Ash - Pamela Lane(ang.)

PAMELA LANE ASH

Copyright ©2017 Pamela Lane All rights reserved. ISBN: 1546892354 ISBN-13: 9781546892359

For Alexander and Emily

CONTENTS FOREWORD Chapter 1: London, Spring Chapter 2: Greenland Chapter 3: Millcott B Power Station Chapter 4: London Chapter 5: London Chapter 6: London Chapter 7: London, Summer Chapter 8: Iceland Chapter 9: London Chapter 10: London Chapter 11 Chapter 12: Millcott B Chapter 13: London Chapter 14: London Chapter 15 Chapter 16: London Chapter 17: London Chapter 18: Calais Chapter 19: London, Autumn

Chapter 20 Chapter 21: Kent Chapter 22: London Chapter 23: East Millcott, Winter Chapter 24: New York Chapter 25: East Millcott Chapter 26: London Chapter 27: London Chapter 28: On The Road Chapter 29: Millcott B Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32: Bristol Chapter 33: Millcott B, The Polar Vortex Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36: London Chapter 37: Millcott B Chapter 38: London Chapter 39 Chapter 40: Millcott B Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43: Millcott B Chapter 44: London AFTERWORD

FOREWORD All characters and events portrayed in Ash are entirely fictional. Details of geographical locations have sometimes been changed to meet the needs of the story.

Concern was growing about Katla. The volcano in Iceland had been sleeping for the past ninety-six years. Now reports were coming in of tremors from around the area. On seismographs, zig-zag patterns burst onto rolls of paper then flat-lined again. Reports began to come in of unusual activity near the mountain. Cracks appeared in the ice without warning and foul-smelling gases hung menacingly in the air. Shallow lakes of crystal water disappeared overnight. Sometimes the ice groaned with a sound older than any living thing. Birds, sensing the danger, flapped their retreat from the mountain, while the sparse mammal population pricked its ears and strained, they, too, were ready. Waiting to flee. The people heard and saw the signs but had heard them and seen them all before. It would be alright, they thought; Katla had been quiet for a long time. Quiet, that is, apart from two occasions, the first in 1955 and then again in 1999, when the volcano stirred slightly, snorted, then turned over and settled back into its dormant phase. Now, it seemed, it had been having a lie-in, which made Katla’s observers nervous. The normal interval between eruptions was around forty to eighty years. The longer the quiet phase went on, the more it led to speculation that when the eruption did take place it would be on a massive scale. The present period of dormancy was the longest in recorded history. It didn’t take a genius to work out that an eruption could be imminent and that the pent-up energy in the volcano could be huge. Deep under several hundred metres of ice, pressure was building as magma seeped from beneath the earth’s crust. A red-hot river, it heaved and flowed under the giant ten kilometre caldera, pushing and contorting against its restricting walk until, at last, it would find a way to escape. Iceland was where the mid-Atlantic fault-line rose to the surface. Where churning forces cracked open old land and then forged new. Land which came bursting from the waves without warning. It was a place where islands could be made in a day – or disappear just as quickly. A place where planet-sized detonations could throw billions of tons of ash into the atmosphere, clouding out precious sunlight for years. And where the modern world could be tipped into chaos without

warning or ceremony.

1 London, Spring

It had been another cold winter, like all the winters since 2010, only this one had dragged on for much longer. It was now spring, but you wouldn’t know it. Emma Stamford unhooked her parka from the stand in the hall and stepped out into street, pulling up her hood as she did so. The downside of working from home was the isolation, so had given herself an hour off to socialize. She shivered slightly in the breeze. The snow had arrived two weeks before Christmas with perfect timing. It was fun while white pavements looked like the archetypal Dickensian backdrop to the holiday season. Furtrimmed shoppers hurried by the strings of tasteful white lights and nostalgic window displays of the big stores, loving the atmosphere. Then dull reality set in with the arrival of New Year. January had filled the London streets with a mixture of slush and biting north-easterlies which steadfastly refused to shift direction as one week dragged into the next. It was April before the last of the snow disappeared. The winds persisted, thin and niggling,

defying the turning of the year and getting everyone down. Emma knew this much; something wasn’t right with the weather. “I’ll be about ten minutes,” she said into her phone as she hurried along. Emma Stamford was fifty-four years old, her thick, dark brown hair was fashionably cut, its refusal to turn grey making her look younger than that by at least ten years. A journalist by profession, she now ran a production company making training and promotional videos for businesses. She’d set her company up in the late 90’s with the help of her husband, Bill. Her late husband. She could never get used to saying that. It made it seem so final, so complete that he’d died; too accepting somehow. It was two years since he’d passed away. She still couldn’t understand it. He’d always seemed so indestructible. Then, the summer before last, he’d started to complain that he never felt quite well. By the time he got around to going to the doctor he was untreatable. In a few terrible weeks he had faded away before her eyes. Then he was gone. They had been building up their production company gradually, hoping that one day, Bill, or maybe both of them could go full time if they managed to get enough work. Emma had previously worked for a lifestyle magazine called Home and Fashion, a job she liked, whereas Bill had been a

sales manager for a national chain of retailers, a role which had never suited him and which he couldn’t wait to leave. All that changed after Bill died. Their project, which had started out as their ticket to a more rewarding life, had now become Emma’s sole source of income after Home and Fashion closed down. Times were hard. Emma walked into the Gallery Café on the high street. “A large Americano, please, with hot milk,” she said to the girl behind the counter who nodded and smiled. “Hello there!” The café owner had spotted Emma out of the corner of his eye. “Oh hello, Matt. Busy today?” “I’ll say. Everyone’s come in out of the cold!” She then sat down with a group who were clearly expecting her. She struggled out of her coat as it was warm in the crowded café. She looked at the faces huddled around the table. Good friends. Carol Ashton, whom she’d known from the magazine, was immaculately groomed as always, her blond hair swept back from her face, her lipstick bright and neatly applied. She was chatting amicably. Andy Balham, a neighbour, sat in the middle. Then there was James and Kate, a couple in their thirties who she’d interviewed one day for the magazine as they were part of the local theatre group. James had

ambitions to become an actor and did agency work as an extra. Kate wrote plays between shifts at a music store. Emma loved their boho lifestyle and art college clothes but knew if she tried to copy the look she’d be mistaken for a bag-lady. Through Emma, they did regular promotions of their latest productions in Home and Fashion, eventually becoming friends. She wondered where Jack Ellis was. The last time she had spoken to him he’d been very attentive – said they should go out for dinner sometime. Her heart fluttered at the memory of his smile. “Oh he’ll be here soon, I expect,” said Carol. Emma sipped her coffee. “I’ve got a new project on,” she said to anyone who was listening. “Go on,” said Andy. “Where are you off to this time?” “The East Midlands, for the first phase. Making a short for Enlecco.” Everyone groaned. Enlecco, or the English Electricity Company as it had started out, had now become so big it had a virtual monopoly over the utilities market. It also had a reputation for big profits and poor customer service. Independent utility companies had, one by one, been sucked into the Enlecco conglomerate, first the small fry and then its larger rivals, making competition virtually non-existent. Enlecco had

spread out into the financial services industry too, and owned goodness-knows-what at board level without advertising the fact by changing wellknown names. Even so, the orange and black Enlecco logo was everywhere. Its on-line business dominated cybertrading too. As a major employer it had to be grudgingly accepted by people who didn’t agree with its ubiquity or lack of principle. Emma, like everyone else, was uncomfortable with Enlecco but had to live in the life she was in. “It’s a staff induction film telling their employees how clean and green they now are. I’m driving up there tomorrow,” she said. “Do you need any actors, Emma?” said Kate, hopefully, nudging James. “Sadly, no, Kate. They want their own staff to feature. I’ll be filming an old power station tomorrow, some interviews, then lots of pictures of green valleys and trees for the voice over.” “I hope they pay well,” said James. “Well actually, they do,” said Emma. “For this kind of thing. Which is just as well at the moment as my electricity and gas bills have just come in.” Everyone laughed. No-one had laughed when the bills had arrived though. Prices had gone up by fifteen per cent again this year. And after the cold winter they were all struggling to pay. “How long will you be away filming?” asked

Carol. “Just a couple of days, I expect. Should be quite straightforward.” “What a pity you’ll miss our little get-together tomorrow evening,” said Carol. “We’re all meeting up at The George for drinks.” “Who will be there?” asked Emma. “All the usual faces. We were hoping you could come.” “Any particular occasion – I’ve not forgotten someone’s birthday have I?” “No. It’s Jack’s leaving do.” “Leaving do! What do you mean?” asked Emma. Her heart skipped a beat. She had the feeling that she was the last to know something. “He’s been moved by his company – I think they’ve been taken over or something. So head office will no longer be in London.” Emma nodded and tried not to show that she was upset. Her friendship group had become very important to her since she lost Bill. Any sign of it breaking apart made her feel nervous and insecure. Jack was the centre of this group for her. She had to admit he was a bit special. “Where will he be going – do you know?” said Emma to Carol. “Amsterdam, I think he said.” That hit harder than she thought it would. “Amsterdam! When? All of this is a bit of a

surprise.” She almost said shock. “When will he be going?” “At the end of the week. That’s why we’re getting together tomorrow. He’ll be sorry you couldn’t make it.” Carol looked knowingly at Emma, who ignored the implication. Emma had thought that Jack liked her, even fancied her a little bit, but found such thoughts hard to deal with. She told herself he was simply a good friend. But now he was disappearing off without even saying anything, she might have to accept how little she mattered in his busy life after all. Feeling stung, she took another drink of her coffee. “So you’re doing a glossy for Enlecco,” said James. “Don’t think Jack would approve – it’s just as well you won’t see him tomorrow.” “Got to make a living,” said Emma, stoutly. “I think it’s great that he works for a ‘green’ engineering company, but we can’t all be so picky.” James smiled and flicked a look towards Carol whose level gaze rested upon Emma with approval. She liked people who were at one with themselves, whether she agreed with them or not. “Will you be going by yourself?” said James, reverting to small talk. “No, actually. The photographer doing the stills will be getting a lift with me – I’ll meet the rest of the crew up there.”

“Sounds interesting.” “Yes, it is. It makes the boring part of setting it all up seem worthwhile.” “Don’t make them look too good though – they don’t deserve it. They rob the public and want to look as though they’re saving the planet,” said James. Emma felt annoyed. That was the second dig. For goodness’ sake, she was making a staff promo video for induction days, not campaigning for the side of the climate-change deniers. “Hey, steady on James. I guess we all have something of a love-hate relationship with the energy company. We need them, but resent paying so much. I’m just doing my job – we all have to get by somehow. I don’t suppose you’d complain if they sponsored one of your plays.” “Touché,” said Carol, much amused. James said nothing. After a few minutes his phone rang and he got up to go. Kate, his partner, was staring hard after him, but he refused to meet her gaze. Emma had looked forward to meeting up for coffee this morning. Now she’d got the feeling that there was tension in the air, and that somehow she wasn’t all that welcome. Carol squeezed in next to her. “Don’t mind James. He’s having a bad time at the moment.”

“In what way?” “He’s behind with his mortgage. He’ll probably catch up during the summer, but he’s really anxious about it.” “I’m sorry to hear that, Carol, I really am, but it’s not my fault, and I don’t appreciate it being taken out on me.” “I don’t think he meant that. No-one’s blaming you.” Emma wondered if she was being over-sensitive, but her previous good mood had been spoiled. “I sometimes get the feeling that no-one is pleased for me, when things go well.” “It’s hard when we’re all feeling the pinch,” said Carol. “Really? Funny how no-one minds Jack Ellis getting a new job. This deal might just stop me going bankrupt. It’s been very difficult for me too you know.” Emma stopped herself saying any more. She didn’t want to say anything grudging about Jack which could get back to him and which she didn’t mean. “I know,” said Carol, nodding in sympathy. Emma finished her drink and got up to go. No point in reading too much into things, she thought. But she was rattled by Jack’s departure, more than she liked to admit. When she got outside, she saw James still there,

phone in hand. He’d been joined by Kate who was clearly distressed and angry. Emma tactfully decided to hurry past, unseeing, when she heard a familiar name hurled between the two of them. “What on earth possessed you to give Phil Jones, of all people, the money?” “He said he needed it for equipment and sundries...” “Oh for God’s sake! You know what he’s like. He’s a drunk and never shows up.” “Well it was only what we’d have paid him anyway, to do the posters,” said James, clutching at straws. James had paid a photographer, Phil Jones, up front out of petty cash to take some stills for the theatre group’s latest production. When Jones had used the money to go on a binge, James had reimbursed the theatre’s money with his own, blaming himself. Kate had entered into an agreement with the bank to catch up with their mortgage arrears. Now their first payment was gone. Emma’s head rang with shock. She’d just hired Phil Jones to do her stills for the Enlecco video. *** Back at her desk she had just ended the most difficult conversation. “I’m sorry Mr Jones, the deal is off.” He was barely coherent and Emma was in no

doubt that she’d done the right thing, but she felt sorry for him none-the-less. No doubt James had, too, and was now paying the price. She got on to an agent to supply her with another photographer who could work at short notice. Otherwise her whole project could be in jeopardy. She had deadlines to meet. It was a tense afternoon, but two hours later the agent got back to her. “We’ve found someone for you, Mrs Stamford. He’s very good – lots of experience. Yes, he’ll meet you tomorrow at your address – Purbeck Road isn’t it? Six o’clock sharp, he’ll be there. What’s he called? Ah yes, I’ve got his details here. He’s called Hewitt, Lawrence Hewitt.” Emma jotted down the name with some relief. Now she was all set for tomorrow.

2 Greenland

Zoe

Carter looked around in alarm when she heard the rattle of tumbling debris somewhere above her head. “Look out!” Her husband, Oliver dropped his ice pick and raced towards her. Zoe stumbled backwards just missing the fall of ice and rubble that slid down the side of the ravine and landed right in front of her. “That was close,” she said, dusting down her clothes. “Too close!” said Oliver turning back to retrieve the pick from where he had been collecting samples of rock from the ravine face. “Oliver!” Zoe looked up when she heard the dull thump above her. A large rock was bouncing off the side of the cliff face bringing more down with it as it fell. “Get back!” Zoe retreated as fast as she could, grabbing Oliver’s hand and pulling him out of the danger area. Several large rocks landed where they had just been working, shattering into pieces and sending a cloud of snow into the air.

Zoe pulled her phone out of her bag and tapped on the screen urgently. She stared at the volcano app, which now showed amber warnings from around Katla. “Get the stuff!” said Zoe. Oliver quickly retrieved their samples and tools. Zoe rammed them into their bags. They stood back and scanned the rift face for any more signs of a rock fall. Zoe got her walkie-talkie from her pocket. “Alpha – we’re getting bombarded here – how are things in your sector?” A voice crackled back. “Hello Zebra. Pretty bad here too. We’re pulling out.” “We are, too. I’ll tell Tango. Meet you back at base.” Zoe looked at Oliver. “It might be better tomorrow.” They picked up their equipment and started the long walk back to the camp. “I hope so,” said Oliver. “I’m sick of these interruptions. We could have been finished by now.” Zoe pulled her hat down over her shoulder-length fair hair then wrapped her hood over the top. She’d been out all day in the ravine and she was chilled to the bone. Both she and her husband were geologists at Isaac Newton College (INC) working in the field of abrupt climate change. Greenland had been their home for the last few weeks. Now it was becoming impossible to work.

They got back to the huts. Once inside they began the laborious process of peeling off their outer layers. Zoe slumped down on the nearest bench, one foot in the air. Without having to be asked, Oliver pulled off her boot, slung it onto the rack then reached for the other one. “Shall I do yours?” said Zoe. “I’m okay,” said Oliver. “Get us a hot drink while I finish off here, will you darling? I could murder a cup of coffee.” Zoe padded off, her face still stinging from the cold. She looked at her phone again for the latest updates on the volcano. “Zoe! That you!” shouted a voice from one of the other rooms. It was Dieter Bergmann, a geologist from the university in Munich. “Yes, we’re back!” returned Zoe, grabbing the coffee pot perched on the stove. There were two clean mugs on the shelf. Miracles do happen. Deiter hurried in, his eyes bright with the news he had to tell. “Katla’s blowing!” he said. “I just know it. We’ve been picking up signals all afternoon. There are constant disturbances coming from the region. Look at this!” He showed Zoe a printout of the seismology graph. The mountain-range of spikes on the graph was getting bigger and more frequent by the hour. “Have you got any data on previous activity?”

said Zoe. She had one eye on her phone which was now showing red alerts. Deiter nodded. “I’ll show you.” Zoe followed him through to his work station. Oliver had heard the exchange and joined them. They all poured over the data. Every few years there had been activity recorded around Katla leading to speculation that an eruption was imminent. “There’s nothing in past records anything like on this scale,” said Oliver. “Not even when it last blew?” asked Zoe. “Exactly!” said Deiter. “This is what I am telling you. This is going to be a big event, no doubt about it. There is already a major ash ejection reported. All the signs are there.” “It got a bit hairy in the rift today,” said Oliver. “You should wind up what you’re doing and get back home,” said Deiter. “But we’ve nearly finished!” said Zoe. “So call it a day and work on what you’ve got. You’re seeing this,” Deiter rattled his papers testily, “but you’re not listening. Like everyone else I speak to.” He left them to think about what he’d said. Zoe and Oliver exchanged glances. “He could be right,” said Zoe. “He could be. But we still don’t know what’s going to happen. This time next week it could all go quiet again,” said Oliver.

“Are we going into the rift again tomorrow then?” Zoe looked at Oliver. “We’ll see,” he replied. Zoe grabbed some food. Oliver said he’d eat later and went to his desk to do a couple of hours work. Zoe looked at the volcano app with a shiver of excitement. Tweets were coming in from all over the region saying that tremors were being felt. Her hand gripped the table expectantly, but there was no movement at all. Nothing. She decided to call her friend and colleague, Amy Hewitt, back in London. “Ames! You should be here with us – it’s all happening – have you seen the data? We think Katla’s going to blow!” “In that case, shouldn’t it be the other way round? You should be here with us! And, yes, I have seen the data. It’s looking a bit lively out there.” “Why don’t you and Lawrence fly out here? You really don’t want to miss this, Amy. And Lawrence could get some amazing shots.” “Would love to Zoe, but I’ve got teaching commitments here and anyway, Lawrence is away on a project for a couple of days. He’s up in the Midlands at the moment, at one of the big power stations.” “You’ll kick yourself!” “Maybe,” said Amy, brightly. Zoe suspected that

her friend was trying not to sound as jealous as she felt. “Call if you get anything,” said Zoe. “Will do. Take care now.” Amy hung up. Zoe found it hard to sleep that night. Whether it was fear or excitement she didn’t know, but a feeling had lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. The night was utterly silent as though the air was filled with a terrible waiting. She trembled slightly as the taut earth-energy stretched to breaking point. The tension of anticipation was unbearable. Zoe breathed shallow, short breaths as though she were afraid of breaking the stillness. She moved closer to her husband whose large frame slept peacefully alongside her. As she dozed she felt the earth float beneath her body. She couldn’t tell if the ground was moving or if she was dropping into a vivid dream. She woke with an involuntary kick that set her heart racing. “Oliver!” “It’s okay,” he said, unperturbed. “Was it a tremor? Did it wake you, too?” “No, darling, you did.” “It’s like the Earth’s holding its breath. The suspense is awful. Don’t you feel it too?” “Not really, I have to be honest.” “This could be another Krakatoa.” “For God’s sake go back to sleep,” said Oliver turning over.

