Читать книгу The Last Chapter - S. C. Loader - Страница 6

Chapter 1

'Bugger!'

The pendulum weight escaped its chain and hid itself in the most inaccessible corner of the clock's casing. Despite the difficulty it presented Adam in its recapture, a wry smile crept onto his face, the first in a very long time.

'I swear my grandmother only bequeathed you to me out of revenge for what I did to her cat with grandad’s electric razor.’

Once the pendulum had been returned to captivity and set on its final rhythmical journey through time Adam stepped back, content to watch its slow hypnotic swing for a while.

‘I don’t know how many times we’ve played that game over the years, but this my old friend is the last time you’ll get the better of me, now you'll hang in chains for all eternity.'

Satisfied he had done everything within his power to ensure that this final journey would be as long as absolutely possible; Adam closed the tall glass door of the ancient timepiece. As he did so his grandmother's dire warning sprung to mind, about the ill-luck that would beset him should he ever allow the clock to fall silent.

‘Sorry gran, but I can’t take it with me and to be honest I never really believed you, although now I must admit that maybe there’s some truth in it,’ then after a moment’s reflection added, ‘but I don’t think we can really blame it for everything that has happened, can we?’

Using the palm of his hand to gently remove a fine layer of dust from the clock's wooden casing he confided to it, 'I also start a journey today, one that unfortunately means our paths will never cross again. If I've wound you up correctly then your work will finally come to an end in seven days. Hopefully long enough for me to find a good luck charm capable of warding off any malevolence you may wish to cast in my direction, once you have ticked your very last tick.' With a final goodbye, three generations of ownership came to an end.

Stepping away Adam stood on something small and hard hidden beneath the edge of the rug. An investigation revealed a toy, a small white spaceman his five year old son had failed to tidy away during happier times. After carefully replacing the white helmet and clipping the green laser sword back into the action figure's hand, Adam then stood it on his wife's piano. The contrast of the white figure against the pure black of the piano's lacquered surface caught his attention and held his thoughts captive for a moment or two. Happy, colourful memories played out in his mind's eye, memories that he would never again be able to share with those who had helped create them. They now only served to renew the heartache and threaten yet more tears, for both happiness and colour had forsaken him and he seriously doubted whether they would ever play a role in his life again.

An involuntary shudder broke his reverie and a deep steadying breath helped Adam regain an upright, selfmotivating posture.

'Right! Come on lad, there's work to be done,' he told himself sternly mimicking his father's words and with one last despondent look around the room that was once the heart of his home, he stepped out into the garden, closing the patio doors quietly behind himself.

Having spent some time reassuring his family that he would love them all forever, no matter what fate held in store, he left the garden heavy-hearted via the narrow path that led down the side of the house. Halfway along the path, he came face to face for one last time with his gardening Nemesis, or as his wife affectionately called it The Indestructible Dandelion. As his own epithet for this weed contained a number of choice expletives, his wife's was more commonly used whenever the children were within earshot. Growing out of a small gap between the concrete path and the house wall this weed had resisted his every attempt to kill it for years. No amount of vile-smelling weed-killer did its job, nor did any other evil concoction created by an annoyed gardener and no amount of poking and prodding would force it to surrender its foothold in this small insignificant patch of earth. Crouching down Adam was about to remove its leaves just as he always did whenever he passed it, but then a sudden appreciation of what had happened struck him, he was the loser in the long war of attrition that had existed between them. Despite all the advantages evolution had bestowed upon him, it was he and not the weed that had to relinquish their home. The irony of the situation caused a resigned smile and the hand that hovered over the leaves slowly withdrew, to remove them now Adam felt would be just an act of spite.

As he stood up he spread out his arms to indicate the length and breadth of the pathway, 'It's all yours!' he told the victor. ‘Grow as big as you want!'

Before leaving their carport, Adam automatically moved their dustbin back a few centimetres into its rightful position, 'What on earth am I doing?' he rebuked himself. 'My very last act as husband, father and homeowner is to square up a dustbin that nobody will ever notice is out of place, nor would give a damn if they did.' Catching sight of his own reflection in the side window of his wife's car he asked wearily, 'You don't happen to know a good psychiatrist do you?'

