Nuclear Midnight (12 page)

‘I'm really okay,’ she said, trying to sit up and smiling at his mournful expression. ‘I probably got a bit of a high dose. And all this walking hasn't helped,’ she added unconvincingly.

Alex’s alarm was deepening rapidly into misery and torment. ‘You must sleep,’ he pleaded. ‘Sleep will make you strong again. You just need to sleep.’

But she shook her head. ‘There's no time for that. Once we're in Wales, we can start to think about relaxing.’

‘You sleep,’ he said sternly. ‘Leave us to sort out where we go from here.’

They stared at each other and for a moment their wills clashed, but now his strength easily matched hers. After a moment, she leant back on the pillows.

‘Events have rather swept us along, don't you think?’ she said quietly, a clear note of surrender entering her voice.

Alex nodded.

‘You know, I had a lovely life planned before the war.’ She was gazing directly ahead now, at no place in particular. ‘I was going to be photographer. Travel the world taking marvellous pictures.’ She turned to look at Alex. ‘Ironic, isn't it? In one fell swoop, everyone's dreams and aspirations have been wiped away. They all seem rather silly and self-centred now.’

‘Yes, we've all suddenly been brought to the same level,’ Alex agreed. ‘There's no rich or poor, or talented or beautiful any more. We're even beginning to look the same.’

At this last comment Tina lowered her eyes and pursed her lips with such a lamentable expression that it made Alex ache. He felt as if he was made of glass and inwardly he was shattering. ‘Things always seem worse than they are, Tina,’ he added. And he kissed her lightly on the forehead.

She reached up and wrapped her hands around him, holding him tight. ‘I don't feel so strong anymore,’ she whispered. ‘Suddenly I seem to go to jelly. I want to be well, I want to cross the Channel, but my body continues to grow weak and decay.’

He disentangled himself from her arms in horror and disbelief. ‘What are you trying to say?’ he gasped.

‘Only that I feel as if my strength is leaking away, and I'm very scared. Oh Alex, dear Alex, I've never felt like this before. If something happens to me...’

‘Nothing's going…’

‘If it does,’ she persisted, tears swelling in her eyes and beginning to tumble down her cheeks, ‘promise me that you'll not leave me to die by myself.’

Alex's immediate impulse was to dismiss her words as an over-reaction, but he knew Tina well enough to be sure she would not say something without good cause. And the pleading look in her eyes was not one of self-pity. He could not speak.

‘I don't mind dying, I just couldn't bear the thought of dying alone,’ she continued miserably.

He reached out and gently stroked her forehead. ‘I won't leave you, you know that.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said more calmly, ‘I think I do. I didn't want to upset you, Alex,’ she went on. ‘I just thought you ought to know. I remember reading somewhere that we all have different levels of tolerance to radiation. Well, I think I must be near the limits of mine.’

‘But you've been eating.’

‘No, 1 haven't, not really. I have been trying to force food down, but I have been vomiting it up again an hour later. I also have had diarrhoea for over a week now.’

‘But we all have diarrhoea to some degree.’

‘I'm passing blood,’ she said bluntly, ‘and it's getting worse.’

Alex covered his eyes with his hand, rubbing his forehead as if he suddenly had a headache. He felt he would lose all grip on reality if something happened to Tina. ‘When we reach Wales,’ he said, almost on the verge of tears, ‘I'll find a shelter for you and we'll stay there until you're better again.’

She leaned over and put her arms around him, gently drawing him back to her. Alex climbed in under the covers and took her in his arms. She was icy cold. Desperately he wrapped himself around her, trying physically to smother her in his own warmth, until finally, like a little bird cradled in a nest, she closed her eyes.

For a long time Alex lay beside her, waiting for the deep rhythmic breathing of sleep to descend on her. When he was satisfied she was asleep, he gently disentangled himself and changed into the clothes he had previously laid out on the bed. He had heard some explosions earlier and when he looked out of the window of the bedroom he saw the cause of them. The food distribution point must already have collapsed. Huge fires were engulfing the town higher up. Angry voices sounded in the street. He ran down the stairs and met some passers-by; people who told stories of mayhem and slaughter, as the refugees took revenge on anyone who resembled authority. The closing of the distribution point had worked them all up into a kind of frenzy. They now knew, or guessed, that no more help would be forthcoming, and survival would depend on their own resources.

