Aftermath: The Complete Collection (Books 1 & 2)

  ‘Did you see the water arrive?’

  ‘I did, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was helping my neighbour, Bill, chopping a tree down in his garden for fire wood, it was the first morning we could get outside in weeks, as we’d been suffering from violent storms for as long as I can remember. A few other neighbours had the same idea and we’re taking the opportunity to get some jobs done. The main thing I remember about that morning was how strangely calm it seemed, I remember looking up at the sky and thinking we might actually be over the worst of it. When we had loaded all the wood into Bill’s garage, I nipped into my house for a toilet break when there was a tremendous noise outside, I ran to the bedroom window as the water hit.

  ‘What did it look like?’

  ‘Like a tsunami, the wave came straight down the street, taking with it anything not fixed down. The whole house shook, I thought it was going to tear apart. It took Bill right off his feet, he never stood a chance, none of them did.’

  ‘Was he killed?’

  ‘I can only presume, I never saw him again, I tried to help but most people drowned before they realised what was happening. It came without warning, like something out of the bible.’

  ‘How long before you got help?’

  ‘I was stuck in my house for days, just trying to stay alive, living off what little food I had in the property. The water stuck around for days, stinking the place out with dead bodies, until it slowly started to disperse. A few weeks later soldiers from the camp arrived, and started the clean up, removing the bodies and draining the water.

  ‘Are you going to go to the camp?’

  ‘No, I’m going to stay right here, my first wife died in this house, and my second wife died in this house, and this is where I will see out my days.’

  ‘Are you okay for food and water?’ Bernard asked, rummaging through his rucksack.

