Nuclear Midnight (15 page)

The next day they pushed on as soon as it was light. The mine lay only a dozen kilometres to the north and, providing there were no more surprises, they expected to reach it by late afternoon. They travelled all that morning through a narrow, U shaped valley, which, even before the war, must have been a very barren and formidable place. For there were no trees, not even the shattered stumps of them, and no houses. Only the wind seemed to frequent this valley, where it howled and shrieked like some caged predator, bouncing off the sheer cliffs and whipping up powerful eddies which at times engulfed them in whirlpools of biting snow. Along the top of the cliffs huge ice fields hung, and now and then they would fall with thunderous detonations to the valley floor below. The fine, powdery snow from these avalanches swept right across the valley in a fine particle mist, creating white out conditions where they could see no more than a few metres in front of them for many minutes at a time.

By late morning they had traversed the most dangerous section and the cliffs had fallen back and dwindled. But now, if anything, the scenery took on an even more savage appearance as they moved deeper into the rich slate mining area of Northern Wales. The high content of slate in the rock had reduced the cliffs to blackened scree slopes, which climbed into the clouds like huge rock piles, broken and shattered as though thrown up by chain gangs of giants.

Further up, the valley broadened itself and left space for an iced up lake to form, with a number of houses clustered by its shore. They approached in full view, for there was no cover, and before long they were aware that the settlement was occupied and that their progress was being carefully watched. Soon they could see men at the windows with rifles apparently trained on them, but by this time it was too late to turn back. Other signs of habitation, smoke rising from a chimney, a Land Rover obviously still in use, at least consoled them that they weren’t dealing with the mindless, butchering mobs who lorded it over the valley. There was a measured caution about this group, a sense of purpose and calculation in the way they waited. But Cliff and Roy were not about to offer themselves up at point blank range. A short distance from the nearest house, they drew to a halt and prepared to await developments.

Presently the door of the house opened and two men came out. Both were dressed similarly in grey, wet weather gear and large leather boots, which reached up to their shins. They were unarmed, but other men in the house covered their every step. They approached to within a few metres of Cliff and Roy, then stopped and looked them up and down. One of the men had a large, bristly beard and ruddy, inflamed features as though he had been standing in front of a fire for most of the day. His companion was rather smaller, more refined and delicate in appearance with a pointed face and a pair of steel rimmed spectacles resting on his nose.

‘And where would you be going?’ the bearded man opened the conversation.

‘We're travelling north,’ said Cliff, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Looking for some type of settlement we can join.’

The man smiled wryly at this. ‘Where have you come from?’

‘Bristol.’

‘All the way from Bristol,’ the man echoed, more thoughtfully. ‘What makes you think there's a community you can join here?’

‘It was a long shot,’ Cliff admitted. ‘But we know there's a mine here which the government took over in the last war. We thought they may have stored food up here.’

The man nodded. ‘We've had that story before,’ he said. ‘But you're the first for nearly a week now. The last people through here said anyone without the mark was being killed.’

Cliff frowned. ‘I don't understand,’ he said finally. ‘What mark are you talking about?’

‘Have you had any problems over the past few days?’ This was from the man with the spectacles, who had not previously spoken. He seemed to be examining their faces with a good deal of attention.

‘None to speak of,’ Cliff replied cautiously. ‘Although the last valley we travelled through looked like a huge graveyard.’

‘Graveyard?’

‘Bodies everywhere. Gangs of survivors, too, were still roaming around killing each other.’

‘But you managed to avoid them?’

‘We made sure we did,’ Cliff answered. ‘And we sighted no one once we reached the mountains again.’

‘These gangs you mentioned,’ the bearded man continued. ‘Did you notice anything peculiar about them?’

The question seemed to carry some weight or significance, which escaped Cliff. He thought back. ‘They looked thin and sick,’ he said slowly. Then he remembered. ‘Ah, the paint! They had what looked like dabs of white paint on their foreheads.’