Parked opposite his house and completely blocking the narrow residential street in which he lived stood, what would be for the foreseeable future, his new home.

Before climbing into the cab he decided to give this enormous white and grey motor-home one last check over. With three axles it was longer than two average-sized family saloon cars, as high as a single-decked bus and nearly as wide. To add to these unnerving dimensions there was also the addition of the largest twin axle trailer he could find which, like the motor-home itself, was fully loaded with all the necessities that would be needed on his journey towards a new life. After ensuring the security of all the external stowage lockers and the tarpaulin that covered the trailer, he climbed into the cab. The pistol tucked into the top of his shorts caused immediate discomfort as he sat down. As he removed it his thoughts returned to his wife and children and before he realised what he had done, he was staring down into the darkness of the gun barrel, his thumb resting enticingly on the trigger. Time passed unmeasured while his desire and his conscience wrestled one another for control over a few millimetres of thumb movement. Desire wanted to discard the journey he had so meticulously planned for and start an altogether different one, a journey that would not only take him into an unknown realm, but one that also came without any real guarantee he would arrive at his desired destination. His conscience, however, reminded him of the very last promise he had given his wife, a promise he had sworn to uphold before he ever considered re-joining her and their children.

Conscience won the day and his thoughts turned to finding a suitable place to stow the weapon. A short deliberation nominated the deep driver's door side pocket as the best place to keep it, readily available should the need to defend himself arise and far enough out of sight to avoid temptation. Desire may have lost this battle, but the war was far from over.

With a turn of the ignition key, the engine sprang readily into life as did the central display on the dashboard, set against a black background its bright orange digits announced the time, the date and the outside temperature, 09:06 19 Aug. 24°

The date immediately caught Adam's attention, here in the midst of all the horror that surrounded him, stood one small piece of comforting normality, a solid immovable rock set in a storm ravaged sea. A date, a number and a month were assigned to every day of the year to which there were no exceptions and no special privileges. It was a constant which could be depended upon and would continue, no matter what disasters befell man, beast or the planet, until the end of time.

After a short twenty metre drive, he came to a T-junction, stopped, performed all the usual visual checks to the left and right and despite having a clear road in both directions applied the hand brake, turned the engine off and hit his forehead hard against the padded steering wheel. Although it hurt a great deal, it failed to vent the raging anger that he could no longer suppress. Jumping down from the cab he grabbed the first stone that came to hand and threw it with all his strength against the windscreen of his neighbour's antiquated car, it careened harmlessly off.

'Damn you!' Adam screamed then furiously ripped a capstone from a concrete garden wall and hurled it with both hands at the car windscreen. The un-laminated screen exploded covering the inside of the car, its bonnet and the road immediately around it in thousands of small glass squares and the horrendous noise it made would have been audible throughout the small estate on which he had lived and possibly throughout the entire village. Adam however, his anger now sated, was fully confident that neither his neighbour nor anyone else would complain about his acts of wanton vandalism because like his wife, son and daughter they were all dead.

Less than two weeks previously the first reports about a large number of unexplained deaths in northern China appeared in the media. It was quickly established these deaths were in close proximity to an old chemical plant that had exploded a few months earlier while being decommissioned. As the death rate grew alarmingly fast the western spy agencies belatedly admitted that the plant was known to be a research and manufacturing plant for biological weapons. Within two days not only did the Chinese government announce a state of emergency, but neighbouring countries had also begun to report their first fatalities of what the media had quickly dubbed the Chinese Plague. Three days later, as the plague began claiming its first victims on the west coast of America, China fell ominously silent. A week later the plague had reached southern and western Europe. On Friday the seventh of August information concerning the first victims on the western border of his own country made the late evening news bulletins. By Saturday evening the plague had raced 500 kilometres across the country to reach their neighbouring city, their capital city. Twenty-four hours later all the national television companies had ceased broadcasting and the radio stations were only transmitting public service announcements. Amongst the advice to conserve food, water and fuel there were also reminders that all the hospitals were unable to accept any more patients and there were continuous appeals for anybody with any form of medical experience to report to their nearest hospital as soon as possible, this was also when his wife, son and daughter fell ill. By Monday morning all the city-based radio stations had ceased broadcasting, that night the electricity supply had failed and by the morning there was no water and no mobile telephone network either. Just after midday Adam's beloved daughter died, followed less than an hour later by her brother. His wife held on until the early hours of the following morning and sometime between her death and when he finally managed to avert his eyes from the three lifeless bodies that had once been his family on Thursday evening, the last vestige of modern communications, the telephone network, had ceased to function.