Some, of course, had Alex's idea and contemplated escape across the water northwards to Wales. These survivors poured onto the shore in search of any craft that could take them across the Channel. In their search for materials to build craft, they took anything that would float, couches and tables among them, and quickly swamped the more promising vessels by crowding aboard in the shallows. Shouting and flashing knives, they would let no one else depart this way, if they could not go themselves. The sick were trampled underfoot; it was a vision of hell, made the more persuasive by the sudden breaking out of fires.

Alex found Cliff and Roy in the garage. Their search along the shore had not been fruitless. They had collected a number of large oil drums from a nearby service station, along with several large rolls of plastic. They had not dared to take any more for fear of attracting attention to themselves. With Alex's help, they now began tearing up the floorboards, ripping doors off their hinges, breaking up cupboards and chairs and dragging the whole lot down to the workshop. When Alex told them about Tina, they both looked shocked, neither having suspected that anything was amiss. But this bad news only served as further incentive to escape.

After five hours of work, the raft was finished that same night. It was a large, awkward looking craft, held together by nails, wire and odds and ends of rope. Five drums served as buoyancy tanks, with a deck above them, made of doors and wooden beams, lashed and nailed together. Metre high planks rimmed the front and sides to give some protection in choppy seas. Roy had cut holes in these, through which could be slotted four oars to row them when the raft was safely at sea. The plastic stretched over a wooden beam, which ran along the centre of the raft, and served as the spine of a ridged canopy for warmth and protection. A rudder, crudely made, with a tiller attached, meant that the raft could be comfortably steered without leaving the shelter.

Alex inspected the result critically. The raft was certainly large enough and would apparently be stable so long as the sea remained calm. But its size made it too heavy to carry. They would have the advantage of darkness, and the water was not more than eighty metres away, but dragging it over that distance they would be frighteningly vulnerable to attack. It only needed someone to come along with a lantern or torch and discover them and they would be fighting for their lives.

While Roy and Cliff equipped the raft, Alex went upstairs to wake Tina. He found her still curled up tightly against the pillow, in the same position as he had left her. At his approach she stirred lazily, stretching her tiny limbs down the bed before turning toward him. He sat down beside her and asked how she was feeling. Her eyes rested on him contentedly, a slow, full gaze that filled him with a curious sense of excitement. A feeling of strength and self-importance.

‘I had a wonderful sleep,’ she said blissfully. She lifted his hand to her forehead. ‘I think my temperature has gone.’

It was true. Her forehead was noticeably cooler. ‘Yes,’ he agreed.

Reaching up impulsively, she ran her hand down the side of his face. ‘Oh, Alex, despite the fact that you drive me crazy sometimes...’ Her voice tapered off. She smiled warmly, but the smile could not wipe away the depth of sadness behind.

He leant across and kissed her softly. ‘I understand,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think you do.’

Gently he brushed away some of the hair from her face.

‘It's ready, isn't it?’ she asked.

He nodded.

She gave him one final, emotional hug, but the next moment she was out of bed and quickly throwing on clothes from the wardrobe. The tenderness she had shown a minute earlier had vanished. Already she was bracing herself for the coming ordeal.

They reached the garage to find that Cliff and Roy had completed their final checks of the raft. They had also attached two ropes to the front to help drag it to the shore. After a rapid discussion on tactics, they switched off their torches. Alex strapped his rifle to his back and Cliff and Roy swung back the garage doors. In silence they took up their positions on the ropes and pulled the raft out into the freezing night air.

The day, towards its close, had been violent and bloody, but the evil seemed to have worked itself out for now, and sleep had overtaken aggressor and potential victim alike. The raft glided noiselessly through this artificial calm, centimetre by centimetre, metre by metre, across the snow. When five minutes had passed, Alex estimated there was still another thirty metres to go, most of it on the road before they hit the shallow incline of the beach. Then there would be a further ten metres of ice encrusted gravel before they reached the water. Roy and Tina were pulling at one rope, Alex and Cliff at the other. In front was total darkness, with only the sound of small waves breaking on the ice bound shore to guide them. Alex couldn't remember being more frightened. It would only take one torchlight trained on the raft for a few seconds and everyone within hundreds of metres would know what was afoot. They had already agreed what to do if that happened. Only if they were overrun by an armed mob would they desert the raft. Anything less and they were all prepared to fight. After the events of the past afternoon, no one was going to give up the chance to leave these shores without a struggle.