  ‘Yes I’m fine thanks, the camp sent some soldiers into town, who helped me get my house in order. Your children look like they could do with a good home cooked meal, and a wash!’ He laughed, pulling a face at them. The children smiled nervously, not entirely sure what to make of him. He told us to leave the boat on his drive if we didn’t need it, he could use it for fire wood. We packed up our rucksacks and said farewell, it was much easier walking without the boat, everyone was excited to be this close to the camp. The children were running around, climbing on debris, and talking to anyone they came across. There was row upon row of dirty, cheap looking bed and breakfasts, leading up to the promenade. As we neared the junction, the true devastation caused by the floods became apparent. The North Pier should have been stretching out in front of us, but it wasn’t there, all that remained was planks of wood sticking out of the sea wall, splintered and jagged. It was nowhere to be seen, completely swept away. In front of us, there was a small wooden sign, recently erected on a patch of waste ground, with a black arrow pointing left and the words ‘Camp Blue this way’ written on. ‘Where’s the sea daddy?’ Shouted Emma, climbing up a pile of rubble that had once been the sea wall. I looked out over the dusty beach, straining my eyes, but I couldn’t see it. In all the times I have been to Blackpool both as an adult and a child, the sea had always been visible. On holiday I would always look forward to donkey rides across the beach, splashing in the shallow water, it was never that far out. I went down the stone steps to the sand, with everyone following behind, and walked out a few metres. I listened carefully for any sound of water, but the only thing audible was the winds sweeping across the barren land. It looked like a desert, the sand was lifting into the air, and blowing around, hurting my eyes. I knelt down and dug with my hands, into the dry, gritty sand, only reaching moisture at around a foot and a half deep. I looked up to find everyone gathered in a circle around James, who was knelt in front of a small stream. It was a very thin, straight funnel of water, around six inches in width, that went out towards the sea, way beyond my eyesight. I looked back to the road and could see the water trickling out of a hole in the sea wall, I got back down onto my knees and started to dig a hole by the side of the water, the boys stopped what they were doing and came over to help, as we made a dam with the excess sand. The water slowly climbed up the dam, knocking the top off before finding its way back into the stream, flowing in the direction of the sea. I followed it for a few minutes to the point where another thin, stream joined it at an angle. I still couldn’t see the sea, I took my binoculars out to get a better look, but with all the dust and sand blowing around, it was futile. I walked back to the others, and we cut across the beach towards the Central Pier. On the way, we past a further four streams, each one smoothing its own passage through the sand towards the sea. There were more pieces of wood jutting out of the sand, marking the place where the Central Pier once stood, which was also missing, lost to the storms. We walked up the steps, beside the missing pier, and back onto the promenade. The winds were beginning to pick up, I zipped my jacket up as far as it would go, and did the same for each child. The sea wall, that had stretched along the full length of the promenade had gone, destroyed by the force of the foods, the only sign it ever existed, was the odd stone or brick left standing. More shockingly, Blackpool Tower was missing, all that remained was the twisted black metal base, as though a giant had ripped it out of the ground like a weed. Probably the marker most walkers would have been looking for, to identify where they were, gone from the skyline. Some of the buildings to its right, and behind had been demolished, but there was no sign of the tower eye. Many of the buildings along the sea front had collapsed, most of them shops, any still standing had suffered with the floods, and ransacking. After a few minutes walking, we came to another sign for the camp, directing us left along Woodfield Road, with the fire torches following the same direction. ‘It’s this way dad’ said Emma, pointing up the street. Walking through Blackpool had brought back so many memories for me, I wanted to take a look at the Pleasure Beach, before we made our way to the camp. It was pitch black outside the torch lit area, and took around thirty minutes walking to reach. The huge hoardings that carried the parks graphics, had been torn down in the winds, pieces of it lay in the ground of the theme park, piled on top of each other. The place looked like a builders site, vast areas of nothing with the odd structure still standing like a lone soldier on the battlefield. The site was also lit up with what looked like battery powered flood lights, giving us just enough visibility to see what was going on. There were men working on the clear up, sorting through the different materials, looking for anything worth salvaging. All the broken roller coaster track was laid out across the edge of the site, twisted red and blue metal, there seemed miles of it. Many of the attractions colourful plastic fascias, were shattered and smashed, and left in piles. There was a large metal trailer connected to a truck, loaded with tables and chairs, all neatly packed on top of each other, ready to be moved. The children were staring open mouthed at all the broken rides, their faces pressed up against the rusty metal railings. I could see the realisation appearing on their faces, of how things are going to be for them now. I decided they had seen enough, so we set off along the promenade in search of the sign for Camp Blue. The ash clouds to our left were darkening, and the winds had picked up, sending long drifts of gritty sand into the air. The children spotted the sign for Camp Blue from around twenty yards away, it was lit up like an illumination. They ran over standing next to it, and then tried to hide behind it, thinking they could trick us. Once we turned onto Woodfield Road, we past an elderly couple walking in the same direction. They moved slowly, arm in arm, we past them on the opposite side of the road, and spoke only to say hello. It was amazing how much light the torches gave off, flooding the area with a yellow glow. Emma asked me if Ella was still safe. ‘She’s here’ I said, lifting the elephants head out of my pocket, and leaving it poking over the edge until she noticed her and smiled. ‘Can you keep her safe until we get to the camp dad? I have slept without her
for a few nights, maybe Josh would like to look after her now?’ I looked across to Josh whose face had lit up with the suggestion, so I pushed Ella back down into my pocket.

  It only took us thirty minutes to find the camp, just outside it we approached an abandoned tram, flanked on both sides by a high wire fence, stretching across to the terraced houses on either side of the street. It was too high to climb, the only way past was through the tram itself, and that had a pair of armed guards inside. It was a dark blue in colour and ran an advertisement for the Pleasure Beach on the side, its glass-less windows had been boarded up with sheets of ply wood. The inside was lit by a generator, standing outside gently buzzing. To the right of the tram, built into the metal fence was a gate, large enough for a vehicle to pass through. It was padlocked and guarded, boxes of rubbish and discarded items lay by the side. Before we reached the tram, I told everyone that unless I said otherwise, we were to continue pretending Emma was a boy, called James. One of the guards climbed down the steps to meet us, ‘Welcome to Camp Blue, how far have you guys travelled?’

  ‘From Edinburgh.’