An alcoholic haze reduced his memories of Friday to almost zero, but many of Saturday's memories would be indelibly imprinted into his mind for the rest of his life, for it turned out to be yet another highly distressing day. He had spent the whole morning digging a grave, and in his small garden that meant his family's final resting place would be in the lawn. The only comfort he could find in his work was that at the very least, his family would be laid to rest properly unlike millions of others. Digging the chest-deep grave had been some of the arduous physical work he had ever undertaken, bringing his family to it was the most harrowing. His son and daughter he could carry, but not his wife. So at great emotional cost, he was forced to drag the woman he loved beyond all others down the stairs and out into the garden by her arms. The grave was lined with the duvet and pillows from their marital bed and once the children had been snuggled up on either side of their mother, they were joined by their favourite toys, a soft pink horse for his daughter and a space ranger for his son. After he had said his final good-byes they were covered by another duvet and finally a large sheet of plastic. Filling in the grave also took an emotional toll, the first few spade's worth of soil caused the plastic to mould itself around those who lay beneath it, this drew tears that remained flowing until a makeshift wooden cross, bearing three names, was finally hammered into place.

Adam's two-hour graveside vigil ended with a desperate desire to speak to someone, anyone. With that in mind, he jumped into his car and toured his village, frequently sounding his horn in the vain hope that someone would hear it and come rushing out of their house to greet him. Disappointed he headed off south towards the city, a mere five kilometres distant. The streets there reminded him of the Sunday summer mornings when he used to get up really early to go fishing with his father. The sky was bright and clear, the roads, pavements and parks devoid of people, all the shops were closed and the cars were neatly parked in endless rows at the roadsides. As he toured street after street and row upon row of houses and apartment blocks he kept his hand on the horn. Occasionally he would wander around a small area on foot calling out 'HELLO! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?' as loud as his failing voice would allow, but the absence of even a single reply succinctly answered that question.

As far as he knew, in less than a few days the entire population of this city had died and the strange smell that now lingered in the air laid testimony to the fact that most of those three million victims remained above ground and, if he had interpreted his car radio correctly, which on the drive into the city had failed to find a single radio station to tune into, not even those at the far end of the country, then there were or would very soon be another six million unburied victims in this country alone.

Adam spent the last remaining hours of Saturday contemplating his future, for all but one question he asked himself the list of possible answers seemed to grow longer and longer. He knew he had to leave his house, with so many victims of the plague still lying in their open windowed mausoleums, any built-up area, even small villages like his own would not only soon become a breeding ground for a multitude of life-threatening diseases, but also be overrun by those creatures from the animal kingdom that had already begun their own recycling schemes. There was, however, that one simple question he could not answer, where should he go?

The only decision he had come to before falling asleep was that he needed a gun. There was nothing like a good disaster to rewrite the moral codes of those who had survived. The future was feral and only the strong, the vicious and the armed would prevail; as he was neither of the first two he had better ensure he was one of the latter.

On a bright sunny wind still Sunday morning Adam learnt a very valuable lesson, one that even the youngest of Boy Scouts already knew, be prepared.

With some tools loaded onto the back seat of his car he headed off to Newhill, not only his local town but one which also conveniently hosted a small army garrison on its northern flank. Although only fully garrisoned intermittently when exercises were being held locally, it remained fully equipped and retained a small company of army personal along with a handful of civilian workers throughout the rest of the year.

Adam felt it was a good omen when nobody challenged him as he drove up to the security barrier at the main entrance and his confidence grew, even more, when he caught sight of 'Light Infantry Division' emblazoned across the bottom of the welcome sign.

'Guns are us!' he said quietly under his breath just in case someone should overhear him.

