Time Split – Chapter Two
Briggs was lucky he’d been out for the day when the city was bombed. A drive to Rothbury had taken him away from his city centre luxury apartment and he’d only been travelling home for a short while when the attack took place.
Initially, he’d thought his car had developed a fault when the engine cut out, until he found himself diving for cover below the dash. Animal instinct, fine-tuned through years of front line battle experience, had sensed rather than seen the blinding light of the atomic bomb, detonated over the city of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, twenty miles away.
He slammed his foot on the brake and had slowed the car to a stop, just as the shock wave hit.
A wall of air travelling over a hundred miles an hour impacted the car with the force of a train, causing it to jump violently back.
He grabbed the handbrake and pulled it on. Then, as a deafening roar filled his world, the car shuddered fiercely under the continuing onslaught. Several seconds passed before it finally came to rest and Briggs emerged from cover.
“Fuck! Fuck!” he yelled, pounding the steering wheel. Then, leaping out of the vehicle, he clenched his fists and screamed in fury before turning his anger on his immobilised car.
The driver’s side window shattered when he slammed a foot into the panel and the door smashed into the frame.
“This is great! This is just fucking great!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Five years working as a mercenary had accumulated Briggs a great deal of wealth. Being a paid killer had been very profitable, but with nowhere to spend it, except the local shit-hole, he’d decided to return home until another interesting project arose. He deposited his wealth in a Swiss bank account, then, back in England, started to settle into the millionaire life style when this happened. He now questioned whether Switzerland still existed, never mind his bank.
Briggs took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. He was now pleased that amongst his essential supplies, kept securely in the boot, he had everything he needed for such an emergency.
Hidden in a secret compartment below the spare tyre was a small arsenal of weaponry. A machete and two hunting knives were stored in holsters along with a rifle, shotgun, two sub-machine guns and a large supply of bullets. There was also enough food and water for a two-day journey. Tins of food could be stored for years, but the water was replaced every couple of days. Two days – he hoped it would be enough time to find a naturally filtered spring, or he’d have to rig something up after that.
Clean food and water would be worth killing for any day now, that he knew for sure. It would take a little longer for the severity of the situation to sink in for most of the surviving civilians, but as a hardened soldier he was already aware of how bad things were going to get. He had seen what desperate people could do; terrible things they would later not speak of; things best forgotten and only relived in nightmares. He knew what he was capable of and it was far worse than they could imagine.
The darkness was pitch with all the motorway lights off. This didn’t phase Briggs who was accustomed to it and actually preferred it.
His primitive instincts were sharpened by the touch of danger and it was then that he felt most alive. He knew he was addicted to it: the danger, the hunt, and the feeling of power. The power over the life and death of another, this one gave him the greatest rush of all. This was why he became a mercenary, to do exactly what he liked to do best. Being paid huge amounts of money was just a bonus.
A private army was useful even at the best of times, but now it would be essential. There was an RAF base at Boulmer, so he decided to head off there and see if he could entice some of the men to join him.
He heaved his rucksack onto his back, then set off north at a comfortable pace. A small LED flashlight, with a red filter to preserve night vision, was used to gently light the way ahead.
Tree debris, ripped loose in the shock wave, crunched gently underfoot for several miles before he finally reached the limits of its range.
He was still a few miles away from Boulmer when, clearing the brow of a hill, he could see the town of Alnwick in the distance.
Fire raged in the forests that spanned between the town border and the coastline to the east. The RAF base, located near the cliffs, would have been a prime target and he knew immediately what had happened.
He stopped and reconsidered his plan. A quick scan ahead revealed the motorway, which ran between the base and the ancient town, was blocked by fire. Even so, he decided it would be best to still continue north. The Cheviot Hills, just a short distance away, would provide perfect cover and a likely source of fresh water, then beyond there was the Scottish border.
He left the road, then crossed a field to follow a more indirect route which avoided the motorway and took him through Alnwick instead.
A short while later as he entered the ancient town, he could see, although still relatively intact, it hadn’t entirely escaped the effects of the blast.
A car windscreen was smashed when a roof tile, still embedded in the bonnet, had been ripped from its seating. Windows and doors were cracked or broken, debris littered the road, and streetlamps were shattered.
Despite the lack of power the area was still well lit. Low clouds, heavy with the first snows of winter, reflected the soft amber of fires below.
Cries for water, punctuated with screams, could be heard from the eastern borders. If the blaze weren’t contained, it threatened to engulf the entire town.
Despite all of this Briggs walked on. There would be another change of plan. There were opportunities here, but not at the moment. He would move further inland and wait for things to settle. Then, after a few days when the radiation levels had dropped, he would return to take control of the town. He had no doubt after such a trauma the residents would take commands from an experienced survivalist – and gladly so. First, though, he would let their numbers dwindle, give them a serious taste of things to come, then return as their saviour.
Briggs smiled. Even in the bleakest of times he could turn a situation to his advantage. Whistling, he turned and headed out of town, travelling west towards the protection of the hills.
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