‘And you have no idea why they had this paint on their foreheads?’ the man with the spectacles asked, in his rather irritating pedantic way.

‘No, none.’ Both Roy and Cliff answered almost together.

The two strangers glanced at each other quickly before continuing. ‘We marked their foreheads,’ the bearded man said bluntly. ‘They had been rejected from our community on health grounds. To stop them from re applying, we painted their foreheads with a special paint which cannot be removed by solvents.’

‘Won't they just rub it off anyway?’ Roy asked.

‘Eventually, yes, so we also branded the right hand of each one before we released them.’

Cliff resisted the urge instinctively to look down at his own hand, feeling that any such action might be misinterpreted.

The smaller man pushed his spectacles back up his nose. ‘The bottom line, gentlemen, is that if you wish to join our community, you have first to prove to us that you have not already been rejected.’

Cliff's gaze went from them to the riflemen mounting guard at the windows beyond, and back again. He shrugged and stretched out his arm. ‘The right hand, did you say?’ he said in his best sarcastic voice.

After Cliff and Roy had shown that their hands were unmarked the atmosphere changed entirely. Their questioners became pleasant and congenial, even friendly. It was the first time since the holocaust that anyone had treated them with any degree of warmth. They were taken into the house and placed in front of a large fire and given cups of coffee. When Cliff and Roy explained that they had been carpenters before the war, they were even more pleased. The community, it seemed, had any number of building projects they were contemplating, but starting was hampered by the scarcity of trained craftsmen. They had a glut of office workers, whose skills were no longer valuable, and who they had been obliged to retrain as tradesmen and the like.

Cliff took full advantage of their conviviality to fire off a lot of questions. The mine, it appeared, did exist and was indeed full of food and equipment. In fact there were enough supplies to feed and clothe a population of fifty thousand for up to a year. The military seemed to have been caught by surprise when the war broke out so suddenly, as they only had a company of men guarding the mine. In the immediate aftermath, the locals, who were well aware of the location and purpose of the mine, had crowded up to it asking for food. All their pleas, however, had been to no avail. Soon, refugees from much further afield, began arriving till thousands upon thousands of starving people were clamouring at their doors, but still they were not helped or admitted. The mine was too well defended to fall to an unarmed mob and the military couldn't be starved out, so it was a stalemate. Then the survivors heard rumours of several battalions of soldiers slowly butchering their way north towards the mine. The valley that Cliff and Roy had crossed the previous day had been where these reinforcements had fought their last battle. The disappointed refugees were roused to fury by the thought of these newcomers turning the mine into a fortress and they had attacked the column relentlessly, moving in human waves over their own dead. Eventually, after a dreadful slaughter, the spirit of the soldiers had been broken. Rather than continue a useless struggle, they had capitulated and agreed to lead an assault on the mine themselves. With their weapons and leadership, and the weight of so many civilians, the balance of power was altered and the three hundred men guarding the mine gave in after the entrance was blown.

The survivors could hardly believe their good fortune; the place was like a small city. The workings themselves spanned twenty six levels and over sixty kilometres of tunnels. In the few years since the military had taken control, the top four of these levels had been completely remodelled. Fluorescent globes lined the tunnels, the walls had been reinforced with concrete, large conference rooms, offices and spacious dormitories had been carved out, complete with panelled walls and superior furnishings. Five thousand people could be fed and accommodated with ease. The whole place had power and heating, supplied by three huge generators deep within the interior of the mine. Every conceivable item to sustain a colony was also there   from tea and coffee to agricultural equipment and vehicles. This final assault and occupation had taken place only three weeks previously, but already the mine had a membership of eleven thousand survivors.