Zoe tugged at the duvet and stuffed it under her chin. Exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep. When she next opened her eyes Oliver was standing at the side of the bed holding a mug of tea out towards her. “You’d better come and see the news, Zo – Katla’s just emitted a giant ash cloud. It looks like the eruption has started!”

3 Millcott B Power Station

“I thought he said he would be here to meet us,” said Emma, irritable after the long drive from London to start filming the Enlecco short. Emma pulled up in the car park of Millcott B power station in the East Midlands and looked at her passenger for an explanation. Lawrence Hewitt was slightly built with a thin, dark beard, flecked with grey. Emma found it hard to guess his age as his face had the weathered look of a traveller. He had hardly said a word during the journey which had left Emma feeling tense and awkward. “He’ll be along shortly,” said Hewitt. Emma had arranged to meet the senior engineer who could show her around the site and provide any support she might need during filming, but everywhere looked deserted and she wondered if they were in the right place. On the reccy, the car parks had been full. There had been noise and bustle everywhere. She wondered what was going on. The power station site was vast, like a one-

industry town, all self-contained with its own roads, railway station, goods depots – even its own social club. To the east, the site was dominated by the terrifying row of cooling towers, hovering over the ground, each one under its meringue-cloud of water vapour, massive yet light at the same time. Sporadic gusts picked up dust and debris from the surrounding scrub and blew it around the empty car park. This place had once been a hive of industry. Now it had an air of an industrial wasteland. She noticed a coat of thick white dust everywhere and wondered if that was normal around here. Emma foraged in her handbag then pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts list until she got to the name Derek Stringer. There was no answer. “Now what?” she said. Hewitt shrugged. “Give it five minutes. If no-one shows we’ll go and find him.” Emma sighed with frustration. She always put a lot of effort into planning a shoot. She expected everyone else to do the same. This project would look good on her portfolio and she wanted to get it right. Five years ago she had borrowed heavily to buy new camera, sound and editing equipment. She had needed it to grow her business. It had seemed so easy – and necessary to get the latest kit. But fifty thousand pounds for a state-of the-art camera was a

big investment. All had seemed worthwhile until last year when the banks began calling in their debts. Emma had struggled to keep the wolf from the door for as long as she could, but after Bill died it just got harder. She needed a big injection of cash to keep her afloat or she would be finished by the end of the year. She looked at the state of Millcott B and saw her predicament writ large. “Look!” said Hewitt, craning forward to see more clearly. “Over there. That looks like our man.” A middle-aged man walked briskly towards their car. Emma let the window down as he approached. “I’ll see you over there!” he said, pointing to the social club. He set off, his jacket inflating in the wind. He jangled some keys in his hand as he walked. Emma and Hewitt hurriedly got their stuff together and followed him. He unlocked the door of the social club and went straight inside, leaving it open for them to follow. Emma strode up the plywood ramp and into a depressing room full of torn posters and mismatched furniture. “Welcome to Millcott B – what’s left of it. I’m Derek Stringer. I think it was Ron who saw you before. He’s no longer here so I’ll be looking after you. Pleased to meet you, by the way.” He shook hands warmly with them both and sat down at a table. “Sorry it’s so cold in here. It’s never used

much nowadays so there’s no heating on to save on the bills.” “I’d change your supplier,” said Hewitt drily looking out onto the brutalist main block of the turbine building. Derek smiled. He looked like a man who hadn’t had much to smile about lately. Emma noted the exchange with approval. Maybe Hewitt just needed time to warm up. She turned to Derek. “This will do fine,” said Emma. “So, Derek, you’re the Chief Engineer.” He nodded. “How long have you worked here?” she went on. “Some time, I expect.” “Well, all my adult life – like many men of my generation. I was taken on as an apprentice at fifteen and worked my way up through the ranks to a comfortably-paid position in the company; Chief Engineer. Or was, until last month.” “What do you mean?” said Emma. “At one of our regular Monday morning meetings an executive came down from head office and told us that Millcott B would be closed. Simple as that. It seems to be the way business is done nowadays. We were to be offered, either redundancy, or a relocation package to God-knowswhere.” “What did you to do?” said Emma. She felt indignant on his behalf. She could tell it had been a blow to Derek’s pride.

“I took the money,” he said, head down. Hewitt looked around. “So is this place now closed?” “Not quite. It’s winding down. We’ve a skeleton staff and some generation is carrying on till the wreakers get here. It’s heart-breaking to see.” “But what about our video?” said Emma. “If you need anything, let me know. Your filming shouldn’t be affected. You can use the social club as your base and there’s a kitchen, of sorts. You might want to let the rest of the crew know this is where to meet – when will they get here?” “Tonight. We are all booked into a nearby hotel. Then we start early tomorrow.” “Okay. I’ll be here to open up, and to let you into the turbine rooms and control centre when you get to that stage. I’ll need to be with you while you are in authorized zones. You can talk to me on this.” Derek handed her a walkie-talkie. He turned to address Hewitt. “Feel free to take pictures anywhere on site. I know this place like the back of my hand so I might be able to help with locations if you’ve anything particular that you looking for.” “Thanks. I’ll remember that,” said Hewitt. “Right,” said Emma. “Let’s get started, shall we? Derek, can you call HR and tell them I’m here. I need to speak to...” she looked at her diary, stuffed full of papers. “Steve Mills. Head of HR, as I’m

doing an in-house video. I’ll need to see any employees that I’m interviewing and run through the script with them. And check out the locations. It should all be okay but it all seems so different to when we were last at Millcott. I’ve scripted in people to talk about being part of this company, showing them in their place of work, as I was asked to do. They are still actually here aren’t they?” “Oh yes,” said Derek wearily. “Steve has made sure of that. I’ll call him now.” *** Next day, the filming was going to plan. The intro shots of the cooling towers had worked well in the early morning light. Enlecco had also wanted footage of coal trains and the industrial landscape which would be edited in black and white. Emma was walking with Hewitt towards the main control room. Hewitt, new on the scene, was trying to get up to speed. “So what’s the narrative of this video meant to be?” he said. “I need to know how the stills will be used.” “It’s the industry moving on, if you like. From heavy industry to modern technology.” “And who will it be shown to?” “Graduates mainly and new recruits. It’ll be for open days on site and for outreach visits to universities, that kind of thing. They want your

stills to form large posters at presentations or to make display stands. They can be of coal trains and cooling towers and will be in black and white to emphasize that that side of the industry is in the past. They also want shots of employees in orange hard-hats, either at work or smiling to camera. They will be for the leaflets they want to print and hand out. And make sure you get the Enlecco name and logo in as much as possible, for obvious reasons.” Hewitt looked as though he got the idea. “So if you follow me while I get the B-roll footage and take whatever you think works as a still.” “B-roll?” said Hewitt. “I’ll be getting background shots and close-ups. Detail shots like hands-on-switches, reaction shots and so on to edit into the main take which consists of the interviews and straight-to -camera footage. It’s a standard film-making technique which is particularly useful with single camera work like mine. You’ve heard of cutaways?” Hewitt nodded. Emma continued, “Well, that’s it really. In an interview, for example, you keep the audio track going but cutaway to a detail. It hides zooms, and can be used to edit out stumbles. It creates a professional, more visually interesting result. Together with some aerial footage and images of shiny new power plants – which I can get from their in-house library pictures

– it should come together very nicely. It all goes to make the production values appear high.” Hewitt took it all in, genuinely interested. Once at the door to the control centre they hurried inside. It was a relief to be out of the wind. They couldn’t believe it was so cold. Emma got started straightaway. They wound up about seven o’clock. The interviews had gone particularly well against the backdrop of the turbine room. The people used in the film had been excellent choices. Emma was pleased. Hewitt waited impatiently in the social club, while Emma packed up her kit and said goodbye to her cameraman and soundman. It had been a long day and Hewitt had said that he was eager to get on the road. Emma approached her car. Straightaway she saw something odd about it. The silver-grey finish had turned to a soft, dull matt. She then ran her finger over the paintwork and stared at the result. Noticing Hewitt looking out of the social club window, she beckoned him over. He went out to help her load up. “Look at it!” she said. “What’s the matter?” he replied. “The car’s filthy. Look at this,” she said showing him her finger caked in grey powder. “What the hell is it? It’s everywhere.” It was then she noticed that she had left footprints in the car park, as

though they’d had a dusting of snow. “Looks like ash,” said Hewitt. “Shouldn’t worry. There must be deposits everywhere around here. The winds must have stirred it up.” “Yes, I guess you’re right,” said Emma. “But look at it. It must be nearly a centimetre thick in places. I hope none of it has got onto my lenses.” Five minutes later the car was loaded. They were set to go. Emma began to rummage in her bag. “Look, I’m really sorry Lawrence, but I can’t find my glasses. I have to go back to the main building. I know I had them there.” His eyes flashed his impatience. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll come with you. What do they look like?” “They’re in a silver case – why?” “I think I remember seeing one of those on top of a cupboard.” They headed straight back to the power plant, their feet scrunching on the ash as they hurried along. Once inside Emma darted around the reception area, anxiously scouring every surface for her glasses. She knew she couldn’t leave without them. “Are these them?” said Hewitt suddenly, spotting them on top of a filing cabinet. “Oh, thank God for that!” said Emma, opening the case to check that they were inside. She stared at Hewitt. “That’s a bit weird – you knowing they were there,” she said.

Hewitt shrugged. “Photographic memory.” “Really?” Emma looked dubious. “You got your glasses, didn’t you?” said Hewitt, wearily. “I’m not complaining,” she said, wondering if he remembered everything. “Come on, let’s go shall we?” They turned to go but stopped when they heard footsteps hurrying down the corridor with a lightness that belied Derek’s age and size. “Hold on a minute! Emma...” Derek Stringer paused when he got to where they were standing. He was out of breath with the effort. “So glad I caught you. Wanted a word if I could. Didn’t like to say anything before.” Emma hid her surprise and waited for him to speak. Hewitt looked up and sighed. What now? “Sorry to hold you up.” Derek had noted Hewitt’s obvious reluctance. “So I’ll get straight to the point – there’s a lot about this industry that needs saying and no-one wants to hear it.” He glanced behind him, keeping his voice down. “I wondered if you would be interested in hearing my side of things.” “I don’t understand,” said Emma. Derek frowned. “Well – you make films. I think somebody should make a documentary about the real energy industry in this country.” He dropped his voice even lower. “About Enlecco. I think this

closure is reckless – madness – at a time of energy shortfalls. And I think it’s time everyone knew what has been going on here.” “Ah,” said Emma. “I’m sorry, Derek, but I don’t think you understand. I don’t make documentaries, just corporate videos.” “Still, here, Derek?” said a voice behind him. Steve Mills appeared in the doorway from the office behind reception. She wondered if he’d been listening. Then she saw a smirk cross his face for a second, leaving her in no doubt that he’d heard the exchange. Derek stiffened and felt the chill of defeat creep over him. “Thought I’d gone home, didn’t you? Mrs Stamford, I thought you and Mr Hewitt were finished here?” Emma felt a flash of anger at Mill’s tone of dismissal. “I forgot my glasses,” she said swinging her bag onto her shoulder. “We’re on our way.” She gave Hewitt a nod. “Thank you for all your help, Derek. Mr Mills.” They made for the door, eager to get away. “No, wait, Emma,” said Derek. “This will only take a moment.” “Leave it, Derek.” Mills looked irritable. He put his hand on Derek’s arm. “No, I can’t!” said Derek shrugging him off. His

voice became strident. “We can’t shut down perfectly good power stations like Millcott B. This plant is economic and could have been modernised to EU standards of carbon emissions if there’d been the will to invest.” “But they’re not perfectly good power stations, Derek, and you know that. They are dirty, bad for the environment and uneconomic.” “But nothing new is taking their place. We’ll be importing energy soon – or more likely going short. There’s a rising population – and we need energy to fuel economic growth – instead there are going to be power cuts for sure.” “The industry is changing, Derek. And in a good way.” “Rubbish! The industry used to be about producing electricity. Now it’s about making money at any cost.” “Well that’s your view Derek, but I’m sure Mrs Stamford here doesn’t need to know all this, as she has been commissioned to work for Enlecco, and understands her obligations to the company which is paying her to do just that.” Emma could be in no doubt that she was being told which side her bread was buttered. “We need to go,” whispered Hewitt to Emma. She shook her head at Derek helplessly. “I’m sorry Derek, but I can’t help you with any of this. We have to leave.”

They made for the door as quickly as possible. All she wanted was to get out of there. She had taken an instant dislike to Mills and felt uncomfortable with the exchange between him and Derek Stringer. They got back to the car and sat down heavily, Emma throwing her bag onto the back seat. They heard the revving of another car as it sped across the car park and past security, hardly slowing down. “That must be Derek,” said Emma. “Poor chap,” said Hewitt. “His day is over and he knows it. I bet that’s the last time he drives through those gates.” “Let’s get out of here,” said Emma. “I couldn’t agree more,” said Hewitt.

4 London

Emma had spent the day at home, working. Her house was a large, traditional property on Purbeck Road, north London. The pebble-dashed frontage was painted white. Two large bay windows allowed light to flood into her front rooms, making them cheery and warm in a normal season. The garden was tidy but uninspiring with its ubiquitous parking space and dustbins signalling the victory of practicality over aesthetics; a sign of modern suburbia that had replaced the neat privet hedges and carefully tended rows of flowers that had been the owners’ pride and joy in the 1930’s. Her editing rooms were in the basement, away from traffic noise and the background clatter of household distractions. Bill had designed the suite from scratch and had made the old cellar into a bright and modern work space. The house was built on an incline so the back of the basement was at ground level. Bill had replaced the old window frame with French windows which opened out onto the garden. To the right was a wooden out-building which was to have been their home-office. That

had been Bill’s idea, too. The office was now in a sorry state, peeling and patched with algae as Emma couldn’t afford to heat it. She wondered if spring would ever come, and make it warm enough to open the windows and let some fresh air penetrate the house. She had nearly finished the Enlecco project. The library shots had worked well and she had approved the music commissioned especially for the video. Emma sat back in her chair, her concentration beginning to wander. It was time for a break. She got up having decided to give herself fifteen minutes. She stretched and started to make her way upstairs when the lights went out. “Oh, for God’s sake!” she said, rushing to her computer to back everything up while there was still plenty of battery power left. She then turned everything off. Feeling her way up the stairs this time, she fumbled for the door handle and back into the main part of the house. Maybe a fuse had tripped. She paused, listening. It seemed too quiet. The power was definitely off. She opened the door a crack. When the traffic noise subsided the insistent clamouring of the burglar alarms confirmed that the whole street was affected. What a pain! It was then she noticed the letter. It was a nice quality, hand-written envelope, the sort one normally only gets on birthday cards or invitations.

She didn’t recognise the writing which was confident and flowing. She opened it and read the message. Sorry you weren’t there Saturday – good luck with your project – take care, Jack. She read the card over again. She didn’t know what to feel. Elated? He’d obviously cared enough to send a card. It was then she noticed that there was no stamp. He’d brought it around! She rushed back to the door and down the path, hoping she might catch him. The street was deserted. Emma read the words again, feeling a rising sense of frustration and disappointment that she’d missed Jack. She lingered over the message and tried to gauge the tone; it was friendly but no more than that. It said Take Care, which she thought was distant. She didn’t want to read too much into it, but her heart was beating. She closed the front door and went to make some coffee, then remembered that the power was off. The phone rang. “Hi Emma. It’s Carol. Are you in the dark, too?” “Yes. The power went off about five minutes ago.” “Ours has been off for half-an-hour. I’ve just rung Enlecco – they say it will be out for about four hours.” “Did they say what the problem was?” “They were a bit vague. Said they were dealing with it. I don’t know what’s going on, but this is the

third time in a fortnight. I’ve told them I want a rebate – we pay all this money and get lousy service.” “Good luck with that one,” said Emma, and went back to her glass of cold water. She placed Jack’s card on the mantelpiece, conscious that she hadn’t mentioned its arrival to Carol, but not sure why. By six o’clock the electricity still hadn’t been restored. She’d lost a day’s work and the house was freezing cold. The only bright spot in the afternoon had been when someone from Enlecco phoned to ask if they could arrange the previewing for the film. “You’ll get your film when you remember what you’re there for, and I get my power back on,” said Emma scathingly. The man had laughed, enjoying the irony of the situation. “You should be on our list of priority users,” he said. Emma didn’t laugh although she thought he was joking. She’d never heard of a priority user but she wouldn’t have been surprised if there was such a thing. There was nothing for dinner unless you liked cold lasagne. She wanted a hot drink and to put some washing on before sitting down to watch some TV. Nervously Emma wondered how long the

stuff in the freezer would last before it started to defrost and have to be thrown away. She thought of Derek Stringer and his dire warnings about power shortages. Maybe he was right after all, and this was the start of it. The media had been featuring articles about the narrowing gap between power supply and demand for some years. Maybe they weren’t doom-mongering after all. The papers said the unseasonably cold spring wasn’t helping. Emma read it all and scoffed. Spring was more than unseasonably cold this year. It was worrying. The evening wore on. Now she was sitting in the fading light of a spring evening with a plate of cold pasta and a can of warm coke, wondering if this was going to be a regular thing. She pulled a blanket over her legs to keep warm and picked up her book whilst there was still enough light to read it. At ten o’clock sharp the house sprang back into life in a single bound. The sudden glare of the living room light acted like a signal for the rest of the house to resume normal service. The fridge began to purr noisily, floorboards creaked as the central heating came on, like the stirrings of a ship, no longer becalmed. Familiar bleeps announced that appliances were back in business. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She heard the washing machine roll around and start to fill. The sounds of these mundane, everyday

objects had become the soundtrack for a normal life and had never seemed so welcome. She noticed the yellow glow of the street lights through the window, once more driving fear from the shadowy streets. Her mood much improved, she poured away the sad remains of her coke and treated herself to a glass of red wine. She took it down to the basement where she carried on working till two in the morning. Emma could not afford to give Enlecco any opportunity to quibble over payments if she delivered late. She did as much as she could before her body demanded some sleep, and then she made up her mind to call it a day. Automatically she checked her phone. She paused for a moment before putting it back in her bag, then on impulse decided to send a text to Jack. Thanks 4 the card. Good Luck with the job! Emma. She pressed ‘send’ then wished that she had written four instead of 4 which made her sound about sixteen. Too late to change it now, she thought, as she headed upstairs to her room. Just hope it’s the right tone. Dog-tired, she fell straight into a deep sleep which lasted, uninterrupted till the alarm went off at eight the next morning. *** She pressed the familiar button on top of the clock and rolled out of bed, refreshed and ready to

