
, threatening to move across
the
Isle of Wight
.

‘We need to get to
Hurst
, before those clouds reach us,’ said Tracker,
watching the sky with concern. He didn’t fancy being stranded on a narrow ledge
of shingle in the middle of the
Solent
if a storm should break.

With an extra burst of energy they pulled their zips
high up beneath their chins and the draw-strings round the rim of their hoods
and pushed forward. The straps of the hold-all were beginning to dig into
Steven’s shoulders, every step making them slip slightly, rubbing the layers of
clothing against his skin. He tried to lift the straps away by manoeuvring his
hand underneath and taking the strain in his arms, but the biting wind quickly
began to make his fingers go numb with cold.

Within minutes the wind had picked up.

The waves of the sea began to rise higher out of the
water as they galloped in rows towards the walkway. They could see the low grey
building that was
Hurst
in the distance ahead of them, but the shingle path
now seemed weak and vulnerable to the waves. Occasionally a wave would hit
against one of the larger boulders at the edge of the path and shoot water high
into the air around them, showering them with cold water that dribbled into
every tiny gap in their clothing. The clouds blew off the
English Channel
and hovered over the
Isle of Wight
. Streaks of grey seemed to gather between the cloud
and land, signalling the downpour of heavy rain.

The three figures tucked their heads down and
continued to tread across the path that seemed to get narrower as the level of
the sea rose higher. From the main path they could see a smaller track ahead of
them that filtered off towards the grasses and sand that was sheltered on the
north side of
Hurst
. On the main path a flat grey building stood amongst
the shingle. Tracker signalled they should take the lower path that seemed to
follow alongside the walls of the building, whilst the higher path continued
along the more exposed south side and was edged with wooden wave breakers.

The clouds quickly blew across the
Isle of Wight
towards the south coast of
England
and
Hurst
was in its path. In their exposed position, the wind
whipped off the sea and stung their cheeks, closely followed by large drops of
rain that seemed to hit them horizontally. The force of the wind and rain
slowed their progress, every step now was a battle against the elements that
tried to force them back.

The storm was not the only unwelcome visitor to
Hurst
.

In the dark sky above, black shadows had begun to
move, playfully riding the gusts of wind that whipped up from the sea. Steven
hoped the creatures’ presence would not give their location away to any
look-outs on the coast of the island. But, when he turned to look towards the
main land, he could see other flocks of creatures circling above areas where,
he presumed, other survivors had also been spotted. The presence of shadows in
the sky would not be an unfamiliar one to anyone watching from the
Isle of Wight
.

Blinded and squinting from the rain and sea spray,
they made their way along the path of shingle. The side of the building they
followed was flat and featureless with no signs of windows or doors. Above them
were some towers, whilst further on was a low round building that stuck out
with typical castle battlements that ran around the top. Before the round
building was an arched doorway with recessed wooden double doors. They eagerly
crowded beneath the stone archway, trying to shelter from the rain.

‘We need to get in,’ shouted Tracker above the wind.
Droplets of rainwater sprayed from his lips as he spoke.

Putting their rain soaked hold-alls on the ground,
Steven and Tracker began kicking at the rusted lock in the centre of the doors.
At first the damp wood bounced back against the force, but eventually the lock
began to splinter from the wood until it gave way and sprung in to slam against
a stone wall. They quickly moved through the doorway into a narrow courtyard.
It looked very much like a narrow street, bordered on both sides by high sided
stone walls. The rain soaked stone floor was black and shiny, whilst down the
centre of the street a thin river of water gathered and trickled away.