‘I’m sobering up quickly, but thanks for the offer.’
Night is falling around us and the AV’s beams are on full. We appear to be climbing in altitude and the road winds above the surrounding countryside, which spreads out all around us in dark splodges of field and woodland. The road quality is better than we’d been used to and we manage to hit thirty miles per hour, but I still feel every jolt and accidentally bite my tongue. It hurts like hell, but I don’t say anything.
‘We’ll have to get off the road in a minute,’ Denzil says. ‘Once they’ve discovered we’re gone, they’ll send out the Lynx.’
‘What’s a Lynx?’ I ask. ‘It doesn’t sound good, whatever it is.’
‘It’s not. Not for us anyway. It’s a helicopter and it’ll pick us up straight away if we stay on the road. Lucky for us, they’ve got no more anti-armour missiles, but we still got the door guns to watch out for.’
‘So why are we still on the road? Let’s find somewhere to hide.’ I’m panicking now.
‘We still got time,’ Denzil reassures. They might not even bother to come after us.’
‘Really?’ Luc asks.
‘Nah, man. They’ll come after us, no question.’ He laughs a deep belly laugh.
‘Great,’ says Luc, massaging his temple with his right hand.
We pass tiny terraced brick cottages perched on the side of the road, obviously abandoned and completely dilapidated. They look sinister in the black night, like huddled old crones plotting our downfall. We drive towards a bridge with faded graffiti daubed across its length: TURN BACK OR DIE.
‘That’s a bit dramatic.’ Luc brakes suddenly, unsure whether or not to continue.
‘Don’t worry. That graffiti’s years old,’ says Denzil. ‘This is Westbury. It used to be a compound, but everyone got wiped out in the plague.’
‘Everyone?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, it was pretty bad. About twelve years ago they all got sick and nearly everyone died. Anyone who didn’t get it fled the place and no one ever came back. Westbury’s deserted now, apart from the odd traveller. It’s a ghost town, literally. Loads of the lads swear they’ve seen weird stuff going on down here.’
‘Thanks for that, Denzil. You’ve made me feel so much better.’ Goosebumps prickle all over me.
He laughs his loud surprising laugh, unexpected for such a softly-spoken person. It would be infectious if I wasn’t so scared for my life.
‘I’m glad you think it’s all so hilarious,’ says Luc. ‘Are we going into the joyous ghost town of plagues and death then?’
‘We’ll hide ourselves there till morning.’ Denzil confirms my fears.
‘Why did I know you were going to say that.’ I’m not at all happy with the thought of spending a night in this creepy, deserted town. But then I suppose it is marginally better than being shot at from a military helicopter.
The AV crawls under the bridge and along the silent narrow street. I can’t see any signs of habitation. Thick foliage lines the road. I don’t even want to think about what I’d do if I was alone here. We turn off the main track into an overgrown wilderness of rubble and tangled greenery, bumping over goodness- knows-what and straining our eyes to spot somewhere to hide.
‘This is no good,’ Denzil says after a couple of minutes of trying to penetrate our way through the debris in the AV. ‘Got a torch?’
I scrabble about in the footwell and release the catch on the hidden compartment. My hand finds the torch straightaway and I pass it back to him.
‘Stop the vehicle and kill the lights. I’m gonna go find us somewhere proper to hide.’
‘On foot?’ I ask, horrified he could be so brave.
‘Yeah, it’ll be quicker. You two wait here. I won’t be long.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Luc says.
‘No need. You stay with Riley. It’ll be quicker if it’s just me.’ And he’s gone, eaten up by the shadows.
‘Do you think he’ll come back?’ Luc asks.
Chapter Thirty Two
Leaves and branches swish and clatter against the windows of the AV.
‘A storm’s coming,’ says Luc.
‘Fantastic. We’re in a ghost town at night, with thunder and lightning on the way.’ My sarcasm is covering up an impending meltdown. Please God, let me manage to keep it together. ‘I hope he comes back soon.’
It’s a strange thing, but after only a few minutes in Denzil’s company, we’ve already been won over by his confidence and unpretentiousness. Luc and I have both adapted our attitudes to mimic his good humour, despite our nightmare situation.
A loud rapping on Luc’s window makes me scream.
‘It’s okay, Riley. It’s Denzil,’ Luc puts his hand on my arm for a second then he opens his window.
‘Mind if I drive a minute?’ Denzil asks.
‘Be my guest.’ Luc slides effortlessly into the back seat, whilst Denzil eases into the driver’s side.
‘I found the perfect place,’ Denzil says, reversing loudly onto the main track again.
We drive up to a large vine-covered concrete warehouse of some sort. It’s mainly intact, but hidden from plain view by the encroaching forest. The huge rusted garage door is open and Denzil drives inside. Luc jumps out of the AV and pulls the metal door closed behind us. Denzil kills the lights and turns off the engine. It’s dark, but a few holes in the roof cast a faint glow of moonlight into the AV.
‘Right,’ says Denzil. ‘We just have to be quiet and hope they don’t discover our hidey hole. Got any grub? I’m starving.’
Although we’re under the cover of the old warehouse, we stay inside the AV and Denzil and I share a very light unappetising supper of dry crackers, water and freeze-dried strips of meat, some of the few supplies still left in the footwell. Luc says he’s too stuffed to eat any more. He already ate a massive dinner at the Barracks. We push the boat out for pudding and share a slab of chocolate.
‘The main course was pretty ropey,’ Denzil says. ‘But I haven’t had chocolate for, well… must be ten years. I’m getting a good sugar rush. Thanks, guys.’
Once we’ve eaten, Luc asks the question we both want to know:
‘So, Denzil, how come you helped us to escape? And why do you want to leave the Barracks?’
Denzil Porter is thirty four years old. He grew up in the St Paul’s area of Bristol, in a steep unlovely terrace, with his large extended family. He spent his early teens trying to dodge the front-line drug-dealing activities all around him and, at the age of seventeen-and-a-half, he finally managed to escape inevitability, and took his eight GCSEs into the army with him.
He trained as a soldier in The Royal Military Police, doing his Basic Training at Winchester and his Trade Training at Chichester. Once trained, he was promoted to Lance Corporal, moving quickly to Corporal and he hoped to make Sergeant within the next six years. He loved army life, working hard and playing hard. I could tell from his cheeky humour as we fled the barracks, that he’s a good man to have around you in times of stress. His family was proud of him and he was happy in his career.
He undertook a six month operational Tour in Afghanistan, but only stayed for four, as he was pulled back to England during the prolonged terror attacks to put his Royal Military Police Training into effect.
‘The Middle East was bad, but England was worse,’ he tells us. ‘Afghanistan was this unknown foreign country and we were briefed on what to expect over there, but England…’ He exhales heavily. ‘To come home and face that level of chaos in your own country, well it was unreal. I managed to get most of my family out of Bristol and into a compound in Thornbury, just north of the City, but I lost a lot of my cousins and friends. I haven’t been able to visit my family for six years now – no fuel allowance, no leave. The last message I got from them was eight months ago, begging me to find somewhere else for them to stay. My dad’s really ill. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.’