get to work. She opened the curtains. Light flooded the room instantly but Emma thought something didn’t look quite right. She peered through the glass and down onto the street scene below. The window was thick with dust, and down on the pavements everywhere looked slightly grey, as though there had been a frost. She hurried downstairs and opened the front door, still wearing her pyjamas and dressing gown. “You all right, babe?” said a voice from over the fence. It was Andy Balham, her neighbour. “What the hell’s this?” said Emma, scrubbing the path with her slipper. “I thought there had been a frost.” “God knows. It’s all over the cars and everything. It could ruin my paintwork. I’ve just rung James and Kate – it’s the same there, too.” “It looks just like my car did when I was filming at Millcott B. We thought it was ash from the power station. This is weird. I’m going to phone the local radio station and see if they have heard what’s going on. It could be toxic for all we know.” “Good idea,” said Andy. “I’m going to get on to the Council. I bet this has blown over from that new incinerator they told us was completely safe. Goodness knows what’s in this dust. I’d stay indoors if I were you.” Andy stalked off, stabbing at his mobile phone as

he did so. Emma retreated back inside her house, determined to make some phone calls. She was angry at the distraction when she needed to get straight to work, but was too worried to ignore the grey film that had settled all over the neighbourhood. She couldn’t get through to the radio station so she logged on to their website. The statement on their weather page said that they’d been inundated with listeners asking about the dust, which was harmless and a natural meteorological phenomenon. It was probably whipped up into the upper atmosphere by a storm somewhere, they said, then deposited on us. Emma thought that sounded reasonable, so she got back to work. At about ten-thirty she called Lawrence Hewitt to ask about the stills. “They’re all ready. They look pretty good too, I have to say. I’ll bring them over – when would be good for you?” “Anytime this afternoon.” “I’ll see you about two, then.” “Okay, Lawrence. That would be good. See you then.” She rang off. Hewitt with his usual brevity had no time for small talk. He seemed very abrupt on the phone, which was a pity, Emma thought, as after a day with him she realized that he wasn’t

unfriendly after all. He had a kindly face and a dry sense of humour which she rather liked as it reminded her of Bill. She noticed that he had never used her name, which made him appear distant. She just hoped the pictures were as good as he obviously thought they were. Emma then checked her phone to see if there was a text from Jack Ellis. Nothing. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d glanced at the screen that morning She told herself to stop being so stupid but the rising tide of disappointment was washing away any fragile hopes that yesterday’s card had fostered. Then she saw the news feed about the ash. It was all over the country it said. In parts of Scotland it was inches thick. It was from a volcano in Iceland and harmless, just inconvenient. She put the phone away and got back to work.

5 London

Lawrence

Hewitt was getting ready for the meeting with Emma. He put the laptop in his briefcase and then fastened up his portfolio of pictures. He knew he didn’t need to take actual physical copies of the photographs – it even seemed a little quaint – but Hewitt liked the traditional format, and he found it popular with clients who always looked at the printed copies first. He did a quick check in the mirror and smoothed his hair down. He hoped the jacket made the jeans look on the smart side of smart-casual. His beard was neatly trimmed and he’d put on a few pounds since his Arctic travelling days, which suited him; made him look less drawn. Amy, his wife, was a geologist working for Isaac Newton College in London and would be lecturing most of the day. He hastily wrote out a note to let her know what time he’d be home. He’d been married for almost two years now. He smiled imperceptibly as he wrote the note. Over the last two years Amy had brought a warmth into his life that Hewitt had never known before, and still

wasn’t sure he deserved. He loved the way she always smiled with her eyes. She was confident and funny, whereas Hewitt was taciturn and had a liking for brevity which often came across as terse. I like to tell it as it is, said Hewitt when Amy challenged him about his abrupt, sometimes unfeeling way of putting things. I know, Amy had replied, but talking is a two-way street. It’s not only about what you want to say, or how you want to say it. Think of how the person feels who’s on the receiving end. Hewitt did think about it, but old habits were hard to break. *** Emma jumped slightly as the doorbell jangled in the hall. She got up, her footsteps clicking on the tiles, announcing her approach. “Not too early?” said Hewitt. “No, not at all. Come on through, we’re down here,” said Emma, showing him to the basement. Take a seat. Would you like me to get you a drink?” “Thank you. That would be nice. I see you’ve got this ash here, too,” said Hewitt. “Yes,” said Emma. “Weird, isn’t it?” “They say there’s nothing south of the Thames.” Emma went to the kitchen, returning a couple of minutes later with a tray of coffee and biscuits. Hewitt opened up the portfolio and sat in silence while she sifted through the prints. Then she uploaded the rest so she could view the whole

range. “These are good, Lawrence. Just what I wanted.” She sat and watched the images as they ran past her on the screen. “The black and white ones work really well – they’ll make great posters. I’ll...” The lights went out with a jolt. The hum of the computers faded out leaving only the laptop shining away on the desk. “Not again!” said Emma, exasperated. “What the...? Is this happening to you too?” said Hewitt. “More and more. This is the third time this week. It’s no bloody joke when you’re trying to run a business. Whatever technical problems they’ve got I wish they’d sort them out. I ring up, and all I get is excuses.” “We had a cut last week. I just thought it was a one-off.” “I thought the very same thing until it started to happen at regular times.” “Really? What times?” “It’s two o’clock. My betting is that it will be back on at six. Sometimes it’s off between six and ten at night. That doesn’t sound accidental to me, does it to you? It sounds like a problem at source, not a local thing.” “No, you’re right. Ours went off from about ten in the morning and came on again around two.

Actually, no, not around two. It was exactly two, as the TV came on just in time for the news headlines. So what are we saying, here?” “I’m not sure, but I think the power is being cut off on a rota basis. Saving electricity by rationing it out. Only no-one is admitting to it. Yet. We can’t be the only ones who’ve noticed.” “Surely it would be on the TV news,” said Hewitt. “That’s what I thought. I suppose it will be if it keeps on happening.” Emma sighed. “Anyway, I’ll carry on looking at the stills, and then your time won’t have been wasted.” Hewitt wandered over to the window for something to do while Emma scrolled through his photographs. “Okay,” said Emma at last from the gloom. Hewitt moved over to where she was sitting. “That’s all done. They’re great, Lawrence. Thank you very much. Especially as you came in at such short notice. I really appreciate that. I’m going to earmark the pictures I think will make the best posters, get them printed and get a package ready to show Enlecco. I’d like to keep these physical copies, if I may, to help me decide. I can then let you have your originals back. I’ll bring them round to yours when it’s convenient and I’ll give you your cheque now, if that’s alright.” He nodded, and waited while she wrote out the

cheque. He handed her the memory stick and then closed down the computer before slipping it back into his bag. “Call me,” he said, and wrote out his home address before handing her his business card. “I was just looking at your garden. The ash is getting thicker here, I think.” Emma stood up and walked over to where Hewitt had been standing. She opened the door, letting in a blast of cool air. They both stepped outside. “What do you think it is? Can it be from a volcano that far away? They say it’s blown here because of unusual weather conditions in the upper atmosphere and is nothing to worry about.” “I’m sure they’re right,” said Hewitt. “A bit of rain will wash it all away.” “It reminds me of...” “Millcott B?” said Hewitt. “Yes!” said Emma. “That’s it! All that ash. It must be a nightmare living next to something like that. They must have this problem all the time.” “I guess so,” said Hewitt. “So where on earth has it all come from?” “They say from Iceland.” “Well I hope it doesn’t get any thicker – don’t you think it’s frightening? I don’t like it.” “No, you’re right. It does seem a bit weird. I’ll ask Amy – my wife – she might be able to explain it.”

“Really? What does she do?” Emma was curious. “She’s a climate scientist.” Emma looked impressed. “Well she should know if anyone does,” said Emma. Hewitt smiled and then looked at his watch. “Look, I’m sorry to dash, but I need to get back. I’m glad the pictures are alright. And, also, let me know if you’d like me to do any more work for you.” “I will, Lawrence. Definitely. I’ll email you about the film too, if that’s okay.” “Yes, do. I’ll be glad of any feedback.” “I’ll go and sit in the cold now, till six,” said Emma, cynically. Hewitt smiled sympathetically. “Follow me,” she added, and once more she stumbled up the dark basement steps to the hall. She let Hewitt out of the front door, waving briefly as he disappeared down the path, leaving footprints as he went. She looked at her phone. There was nothing from Jack. Again. She told herself he must be too busy to text. Rubbish! she thought. No-one is ever too busy to text. Not if they want to. Emma didn’t know what to think. On the one hand it seemed that he had wanted to make some sort of contact with her, but the reality was that he had disappeared from

her social circle by moving away and getting a job in another country. What kind of a signal did that send? Somehow, very subtly, he had let her think he liked her a little. He had used his goodbyes as a way of expressing that feeling, leaving Emma not sure whether it was the beginning of something, or the end. She felt confused and despite her best efforts, she found that she couldn’t help but think about what she had probably just lost.

6 London

Emma was sitting in front of her computer screen looking at volcanos and wondering if the Lawrence Hewitt she’d just Googled was the same dour photographer that she’d just been working with. She was about to begin another project, a safety film for a major retailer, and she’d thought it was a good time to check out Hewitt’s background before entering into a regular partnership. She gawped at the group shot taken in Greenland, his gaunt, furframed face unmistakable as he posed selfconsciously in front of a light aircraft. The blurb said that he’d been part of a group of scientists who’d diverted a lava flow away from a vulnerable ice sheet. She thought of the reticent man she’d spent a day with, and while she’d spent the day trying to find something interesting to say, he’d been sitting there keeping all this exciting stuff to himself. Emma decided to call Hewitt and fix up a meeting. “Lawrence, hi,” she said. “The posters have arrived. They look great. I’ll bring them to show

you. They’re amazing.” “Don’t forget the photos,” said Hewitt. “I won’t. Listen I’ve an appointment at my bank at ten-thirty today. It’s not a million miles from where you live. I could combine both trips.” “Yes, good idea,” he replied. “I’m in all day.” She put the phone down and stared back at the Arctic scene on her computer screen. The pilot looked a dish, she thought. Emma packed the papers containing the brief for her new film into her bag then made sure she had the cheques to pay into her bank account. There was nothing like a boost in funds to make them more sympathetic towards her cash-flow problems. It had gone pretty well at the bank, which put Emma in a positive frame of mind as she knocked on Hewitt’s front door. “Come in,” he said, “I’ll take your coat. I hope this wasn’t a pain coming all the way round here.” Hewitt was polite but unsmiling. He seemed distant. Emma wondered if she should have come, her mood deflated. “No, no. Not at all.” Emma sounded too bright and breezy. Hewitt didn’t respond. This was not a good start. He indicated for her to sit down. She pressed on. “You said you’d like to hear from me if there was any more work in the offing. Well, there could be – if you’re still interested.”

Hewitt nodded. Emma continued, “I wondered if you’d like to work with me on my new project. The client is a major retailer. I’m doing a detailed costing now. Work starts in three weeks if they accept my estimate – I wondered if you’d be available then. It’s in the north-east.” “I should be. I’ll just check out the dates.” He began to scroll through his diary, taking rather too long. Emma thought he should have appeared more pleased. Emma started to feel uncomfortable, “I’m sorry, Lawrence. Is this not a good time?” “No, it’s not that. I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. Suddenly this visit seemed a bad idea. If she’d been entertaining thoughts of teasing Hewitt about his role in saving the western world, then she now saw how inappropriate that approach was. All her questions about his time in the Arctic remained unasked. He looked slightly distracted as though he needed to get back to something more important than talking to her. If she was honest, her main reason for setting up this visit was to find more about him. Now that would have to wait. “No, don’t bother. I’d better be getting back.” Emma reached for her bag. “Here I’ll leave you the pictures to look at when it’s more convenient.” “Well don’t rush off. Now that you’re here you might as well wait until I’ve checked out my

schedule.” Emma demurred. Feeling like a novice and less like a fifty-four year old business-woman every second, she was growing irritable, as much with herself as with Hewitt. She had a sinking feeling that Hewitt was going to be difficult to work with and was beginning to regret involving him in the contract. Too late now, he was still scrolling his phone which was pinging messages. He was looking as though he might just be able to fit her in. “Look, if you’re too busy, don’t worry. I can sort something else out,” Emma snapped. She thought of Phil Jones, the drunk, and realised that wasn’t going to be easy to find anyone else in time. Hewitt looked back at her in surprise. “Is there something wrong?” “No,” she said. Emma collected herself and decided to be as straightforward as Hewitt had been. “I just think you don’t have to treat me as a time-waster when I came around here offering you some work.” “Then I’m sorry if it came across that way. I got distracted. I’ve just received some eruption alerts on my volcano app...” “You have a volcano app!” Emma stared at him in surprise. “Talk about being prepared!” “Alright, I’m sorry. It goes with the territory – of being married to a climate scientist. I’m not one for small talk and I do want the work. You seem to

have something on your mind, though. Are you sure you’re alright?” “Yes thank you, Lawrence, quite alright.” Hewitt shrugged and got back to his phone. “Actually, Lawrence I was just being nosey.” Emma decided to bite the bullet. “I’ve found out that you were part of a heroic science expedition which got involved with stemming a massively dangerous lava flow...saw you on YouTube, in fact.” “Oh, I see.” Hewitt got the picture. “Couldn’t believe it was me, eh?” Emma flushed. That was exactly what she’d thought. “It wasn’t that bad,” said Hewitt, dismissively. “I got dragged in as I was a photographer and I happened to be in the area. And, to be honest, I was more interested in pursuing Amy than saving the world.” “Amy? Oh, your wife.” “One of the scientists. And yes, now my wife.” Hewitt managed a smile. “Ah. So the mission was a success.” Emma smiled warmly, her bad mood evaporating. “Very much so.” “You said you were going to ask her about the ash. Did she know any more about it?” “I did ask her, but I haven’t heard from her since. She’s working all hours. They’re getting very

excited at her university as the volcano is becoming extremely active in Iceland. They will probably be getting an expedition together to go out there if it continues – she may even have to go. I’m waiting for a phone call. She should have rung back by now.” Emma now understood why he was on edge. He was worried about Amy. “She’s probably forgotten the time,” said Emma. “Don’t worry.” Hewitt sat back in his chair and seemed a bit more relaxed. Emma sensed that he’d said what he wanted to say and wouldn’t welcome any more questions. She’d save those for later. He looked back at his phone and said, “Let me know when you’ve definitely got the contract. I’ll pencil in your dates and keep those weeks clear.” “Good,” she said. “I like the way you said when not if. It shows positivity.” “Oh yes,” he said, totally deadpan. “That was always my strong point.” Emma pressed her lips into a flat smile then laughed out loud. There was a pause while she composed herself. “Lawrence,” she said at last, “I think you and I are going to get on after all.” “I hope so,” he said. She placed the portfolio of pictures on the table

ready for him to look at when Hewitt’s landline rang in the hall. He jumped up. “Excuse me a moment, I’ll just take this,” he said getting up. Emma had no choice but to sit there. She couldn’t help overhearing what he said. “Zoe! Are you still in Greenland? No, Amy’s not back yet. Why don’t you try her mobile? Is it urgent? “ The hall went quiet as Hewitt listened, tapping the table with a pen in his impatience. “That doesn’t sound good. No, listen. Don’t take any risks, you two. I’ll try her as well and get her to call you as soon as possible.” He put the phone down. “Sorry about that,” said Hewitt coming back into the room where Emma was sitting. “Is everything alright?” said Emma. “Perhaps I’d better go. You can see the photos another time.” “No it’s not alright, actually. Our friends are out in the Arctic – they’ve been experiencing increased levels of seismic activity lately. They said it’s getting too dangerous to work because of the rockfalls and avalanches. They might have to pull out if this carries on. I need Amy to get them more info before they make a decision to leave. It will be a blow if they can’t finish their project.” “So how bad is it?” said Emma. “I didn’t like the sound of it, I have to say,” said Hewitt, frowning. “Zoe sounded very worried and they are not the sort to panic.”

“These people – are they the ones who were in the Arctic with you?” “Yes. Thank goodness Amy’s at home. I’d be worried sick if she was still out there.” “Why, what do you think is happening, Lawrence? Is it that bad? The ice sheet isn’t about to go is it?” Emma looked alarmed. “Well, who knows? But obviously something’s going on. It’s a volcanic area – we must expect some activity every so often, I suppose. Our friends’ problem is that they are working in a ravine. They are very vulnerable. I don’t expect that it will affect the rest of us, not here in the UK.” “It could do though,” said Emma. “It doesn’t take much to disrupt modern life. Look at what happened in 2010 when that other one erupted – you know, the one no-one can say – we couldn’t fly for weeks because of all that ash.” “That’s true. They might have difficulty getting back here if that happened again.” Suddenly Emma’s thoughts veered off course as she imagined Jack over in Amsterdam. She was hoping he’d pop over and visit them all in the UK soon. If flights were disrupted it could be months before she might see him again. Unless he got a ferry, or Eurostar. Which could take too long if he only had a weekend. She was mentally rambling. She had no idea of his plans, but had already decided in her head that he might turn up at the

café shortly and surprise them all. Now that could all be spoiled. Hewitt stood there looking at her. “I was just thinking about the ash,” she said, aware that she’d been standing there a bit too long. “What about it?” said Hewitt. Emma blurted out the first thing that came into her head. “The ash. It’s all over the place already. My garden is covered in it. It was thicker than that at Millcott B – it could be a real problem for us heading up to the north-east. I think this is going to cause far more disruption than the government realizes – or is prepared to admit. Hewitt gazed back at her, thinking carefully about what she was saying. “You know,” he said, “I’ve got a feeling you could be right.” When Emma left Hewitt’s house her mind was whirring. She started her car and straightaway had to put the windscreen washer on to clear a newlyformed film of dust. She then grabbed her phone and downloaded a volcano app. As she set off she could feel the grit under her tyres.