  ‘Really? That’s some distance my friend, you must be tired. You’re nearly there now, just a few formalities to go through. Can you sign into the census book, with the name, age and previous address of every member of your party.’ The guard didn’t tell me his name, but I could see on his uniform he was Officer Abbott. He was a smart looking, well groomed man, with brown hair and a large duffel coat, which was open revealing his uniform. We followed him up the steps and into the tram where the other guard was standing, he acknowledged us before showing me where the census was. Inside the tram all the seats had been removed, and a long wooden table stretched the full length of tram, pushed tight up against the boarded up windows. On it was a census, a walkie talkie, some magazines and a couple of pens. There were a few chairs scattered around with clothes hanging off them, and the remains of someone’s half eaten dinner. The cold wind blew through the carriage, ruffling papers and rattling the wooden boards. The guard removed the walkie talkie from on top of the census, the pages blew over as he turned the book to face me. I moved across to the table, took my rucksack off and opened the book. Holding the pages down with my arm, I looked down the list of names, searching for the reassurance of female one, but there was none on the first page. I turned it over and continued to scan down the list until I reached Sarah Platt. Then more appeared, Nicole Guyer, Debra Gibson and Helen Bentley. I picked up the pen to write my name, Nathan Driver, thirty seven eight, Edinburgh. I though for a second what to write for Emma, and then wrote James Driver, age seven. I looked at my watch for a time, seven thirty nine p.m. November the twenty fourth, two thousand and twenty seven. Although my initial impression of the soldiers was they were trustworthy, I wasn’t prepared to show my hand until I had seen the inside for myself. I added James and Josh to the census as best I could, and then handed the pen to Bernard, who filled in his information. The blustery wind was blowing straight through the tram, the tag on the large suitcase sat by the exit, was flapping in the wind. ‘Are there security bases like this at every approach to the camp?’ I asked, zipping my coat back up to my chin.

  ‘Yeah, there is no way of getting into the camp without going through one of these first, it’s very secure. We also have lookouts at every approach, high up in buildings, before they reach here. Anyone approaching will be reported via the walkie talkie, just as you were. Two men, three children, on foot, two large rucksacks. Now gentlemen, do either of you have any weapons?’

  Bernard and I looked at each other, before he replied, ‘We both have a hand gun.’ I took my Welrod out of my pocket, pulled the magazine out, and handed them to the guard, slightly apprehensive about giving up the weapon that had got me this far. Bernard handed over his handgun, and all the ammunition he was carrying in his bag. ‘Can you step over to Officer Wilson, so he can check you, don’t be offended, we have to make sure no weapons enter the camp we don’t control.’

  ‘Everyone has to do it’ said Officer Wilson, as he patted me down, slowly and carefully. He then moved onto Bernard, checking him over, top half and bottom. The children lined up behind Bernard, one by one, nervously waiting their turn. Officer Wilson got down onto his knees to search them, he reassured each one as they took their turn. The guards requested we emptied our rucksacks onto the table, removing everything so they could check them. It seemed strange to see everything I owned, scattered across the table, the sum total of a lifetime of living, could now be fit in a shoulder bag. They removed my knife and crowbar, describing them as possible weapons, and put them, along with our handguns, in the locked suitcase by the door. The walkie talkie started flashing while Bernard and I repacked our rucksacks, and a voice came over the speaker. ‘Lookout Delta to base, lookout Delta to base.’ Officer Abbott walked over to the table and picked it up, ‘Go head’ he said, moving the half eaten sandwich off the chair and sitting down. ‘Two adults on route, look old, maybe male and female. One bag, twenty minutes away at their speed, clear.’

  ‘Clear’ he replied, standing, and picking up my rucksack from the table and handing it to me. ‘I think we’re all done here, everything seems in order. Follow this road, the camp is straight ahead on your right, I hope you have a pleasant stay. When you get into the camp, the guards will ask for any diaries or documentation you have, I noticed you have been keeping a diary.’

  ‘Why? For what?’

