Hope: After It Happened Book 4 Read online

  “As far as I can work out from the map, we’re looking at over five hundred miles across country.” Dan had discussed this with her earlier and seen her hard at work with a map and a small length of string which she used to calculate the distance by snaking it along the major road markings and into Germany.

  “Or another day – maybe two – back at sea and only about a quarter of that distance by road,” finished Dan.

  “Despite not liking today’s experience, I think it’s going to be quicker to go by sea, but probably safer to go slowly by land.”

  Marie took over, not needing the height advantage that Leah did.

  “The journey by land will mean that we will spend a few days at least scavenging for food and fuel as we go. We can’t be sure of finding good enough vehicles either.”

  The group sat silently. Whilst Dan was eager to give them their own choice to decide their way, most would happily submit to whatever he suggested.

  He didn’t want that added burden. He wanted someone else to decide something for once so the responsibility wasn’t his every time.

  Jack held up a hand.

  “Back out to sea,” he said in his gruff Belfast accent. “It’s still summer and we shouldn’t see too much more of the bad weather. Today was just unlucky is all.”

  Murmurs of agreement, as well as some tight-lipped silence.

  “Let’s just get it over with, shall we?” said Mitch. “One more day and then it’s done.”

  Naturally, Adam agreed with him. As did a few more of the group.

  Eager to have the decision made, Dan asked for a show of hands.

  “Back to the boat?” he asked.

  Ten hands raised. Counting Neil’s proxy vote for sea travel made the significant majority.

  “By land?” Only a few raised their objections, most of whom were the ones who had suffered crippling bouts of sea-sickness. Dan could understand that.

  “By sea then,” he said. “Sorry to those who didn’t want it that way but I promise it’ll be over soon. Get some rest, everybody. Early start ahead.”

  With that Leah jumped lithely down from her pedestal and joined him and Marie as they settled down to try and sleep.

  BEWARE THE FURY OF A PATIENT MAN

  He had never done anything like this in his life, nor had he even contemplated it.

  This wasn’t him at all, only it was him now. The injustice of it, the treachery. The utter pointlessness of what had happened had turned him into this.

  Something deep down, some hidden failsafe which he never knew existed, had snapped inside him. The fuse had blown, the switch had been tripped, and he was totally committed to his task.

  He had moved as quietly as possible to his target during darkness and had barely blinked throughout the first night. He inched his way through the pitch black so as to alert no sentry to his presence. For a man of his size to be so stealthy took vast amounts of physical and mental concentration. By dawn he was exhausted and crept away to return to his hiding place and await the next nightfall.

  He spent the day still and silent inside a small space. His discovery would mean his death, and it wasn’t his death he had come for. It was someone else’s. Someone very particular.

  By nightfall he had rested, rehydrated and eaten. He eased himself silently out of his lair, stretched to relieve the cramp in his muscles, and crept back towards his target for another night of watching.

  He didn’t care how long it took; he would get what he came for.

  Hours passed as he inched his way around the target again, looking for any sign of what he wanted. Movement showed ahead and to his right as a silhouette emerged from the side of the building. He watched as the man relieved himself and wandered back out of sight.

  This is where he needed to be.

  Five others came out and performed the same ritual over the next few hours, none of them appeared to be who he wanted.

  Shortly before the sun began to show off to his left, a familiar shape emerged and leaned a hand against the wall as undid his zip.

  This was the man’s best opportunity to get what he came for.

  He crept the first few yards until the stretch of open ground left him exposed, then rose and covered the distance in long, purposeful strides.

  The man leaning against the wall heard a noise and began to turn. Too late, strong hands grabbed at him and covered his mouth. A huge fist drove into his soft belly and forced all the air from his lungs. The shorter man’s diaphragm went into spasm, and the characteristic sounds of being winded would have escaped his mouth but for the powerful hand clamped over his face. He pissed the remaining contents of his bladder over his attacker’s legs, although neither of them noticed.

  Twice more he hit him, each massive blow raising the shorter man off his feet until his knees gave out. Both hands seized him tight around the throat and dragged him quickly away from the building.

  When out of sight and shrouded in the safety of the shadows once again, the larger man dropped to the floor and held the other tight. No sign that his attack had been noticed, and he felt great satisfaction in what was to come.

  Half carrying and half dragging the smaller man, he took him to the small jetty away from the building. Seizing him by the windpipe he thrust him into the cold water, holding him under the surface in spite of the desperate and frantic attempts to escape.

  It seemed strange to the big man that a person could take so long to drown. He made sure he was looking straight into his eyes as the kicking and clawing became weak, then feeble, then stopped altogether as the last few bubbles rose from the blank face.

  “Thank you, Riley,” said Simon as he let the now lifeless body of the traitor float away.

  ONCE MORE UNTO THE BEACH

  Those who had raised objections to further sea travel were grudgingly loading their equipment back aboard Hope, along with the others who held no such trepidation. A feeling of resignation at having to brave the water once more mixed with the excitement of being on the move again. To be going somewhere new. All nearby buildings were thoroughly raided for any useful supplies, not that they had much space to store it.

