500 words a day

1178 words - 11th November 2009

That night they threw them a party, knowing they were leaving the next day and it was really hard to go in the morning, not just because of the hangovers. They had their Jeep and fuel, John had organised that too, filling up from all the local petrol stations, hoarding the supply nearby in big oil drums.


         He gave then a CB radio to take with them, told them to keep in touch. There was a series of complicated sequences to follow so they’d know which channel to use, a different one each day, so no one could listen in, well not regularly.





When they saw and heard what was happening in Croydon, they tried all night and the next day to reach him, but couldn’t





Fergus felt so alone now. Thinking about Croydon and the others and worrying what had happened to  Gus and Harriet. They’d taken the Jeep but left him with the Harley, bit flash but he’d always wanted one so when he saw it, he took it. Had a trailer and panniers and everything so he could take supplies with him. It took him hardly any time to decide to g after them. What else would he do. Rode off to Cornwall on his own? He might have to do that but he had to check on them first. They only had one radio so he couldn’t contact them that way. He decided to head for Orpington, where they all used to live, where they’d gone now.


         He knew he had to avoid the motorways, they were likely to be boobytrapped or monitored, so he stuck to the smallest back roads. Near Westerham, he slowed down about 100 metres from the M25 overpass. According to John, who’d been in contact with Manchester and Liverpool on his radio, some of the first places to fall, they had control of the traffic cameras and sometimes had listening equipment on the major motorways. The M25 was bound to be included in this. He stopped about 50 metres from the bridge, hid his motor bike in some nearby bushes and slowly walked towards the overpass, carrying only his rucksack with essentials, such as his knife and matches and some food. He didn’t want to walk under the motorway, so he crept up the embankment to check. If there was anyone there, he’d be exposed when he went underneath.





At the top of the rise there was a row of bushes before the hard shoulder of the motorway. He took off his rucksack and crept towards them on his belly. He couldn’t see anyone or any of their vehicles. Across both lanes though, he noticed a gantry with cameras, mounted all along it. Just as he saw them, three moved to pin right at him. He jumped up and ran down the bank grabbing his bag on the way, tripping half way down and rolling into the road below twisting his ankle slightly. He got up quickly, ran to the motorbike and sped off under the motorway taking the first left, away from his destination. After riding for 5 minutes he came across a small row of country house. He hid the bike in the garage of one, then as quietly as possible crept into the cottage, ignoring the putrid smells, deliberately not checking any of the rooms as he moved straight up to the loft. He walked carefully across the rafters of the loft, which had no floorboards, making his way t the front of the house.


         He managed to find a sheet of chipboard almost as long as his body, which he lay on whilst he made a small hole in the eaves at the front of the house so he could look out and watch the road. He watched for 3 or four hours until it was dark, and saw or heard nothing at all. He hadn’t moved in that whole time and was now incredibly stiff. He stood up slowly stretching and feeling the cramp in hi muscles. Slowly sitting down again he decided to eat something. He had a few biscuits and some dried fruit in his bag and some strips of dried meat that John had kindly donated. He chewed a bit, the swallowed some of the fruit. He checked his water bottle, which was about half full. He had to make a decision now, go on to Orpington as planned or get the hell out of there before it was too late. Same again he thought, I’d rather risk it than be on my own. He decided to go now, while it was dark, but thought he’d have to leave the bike behind and go on foot.


         He went out the back door, listening carefully for any sounds and constantly looking over his shoulder. He still had his map and was able to use it to make his away across fields and through woods, in the direction of Orpington. He knew he had about 10 miles to go and hoped to do it before light. It was a slow journey, he had to stop before every road he crossed and listen and look carefully for any signs of people or anything else. He was constantly climbing over fences and walking around impenetrable thickets and bushes.  In this way he managed to get into Sparrow wood, roughly 2 miles away from Orpington, by about 4 in the morning as the sun was just starting to come up. He decided to rest there for an hour before risking going into Orpington. He climbed a large tree finding a place to sit where he could also see the town.


         From his distance he couldn’t tell much about the place. There were two church spires still standing and he could just make out some of the larger buildings sin the high street. As for the houses, no way of knowing, though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t find anyone alive. After an hour he climbed down and carefully walked toward the town. On the outskirts he could feel his anxiety rising. The few shops, a newsagent, a greengrocer and a petrol station, were all deserted, most with broken or boarded up windows. He tried the door of the newsagent but it was locked or jammed and he didn’t want t make any noise breaking in so he carried on.


Harriet’s family home was a large one, with a small gravel drive and large entrance gates. Her Dad had been a stockbroker, now, much more clearly, a useless profession, for which he was paid much more than most people in the country. He felt that if they were anywhere they’d be there. It was big, there was a possibility of dried and tin foods and they also had a huge wine cellar, not that useful but sure as hell made you feel better. Most of the supermarkets and off license were stripped of their booze early on, people focussing on oblivion rather than essentials when it became clear that there was little or no hope for them.











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Steve Wybourn





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