  ‘We are always trying to stay one step ahead of the enemy, so we ask to see any information people might have, someone entering the camp might have that one piece of intelligence that will turn the war in our favour.’ I could understand that, but I had become that used to writing in my diary, I wasn’t sure how I felt about losing it. I am comforted by re-playing things over in my head, I might have to start another one, once inside the camp. I looked out of the front of the tram, and could see the elderly couple slowly making their way towards us. We fastened our rucksacks and climbed through the exit and down the steps, turning to help the children. We didn’t have far to walk before the huge hotel that formed most of the camp, loomed into view through the dense ash cloud. Its bright white walls, lighting up the street with the help of an enormous flood light and generator. It was a large building with five floors, inside the top row of windows facing us, were the letters that spelt out ‘C A M P B L U E,’ in white paint, one letter per window, the rest of which were blackened out. We walked around the building to the front, where we found more and more people milling around. The further we walked, the more people appeared, it was easily the largest crowd I had seen since re-surfacing. A large queue had formed around the building, with most travellers desperate to get inside, the cold night was fast approaching. Someone rode past us on a pedal bike, looking around I noticed bikes everywhere, the camp resembled the centre of Amsterdam at lunch time. Every face we past seemed to have something in common, the strain and anguish had gone, everywhere we looked were smiles. The overhanging sense of impending doom, that was visible on almost everyone we met had lifted. As we were taking in the hustle and bustle of the camp, the sound of a car horn startled us from behind. We had been walking in the middle of the road, and a truck had driven up behind us. We moved to the side to let it pass, and watched it drive into the football stadium to our left. It was carrying various pieces of wood, from broken furniture to basic planks, it stopped outside the huge double doors while a guard checked its load, and then let it through. A got a quick glance inside the stadium before the doors shut and saw a huge collection of wood and metal, sorted into heaps like bonfires, with men working around them, all under the dim haze of the floodlights. There was a large armed presence around the camp, guards on every door, and soldiers on patrol. As the night closed in, the generators were working overtime to keep the lamps producing enough light, the smell of burning petrol was evident from metres away. The further we walked, the more children we saw, sat in groups, running across the dusty floor on a freshly made games area. E
mma’s face filled with excitement when she saw them, they were just like her. It had been so long since I had seen children just being children, able to play without fear. James and Josh had smiles the length of Blackpool promenade, it was good to see so many happy children. It had been a long and hard journey to get to this point, but it had been the right decision. I saw something familiar as we reached the entrance to the hotel, the missing eye from the top of Blackpool Tower had been placed at the front doors, and was being used as a filing office. A queue of weary looking individuals snaked around the building, and in through the eye. The queue was large, so we decided to let it die down before joining it, the children were excited and wanted to play. There were more armed guards outside the main doors, some sat on the metal furniture around the entrance, talking to members of the queue. We stopped at the table and chairs, so I could write the final entry in my diary, before I had to hand it in to the authorities. Bernard sat watching the children play, as they started to gain confidence, and introduce themselves to the other children. It wasn’t long before I was interrupted by Emma, to meet a parade of new friends, she had always been drawn towards girls younger than herself, her nurturing qualities shining through. She was holding hands with Beth and Nancy, two sisters from Liverpool, probably aged around five. They were shy and not keen on meeting any new adult males, which I could understand. I could see their worried father sat a few chairs away, still keeping a close eye on his daughters. When I had finished the diary entry, I took some time to gather my thoughts before we entered the camp, deliberating over what had happened, how we had got here and what the future might hold. There are still so many unanswered questions, maybe the following days and months will uncover exactly what happened to our planet. I hope I live long enough to find out the truth for myself, and the human race can recover, for the sake of our children. Since Jane died I have worried about losing Emma, it’s every parents nightmare, outliving their child, and having to bury them. But I’m now equally concerned what would happen to her should I die, it scares me to think. This world is brutal, who can I trust to protect her? I must stay alive, I cannot leave her to fend for herself, she’s not old enough nor equipt. I don’t know what the future holds, for any of us, hopefully my fears are unfounded now, and we are safe. I suppose some people might think we are taking a gamble coming here, we don’t know what’s going on behind these walls, and our faith in humanity has been gradually worn away. But eventually we have put our trust in someone, or something. We cannot run forever, I’m tired of running, we’re all tired of running.