7 London, Summer

When Amy got back home she was straight onto the computer. Hewitt was waiting for her to put him in the picture. “There’s still some volcanic activity in Iceland, darling, but it’s been quite low-level today. Maybe things are settling down. I’m sure Zoe and Oliver will be okay, but when I go into work tomorrow I’ll check out Greenland with the seismology department. They’ll have more details than I can get here.” The next day Amy went over to Isaac Newton College and the School of Earth Sciences to speak to Freya Larsson, an expert in Arctic volcanoes. “Amy!” said Freya Larsson, the Head of Department. “I haven’t seen you for ages! No there’s nothing conclusive. But we’re keeping an eye on Katla. It’s the biggest volcano on Iceland and has been showing signs of increased activity for some time now. It could erupt again anytime soon.” “How soon?” said Amy, impatiently. “Anytime in the next twenty years, is our prediction – but one thing we do know,” said

Larsson. “It’s overdue!” Amy smiled. As a geologist, she, too, had an expanded time-scale, which was not a lot of help for someone working in the bottom of an unstable ravine. “Keep me posted if you spot anything unusual,” said Amy. “Will do,” said Larsson. “The ash – that’s what we’re more concerned about at the moment. It’s already causing problems.” “What sort of problems?” “It’s getting into electrical equipment at the power stations causing them to short out. Causing a lot of breakdowns, too, on the roads – clogging up the air filters.” “Yes, I did wonder about that. I was talking to Lawrence about it. Everyone’s saying it will soon clear. I take it you don’t agree.” “Who knows? But it seems like a one-off at the moment. A massive amount of ash was ejected some days ago, but there’s none erupting at the present moment. Air traffic has been diverted but not grounded. We don’t want to create a panic with all flights grounded like in 2010, unless we’re sure there’s good reason.” “No, I understand. Okay Freya, thanks for that.” Amy hurried back home wishing she had something more concrete to go on. She bustled into the hall, hanging up her jacket and unwinding her

scarf at the same time as kicking off her shoes. It was hard to remember that it was summer. Hewitt called out to her from the back of the house, “That you, darling? What did they say? I’ve just had Zoe on the phone again. She said it’s really winding up out there.” Hewitt appeared in the room, his face full of concern. “Really? Things were quiet when I left the university. I’ll call Zoe – what did she say? Are they alright?” Amy grabbed the phone, secretly wishing that she was out there with them, instead of back in London. She’d been lecturing for two years now, and she missed the fieldwork sometimes. “Zo, hi. How you doing?” Amy said. “Amy. Good to hear you.” Zoe’s voice sounded strained. “We’ve had to abandon our work in the ravine for now at least. Last night was quiet and we thought we’d be okay. There were just too many rockfalls today, though, for safety. And strange noises – it’s like the Earth is moaning. We’re heading to Iceland, over to Katla to see what the situation is there. I suspect it’s not good. What have you got for us?” Amy opened up her computer. Incidences of new tremors had been posted in the last half hour. “Well, there is increased activity, it seems. But back at INC they don’t know any more than you do

whether it’s going to rumble on or blow.” “No, of course not. Who did you speak to?” “Freya, Freya Larsson.” “Oh I know Freya. She’s really on the ball. Can you give me her number? Then I can contact her myself.” “Yes, sure. Zo, I’ll get it for you now. What did you mean when you said it doesn’t seem good at Katla? Have you heard something?” Amy scrolled through the social media sites to get a picture of what was happening. “Rumours are flying around that we’re in for a very big eruption. It seems to be building, if you know what I mean. Of course, no-one will say. If any volcanologist could predict when a volcano will blow they would have achieved the ultimate goal of their subject. They’d have their name in lights. We aren’t at that stage yet.” Zoe laughed. “Listen, you two. Take care. I mean it. Freya did say that Katla has been showing signs of unrest since 1999. And, if you remember, when Eyjafjallajokull erupted in 2010, people were worried that it might set off nearby volcanos. This could be part of that increased level of activity.” Amy was always the one looking out for everyone else. “You mustn’t take any chances out there. And keep me posted, won’t you?” “Of course,” said Zoe. “And stop clucking, Ames – we’ll be fine.” Zoe rang off trying to sound

upbeat. Nevertheless, she was touched by Amy’s concern.

8 Iceland

Zoe and Oliver Carter touched down in Reykjavik ostensibly to get reassurance that they could carry on their work. Deep down, they knew they were on their way home. From their hotel room they made some calls to the Katla research station based in Vik. Oliver couldn’t get much out of his fellow scientists, but he could tell by the tone of their voices that something was happening out there that was causing a ripple of excitement. Zoe picked up on it straightaway. She got onto a car hire website and called them to rent a four-wheel-drive for a couple of days. “We’ve got to get out there,” she said to her husband. Oliver looked at her with incredulity. “Don’t you think this is close enough?” “I want to see it. It’s going to go. You know it is. This could be the chance of a lifetime – what’s the matter with you, Oliver?” “I want to meet up with the guys at the Vik monitoring station. They’ll know everything there is to know – however, I don’t want to get drowned in

a glacier burst – most of the past eruptions have resulted in floods, I don’t want to get burned alive by molten lava or blown to smithereens in a sudden eruption. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” “Oh, we’ll be alright – where’s your sense of adventure?” said Zoe, undented. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his broad chest. He looked down on her head fondly. “Stupid woman,” he said, knowing that tomorrow they’d be heading for Katla. *** At the monitoring station in Vik things were in uproar. All the instruments were showing signs of disturbance. The needle on the barograph swung wildly from side to side, marking out the jarring vibrations which were now getting more frequent. Molten lava was now beginning to seep from a widening rupture in the ice sheet which looked a like a gash that was refusing to heal. Volcanologists from around the world were descending on Vik to see for themselves the increase in activity. Everywhere the babble of voices was getting more high-pitched as the excitement mounted. As yet no one wanted to think of the danger, or of the consequences of a major eruption. It was all too compelling. Zoe and Oliver walked outside for a breath of

fresh air. The snow crumped under their feet as they left the monitoring station behind. The ejection of ash had been high enough not to settle in the immediate vicinity. Outside the ejection cloud the air was crystal blue in the late spring sunshine. “We could drive out there this afternoon,” said Zoe looking in the direction of Katla. “There’s some others going. It could be useful.” “Well I suppose if you’re studying abrupt climate change, there’s nothing more abrupt than an exploding volcano,” said Oliver. “I’d just rather study the after-effects than to be standing on top of one.” “We could get some amazing data. Look at Krakatoa – we know so much about that eruption because of the piecing together of eye-witness accounts as well as the scientific measurements that were taken by the enthusiastic amateurs in the area,” said Zoe. “And how many died in that one again?” said Oliver, raising his eyebrows to spin out the full effect of his rhetoric. “About thirty-six thousand is a number that sticks in my mind.” “Oh, come on Oliver. Most of those poor souls were killed in the tsunamis. And it was a highly populated area. We’ll be okay. Just follow the locals and see what they do.” “Oh, that’s alright then,” he grumbled on, secretly just as excited as his wife about the

thought of witnessing first-hand a new eruption. Zoe suddenly froze, putting her hand up in a gesture that told Oliver to be quiet. “What was that?” said Zoe at last. “I think it was some vibration. I definitely felt something, too.” He stood and listened, looking first at the ground, then into the middle-distance as though he was waiting for it to happen again. There was nothing. Zoe got down on her hands and knees and pressed her ear to the snowy surface to see if she could detect anything from deep underground. “No, nothing,” said Zoe. Then they felt the vibration again. “This is weird!” said Zoe. “It’s like it’s coming from everywhere at once, but nowhere. I can’t pin it down.” “It’s like I should be feeling this through my feet, but I’m not,” said Oliver. They decided to walk back to the monitoring station to see if anyone else had detected the vibrations. After fifteen minutes keeping up a steady pace, the single-story modern block came into view. The roof was covered in antennae, dishes and cupboard-like rooms with slatted doors housing an array of equipment. In the car park stood a number of four-wheel drive vehicles – more than even an hour ago, suggesting that interest was building every hour.

Outside the door, groups of people in brightlycoloured winter gear talked eagerly amongst themselves. Zoe and her husband pushed through them and back inside the station. “I’m sorry,” a security man said to them as they pushed open the inner door. Only authorised personnel are allowed inside at the moment.” “But we have permission,” said Zoe, “And we know some of the people here...” “I’m sorry madam, you’ll have to leave. The scientists here are trying to work, and there are just too many people arriving here at the moment.” “But I only wanted to ask about...” “Are you from the press, madam?” he asked patiently. “No! I’m a scientist.” Zoe looked indignant. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to make way. We’re doing a news conference anytime. Superfluous persons must leave the building.” Zoe opened her mouth but before she could speak Oliver grabbed her arm and pulled her back out of the station. “Come on,” said Oliver, getting impatient. “He’s not going to change his mind.” “But I want to know what’s going on. I don’t like the sound of this.” “Which is why we’re not allowed in.” Zoe scowled, but she knew he was right. Outside, they fell in with a group of British

students who had just had the same treatment. They all turned around at once when they saw a dark grey van pull up sharply. It had a satellite dish on its roof and the logo of a local TV station. Two men jumped out carrying a camera and some sound equipment. They got into the building with no trouble. “So, something’s happening,” said Zoe. “We’re planning to get a bit closer this afternoon,” said one of the students, Jim Fuller, who was on a geography field trip with a dozen others. “And check it out for ourselves.” “We were hoping to do the same,” said Zoe. “Why don’t we go in convoy?” They all nodded their agreement. “Have you noticed that vibration?” said Oliver. “It’s odd, like I can feel it in my ears but not quite hear anything.” “Oh yes. I think that means the eruption has started – I was talking to one of the team in the station this morning – we kept feeling it then. It’s an air-quake, if you like. Ground quakes usually last only seconds or minutes at the most. These air pressure waves are the result of powerful explosions taking place in the caldera. That’s why everyone’s getting so worked up.” “But we can’t see any sign of activity at the moment,” said Zoe. “Don’t let that fool you,” said Fuller. “Ariel

photos have shown signs of cracks appearing, and lava is oozing from them. Sensors have detected rising and falling ground levels. It’s obvious what’s happening. I hope we get some good shots while we’re here. Will be a great trip if we do!” The rest of the group all grinned. They couldn’t believe their luck, being where it was all happening. Oliver couldn’t believe his. Half an hour later they all got into their vehicles and headed towards Katla. They bounced along the greyish, brown land, now exposed to the air since the winter snows had retreated. The mountain range rose in the background, snow-capped and beautiful against the blue sky. The scene was an image of perfect calm. It looked immutable against the harsh, Arctic landscape, which was a total falsehood. Just underneath the solid rock, the molten lava made ready to do its work and remake the fragile land above it. Zoe looked at Oliver, “We don’t seem to be getting any closer.” “It’s just the perspective. I can assure you we are,” said Oliver tersely. Zoe glanced around as the track became bumpier. A hundred metres or so away she could see piles of dark grey stones heaped up on top of one another like cairns. Boulders lay scattered on the ground as though they had been spilt there and no-one had bothered to sweep them up. They posed a real hazard to the vehicles, and they all slowed

down to avoid a collision. When the vehicle in front stopped suddenly, Oliver had to stand on the brakes. “Bloody idiots!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver and Zoe watched as the door flew open and Jim Fuller spilled out, racing towards them. “It’s a glacial burst! Turn back! We can see water straight ahead. It’s spreading this way. We’ll be flooded out!” screamed Fuller, his arms flailing wildly. Oliver didn’t waste any more time talking. He threw the car into reverse, spun it around and put his foot down hard on the accelerator. The driver in front did the same while skidding off to a racing start, picking up Fuller as he did so. Oliver steered an erratic course around the boulders, bouncing and cornering as fast as he could. On his left, cracks were opening up, a jagged line running parallel to his course. He swung to the right to avoid them. At the moment they were only a few centimetres across, but he knew the land could break apart at any moment and disable their vehicle. They needed to get out of there. He saw the other off-roaders looming in the mirror as close as they dared, urging him to go faster but fearing to overtake in case they hit a rock. Zoe twisted around in her seat and craned to see what was happening behind them.

“Oliver! It’s going!” “What!” “On top of the mountain I can see an orange glow just forming.” Zoe’s heart began to race. Despite the cold she felt some beads of sweat roll down her back. Zoe was transfixed. Against the pure blue now rose a dirty black pall of smoke, lit up by a ferocious mix of orange-red fire and flashes of lightning. On the slopes around the base of the volcano massive fissures began to appear. Ugly, red slits in the rock opened allowing molten lava to well out, at great speed due to the subterranean pressures now forcing themselves through the fragile crust. Thick sheets of ice melted like sugar in the rain. The newly released liquid water ran over the landscape forming instant lakes and rivers. Oliver drove on, gripping the wheel tightly, never taking his eyes off the ground. To stop now would be suicidal. If their vehicle was flooded by the rising water they could be trapped and even overrun by a pyroclastic flow of lava. Zoe was now kneeling up in the passenger seat taking video footage of the eruption. Stuck behind a camera lens, she seemed oblivious of the danger. There was no such luxury for Oliver. The fire grew in intensity. There were detonations that could be heard distinctly above the

noise of the revving engine. From the top of the volcano a grey and white cloud rose, billowing against the bright Arctic sunlight. “I can see some ash,” said Zoe. “Can you see any water?” shouted Oliver at the top of his voice to Zoe. “In the distance.” She grabbed her binoculars and peered at the retreating landscape behind her. “It’s like a shallow lake. There are ripple patterns all over the surface, like sand on a beach. It’s okay. It doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.” Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, but still appeared concerned. Zoe got back to the camera and carried on filming the drama taking place behind them. The landscape changed to a smoother, less rocky terrain where Oliver was able to pick up a track – and some speed. After ten more minutes Oliver pulled over. “This should be enough distance between us and Armageddon,” he said. “I need to see this for myself.” He got out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut. The other off-roaders pulled up when they saw that Zoe and Oliver had stopped. Jim Fuller marched up to where they were standing, staring at the mountain top. Oliver didn’t look around. “She’s really going this time!” said Fuller, breathlessly. “No doubt about it!” an ear-splitting boom echoed over the stricken landscape. “Did you

hear that? Shit! That was something else!” His voice trembled with emotion. They were joined by the rest of the students. They stood together, phones held up in front of them, taking pictures and all talking at once. There was another massive explosion which thumped into Zoe’s chest and left her head reeling from the power of the shock waves. Some of the others in the group staggered under the blow. Huge lumps of rock and debris were hurled into the air by the power of the blast. Jim Fuller slowly put his phone down and looked at the actuality of the mountain in disbelief. He went pale as the colour drained from his face. Zoe saw his hands begin to tremble. The peaceful white-capped mountain had been transformed in the space of less than an hour into a spitting, heaving furnace capable of overwhelming them all. He turned to Zoe, “My God! It’s like the end of the world! I can’t believe what I’m seeing – I think we need to get out of here – what do you say, Zoe?” The others nodded vigorously, one or two still holding their ears. They looked towards Zoe and Oliver for some guidance. They didn’t want to miss the biggest geological event of their lives. They also didn’t want to be casualties of it. Zoe stood, transfixed. She opened her mouth then closed it again, silently. “Zoe!” said Fuller.

Oliver looked at his wife as she still hadn’t answered. “Are you alright, darling?” he said. Oliver, for all his bluff exterior, was a warm and even-tempered man. He might be brusque sometimes, but he was rarely angry and never spiteful. “Yes, I guess,” she said, not sounding too sure. “I feel a bit disoriented, that’s all. That was quite a blow just now.” She took Oliver’s arm and started to walk back to the vehicle dazed. “Oliver!” screamed Fuller, frantic with anxiety. “What do we do now? For God’s sake somebody answer me!” “You’re right. We need to get the hell out of here,” said Oliver. There was another blinding flash, more lightning, and a blast of rock belched out of the mountain top. Zoe pulled herself back by sheer force of will. She knew in a flash what was heading towards them. Adrenaline kicked in. She took her arm out of her husband’s. “Get inside quick, everyone!” Zoe shouted, as she began to run to the car, deftly hopping into the front seat and slamming the door in one move. Oliver jumped in beside her and started up the engine. The students did the same, pushing and jostling to get shelter. The pressure wave slammed into the back of the utilities with a jolt that made them think they’d

been shunted by another car. “Jeez – Oliver! We’d better get going. This isn’t fun anymore.” Zoe felt a wave of panic turn her stomach over. Her eyes were wide with fright. “It’s okay, darling. We’re on our way.” He picked up speed and checked that the students were all following. “There’s plenty of space between us and any danger now,” he said reassuringly, while at the same time glancing up at his rear-view mirror. Pieces of debris rained down on the roof, giving the lie to what he had just said. “Oh my God!” said Zoe, flinching at every ringing blow. All around smoking stones were pelting the ground. Then a deep growl filled the air. A sound so low and loud it was unlike anything they had ever heard before. Zoe, the scientist, felt her stomach tighten as an atavistic fear gripped her inner being. For so long she had studied the layers and folds of rock and had patiently learnt their story. But it was one thing to see a diagonal stratum in a rock formation; it was a different thing to see it rise and fold before one’s very eyes. It was as though the achingly slow geological time had just gone crazy. It was as though the earth itself had just come to life and was bellowing in pain. Ash was now billowing from the top of the mountain, a thick cloud of microscopically gritty particles, choked up from the depths of the volcano

and set to play havoc with the modern world within its domain. When they pulled up at the station car park, everyone was milling around trying to find out as much information as they could. Jim Fuller strode up to Oliver’s off-roader and pointed to the clusters of people with cameras setting up on every vantage point. “I see the ENG people are here in force.” Oliver looked questioningly at Fuller, “The who?” he said. “The electronic news gatherers – this is obviously a big story.” “Well after 2010, it’s bound to be,” said Zoe. “Just look at that ash cloud – we could be in for a season of repercussions if the weather conditions are like last time.” “Hey, you guys!” They all turned to see a man approaching them, his face bright with excitement. “I just need a few words from you, if you’ll come over here a moment.” He flapped his hand towards his colleagues who were standing next to a camera. He took a step away from the group, urging them to follow him. Oliver seemed annoyed. “What’s the matter?” said Zoe to her husband. “You know I can’t stand pushy types.” Zoe smiled. Oliver looked at the intruder.