The road surface was safely traversed and the powdery snow gave way to ice as they reached the shallow descent to the water. After a few more metres, Alex's feet struck gravel. Cliff slipped and went down, recovering himself with a volley of curses.

‘Shut up!’ Alex hissed.

Still there was no answering light from the shore, although here and there, far off, a shout or a scream was occasionally heard. Then, further on, the inevitable happened. The raft struck a patch of gravel where the tide had eroded away the ice, and the tin drums produced a rasping sound, which made Alex's hair stand on end. They stopped pulling at once and looked around anxiously. All was quiet. The raft was too heavy to lift, so there was no other choice but to continue. They all strained again at the ropes. The scraping echoed and resonated along the shore, stirring up the tranquil night. Squares of windows were suddenly illuminated only fifty metres away. Then a large spotlight found them. Voices rang out in anger and footsteps could be heard pounding in their direction.

Alex looked around; the sea was no more than five metres away. ‘PULL! PULL!’ he screamed.

The raft lunged forward again. Beads of sweat were pouring off his face. The shouts were much nearer now. The raft gained momentum down the shallow incline to the sea. Three or four smaller lights came bobbing up, held by running figures, waving clubs and yelling as they closed. Alex's feet struck water. His chest was heaving. Cliff fell again, but dragged himself upright quickly. Alex's own feet struck floating ice, which brought him to his knees. The grating stopped as the raft hit water, but the mob was almost on them. With his heart pounding he fumbled for the strap of his rifle and turned to face them.

The leaders were several large youths brandishing what appeared to be carving knives. Alex fired directly over their heads, then dived to the back of the raft to join the others who were already frantically pushing it out to sea. The leaders faltered for a moment, but only to give the rest of the gang time to catch them up. Then they surged forward again, wild, merciless faces in the torchlight.

Alex hesitated for a second, vaguely aware of the shouts of the others behind him imploring him to shoot. Then the rifle came up and he was shooting like a madman, bullets tearing into flesh, bodies jerking backwards, again and again. He saw predation turn to terror as the impetus of the mob was broken. His own body seemed to be on automatic, functioning without his mind's permission. Then there was nothing, his ammunition was spent. He was in total darkness again and the screams of revenge were all about him. Mechanically he dropped back to the others who were still pushing the raft through the knee deep water. A single torchlight, probing the dark, touched his face. The mob sensed that his rifle was empty and renewed their attack. Cliff and Roy turned together at his side, each with a knife in one hand and a lump of wood in the other. Tina had jumped up on the raft and was impotently trying to paddle with one of the oars. The water was now up to their thighs.

A youth about the same height as Alex tried to split his head open with an iron bar. Alex blocked the stroke with his rifle, then rammed the butt into the youth's face. He went down, but two more immediately took his place. Then the dancing torchlight slipped from someone's grasp, and again the mob was thrown into confusion. Arms threshed about in the darkness, people fell, screams and shrieks rang out all around Alex. He weaved to the right and struck into the darkness where he had last seen one of his adversaries. His rifle only found empty space. Lunging back to where he supposed the raft to be, he found nothing. A wave of panic almost paralysed him, then he heard Tina's frantic voice rising above the turmoil. The raft must have been more than five metres away. He dived back further, pushing his way between members of the gang that had surged past him. Something heavy crashed into his shoulder. Swinging round with all his strength, he brought his rifle to bear, this time, with better effect, judging by the thud and cry of pain. Then he discarded the weapon and dived. The freezing sea struck his face and robbed his lungs of air. After a few strokes he was forced to surface. He could hear the waves lapping against the raft and the splashes and agonised screams of a struggle only metres away. Grasping for air, he swam on, dimly registering the frantic voices of his friends. He felt for the corner of the raft, found it and hung on, too exhausted even to cry out. Beside the raft, the battle still raged. The other three were mounting guard, desperately calling to each other, as the mob tried to scramble aboard.