When Cliff and Roy finished their coffee they were taken by Land Rover on a rapid tour. Both felt rather overwhelmed by all this, as though they had suddenly stepped back from chaos into civilisation. Cliff, however, had not forgotten their reason for coming all this way and he wasted no time in telling them about Alex and Tina. Their talk of returning into the wilderness caused some raised eyebrows   it was considered an impracticable idea. Nevertheless, since they persisted in it, they were advised to seek permission from a man called Marcus Higgins. He had been a Major in the army until three weeks before when he had persuaded his men to stop the killing and join with the survivors against the mine. He was now in charge of maintaining security, and he supervised the screening of new community members.

The Land Rover had reached the bottom of a narrow valley, closed in on both sides by towering mountains. The driver shifted into second gear and started a steep ascent. But after only a few minutes he turned off to the left along a narrow gravel road. This quickly brought them into a wide plateau like place that had been carved directly into the side of the mountain. Here, over two hundred people were busily at work, erecting buildings, repairing cars, and cooking food in huge charred pots over blazing fires, while further off, small squads were being trained in the use of rifles.

They drove further on and stopped at what must once have been the entrance to the mine. Now only a gaping hole remained with a narrow yellow glow in its centre, where the new entrance had been constructed. The driver hopped out here and went in search of the Major. A few minutes later he returned, accompanied by a large, powerfully built man with cropped grey hair and the beginnings of a thick, almost white beard. He must have been in his early fifties, Cliff estimated, which by post war standards, was extremely old.

He came up and shook hands with them both enthusiastically. ‘So, already you gentlemen want to leave us when you've only just arrived.’ He spoke in a good humoured, faintly amused manner.

‘We don't really want to leave,’ Roy said very seriously. ‘But we can't just abandon our friends.’

‘Hmm. And you want to take some of our medicines with you, I understand? Just how seriously ill are these friends of yours?’

‘Ah…it's only the girl that's sick,’ Cliff said quickly, afraid Roy would say something that would reveal the hopelessness of Tina's case. ‘And she's more weak than anything. But she does have a terrible cough and a sore throat. If you could see your way to letting us have some antibiotics and something to lower her temperature, we would be very grateful.’

Cliff felt Marcus's keen gaze fixed upon him as he said this and he had the impression that he didn't believe a word of it. But nothing was said and he turned his attention to Roy, whom he scrutinised in the same sceptical, analytical manner.

‘Of course, you do realise, don't you, that your friends and yourselves have to undergo a very rigorous screening procedure before you can be permitted to enter this community. Anyone suffering from a communicable disease, or so ill that they cannot recover, will not be admitted. Still,’ he continued more thoughtfully, ‘you both look healthy enough. After your examination we shall be in a better position to consider your request.’

‘Can we have this examination today?’ Cliff asked.

There was a slight pause at this. ‘Very well,’ Marcus said at length. ‘I imagine that could be arranged. But whatever the outcome, I still haven't decided whether I'll let you have any drugs.’

‘But we'll be back in a few days,’ Cliff protested.

‘Oh, I'm sure that would be your intention, but that's not the problem,’ Marcus replied stroking his beard reflectively. ‘The problem is that it's open season down south, especially on anyone who hasn't been exiled from the community. You're both very lucky to be alive, but I doubt you will have the same luck twice.’

‘Why not mark our foreheads, the same as you do the other exiles?’ Cliff asked.

‘Yes, that might be an idea,’ Marcus said, suddenly becoming thoughtful. ‘And there's something else we could do.’ He mumbled something to the driver, who immediately dived into the Land Rover and came back with a map of Wales.

‘Now, show us exactly where your friends are,’ Marcus said.

Cliff indicated the place.

‘Ah!’ Marcus leaned over the map. ‘I think you might be in luck,’ he said at length, looking up. ‘We actually control a lot more of the mountainous interior of Wales than we do the coast. Not because we have taken it by force, but because no one can live there anyway. We can probably drop you here.’ He pointed to a place inland and considerably further south than where Cliff and Roy had first encountered the community. ‘This would be less than two days' walk from where your friends are, and you could avoid travelling along the coast.’