“And you are?” said Oliver, deliberately not moving. “We’re from ABL a News channel. We saw you drive in a moment ago. So you’ve been up close to Katla. What did you see? What was it like? Is this the major eruption that we’ve all been waiting for?” He was trying to edge them towards his news team, desperate for an interview before anyone else got to them. When Oliver didn’t answer, Jim Fuller followed the man back to where the camera was set up on a tripod, indicating to the rest of the students to do the same. “Jim thinks his moment has come,” said Zoe and gave Oliver a push in the back, not wanting to miss out on any new information. “Jim, can you stand about here. Yeah, that’s good. I’m Tony, by the way. If you could just face this way a little more – then I can get the volcano in the shot. Everyone is going to want to talk to you – no-one else got as close as you did, I believe.” “No, that’s right,” said Jim Fuller. “We got as close in as we dared. We didn’t see anyone else.” “Just after your party left, the authorities stopped anyone else going out. Too dangerous. And then when it blew! You should have seen it here! Absolute chaos. Now then, are you ready?” Fuller nodded. “Okay. Just relax, and talk to me, not the camera.” Tony paused and then began the

interview. Fuller explained about the flooding and the force of the detonations, which Tony was very pleased with. Zoe and Oliver looked at one another. “Jim’s a natural,” said Zoe. The cameraman began to pan left and slow zoom, pulling focus to get a great shot of the volcano as another huge blast of molten lava leapt upwards, spilling rocks thousands of metres into the air, before they crashed to earth. It was like a war zone. The aerial bombardment shook the ground as they spoke. Lightning stabbed at the base of the ash cloud, now sitting on top of the mountain. “It’s like a giant mushroom cloud,” said Fuller, out of shot, but still giving commentary. “More like a giant cauliflower,” said Zoe, under her breath. Oliver smiled. “I’m going to try to get back into the station and talk to some of the people in there.” “Oh? Why, darling, what’s your thinking?” “It’s what you said about the weather conditions just now. We need to check out the forecast. If this high pressure is set to last then we could be in for a lot of trouble. The ash will rise into the upper atmosphere and cause all sorts of havoc. What we need is rain, and lots of it, to dash it down to earth.” “And if there is no rain on the way?” “Then we need to get back to the UK as soon as possible, maybe in the next few days – or we might

not be able to get back for weeks.” At once, Zoe understood where her husband was coming from. He was about to head for the monitoring station. If anyone was going to have a good, detailed and accurate forecast, it would be them. “Oliver –wait.” Zoe put her hand on his arm. “I need to hurry up. What is it?” “Yes, exactly, and this is going to take time. They’re going to be too busy to talk to us. I think we should get out of Vik right now and head back to get our stuff from the hotel.” Zoe’s mind was racing. “What? And leave immediately, you mean? I know it was my idea to make plans to go, but we might not be able to get a flight straightaway.” “Yes. I mean today – this afternoon. Not in a few days. We should check out and head straight for the airport. Get the first available flight to the UK. Once the ash cloud reaches Reykjavik, all flights will be grounded. If there’s nothing going to the UK, we could try France, Belgium or the Netherlands...” “Hold on! I think you’re panicking a little here Zo. I’m sure we would be alright going home tomorrow after a good night’s sleep. The ash might not even reach the airport or the relevant flight paths.” Oliver was mentally comparing spending hours

on an airport seat, eating a plastic-wrapped sandwich, versus a good dinner and a comfortable bed. “I’m not panicking. But there’s a good chance that everyone else might be. By tomorrow the airport will be chock-a-block with escapees, and if all flights are cancelled for the foreseeable – well how long can we afford to live here in a hotel? It’s very expensive.” Oliver thought about it. Suddenly the thought of being back home seemed very appealing. “Okay Zo, let’s not waste any more time here. I bet all the flights are full already.” “Look who’s panicking now,” said Zoe running after Oliver as he strode to their off-roader. “Yes, but in a good way,” he retorted. “You going?” shouted Jim Fuller, as he saw the two of them pile into their vehicle. “You bet we are,” said Oliver, starting the engine. “I would advise your party to do the same.” “No way,” said Fuller, laughing. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” “Best of luck,” said Zoe as they jolted forward. They sped off, jolting down the road. The radio played some music that Zoe didn’t recognise, but the sound of it brought some normality back, so she left the station on. It was comforting despite the static. The volcano lay to their right and could still be seen churning out spectacular amounts of ash

and lava from its summit. “I need to contact Amy,” said Zoe, fishing in her bag for her phone. She set the phone to camera mode and captured a shot of Katla just as a huge explosion blew more fire and debris high into the air. She looked at the picture with a mixture of pride and amazement. “Lawrence will be green with envy when he sees this.” Oliver leaned over towards his wife to take a look at the photograph, which she was holding up for him. “Brilliant shot, Zo.” She sent the photo to Amy together with a text telling her that they’d be home as soon as possible. Amy replied with a jokey text, which Zoe was reading out loud when it happened. One moment they were sharing their comfortable world of messaging and music and looking forward to a comfortable flight home. The next moment the world descended into turmoil. Zoe thought she wasn’t seeing straight when the fiery mountain suddenly flared up brightly in an orange arc which stretched from one horizon to the other. It was as though the whole sky had become an inferno. “Oliver...” she said, her voice so tight with apprehension she could hardly say the word. Huge volumes of lava spilled over the rim of the volcano. Debris again belched into the air, and as it fell the sides of the volcano began to dissolve into a

softly crumbled mass of rock, which was once solid, but had now lost all form and shape. The pyroclastic flow could be seen hurtling down what was left of Katla’s sloping sides. The blast punched into them a few seconds later. The world twisted around as their vehicle was blown off the road and rolled onto its side. Zoe screamed. Oliver shouted to hold on. They slid into the scree at the side of the road and came to a halt. There was another huge detonation which rocked their stricken off-roader. This time they heard it as well as felt it when it hit. It was like the biggest cannon report imaginable. It was a sound off the human scale, it was so intense. Zoe covered her ears, her head ringing. “Come on, darling, we need to get out,” yelled Oliver. Zoe pulled at her seat belt but couldn’t undo it with her shaking fingers. Oliver clambered out of his seat, then undid Zoe’s belt, before pulling her out of the window. They stood at the side of the road not knowing what to do. They wondered if the station at Vik was OK. Oliver stabbed at his phone to try to get through to the car rental company and get a rescue organised. There was no signal at all. “Well what the fuck do we do now?” he muttered through clenched teeth. He shook the phone pointlessly, as though that would restore the

connection. “We get down! That’s what we do!” said Zoe as a missile landed about twenty metres from where she was standing. Thinking quickly, she pulled open the tailgate of the off-roader, now at a ninety degree angle from the road and crawled inside for protection. Oliver scrambled in after her. The rocks hit the vehicle with a metallic bang. They took three or four direct hits. Smaller pieces of debris fell like hail on the windows and bodywork of the vehicle. A window smashed with a crunch, and they heard rocks fall all about them on the ground outside. “Bloody hell! Jeez, Zo,” said Oliver, pulling his wife closer to him and tucking her head under his. She pressed close to him, hardly breathing, till the bombardment stopped. It went quiet, and bit by bit she uncurled from Oliver’s grip and edged to the door. She opened it and looked out. There were boulders all around them. It was like a Martian landscape. Some of the rocks were still smoking and there was the smell of sulphur all around. There was not a soul in sight. “What shall we do?” said Zoe. “Start walking. We’ve covered some miles already – we can’t be that far from Reykjavik.” “Walk? Are you mad? It’s miles! And we could be caught in the open if another bombardment starts up. At least here we have some protection.”

“Okay, it’s a risk. But we can’t stay here. There’s no help coming. We could be stuck here for days with no food or water.” Oliver was trying to be reasonable. “And as we get closer to Reykjavik we could get a lift and still make the airport.” Reluctantly Zoe agreed, leaving their vehicle behind. They stepped out. By now the day was overcast. Not with cloud, but with ash, spilling from the gaping hole that was once Katla, and filling the sky. Suddenly Zoe stopped, only about half a kilometre from the scene of their accident. She took a deep breath before blurting out, “I’m not doing this, Oliver. We’re going back. Everything is telling me that we’re making a mistake. Visibility is getting worse. We could get lost out here.” “For goodness sake Zo! No-one will be out looking for us. Can’t you see? And no-one will be venturing out here till the bombardments have subsided!” He waved his arms around in exasperation. “Oliver, listen to me! This is about survival. Always stay with the vehicle. That’s what they say – we’d have shelter and more likely to be spotted from the air.” “Nobody,” he shouted, “is going to spot us from the air! What bloody idiot is going to fly in this, for God’s sake?” he pointed up to the lowering sky.

Zoe felt crushed. She could see he had a point. She gazed at the road ahead and wondered whether to trust him and just go. Oliver kicked one of the stones as far as he could. Zoe hated conflict. She agonized as Oliver paced around, waiting, it seemed, for her to come to her senses. She did. “I’m not going,” she said, flatly. “You go on if you want to.” “Don’t be so bloody stupid! As if,” Oliver retorted. “And if we stay here we’ll never get to the airport today.” “We’re a long way from Reykjavik. I think we should wait for help. There’s bound to be some traffic between here and Vik as other people leave the station. This is the only road.” “It’s too dangerous to stay!” “I’m not going, and that’s that. You’re being an idiot. I’m heading back to the car. Go for help if you like. I’m staying here.” “Zoe!” She turned and headed back. Oliver had no choice but to follow. They trundled back to the stricken off-roader, now living up to its name, the row hanging between them. Ash was still pouring out of the volcano’s mouth, the clouds rolling and building till they seemed to fill the whole sky. Zoe and Oliver sat glumly on the

roadside, next to the crashed vehicle, not knowing who was in the right. He looked at his watch over and over. A couple of hours went past and now day had turned into night. Thick claggy ash fell from the sky like dirty snow, covering the ground with amazing rapidity. It was hard to breathe in the harsh air, now full of rasping particles. Rubble and debris fell all around them, clanging on the car. Once more they had to crawl inside it to find shelter. Lightning played around the sky, now full of static charge. Visibility was down to metres, but in the distance they could still see an orange glow through the murk. Oliver kept thinking that if they’d set off, they could have found a lift by now. Zoe was thinking the same thing but was too miserable to admit it. What made it worse was that they started to experience tremors. The ground beneath them was jarring and straining all the time. When it first started it was about every fifteen minutes. Now it was every two. As the silence stretched between them, Zoe decided she would have to speak. “We’d have been well on our way by now,” said Zoe in a small voice. “And out of this ash cloud.” “No, it was a stupid idea,” said Oliver, kindly. “We’d have been out in the open – this rubble is smoking hot. We could’ve been bruised and burnt if we’d not sheltered. You were right after all.” Zoe smiled and caught her husband’s eye. It took a big

man to be magnanimous. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Silly bitch,” he said, lovingly. “Idiot,” she hurled back. They both relaxed, knowing they were friends again. The noise coming from the erupting mountain was constant and deafening. The air and the ground rumbled and groaned. Then Zoe picked up on something different. Something man-made. Oliver jumped up and ventured outside. Zoe followed him. In the distance they saw some diffused headlights coming down the road. “Someone’s coming!” shouted Oliver. “I told you they would!” Zoe punched him on the arm, grinning with delight. A few minutes later they saw two familiar looking Land Rovers approaching. They waved and shouted as Jim Fuller slowed down, then stopped. The vehicles were covered in a thick coat of ash. The body work pock-marked and dented. All the dozen or so students in his party were crammed into the two utilities. “Good God, what’s happened to you two,” Fuller said, looking at the scene. Both Zoe and Oliver were smudged with black on their faces, their hair and clothes were grey. “We could say the same about you,” said Oliver tersely.

“It’s hell back there,” said Fuller, babbling with excitement. “So we took your advice and got out when that big eruption went up. A lot of cars were damaged when the rocks started to fall. Ash everywhere! Luckily these two Land Rovers were okay. The other one kept cutting out as ash had blocked the air filter. So we got out pronto. The ash is spreading and getting thicker all the time. You need to get out of here.” Oliver looked at his stricken off-roader, “With what?” he said sarcastically. “We can’t give you a lift, I’m afraid. We’re too crammed in as it is.” “But you can’t leave us here!” said Zoe, frantically. After her initial elation, she was close to tears, her face going red under the grey mask. One by one the students piled out of the Land Rovers and looked at the vehicle lying on its side. “Ready you lot?” said one. They looked at one another, knowing what to do. “Here we go!” said another. They started to rock the vehicle, at first with great difficulty, but eventually building up some momentum. Zoe thought they’d done this before, only this was probably the first time whilst sober. The vehicle rocked dangerously to and fro but stubbornly refused to tip over. Zoe began to despair, and then when Oliver joined in the effort, she decided that she had no excuse and pushed as

hard as she could. Stones and hot cinders started to fall around them again, scorching their clothes and thumping on the ground. At last the vehicle tipped and bounced alarmingly back onto its four wheels. There was a huge cheer. “Woh! Great work, everyone!” said Fuller proudly. Zoe and Oliver grinned with pleasure. Hope had returned at last. “Now let’s see if she starts,” said Fuller. Oliver got into the driver’s seat and turned over the ignition. The motor started. There was more cheering. Zoe climbed into the passenger seat. One of the windows was shattered and bits of glass were all over her seat. She brushed them off as best she could with a gloved hand. She didn’t care as long as they could get out of there. They set off, in convoy, the road to Reykjavik now so covered in thick ash it could hardly be distinguished from the surrounding landscape. The light had now almost gone. A thick, impenetrable darkness carpeted the land. Only the menacing orange glow could be seen in the distance. Zoe tied a scarf around her face and told Oliver to do the same as the ash-filled air rasped on their lungs. Eventually it became lighter and they were able to pick up speed. They were out of the worst. Others were not so lucky. Thousands died, overcome by poisonous fumes as they tried to

escape. Many choked on the pumice-filled air, their vehicles littering the roads. Terrified livestock stampeded to get away from the fire and the noise only to be felled by noxious gasses as they charged around, disoriented. It was as though hell had risen up from the depths of the earth with unimaginable volumes of red-hot lava rolling out of the volcanoes mouth, wiping out all traces of man’s presence in a few callous moments. *** They got back to the hotel late that night. The ash-filled streets down by the harbour were choked with people dragging cases, stuffed with anything they could carry. Noisily, they scraped along rubble-strewn pavements, shouting to anxious partners and bewildered children to hurry. The street lights glowed eerily in the half light. Most worryingly, some of the boats that had had lined the waterfront all during their visit, were now gone. Oliver grabbed their luggage while Zoe checked them out and ordered a taxi straight to the bus station. But as soon as they got there they knew it was all over. The crowds were spilling out onto the concourse, angrily pushing and shoving other passengers. Each bus that left was dangerously overcrowded. Then a fight broke out. Zoe and Oliver backed away. This was getting ugly. “Look!” said Zoe, “Here’s another bus just pulling in.”

They ran towards it but then stopped in their tracks. It was full of people. “Are you going to the airport?” said Zoe. “We’ve had to turn back,” said the driver. “We couldn’t get near the airport – then we heard that all flights were grounded. It’s hopeless.” His passengers stared ahead forlornly. No-one knew what to do next. “I’m calling Amy and Lawrence,” said Zoe heading for a public phone. “Tell them we’ll be late – about six weeks late,” said Oliver glumly. “I’m telling them to prepare for major climate disruption,” said Zoe, calmly. “This is the event we’ve all been dreading, and thought would never happen. This is going to tear our lives apart.” Oliver looked at his wife. “God, I hope you’re wrong.” “So do I. But it’s events like this that cause abrupt climate change. We should know that better than most. This is our field after all.” “I know darling, but it’s a different matter living it.” “This is major. It really is. I fear the worst,” said Zoe. Oliver looked thoughtful, but just said, “Hurry up with that phone call. Then we can head down to the harbour. I’ll see if we can get a passage home.”

9 London

The phone call from Derek Stringer had come out of the blue. “I already explained, Derek, I don’t make documentaries.” “Listen, I got a good deal from Enlecco. I don’t mind paying.” Emma knew what making a campaigning video would do to her reputation in the industry but times were hard and she didn’t want to turn down a good offer of work. “Who would want to see it anyway?” “Anyone who pays an electricity bill, I should think.” “Look, Derek, it’s not so easy...” “Emma, as I see it, every household in the country pays a stream of money to what has become a private monopoly. They do very little and invest even less, despite what they tell you. And as for being green – what a con! All that means is that they get the consumer to cut down on demand while they keep the prices up. They get more profit for less outlay. It’s all very neat.”

“And what would Steve Mills have to say about all this? I don’t suppose he knows you’re talking to me.” Derek snorted down the phone. “I’m sorry about that, Emma. I didn’t know he was hanging around when I tried to have a private word with you. He threatened me after you’d gone.” “What!” “Oh yes. He told me to be careful who I talk to in future or I could kiss goodbye to my redundancy.” “And, of course, I could kiss goodbye to any future contracts.” “I’ve a lump sum now safely in the bank. He can’t take it off me. I’d make sure you were well compensated for your risks.” Emma thought hard. She could certainly use the money and she had a lot of sympathy for what Derek was trying to do. “I want to tell the truth about the energy industry. I’ve got the expertise and inside knowledge to let the public know what is really going on,” he said. Emma hesitated. Her main source of income was making training videos, adverts and trailers. She was no Al Gore. She should have said no there and then, but somehow she found herself agreeing to a meeting. She put the phone down, her mind in

turmoil. She walked over to the French windows and looked out onto the drab garden. A few spindly daffodils nodded in the breeze. The lawn was untidy but not quite long enough for a cut. Individual blades of grass poked through the ash which had settled everywhere. Her garden now looked as grey and dusty as a building site. She asked Bill what he would do in the circumstances, but lately she noticed that he never seemed too sure anymore. After two years he seemed to be fading out of her life. She felt sad and more desperately alone than she’d ever done. Guilty, perhaps, that she was forgetting him and moving on. She checked her watch. It was nearly two. A sudden thought struck her. The power hadn’t been off all week. She hoped that when summer came the energy outages would finish. She carefully finished a print run and then saved her work before closing down all her electrical equipment. At two, though, the power went off. Wearily, Emma pulled herself up the stairs and grabbed her coat from the rack. As there was no possibility of doing any more work that afternoon, she decided to go to the Gallery Café, get something to eat and hope there was someone there she knew. Carol Ashton was sitting at a table next to the

wall. As always, Carol’s swept-back fair hair was immaculate. Her clothes were classic and very good quality. She wasn’t as slim as she used to be but kept herself in good shape by going to the gym and a Pilates class. She didn’t look up. There was a half-eaten cake on the tray and an empty mug. Emma queued up to get served, hoping that Carol wasn’t about to go before she could join her. Emma hated sitting by herself. Carol didn’t notice Emma as she was engrossed in her iPad, her finger scrolling across the screen with easy, well-practised movements. Emma walked over to the table balancing her tray. “Hi Carol,” she said, “I see you’ve nearly finished.” Carol pushed her stuff to one side and smiled. “Emma! How nice to see you. I’m just looking at the new fabrics for spring, and paint colours. So many lovely things coming onto the market right now. Only wish there were more clients. No-one wants to re-decorate till the weather improves.” Emma sat down. Carol had written the interiors column for the magazine Home and Fashion before it closed down. Since then she had set up on her own as an interior decorator, with a small shop on the High Street. She put down her tablet and started to finish the rest of her cake. “I think I’ll get a refill now that you’re here.”

It never occurred to Emma that Carol was just as pleased to see her as she was to see her friend. Emma always felt grateful for company nowadays; she didn’t think that other people might feel the same. She told Carol about the call she’d had from Derek Stringer. The other woman listened patiently while she poured out her problem. Carol looked unmoved. “I wouldn’t touch it. It’s a personal project for him. If he wants to begin a campaign, let him. Why should you get involved?” “He doesn’t know how to get his views across, but he thinks he has something worthwhile to say. He thinks I can help him with that, knowing the media.” “He could approach people in the green movement. They could advise and support him.” “I feel that not helping is cowardly. Refusing to speak out against something we know to be wrong lets them get away with it.” Carol picked up her cup and took a drink. “Then what’s your problem? If you think it would make a good programme and you believe that what he says is true, why are you having doubts about doing it?” Emma hesitated. Carol, as always got straight to the point. “You think it will taint your brand, right?”