  Of all the group, only one remained stubbornly against the idea.

  Not even the lure of food would convince him as he whined pitifully from the wooden jetty. Of all the members of their party, he alone was not given a chance to vote on their course; not that it would have made a difference.

  In the end Dan had to climb back over the rail and force their last recalcitrant passenger aboard, receiving a threatening growl as he went to force the issue.

  “NO,” he snapped, fixing Ash with his best wide-eyed stare and trying his best to retain the Alpha dominance over the dog.

  Realising he would not win, the now huge German Shepherd nimbly jumped over the fibreglass bulkhead and immediately lost his footing on the moving deck. Whining again, he put his head down and bolted to the lower decks to find a hiding place where he could be sick in peace. Leah cast a look of silent communication to Dan and followed.

  The weather was more calm than when they had sought refuge there the day before, and Dan was certain he wasn’t alone in praying that it remained that way.

  Everyone settled in to their comfortable spots as they had previously; very few of them relishing the prospect of another nauseating day at sea. Typically, the only people happy to be setting sail again were the self-styled co-captains. Mitch and Neil were up on what they were calling the flight deck, arguing good-naturedly over their pre-sail checklist.

  Dan stood back next to Adam and had to allow himself a smile; it was clear that neither really knew much about any of what they were saying, but they seemed to believe that if they delivered their opinions with confidence then people might believe them. The engine was started and revved before it was throttled back and allowed to warm up. None of the complicated computerised equipment was of any real use because it mostly relied on working satellites, of which Dan doubted there were any still on course
and feeding back any useful information back to the ground.

  The mooring lines were cast off, the bumper things designed to stop the boat hitting the side of the jetty were pulled aboard – fenders someone called them – and Hope once again moved off to carry them onwards.

  Their return journey to the mouth of the sea was again slow progress as the detritus of human disappearance left obstacles in their path. Inside of twenty minutes they were facing the open sea. The calm inland waters showed an obvious demarcation as the rolling waves of the Channel promised discomfort or worse. Dan forced himself to think rationally; it was only their collective lack of knowledge which made the water-based part of their journey dangerous. The weather wasn’t bad and it would only take them another day at sea to cut out possibly weeks of uncertain travel by road. His fears that Hope would be damaged by the storm had been allayed as the multi-million-pound yacht showed no signs of being the slightest bit affected by the buffeting she had received.

  As Neil pushed forward on the throttle lever, they surged forwards and out of the harbour. The ride became instantly rougher, but despite the held breath of the passengers it seemed no worse than when they left the English coast twenty-four hours prior. Frayed nerves began to relax, and within minutes a few of the passengers felt safe enough to come out on deck.

  One of these, predictably, was Phil as he made straight for the side to be sick. Dan had to wonder why a man with the worst sensitivity to travel sickness he had ever met had volunteered for first a helicopter-borne escape, and now a cross-continent journey by various forms of vehicle. Putting that out of his mind he turned back to join Neil at the controls.

  Mitch gestured for Dan to take his place and bent to open a small cupboard under the wide dash. Curious, Dan leaned over to see what he was doing. Mitch pulled out a Peli case, found it to contain a flare gun and spares and put it aside to take with them. What he was more interested in, however, was the high frequency radio set.

  “Must be a backup,” he said, correctly assuming that Dan was curious. “These things have all manner of satellite comms, but this good old-fashioned lump doesn’t need satellites. Bloody finicky things though.”

  Dan felt a little callous and selfish as he thought that, as much as a godsend that Mitch had been, if he’d have been a Signaller instead of an Infantryman then the possibilities were much more far reaching.

  “Five hundred kilohertz, old boy!” declared Nail raucously.

  “Maybe in your day, you old git,” replied Mitch, “but that frequency hasn’t been used for years now. We had a set at Richards’ camp but few enough of us knew how to work it. I’ll admit I only know the very basics,” he said as he tinkered with dials and switches.

  Noises came from the mic speaker, high-pitched and full of static, as he moved the controls more with curiosity than purpose. Dan’s mind drifted away, daydreaming of finding others with the same technology. That was what had marked out the last few generations as far more advanced; the ability to communicate over long distances instantaneously.

  In the last year and a half they had only managed to create a short-range radio system, and that had been sketchy at best.

  His mind returned to the present, and he realised with a shudder that being on deck in the early morning wind before the sun was fully up had left him with a chill.

  “I’ll go over the maps again,” he said to his companions before sliding down the ladder to go inside.

  A few nervous faces looked up as he staggered through the small door into the main cabin before they realised he wasn’t coming to shout ‘abandon ship’ or anything similarly terrifying. He saw Leah sat on one of the lavishly cushioned sofas with her carbine next to her and the massive head of an unhappy dog over her other thigh. He sat next to her and produced a map of the Normandy coastline to find their approximate position. Leah leaned over as far as the miserable Ash would allow.

  “So we’ve just left Cabourg,” he said, having assured himself of their position by the road signs whilst exploring their safe harbour of the previous night. He ran his finger along the coastline, only able to guess at their speed and progress.