As no one offered to do it for him he raised the barrier himself and drove into the garrison following the signs conveniently pointing the way to the armoury, where he would, without doubt, find as many guns as he would ever want, big ones, small ones, long ones and short ones and munitions in every known calibre to match. His confidence evaporated within a split second of his arrival. Buried under a small mountain of earth stood his goal and all that remained visible of this buried edifice was a massive threemetre high, six-metre wide steel door with the words 'Armoury: Authorised Personal ONLY` printed across it.

Two semi-circular rows of retractable yellow-painted steel bollards ensured he could not get his car anywhere near the door. Parking up against the first row of bollards Adam grabbed a few tools and went to inspect the door itself. There were three huge padlocks securing it and upon seeing the words 'Titanium Shackle and Casing' on the underside of one of them gave his hacksaw a derisory look. To cut through just one of these locks he would need at least an hour with a good-sized angle grinder fitted with a diamond-edged cutting blade, not to mention a generator to power it, unfortunately, he possessed none of these. To add to his dismay there was also a security keypad, as he deemed a burglar alarm would have been a pointless exercise in the middle of an army garrison then it probably controlled some electronic locks that had to be overcome as well. In frustration he hit the door as hard as he could with the two and a half kilo club hammer that he had brought along; the hammer neither dented nor moved the door and the mellow thud provided evidence of the door’s thickness.

Looking at the tools in his hands, a crowbar, a hacksaw and a hammer Adam began to laugh at his own stupidity, he had totally failed to appreciate what he would face here and had equipped himself as if expecting to find a simple wooden door fitted with a Yale lock blocking his way.

A thorough search of some Jeeps, armoured personal carriers and a few small tanks revealed neither guns nor munition of any description. A tour of the three huge dormitories also drew a blank, the smell outside fourth and last warned him of what to expect before he went inside. None of the sixteen young men who lay slowly rotting away in their bunks had anything more dangerous than a penknife about them. However, he did discover something that he had not given much thought to before, just how unnerving it was to be in the presence of so many corpses in a dimly lit room, especially when he had his back turned to one or more of them.

'Too many hours playing zombie apocalypse games on the computer,' he chided himself. The sudden loud screech of a crow outside the open window caused his heart to leap from his chest and an ice-cold shiver to run down the full length of his spine. His heartbeat only began to calm once he had closed the dormitory door firmly behind himself.

Two more bodies were later discovered in the offices that overlooked the main entrance, all were without weapons and in spite of prising open a multitude of locked doors, drawers, cupboards and lockers Adam remained empty-handed. The sentry post at the main entrance was the last place to be searched and at last, provided what he had spent hours looking for. Held in the hand of the dead soldier slumped over the desk was a pistol. Had he considered using it on himself before falling unconscious Adam wondered? Unfortunately, it was a question the young soldier would never be able to answer. A thorough search of the sentry post failed to locate either another weapon, a spare magazine or any spare ammunition for the weapon he had, but at least he had one and immediately felt far less vulnerable with it held in his hand.

Sunday evening found Adam sat at his dining table drinking lukewarm bottled beer and eating cold soup from a can, without any means to heat up food this had been his staple diet for the past few days, along with cold baked beans and an odd tin of tuna fish.

Within easy reach lay the Glock 17 he had taken from the young soldier. He was unsure whether the 17 stencilled into the barrel referred to a model number or to the number of bullets the magazine held. If it were the latter, then it should now read sixteen as he had test-fired the weapon to get a feel for it. Unfortunately, he had chosen to shoot at a wooden fence post from within his house, the pleasantly light recoil for such a large pistol was a real surprise to him, as was the horrendous noise it made which left mismatched church bells clanging in both ears for a good few minutes afterwards. Despite the noise and missing his target by a good forty centimetres he was pleased with the weapon, although in future he should try to remember not to use it in enclosed spaces if he valued his hearing. With that future in mind lay an A4 writing pad and a pen at his side sporting three separate lists. With that morning's fiasco at the armoury still fresh in his memory, Adam was determined it would never be repeated and all of his plans in future would be properly thought out. However, even though those plans were taking a well-defined shape and took him through until the spring of the following year, there still remained one vital decision he had yet to make, what then?