Emma nodded. “You are good at what you do. You are reliable and you know what your clients require. Go off at a tangent and big companies won’t use you anymore. Well Enlecco won’t anyway. They are pretty ruthless. You’re right to be wary. If you want a change of direction you need to do it wholesale. Don’t think you can make some sort of an ethical gesture and then carry on as normal, it won’t work – you’ll be out in the cold.” Emma looked dejected. “I just can’t help thinking that this isn’t some ethical gesture. I think things are reaching crisis point with energy and no-one is facing up to the issues. I’m worried about these power outages. A man like Derek Stringer has the insider knowledge that could be a wake-up call for all of us. Jack Ellis has been going on about this for years but no-one wanted to know – we all just want to get on with our lives.” Carol smiled slightly, “Ah, Jack Ellis...” Despite herself, Emma flushed. “... I think now we are getting to the nub of the issue.” “What do you mean?” said Emma fidgeting in her seat. She sounded indignant. “I don’t blame you for liking him, you could do a lot worse,” said Carol. “This has nothing to do with Jack. And anyway

he’s gone to Amsterdam, so there’s not much chance of anything happening between us now, is there?” “He took the job because he didn’t think you were interested. He said you talked about Bill all the time. You obviously weren’t ready for another relationship. And anyway, he’s not in Amsterdam at the moment, he’s in the States.” “How come?” said Emma, sitting up sharply. She didn’t like the sound of this and wondered what was coming next. “His firm have an office in New York. He’s gone to cover for someone for two months. He should be back at the end of July.” Emma was stunned. She thought he’d be back anytime soon. Here for weekends and dropping by to see them all. Now he was far away, meeting new people and forgetting all about her. And she had to admit, she had gone on about Bill all the time when they were together, mainly because Jack was so easy to talk to. She thought they were getting closer, when all the time she had been pushing him away. “So if you were thinking of taking on this project to appear more interesting to Jack, then I wouldn’t advise it,” said Carol. Emma winced. There was too much truth in what Carol said. “Let him accept you for what you are, and keep your business head clear.”

“Well, from what you say, he won’t be accepting me at all. There was never anything actually between us, just a lot of supposition on my part. And not much on his, or he wouldn’t have been so easily put off. Quite clearly it was a non-starter.” “So what are you going to tell this Derek guy?” said Carol. “I’m going to meet up with him in a couple of days.” “Is that necessary?” said Carol. “Why don’t you email?” “No, he said best not to email. I said I would see him so I ought to stick to it. I’ll tell him to find someone else. That I’ve got too much on at the moment.” “Very wise,” said Carol. *** When Emma got back to her house the phone was ringing as she opened the front door. She hurried in and picked up, hoping that she was in time. “Is that – um – Emma? Lawrence Hewitt,” he said with his usual brevity. “I just wondered if you’d booked the flights to Newcastle yet for that job in the north-east.” “No.” Emma sighed loudly. “Not yet I haven’t. As soon as the power comes back on,” she said, wearily. She thought he was nagging. “Well I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ve just heard

from my friends – you know – the Carters – they say that Katla has erupted again. Massive amounts of ash this time. Flights will be grounded if it heads our way. Might be easier to take the car.” “Katla?” “The volcano. In Iceland.” Hewitt sounded testy. “Okay, Lawrence, I’ll check out the website. It’s a hell of a way to drive – it’ll add two days to our schedule. And it might not be that bad. I’d much rather fly if we could.” “So would I, but they know what they’re talking about. They say it’s a truly massive eruption. And it’s still going on with no sign of let up. Reykjavik airport is already closed. This is going to cause major disruption, and according to Zoe, she thinks it’s going to affect our climate, big-time. Everyone up there is getting very worried.” “Really? That’s just what we need. It’s freezing now.” “Exactly,” said Hewitt.

10 London

The

departure board at Newcastle airport hit Emma like a slap in the face. The word cancelled appeared next to every flight with a finality which she knew no amount of complaining would alter. She and Lawrence Hewitt had flown into Newcastle four days before at Emma’s insistence. They had completed their filming and were hoping to be home by early evening. “What do we do now?” said Emma. “I’ll ask at the desk,” said Hewitt. He returned a few minutes later, “It’s hopeless,” he said. “All outbound flights are cancelled. When the incoming ones have landed – the ones already en route – the airport will be closing. Come on! Let’s grab a taxi and head for the station. We will still make it back tonight if we hurry.” Emma grabbed her cabin bag and trundled after Hewitt who was already striding towards the exit. She overheard some people saying that all flights in the north were cancelled and that in a few days the south would follow. “This way!” said Emma who had just seen the

sign for the Metro. They tried to hurry down the packed walkways, the crowds pushing past. Emma had a job to keep hold of her case. When they stopped in the crush they couldn’t see the ticket machines. “Why have we stopped?” said Emma. “This is the queue,” said a man in front. At last they edged their way forward and got to the tickets forty minutes later. Everyone was shouting and shoving. Somehow they got onto a train, Hewitt physically pushing Emma inside. They started, leaving hundreds of angry people on the platform. Many were getting pushed dangerously close to the edge of the platform, their faces just the other side of the glass. “Somebody’s going to get killed,” said Hewitt. Emma couldn’t move. Twenty-five minutes later they pulled into Central Station. Emma stepped out of the Metro carriage quickly, afraid of the crush behind her. Hewitt grabbed her arm and propelled them both towards the main concourse, hoping that they were in time to get a train back to London. Their hopes were short-lived. The concourse was a solid block of frustrated air passengers, all trying to find an alternative route home. “Any ideas, Lawrence?” said Emma above the cacophony of raised voices and indecipherable

tannoy announcements. “Stick together or we’ll never find each other again in this,” said Hewitt. “We have to try to get tickets – look – over there – there’s the booking office.” “Quick!” said Emma. “The queue’s growing all the time.” She set off, Hewitt tripping after her. They’d stood in line for one and a half hours when, without warning, the shutters went down and position closed notices appeared. Enraged commuters thumped at the windows and yelled abuse at the retreating staff. A voice crackled over the tannoy system telling them that all seats had been sold out for every train departing that night. Extra services would be operating in the morning, they were promised. “I need something to eat,” said Emma. “We could try over there,” said Hewitt. “I can see some shops – come on!” It was exhausting pushing through the wall of bodies to try to get to the food outlets. “I don’t believe this!” said Emma when they finally made it. The shelves had been picked clean in the news shop. They found the same at the doughnut stall and the counter that sold baguettes and pastries. At the coffee bar they picked up an overripe banana and a cup of herbal tea which they shared. Literally, everything else had gone. Hewitt then noticed the bin at the end of the

counter. He picked out two empty plastic bottles. “What are you doing?” said Emma, incredulous. “Would you mind filling these up with tap water?” he said to the young man behind the counter who stared suspiciously at Hewitt but filled them anyway. “Thanks,” Hewitt said. “Okay.” The man shrugged. “We’ll need this,” said Hewitt. “We can manage without food if we have to but we have to have water.” “We could try to find a hotel,” said Emma. “I wouldn’t bother, lass,” said a voice behind her. She turned. The man was in his early forties, smart but with a travel-weary look about him. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “There’s not a room to be had for twenty miles around. I’ve been trying to get a taxi for two hours.” Emma thanked the man and turned to Hewitt. “Let’s try to find somewhere to sit at least.” They found a corner and squeezed into it, sitting on their cases. “God this is uncomfortable,” she added. They could see a TV screen showing the airport closures. Then they saw pictures of what looked like milling football crowd. It was the area outside Edinburgh Station. It was the same for Glasgow, Manchester, Liverpool and as far down as Sheffield. Scotland and the north of England had

ground to a halt. There were incredible scenes of travellers setting off to walk ten or fifteen miles home rather than wait for transport to resume. On some roads they were six or eight abreast, tired, determined but otherwise silent apart from the buzz of trolley wheels on tarmac. “We could walk,” said Emma to Hewitt. “We could be home in about three weeks.” “Don’t joke,” said Hewitt. “It might come to that.” After the most uncomfortable night Emma could ever remember, dawn broke, pale and wan and reflecting the state of the exhausted crush of people now stirring and grumbling all around her. She drank some of her water and longed for the breakfast she knew she wasn’t going to get. Hewitt stood up and stretched. “Don’t you ever get angry,” said Emma, annoyed that Hewitt seemed to be coping better than she was. “I’m used to travelling,” he replied. “I wouldn’t mind travelling,” said Emma. “I’m just pissed off having to sit here,” Seconds later they sensed that something was happening. A few people stood up, edging forward, then everyone felt the platform begin to vibrate as a train pulled into the station. Suddenly there was pandemonium. Emma was nearly knocked over by the surge to get to the train. She and Hewitt

grabbed their things and followed the crowd. They were nowhere near getting on board before the doors clanged shut and the shudder of diesel revs heralded its departure. The next few trains were heading north. Then there was a long gap before a London train arrived. It filled up in what seemed like seconds and again they were unlucky. The system was totally overwhelmed. To cap it all, some of the electrified lines were experiencing breakdowns because of the ash getting into equipment. On the TV screen a reporter was mobbed by angry, desperate faces shouting at the camera, pleading with the authorities to do something. In the space of twenty-four hours normal life had turned into hell on earth. There were shots of the motorways which were down to walking pace as people had turned to their cars to travel. The whole system was grinding to a halt as all forms of surface transport were now oversubscribed. Abandoned cars blocked roads when they had run out of fuel. In places where the ash was thickest, cars broke down where the air filters had choked. Service stations too had run out of fuel and food as traffic levels increased and snarled up the country’s main routes. Back at the studio they were warning people to stay at home. “A bit late for that,” said Hewitt. “Bloody

incompetents!” His calm exterior had now worn away. He looked as though he wanted to punch somebody. Emma nodded but didn’t reply. She ached all over. Her feet bled into her smart shoes as she hobbled across the platform to wait for the next train. It was like walking on needles. Her crumpled clothes smelt stale. She noticed how Hewitt looked strained. They finished the last of the water. *** It was three in the morning when Emma got back home. They had waited eighteen hours for a train back to London. Emma was tired beyond measure and stifled a sob of relief and gratitude on seeing the familiar rooms around her once more. She carefully took off her agonising shoes and threw them across the hall. The fridge was a sorry sight. Some dried-up ham and an opened bag of salad, now turning brown, was practically all that was there. She’d meant to shop before she left, but had never got around to it. She ate the ham anyway, straight from the packet then toasted some bread making it more palatable by scraping the last of a jar of jam over it. It was disgusting, probably as a result of the power being off too many times recently. Too tired to care whether or not she had given herself food poisoning, she fell into bed and slept till nine o’clock the next day.

The first thing Emma did when she woke up was to grab a note book and pencil and start to make a shopping list. She made a cup of tea and got onto the phone to Lawrence Hewitt. “Lawrence! Listen, I’m sorry about the trip...You were right about the ash cloud, I...” “You woke me up to tell me that?” “Oh. Did I? I’m really sorry.” Emma ploughed on anyway. “Well I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. It dawned on me last night just how vulnerable we are. These friends of yours – the scientists – what do they say will happen now? How long is this going to go on?” Hewitt sighed, “Okay – I know I’m not going to get to sleep again now. The last I heard they were on a ferry to Norway. They’ve no idea when or how they can get back. Amy’s been in touch with them more than me. Amy reckons this could go on all summer. It’s certainly the biggest eruption they’ve had in centuries. And I don’t know what it all means – none of us do, because we’ve never had one of these catastrophic, climate-changing events while we’ve had a modern complex society. Does that help?” said Hewitt with heavy sarcasm. “Well yes it does, actually, Lawrence. You said it was a catastrophic what?” Emma clasped her hot tea-cup tighter. Her brain was still half asleep. “Climate-changing event. Amy told me that in the past many such events have their roots in

extreme volcanic activity. It can bring about a chain reaction where climate can suddenly change, even in the space of a decade or so. I’m not suggesting we have that scenario here yet, but we’ve a situation where it could be difficult to keep our modern society functioning.” “But surely the government has a plan to cope with this sort of thing, doesn’t it?” Hewitt laughed. “Judging by yesterday, I wouldn’t hold out much hope.” Emma rang off. *** That evening Emma was expecting her friends around for a meal. Carol Ashton of course, James and Kate who had some free evenings now that their latest play had just finished its run, and Andy Balham, her neighbour, who had arrived early and helped himself to a glass of wine before sitting down to watch her TV. “Everybody’s panicking as usual,” said Andy cynically as they watched the evening news. “I’m sure they’re only being careful,” said Emma. “I wouldn’t want to fly if it wasn’t safe.” “If they close Heathrow and Gatwick tomorrow it will be absolute bloody chaos. Ruined holidays, business trips cancelled. I’m due to go to Tenerife in three weeks. If that’s cancelled I’ll be livid.” Emma didn’t say anything. Poor Andy. He’d been on about this trip for months now. It would be

his first holiday in years. No wonder he was upset. “They over-react to everything nowadays. It’s the blame culture – no-one wants to make a decision.” Andy moaned on. “It’ll all be over by the time you want to fly,” said Emma encouragingly, not wanting him to darken the mood of the evening. “Here, let’s switch that thing off. You can make yourself useful and help me set the table.” Andy got up and rooted around in the kitchen drawer for some cutlery. He didn’t know whether to use a table cloth or not. “These do?” he said brandishing some table mats. “Fine,” said Emma. She turned when she heard the doorbell. “Oh, I think the others are here. Can you let them in, Andy, and take charge of the drinks? I’ll get the food sorted.” Half-an-hour later they were all sat around Emma’s table tucking into a casserole. “New waistcoat?” she said to James, noticing how well it went with his patterned shirt. “Like it?” he replied. “I don’t know where you find things,” she said. “I thought I knew something about fashion.” “Vintage,” he said. She grinned; it had to be. She had tried to keep the conversation light, but the latest news from Iceland was on everyone’s mind and eventually the talk drifted towards the eruption at Katla and the ash. Andy got back on his

high horse and let rip at the health and safety culture that he now personally blamed for the possible loss of his holiday. James and Kate were more interested in their latest production. Carol seemed more thoughtful. She turned to Emma “I think the disruption could go on for weeks but don’t say anything to Andy.” They all agreed publicly that the closure of airports was only a precaution and that things would be back to normal in no time. None of them looked convinced. *** As Emma got up to clear the table, her phone rang. “I’ve just had an alert come through,” said Lawrence Hewitt, excitedly. “On the volcano app. Turn your TV on. It’s all happening by the looks of things!” She fumbled with the remote control, impatient for it to come on. From the other room she could hear a mix of laughter and snatches of tuneless singing as James was trying to organise a music quiz to round off the evening. Carol breezed in asking for the bottle opener, but stopped dead when she saw what was on the screen in front of her. Emma sat down. “Oh my God,” she said seeing the words Breaking News splashed across the TV. Hurriedly she turned the sound up.

The newsroom went straight over to the outside broadcast in Iceland. A breathless reporter was saying that there had been another huge detonation throwing unimaginable amounts of ash into the upper atmosphere. In the studio, experts were saying that this was bound to have a major impact on all our lives. Shaky amateur footage showed the extent of the mayhem unleashed on an unsuspecting and unprepared public. Andy walked in to the kitchen wondering where Carol had disappeared to. It always amused Emma that Andy the archetypal bloke, and Carol, the executive, got on so well. “Hey babe, thought you’d got lost,” he said, finding her. It was then he noticed that she and Emma were glued to the TV. They had their backs towards him and neither of them moved. “What’s happened?” he asked, cottoning on. The others heard what he said and guessing that something was amiss, they all trooped into the kitchen. All the laughter died at a instantly when they saw what was on the screen in front of them. The volcano was puthering out smoke, ash, fire and lava in a magnificent display of raw power. Iceland had declared a state of emergency as the country was covered in a fug of smoke, dust and debris. Ash was now feet thick in places. A cocktail of toxic gasses rolled menacingly across the country and threatened the population with suffocation. The

government was already evacuating people from high-risk zones downwind of Katla. Everyone else was on standby. The Royal Navy was sending ships to help with the evacuation. Cruise ships had been commandeered to help. It was chaos. Emma picked up her mobile and called Lawrence Hewitt. “Are you watching it too?” she said, still staring at the images in front of her. “I’ll call you back,” said Hewitt. “Amy’s just got her coat on and is heading to INC now.” He rang off. Emma didn’t like the sound of that. The desperation in Hewitt’s voice chilled her. Emma and the others shuffled back into the living room and slumped onto the sofas. “So I guess that’s the end of the music quiz then?” said James, glumly. He’d bought the book specially. “Another time, James,” said Emma, kindly. “We’d have been better without the TV on,” said Kate, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. “It’s spoilt the evening. And I was having such a good time.” James agreed. Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Didn’t any of them get it? “I think this is going to spoil more than the evening,” was all she said. “I think we’re all being a bit over-concerned,”

said Kate. James nodded. “I know it’s not good news for the people nearby, and all that. But I can’t see why we should be so upset. I shouldn’t think it will affect us too much.” “Apart from my bloody holiday,” chipped in Andy. “Of course it will affect us, Kate.” Sometimes Emma got frustrated with her lack of interest in current affairs. “We need to face up to this. I’m desperately worried, I have to say. What do you think, Carol?” Emma grabbed a handful of pretzels while she waited for the reply. “I just don’t know,” said Carol. But it’s bound to cause disruption. Business will suffer. There could be shortages.” Emma continued, “I feel very vulnerable. I was only thinking, you know, the other day when the power went off, how quickly things could unravel without all the back-up of modern life.” “How do you mean?” said James. “I don’t see how this eruption could impact on us; apart from the inconvenience of delayed air-travel – sorry Andy – everything else should carry on functioning as normal, shouldn’t it?” “You should have been in Newcastle,” said Emma. “And we import a lot of food by air. I think things are going to be tough.” “I think you’re being alarmist,” said Kate. “Oh dear! No more mangoes, kumquats or out-

of-season strawberries. How will we manage?” said James theatrically. Emma laughed, politely, not wanting to get too heavy, but the feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away. She topped up everyone’s glass. “I think we ought to make the most of this evening,” she said. Carol flicked a look in her direction, knowing what she meant. Emma continued, “I know!” she said, determined to end the evening on a high note. “Let’s have a music quiz!” James opened his book before anyone could dissent, and asked the first question. In five minutes the events on the news had been forgotten. *** Later that night, after Emma’s friends had left, Hewitt rang back. “Things aren’t looking good,” he said. “It’s not just flights that will be disrupted. Amy says there is so much ash in the atmosphere that it will probably cause noticeable cooling over the northern hemisphere, and just at a time when we’ve had a cold spring anyway. The weather conditions are just what we don’t need – high pressure – with predominant winds allowing the ash to drift our way.” “What does that mean in practical terms?” said Emma. “Forget summer,” he said. “It’s not going to

happen,”

11 Emma pulled up at the services just off the Ml near Northampton. It was only a couple of weeks before the solstice. The trees planted around the car park were just in bud. Everything was weeks behind. The sky was a thin milky-blue as though most of the colour had been washed out of it. Once out of the car, Emma felt the chill breeze go straight through her blouse so she slipped on her jacket and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Derek Stringer was waiting just inside the door. He greeted her warmly and suggested they go and get something to eat before they talked business. Emma was nervous. She didn’t like having to tell him she wasn’t interested in his project. She’d tried to put him off on the phone after the conversation with Carol, but he still insisted that he wanted to meet her in person. In the end she’d agreed. At least today would sort out this issue, once and for all. She had brought some names and numbers along that Derek might find useful. That, at least, made her feel less guilty about turning him down. They took their coffees and sandwiches to a table, talking for a couple of minutes about the

weather and the events in Iceland. Then Emma bit the bullet. “Derek,” she said, taking a deep breath. “You don’t want to make my film,” said Derek. “No,” said Emma. “I don’t. I’m sorry, Derek. It is just not my thing.” “Good,” said Derek, “Because I’ve changed my mind. Neither do I.” “Oh!” said Emma, taken aback. “Then why did you drag me all the way up here?” She was puzzled rather than angry. “I had a call from Mills – you know, Steve Mills, the one we both know and love.” “Oh yes. I remember him – nice chap,” said Emma, totally deadpan. “He rang to tell me the details of my retirement package, and just happened to slip in that I will end up with nothing if I publicly criticise the industry, even after I leave. That includes letters to the paper, posts on social media – anything. I didn’t mind paying something to get a documentary out there and tell the public what I think. But, well, I can’t risk losing everything. It’s too big a sacrifice to make. I’ve got my family to think of. These companies have a lot of resources at their disposal.” “I can’t say I blame you, Derek. Even if you took a stand, you’re unlikely to change anything. And I think you have the wrong idea about me.