  “Today should take us past Calais, by tonight we should be inland in Belgium. I hope.”

  “Easy as that!” she replied with a heavy hint of sarcasm. He shot her a playful look of annoyance and went to find Marie.

  SINKING SHIP

  The mood at home had improved very little, with mealtimes being a sombre affair without much talk. Gone were the days of productivity, of excitement, and faith in strong leadership.

  It was easy for almost everyone to blame Dan and the others for leaving, but a few of the deeper thinking inhabitants knew that it was because everyone who had stayed behind had given up any hope of prospering.

  The realisation of being the last generation of the human race alive had slowly, insidiously, sunk in and all passion for their ongoing lives had ebbed away.

  Still, it was easier to blame Dan.

  Some spoke openly of leaving, others just sat in miserable silence and waited for the pointless end of their existence. Why suffer all of the hardships and the stresses of getting this far only to await an empty life without hope? Was that not the point of survival, to propagate the species?

  Even the discovery of Henry’s disappearance was met with apathy; when he didn’t report for work and couldn’t be found his room had been searched, and the obvious signs of his clothing and belongings missing had led to the conclusion of his leaving with the others.

  Many wished they had possessed the courage to do just that, but it was too late now.

  Their leadership was weak and ill-prepared. Steve was still in a coma – as had become common knowledge after rumours of his death had spread – and everyone just felt like there was no point in getting up tomorrow.

  Talk of another migration, of a group who now wished to follow the others, died away as they realised they had neither the knowledge, skills or experience to track them down.

  That ship had, quite literally, sailed.

  SLOW PROGRESS

  Dan had woefully underestimated how quickly they would get into the heart of the continent. That said, it wasn’t as though he had made all of the plans in isolation; none of them realised how difficult it would be without the expertise of the people who used to do this all the time.

  A life without services being provided was a hard one.

  As he stood on the deck with the sun soaking into his face and arms and making a prickle of sweat appear under his body armour, he marvelled at a number of things in a brief moment of introspection:

  He realised just how beautiful the world was when the inhabitants were mostly gone and not fighting each other.

  He realised just how easy it was for a bit of sunshine to change everyone’s outlook on life.

  He realised he didn’t have a clue, not in the slightest, how they were going to pull this off.

  Still, they would just have to figure it out, he guessed.

  Progress east along the northern coast of France had been slow, but slow had felt safe and safe felt just fine by him. The water was, by comparison to what they had experienced so far, calm.

  Jack and his fishing rod had made a reappearance, and those who felt better about their seaward journey used the other equipment and joined him. The excitement of the first unexpected catch brought squeals of joy and repulsion as the ugly fish flapped around on the deck.

  Jack, as usual generating some awe about his quiet and unassuming wealth of knowledge, made the noises raise a whole octave as he calmly held it tight with his foot and ended the struggling with a swift stab of the knife he carried.

  As the prospect of fresh fish became a firm reality, all spare hands were now dangling the rods and hand lines into their wake; each hook bearing a weighted lure and the dreams of people eager for real food.

  Dan watched on from the upper deck as the thrill pulsated around the gaggle of people at the stern of their boat. If ever the name of thei
r yacht meant anything, it meant it right then.

  He flicked his cigarette far out over the side as he turned back to Neil sitting comfortably as he piloted the craft gently along the water. Land showed to their right, not close enough to be in great detail but close enough to run to for cover should the weather show any sign of flexing its muscles again.

  Dan allowed his worries to abate slightly. They may already be a few days behind the schedule he had in his mind, but that was ok.

  They were safe, they were happy, they had hope, and tonight – if the sounds from the lower deck were anything to go by – they would be eating fresh fish.

  Land showed ahead of them, indicating their need to head north for a time to stick to the seas and not follow the river into Rouen. Dan chuckled as Neil recited some line from a film about being on ‘the road to Rouen’.

  Predictable, but always a happy distraction. Neil’s quips were as much a part of their glue, their safety and security, as Dan’s guns were.

  The sun rose to its highest point and began to fall away, still bathing them with warmth despite the briefest of rain showers in the afternoon. A few people panicked that they would be put through the rigors of another storm, but soon relaxed when the sea failed to boil up and throw them around.

  By late afternoon the tub on the lower deck held an assortment of fish, much to the disgust of Marie who couldn’t even stomach the smell of them uncooked, and Dan took the boat closer to the shoreline as he planned to put in for the night before they reached the built up areas of Boulogne and Calais. Avoiding the larger population centres was a cautious move, and one based on some hard-earned experience in their past. Stick to the quieter places and reduce the chances of a confrontation. Mindful that anyone they encountered would likely be settled and well resourced – much as they had been at home – and that they were the nomads kept him wary of outside contact.

  A wide estuary opened up ahead of them as Dan allowed Mitch to take back the helm. He did so with satirical ceremony as he placed the Captain’s hat back on his head. With a smile, Dan sat next to him and lit another cigarette, his enjoyment of the moment only slightly marred by their need to find safe shelter before dark.