What I make is very small-scale. Not exactly Panorama, you know. And it’s not just about making programmes. If you don’t have a distributer, no one gets to see them anyway. My markets are within the industry, so I don’t have to get them broadcast.” Derek nodded. Emma continued. “But I still don’t see why you needed to explain all this to me.” “It’s complicated. I’ll try to be brief.” Derek looked around before he said anything, which Emma thought quite amusing and then he lowered his voice. “I think Mills is a bad apple. There’s something about him. It’s largely down to him that my power station was closed down before its time. He sold the idea to the minister responsible that we were uneconomic, when, in fact, the investment needed here wasn’t unreasonable. And it’s not in the national interest to close these plants down before we’ve something to replace them with. It’s short-sighted. The Americans are going all out for energy security while we seem to be drifting into a situation where we’re dependent on other countries. I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense to me.” “But why do you think Mills is a bad apple? Surely he’s only doing what he thinks is right.” Emma thought for a moment. “Or what he’s been asked to do.” “I know him – he’s only out for himself. The

government money that we could have had at Millcott B will now go to a subsidiary of Enlecco – and guess what they’re into. Fracking. That’s where the big profits are to be made now. Millcott could’ve invested that money to bring it up to date. God knows where the money will go now. But I hear the directors of this fracking company are about to get very rich on government subsidies, and Mills will be well-rewarded for running this power station down. They want a report saying that the plant isn’t viable; Mills is providing it. I’ve heard a top job will be coming his way.” “I see,” said Emma. There was a pause while she took a bite of her food. “I hear that Mills wants you to make a glossy about this new industry.” “What! How do you know that?” said Emma trying to swallow at the same time. “Gillian, his secretary, told me.” Emma stared hard at her coffee. She was beginning to wonder what was coming next. “So, you are warning me off, I guess,” she said, trying to read his body language. “Just the opposite. You’d be mad to turn it down. He’ll pay well, and give you a lot of insight into what’s going on up there. Ask him for free rein. It’ll give you the perfect cover for asking lots of questions. I’d like to know how much Mills has been paid, and whether we can get any proof that

the power station was economic, after all. If we can prove that his role in this whole business was corrupt and that he was acting illegally we might be able to get a stay of execution for Millcott B. The power cuts are getting more frequent. It’s very worrying. And there’s the issue of rising utility bills.” “Oh God, tell me about it!” “Well yes. We all know that prices have increased massively. But I believe that they’ve been increased as a form of rationing – people will obviously use less electricity to keep the bills down. So these companies are getting ever bigger profits for supplying less energy. It lets them off the hook for making the necessary investments. They see it as a win-win situation. The consumer isn’t so fortunate.” “But why me, Derek? It sounds a bit risky if you ask me. I’m not sure I want to be involved.” “I understand. But there’s not much more I can do. Now I’m retired I’m out of the loop. And Mills is all set to do a demolition job on me, apparently, if I poke my nose in. According to Gillian he wants to portray me as an irrelevant dinosaur. An oldfashioned Union man who doesn’t like change.” “And are you?” “I was the Union rep for many years. So what? I did a good job both for my members and the company. I was always fair. But Mills knows it’s

easy to paint Union people as troublemakers in the public mind.” It wasn’t that Derek Stringer had a grudge against the company. He didn’t want to get even. He was a man who really cared about the industry. He loved the hum of the machines in the control room, and watching the lights on the huge screen showing that the energy was where it was needed. He loved the thrill of the count-down when the generators switched to hydro-electricity to coincide with the ending of popular TV programmes, when consumers switched on their kettles and went to the bathroom, all in the space of five minutes, creating a peak in demand. Bitterly he saw in his head a screen where the lines directed money into shareholders’ pockets. Nothing else, it seemed, mattered any more. “I’m no spy, Derek. I’d be out of my depth. And isn’t industrial espionage illegal?” “I’m not asking for that, Emma. But you could get access to all sorts of people, who might have a story to tell. I’d just like to see if you could get anything on Mills, then let the authorities take over. I hate corruption. It’s just standing up for what is right. The industry mustn’t be allowed to get away with it. After all MP’s had to face up to the expenses scandal eventually.” “Do you think the industry is very corrupt, then?”

“Who knows? But I do know Enlecco is too big and too powerful. The Big Six were bad enough, now we virtually have the Big One. It thinks it’s above the law because it’s a multinational which sits above governments and is answerable to nobody. If people like Mills get rich by bending the rules then others will follow until it becomes the norm.” Derek paused a moment, deep in thought. Emma waited for him to continue, “Most people aren’t bad, but they get sucked in. I want to see a future for the coal-fired power stations only until we’ve something else to replace them. It’s in the national interest and better for the consumer. We’re already getting shortfalls in supply. If we hand over our utilities to foreignowned companies, then we have two problems. One is that our energy supply is in the hands of people who’ll put themselves first if there’s a shortage of power; the other is that any profits go out of the country. Where’s the sense in that?” Emma had to agree. “And of course, there’s the little problem of this volcano,” she said. “Oh yes, I saw the news. Terrible business.” He looked disappointed that Emma had changed the subject. “I’m sorry if I’ve been boring you.” He sounded short. “No – listen – the volcano – don’t you see the link?”

He didn’t. “My colleague – you remember Lawrence, the photographer. Well he knows these scientists – they were in Iceland – and they are actually saying that as a result of this eruption we won’t have a summer at all this year. So I reckon that we’re going to be burning fuel at winter rates all year.” “Oh, that can’t be true, surely. The days are longer now. It’s bound to pick up.” “Not with the amount of ash in the system that they are seeing. It’s stopping the available sunlight from getting through to the Earth’s surface. It’s going to be another year-without-a-summer, like in eighteen something or other, when another volcano, Tambora, blew up.” “Tambora! My God! They can’t be serious. There’s no way the grid could cope with that!” “Oh, they’re serious alright. They’re climate scientists and not given to hyperbole.” “Are they talking about a cool wet summer?” “No, Derek. They think it’s going to get cold – like a winter that never goes away. It’s here now if you think about it. It still feels like February. It’s eight degrees out there.” “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. If they’re right – your colleagues – then the whole grid could collapse. It’s a struggle now to keep the lights on.” Derek’s face was set, his eyes clouded with anger. “This changes everything! There’s absolutely no

slack in the system. A serious emergency like this will expose the problems I’ve been talking about in the most brutal way imaginable.” “So let’s get this straight. You think we are heading for an energy crisis if the weather doesn’t warm up.” Emma took a drink of her coffee. “We’ve already got an energy crisis. If it doesn’t warm up it’ll be an energy catastrophe, more like,” said Derek, jabbing at the table with his finger. He sat back and cupped his hands around the back of his head. He stared into the middle distance and then made Emma start slightly when he said without any warning, “Eighteen-sixteen – that was the year-without-a-summer. Tambora blew up in eighteen-fifteen.” “There you go. It’s happened before, so why can’t it happen again?” Emma said reasonably. “Well, I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem possible.” Derek paused. “But if it is, then we must be ready. The scientists ought to warn people about what is going on.” “They’re doing that already I guess, but they can’t get back to the UK yet. That could take some time.” “Great,” he said flatly. Derek finished his sandwich. He then turned to Emma. It was time to make some decisions. “So, will you take on the Enlecco work?” “Yes, of course. If it’s offered,” said Emma.

“And will you try to get something on Mills for me?” “No, Derek, I won’t. If I go, it’ll be to do a job. I haven’t a clue about all the other stuff – I’d be getting right in over my head. And I don’t want to bring a load of trouble my way any more than you do. I suggest you alert the papers and get some nosey journalist to dig out a good scandal. It’s what they’re paid for.” Emma felt pleased that she’d said what she really meant, however unwelcome it was. Derek stringer shrugged. What Emma had just said about the volcano was a game-changer. She went on, “Look, I’m sorry. I think you’re onto something – I’m just not the right person to help you.” “Okay, Emma. I understand. Maybe this crisis is just what we need to highlight the inadequacies of the energy industry to the politicians who have let them get away with it. However, we need to protect ourselves from the fallout. What’s your house like, if you don’t mind me asking?” said Derek. “Mine? It’s a thirties detached in London. Too big for me, really. But I like it too much to move.” “Draughty and difficult to heat?” “You bet. When the central heating goes off, it’s freezing.” “You need to sort that out, now,” said Derek. “Oh yes. If it was that easy, I’d have done it years ago.”

“Well don’t leave it too long.” Emma smiled and drained the last of her coffee. “And what about you, Derek? What are you going to be doing with yourself now you’ve retired?” “Me and June – that’s the wife – we’ve always been keen ballroom dancers. I used to organize regular events at Millcott social club – that’s another thing I’ll miss – but I expect we’ll join another group. It’s great fun you know – you should try it.” Emma wasn’t convinced but it made her look at Derek in a new light. He was tall and quite agile for a man of his age. Dancing obviously kept him in good shape. “Oh, before I forget – I’ve brought some names and numbers of a few green organizations you might find useful.” Derek took them and slipped them into his pocket, thanking her. Derek stood up and Emma sensed it was time to go. “Keep in touch,” was all he said, smiling kindly. Emma rose from her chair and picked up her bag. She gave him her business card. They shook hands. “I’ll let you know if I get the job,” she said.

12 Millcott B

Emma was in Steve Mills’ office chatting to his PA. It still wasn’t quite warm enough for short sleeves, and she was glad she had put on her new burnt orange jumper and patterned scarf. Gillian glanced up from her screen, “That colour suits you,” she said, kindly. “Goes with your dark hair.” Emma smiled. She’d finished filming that day. Gillian had appeared briefly in the video, and Hewitt had taken some stills of her looking efficient, which had delighted her. She put copies of the photographs on her desk, deliberately arranged so everyone could admire them. “Of course, you know Steve’s leaving, don’t you?” said Gillian. “I heard he got an offer he couldn’t refuse,” said Emma. Gillian smiled conspiratorially. “You could say that. He always lands on his feet, that one.” “How do you mean?” said Emma. She found herself digging despite herself. “Been offered a top job, and a very nice

payout.” “And what about you? Are you moving to a new job when Millcott closes down?” “No. I’ve been offered redundancy. It won’t be much but it will tide me over until I can find something else locally. Not that there’s much around here at the moment, especially at my age. I asked if there were any positions at the parent company – I thought Steve would put a word in for me – but he brushed me aside.” “You sound bitter about that.” “Yes I am, I suppose. I thought I’d done a good job here. I thought he might like some of his people around him in his new place, but obviously not. Too good for us now.” “You know too much about him, I expect,” said Emma. Gillian looked surprised. “I’d never thought of it like that.” She laughed nervously. “I bet he got ten times what you did in your payout.” Emma said. Gillian scoffed. “A hundred times, more like. And I got five thousand. I saw a cheque one day. It was made out to him. I didn’t let on I’d seen it. As soon as he saw it he put it away in his briefcase. Actually, now you come to say, he has been a bit distant with me since then. Perhaps he can’t be sure what I know. He’s always on about staff loyalty and discretion but I’ve always been trustworthy.”

“You’ve told me, though,” said Emma. “Yes. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. But loyalty works both ways. Steve’s not loyal. He uses people to look after himself.” Emma nodded and smiled sympathetically. So Derek was right. There could a bit more going on here than was strictly legal and above board. Noone was going to be given five hundred thousand pounds for writing a report. But a report which delivered the political decision the company wanted was easily worth that much. “Listen, don’t say anything, Emma, will you? Especially not to Derek.” Gillian looked panicked. Emma was startled. “Why did you say that?” “Because I know he’s been very upset about this closure, and he wants to do something about it. We all know he’d like to see Millcott B stay open. He’s a decent man, but naïve about the politics of this situation. An engineer. He can’t bear to see his beloved machines taken apart and scrapped. If he sticks his nose in, they’ll tear him apart. Publicly destroy him. Believe me, I am not joking.” “You mean they’ll dig up his union background?” “No. That’s nothing. They’ll probably accuse him of something outrageous – mud sticks – even to innocent people.” Emma felt herself getting hot with a real sense of fear and anger rising around her. She felt tainted for

being part of the process of making it all look good. She needed to get out of the office which had become oppressive. Just on cue Hewitt tapped on the door and poked his head around to see if Emma was ready to leave. Emma got up gratefully. “Thanks for your help, Gillian.” “No problem.” “Best of luck with whatever you decide to do.” “Yes, thanks. Take care now, and mind what I said.” “I will, don’t worry.” Emma hurried away, Hewitt trying to keep up with her. “What was all that about?” he said. “Nothing,” she said.

13 London

Emma woke up and pushed the cover back lazily. It felt like morning, but when she opened her eyes it was still dark. She turned over and drifted back to sleep for another hour, only surfacing again when she heard a loud thumping on her front door. She got up and grabbed her dressing gown. “What the?” she thought, still half asleep. The room was shrouded in darkness. Her heart pounded. Someone knocking so early could only mean trouble. She had ordered a new stove for her kitchen but expected the delivery at ten o’clock. It couldn’t be them here already. She put on the light and saw the clock on her bedside table. It read twenty-past nine although it felt like the middle of the night. She hurried down the stairs as the thumping on the door became more insistent. “Okay!” she shouted. “I’m coming!” She opened the door to find two shivering delivery men in tee-shirts, standing by a large box and peering at an invoice. “Stove for Mrs Stamford – Purbeck Road?” said

the man shaking with cold. An icy blast shot through the hall as she stood there trying to take in the scene. The sky was a thick dark grey. She could hardly make out the shapes of the houses across the road in the murk. The delivery van had its headlights on and in the yellow beam Emma could see big flakes of snow falling to the pavement. “That’s me,” she said. “Through here.” She stood aside so that the men could bring in her stove, then she signed the invoice. They then ran down the drive to get to the relative warmth of their vehicle. It was so dark outside that there was no point in her opening the curtains. It was now June. The sun was up from about five o’clock in the morning at this time of year, but today it wasn’t getting through the cloud. It looked like December, and felt like it. For weeks now, Katla had been erupting nonstop, spewing ash, poisonous fumes and lava over the land and sky. Most of Iceland had become uninhabitable. Thousands had died. Europe was closing down. Emma had been making plans since her conversation with Derek. She had closed off the basement area of her house, which was always difficult to heat, and now used it only as a storeroom. She had moved her office into the living room. Andy, her neighbour had opened up the chimney in there so she could have an open fire.

The stove was for her kitchen. It was a multi-fuel burner with a hotplate to cook on if necessary. Andy was due to fit it today. She hoped he still could. Looking out of the window at the dull street scene, all of the passing cars still had on their headlights. The snow was beginning to settle. Everyone was dressed for winter. It was frightening. She turned on the TV. The news was all about the weather. In the north, there was already a covering of snow on the ground and the temperature wasn’t due to get above three degrees all day. A weather man looked grave. He explained that the snow cover was reflecting ever more heat and light back out into space, creating a vicious cycle. The southeast now had a deep depression drifting into the cold northern air which would cause the clouds to drop their load as snow instead of summer rain. This could only drop the temperature down further. The programme then cut to an interview with a farmer. He stood in a field of frozen, rotting vegetables. The wheat crops had failed utterly. There was very little feed left for animals. Even hardy vegetables were not growing due to lack of light. Emma sat down. It was sinking in. This wasn’t disruption; this was wholesale collapse, where noone could take anything for granted anymore.

Across the screen rolled a list of government instructions. She was being told to save energy by living in as few rooms as possible. To keep curtains closed all day to preserve heat. Light only a small fire when necessary or use the central heating for an hour a day. Turn all but essential appliances off. A two-minute shower was recommended. No food was to be wasted. It was like the end of the world. Emma didn’t go over to her desk. No work was coming in and orders from the back catalogue had dried up. Food deliveries were sporadic. Retail had been her main source of income. It was in crisis and certainly no-one was interested in training days anymore. When Emma noticed that her light still burned away, she got up to turn it off as instructed. She then put the kettle on and made herself a hot drink before the power went off for the day. She put on the central heating. The pipes and radiators made their comforting ticking sound as they heated up. After about fifteen minutes the house seemed a little warmer, then at ten o’clock there was a familiar click as once more the power went down. The bathroom was still freezing, so she skipped the shower and got dressed in some warm winter clothes. She had never felt so alone. Emma lit the few coals that she’d laid in the grate the night before and then stood and watched

as the fire took hold. It cheered the room more than heating it, but she was so desperate for a little comfort, she thought it well worth the fuel. She took out a pencil and wrote down a list of things to buy today. Milk. She hadn’t had any fresh milk for a week. Batteries, matches, bread, more coal, soap. She screwed up the list. Emma knew that she’d be lucky to find any of these things. If she saw anything useful or edible in any of the local shops she would buy it anyway. She ate a bowl of dry cornflakes, and then put on her coat to go out. In the hall she collected her shopping trolley and trundled it down the steps. She’d seen it in a charity shop window only last week. It was the perfect way to carry heavy goods back from the shops now she’d no petrol for her car. And no-one could see what she was carrying. The wheels made tracks in the settling snow. Every shop she passed was scrutinised for anything of value. She got some matches from the corner shop and some dried milk. It had doubled in price but she bought all six packets on the shelf. In the supermarket, things were a little better. They had just had a delivery and she managed to get some fresh vegetables, bread and some tea. Customers were allowed two tins per person, so she chose some tuna and some mixed pulses, all high value food which would be essential when the fresh food ran out. Emma then saw some charcoal

stacked up by a display of useless-looking barbeque grills on the seasonal isle. The pictures of summer on the boxes came from a different time. She lugged a couple of bags of the charcoal over to the checkout and paid her bill. The load was too heavy for the rickety shopping trolley so Emma had to push it carefully over the slippery pavements. She warmed up with the exercise even though snowflakes were driving into her face. Everyday life had never been so hard or so alien. She turned into Purbeck Road, thankful that she was nearly home. Everywhere was eerily quiet due to a lack of traffic combined with the muffling effect of the accumulating snow. She looked up for a moment and saw some people coming towards her. Two men in their thirties and a youth. She froze inside when she noticed two of them exchange barely perceptible glances. Options flew through her mind. She wondered whether to walk up someone’s drive as though she were home, or to run. Should she phone someone? Indecision made her plod on. The only thing she could think of was protecting her purchases. It was crazy; they could be armed. And she was outnumbered. She looked straight ahead and for a moment thought she’d got past them when they made their move. All she remembered was feeling a pain in her upper arm where she had been felled with a blow.

They grabbed some stuff and in a moment they were running down the road leaving her to get to her feet. She tried to right the now ridiculouslooking trolley which they’d left on its side in the gutter. Her hands were wet from melting snow. She tried to wipe them on her coat, but she was shaking violently. She thought her legs might give way. Her heart hammered in her head as she pushed the empty shopper along the road and into her driveway. Tears streamed down her face in a torrent of rage and humiliation. With her shaking hands and blurred vision she couldn’t get her key in the lock. “You alright, babe?” said a familiar voice behind her. Then, when he saw the state she was in he guessed what had happened straightaway. “Oh my God, look at you!” he said. He put his arms around her and she sobbed on his shoulder right there as they stood on the step. “Bastards! Bastards!” she said when eventually Andy managed to get her inside. “They took my stuff – everything. I’d done really well. My dried milk, my tin of tuna...” She started to sob again. “It’s gone darlin’. Forget about it,” said Andy, trying to be practical. “But I can’t. They were mine.” Emma was furious. “And there might not be anything to eat soon. It’s all different now. Those things were precious.”

“I hate bloody tuna,” said Andy. “Good riddance to it,” Emma sniffed then laughed, despite herself. Andy then picked up the phone. “I’m going to ring Carol Ashton. Get her over here – you need some company today.” “Oh, there’s no need. I’ll be okay.” Emma didn’t really want anyone to know what had just happened. She felt like such a fool. Andy ignored her protest and called anyway. “Carol said she’d be right over. As soon as she does, I’ll get on with fixing up your woodburner.” “It’s really good of you Andy.” Emma said. “It works both ways,” he said. “At the moment, I need the work.” *** Half an hour later, Carol hurried into the living room and gave Emma a long hug. “Everybody’s worst nightmare,” she said sympathetically. “I’ll stay tonight if you like.” “That’s very kind but I don’t want to put you out,” Emma said feebly. “That’s settled then. I’ll get my stuff later.” Carol continued, “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about James and Kate?” “No, what about them?” Emma thought she was going to hear that they’d split up. After all their problems it wouldn’t have been unexpected. “They’ve left London. Gone to live with her

parents, apparently. Somewhere in the country. I’m not sure it’s a good idea. It’s not as though anyone can grow their own food, and with these fuel shortages, if you’re anywhere remote, you’re stuck.” “I suppose so,” said Emma. “But I can’t say I blame them after today.” “It’ll be my flat-mate next,” said Carol. “Really? But where would she go?” “Spain. She has a relative with a villa. I can see the pull, but it leaves me in the lurch.” “In what way?” said Emma. “I rely on her rent to pay the mortgage.” “But surely she wouldn’t leave permanently. She has her job here and everything.” “That’s what I thought at first when she said she had plans to go abroad. Now she tells me she wants to hand in her notice at work and end her tenancy. Everyone’s panicking.” Carol looked desperately sad. Emma wished she could say something to help. *** That night Emma and Carol were three-quarters of the way down a bottle of wine when the power came on again. Immediately the intimate atmosphere of the candle-lit room gave way to a sense of harsh reality. Emma jumped up into life at once. “Okay, I’ll finish that later. First I need to put the

washing machine on – it’s all loaded up ready. Then shower. Oh, and emails – I need to check them, too. Dishwasher – that’s not been on for two days. Or shall I just run some hot water and do it by hand?” “For God’s sake Emma. If everyone does the same, the electricity will be off again in half an hour.” “And I don’t want to miss out if it does.” Emma was buzzing, dashing around the room, booting up her laptop and getting her phone charged up before heading to the bathroom for her shower. After two minutes under the delicious hot water she turned off the shower and wrapped herself in the last clean towel. She shivered in the cold as she tried to get dry as quickly as she could. She hurried downstairs and sat in front of the fire. Carol got back from the kitchen. “I’ve put your dishwasher on and your laundry.” “Thanks, Carol,” said Emma taking a drink of wine. “Let’s try the news while I check my emails. I’ll just put the TV on.” It was more of the same. The cold zone was spreading out across continental Europe. It was inching south, too. The sea temperatures were the lowest ever recorded in June. Icebergs had drifted as far south as the Northern Ireland coast and could be seen from the town of Ballycastle. On the east coast a few icebergs could be seen in the Moray Firth. The extent of the Arctic ice cap was now the

greatest it had been for a century. The glaciers had halted their seemingly inexorable retreat and now stretched their icy fingers further into the North Atlantic with every passing month. In Scandinavia, seaports were iced up, preventing cargo and passenger ships from getting in or out. Emma wondered if Lawrence’s friends, Oliver and Zoe, had made it back home. She wondered if they were any better off if they had. In parts of Scotland power lines were down leaving large numbers of houses without any electricity and in some cases, no water. Emma was horrified. “Those poor people” she said to Carol. “How can they manage with nothing? What are they going to do? The government must help them.” Right on cue the newsreader said that teams of power workers were being sent up north to restore the supply. The Royal Engineers were going to help. Even so the experts said it could take weeks to get the system fully functioning again. Emma looked aghast. “Weeks! Life was nearly impossible now with cuts on a rota basis. How could anyone manage for weeks like this! No, worse than this.” “They won’t,” said Carol flatly. “A lot of people won’t get through.” “What do you mean?” said Emma turning around.

“There are going to be a lot of casualties before this war is over,” she said. Emma felt a chill crawl all over her. “My God, I hope you’re wrong, Carol.” “So do I,” replied her friend. For the first time that Emma could remember, she had no emails. She tried to make light of it, but it was quite worrying all the same. She had been waiting for payment for her recent job in the northeast, but had received nothing and no explanation. That meant she still hadn’t paid Lawrence Hewitt for his work. He’d been okay about it up to now but she didn’t want to spoil their working relationship by things getting awkward. She called him to let him know she hadn’t forgotten her commitments. “Give it time,” he said, “But I think we might have to write this one off.” Emma was stunned. Were things really that bad? She finished drying her hair and poured out some more wine for herself and Carol. At least the alcohol made them feel warmer. Emma got up from her seat. She went over to the window and pulled the thick curtains back. It was nine-thirty and not yet dark. Most of the snow clouds had cleared leaving a milky, faded blue sky up above. “I just need to be able to see out. It feels like winter having the curtains drawn all the time. It’s

making me claustrophobic.” “It makes me feel weird,” said Carol. “It’s like living on a different planet.” “Maybe we are – living on a different planet,” said Emma. “This certainly isn’t the Earth I know.” Carol shuddered. Suddenly Emma noticed something and pressed closer to the window. “Hey! Look at this, Carol.” Carol hurried over to the window. The twilight was changing in front of her eyes. Dull blue-grey had been replaced by a fiery, orange glow in the sky, streaked with pink and lilac brushstrokes which lit up the edges of bright metallic clouds. The intensity of the colours was magnificent as the sinking sun caught billions of tiny ash particles which refracted a host of sunset colours back over the city landscape. She’d never seen anything like it. As they stood and watched, pink and orange light suffused the air around them, bouncing around the streets and buildings until the air seemed alive with colour and energy. It was breathtaking. For ten minutes they stood and stared. As quickly as it had begun, it started to fade. Then it was gone. Emma closed the curtains. “That was so beautiful,” said Carol. “Well, every cloud, as they say,” replied Emma. When the power went off again after an hour the two women groaned. The dishwasher had finished,

but the washing machine was full of half-done clothes. “What shall we do now, Carol?” “Let’s turn in. We’ve both had a bad day. You’ve been mugged and my housemate is leaving me stranded. The planet is sliding into a new ice age and I’m tired of the whole business.” “Thanks for staying over, Carol.” “It’s nothing.” “No, it’s everything. I mean it.” Emma picked up her torch and saw Carol to the guest room before heading for her own. Outside in the clearing sky, frost began to form, clinging to trees and turning the churned up city snow into a crust of iron. Emma pulled the covers up around her. Her arm throbbed where a large bruise was forming. That night the temperature dipped to minus six degrees Celsius.

14 London

Zoe

and Oliver Carter arrived back at their London house in Grosvenor Street nearly six weeks after they left Iceland. Zoe was still ill with the flu that had been raging through France and the Netherlands. Oliver was recovering but was exhausted from the sheer effort of travelling. Any form of transport had been difficult to access, and after they had arrived in Norway they been thwarted at every turn. There were fuel shortages, frozen points on the railways and roads were blocked by abandoned and broken-down vehicles. Nothing worked anymore. When they had eventually arrived in Calais, the port was in chaos. Shipping had been commandeered mainly for freight, not passengers, as Britain grew ever more desperate for food. Coming over to Calais from the UK was a different story. Hordes of people were pouring over the Channel on every crossing and on every train through the tunnel. Accommodation was impossible to find in the town as those in transit to warmer places stopped over.

Eventually Zoe found them a bed and breakfast place where they could at least take shelter from the bitter cold. They were used to the harsh conditions of an Artic field trip, but this was something altogether different. As Zoe mounted the stairs of the B&B, desperate to find somewhere for Oliver, who had the flu, to rest, she looked at her squalid surroundings with utter horror. The light on the stairs didn’t work, which might have been a blessing. Their room was cold and damp. Peeling paper hung from the walls, black with mould. The bed was grubby, with thin covers and a pillow that smelt of too many unwashed heads. It was disgusting. The wash basin was chipped and the tap squeaked when turned on, presumably through lack of use. A dribble of water came out. Zoe wondered if she were taking her life in her hands by drinking some. She had to try. Oliver was burning up and she wanted to make sure the water was okay before she gave him some. She managed to get him to take some paracetamol before helping him into the bed where he dozed feverishly and ached in every limb. Zoe’s plan was to stay overnight, then to get home the next day if Oliver was well enough. But this was no forty-eight hour virus. This was proper flu. Thousands were dying, unable to access proper care. Especially the very old and the very young. It was a week before he could get out of bed, by

which time Zoe had become ill herself and couldn’t leave the room. She had a sore throat and a raging temperature. She had never been so ill in her life. They had had to stay in that wretched place for a fortnight. At last, when Zoe’s temperature went down, she sat up in bed. “We have to get out of this place,” said Oliver. “We’ll never get better in this damp room. If either of us gets pneumonia it’ll finish us off.” He’d been listening to the news everyday as the epidemic spread and was rightly concerned for their welfare. Zoe started to cry. She was still very weak and what Oliver said frightened her. “Sorry, darling. I know it’s hard, but I’m desperately worried about staying here. I’ve got tickets for a ferry – they cost me an arm and a leg – but it’s a chance to get back home – do you think you can make it?” “I’m so tired, Oliver. I don’t think I can stand up. And will you stop that scratching? I could hear you doing that all the time I was delirious. It nearly drove me crazy. Have you got bed bugs or something?” “It’s not me, darling.” He nearly said you silly bitch, but he could see she was in no mood for his usual banter. His mock insults had become a sign of affection and she always gave back as good as he dished out. But he looked at her frail figure with a wave of pity and

tenderness. She looked so vulnerable. “Well what is it then?” she said. Oliver didn’t answer. Zoe sank back on the pillow. She could hear it plainly now. She listened for a few minutes, and then a look came over her face. She struggled out of bed. “Those are rats. There are rats in this room. Oh my God, Oliver, get me out of this place, I need to get home.” And she sat on the edge of the bed, weeping. *** Somehow they made it back to their house. But their relief was short-lived as they walked inside and flung their bags down on the familiar hall rug. The rooms were permeated by an all-pervasive chill which made the old place unwelcoming. Then Oliver went into the kitchen. “My God, it smells in here,” he said. He soon saw where it was coming from. There was a trail of dried blood coming from the freezer. The living room was worse. In the cold, some pipes had burst, probably weeks ago. The wet the ceiling was bulging. Huge blooms of mould hung down from around the light fitting. The plaster had started to break off where it was sagging down. Mould was growing over the windows and in every corner. He flicked on the light switch. There was no electricity. He went back to the kitchen; there was no hot water and hardly any food.

“It’s been warmer on our field trips to Greenland, staying in Inuit skin shelters,” said Oliver. “Even warm enough to sit in a tee-shirt, feasting on the day’s catch. For all our modern-day elaborate luxury, it’s left us vulnerable and, effectively, in poverty now the systems have gone wrong.” Zoe shook with cold. “I wish I had the energy to sort things out and to look after you properly, darling,” he said. She looked up at him. His tall, strong frame looked diminished after his illness. His face was tired and drawn and his usual gung-ho approach to problems just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. The best he could do was a plate of cold baked beans between them and a can of coke from the back of the cupboard. They ate in silence, tired and miserable beyond measure. Zoe, naturally athletic and capable, seemed to have had the essence of her personality knocked out of her. Oliver picked up his phone and called Lawrence Hewitt to tell him they were back. Then they both fell onto the bed and drifted into a deep sleep. Eighteen hours later they awoke when Oliver said he heard a noise. He got up. Zoe asked him what day it was. He was just about to look at the bedside clock when he heard a door bang and a tread on the stair. Zoe jumped out of her skin. Oliver froze, wondering what he was going to have

to do next. A lot of the properties along the street were empty. Anyone could be wandering into a house they thought abandoned to see what they could find. Zoe’s heart was thumping; Oliver walked over to the door and opened it a crack. He saw a figure standing in the shadows, Zoe had her phone and was about to call the police. Even home didn’t feel like the safe haven she’d been longing for all these weeks. “Who’s there!” barked Oliver. “Oliver, it’s me,” said Hewitt. “You stupid bloody prat,” said Oliver, “You scared us half to death.” Hewitt grinned. He knew Oliver too well to take offence. “I knew you’d be pleased to see us,” he said. “Amy’s here, too. We arrived this morning and let ourselves in. I tried not to wake you just now. We wanted to make sure you were okay.” “Amy!” Zoe saw her friend come into the room. They hugged briefly. “I can’t believe how frail you look,” said Amy. “And you Oliver.” His face was grey. They both looked a total mess. They still had their clothes on, unwashed for weeks. Amy took charge. She was always at her best when she had someone to fuss over. “We need to get moving guys. The power’s on at

the moment but as your central heating isn’t working it’s not going to get any warmer in here. It’s never on for more than six hours at a stretch nowadays and most of the time it’s a lot less. Lawrence has binned the contents of your freezer and cleaned it out with water from the outside tap – hope you don’t mind. He’s been trying to get a plumber to fix your pipes but they are all too busy. Same problems everywhere.” “Any chance of something to eat?” said Oliver hopefully. “Obviously we haven’t had a chance to shop yet.” Hewitt and Amy looked at each other. “Shop? Where have you been?” said Hewitt with heavy sarcasm. Amy managed to fix them up with a meagre breakfast of porridge and dried milk. At least the sugar hadn’t gone mouldy which made it palatable. Amy had been through the cupboards to see if there was anything worth salvaging. There wasn’t much but she had managed to find some coffee. She made the hot drinks and then handed the cups round. Zoe spoke first. “Is there any sign of the ash clearing, Amy? What do they say at INC?” She was referring to Isaac Newton College, the University where she and Oliver were based and where Amy taught. “No sign yet, I’m afraid. In fact things are set to

get worse before they get better. The signs are all there for another mega-eruption. The fissure eruptions were bad enough, but seismic activity is growing. They think it’s going to blow again.” “Jeez,” said Zoe. “So what’s the state of play here?” said Oliver. “Europe was in turmoil.” “It’s just the same here,” said Hewitt. “But I’m not sure I understand why things have got so bad so quickly. Surely this is just like what we get in winter, only it’s gone on for longer. I can see the harvest will be a total failure, but surely we can buy food on the world markets.” “The problem,” said Zoe, getting her strength back now that she was talking about her subject, “is that modern society depends on transport and energy to keep it going. Energy has become our new slave, working for us to make our lives richer than we ever thought possible. Now that transport – air transport – has been disrupted it’s had a knock on effect on everything else.” “But we’re not having an energy crisis, surely,” said Hewitt. “We have fuel for planes – it’s simply not safe for them to fly just yet.” “But we’re having an energy crisis because of this freak weather. The utilities have been cutting back capacity and avoiding investment in order to maximise profits. We’ve scraped by for years. Now that the pressure is on to close down old-fashioned,

inefficient power plants, we have an energy shortfall and we haven’t got new plants to take their place. Also, we’ve been relying too much on food imports. We should have been able to get through this crisis, but we’ve left ourselves dangerously exposed and Katla has happened just at the wrong time.” “What will happen if Katla really blows?” said Hewitt. Zoe shrugged, exhaustion starting to creep over her again. Amy stepped in, “Actually it might be the best thing in the long run. It will be devastating at first – but it might get the effects of the eruption over with. Then the ash can begin to clear.” “We could get a late summer,” said Hewitt, hopefully. “Oh no, I don’t think so for a minute,” said Amy. “This cold is set in. And as autumn approaches we must steel ourselves for a very bad winter indeed.” “My God!” said Hewitt. “I didn’t think it would go on for that long.” “If I’m well enough I must get back to work,” said Zoe. “What concerns me is the wider implication for the climate. This could be the trigger for abrupt climate change, so I need to study past scenarios to see if there are links. We can get through a couple of bad years; what we don’t want is to see a chain reaction of too many negative

feedbacks into the climate loop. That could be the end of – well – life as we live it now.” “That’s not really what I wanted to hear, to be honest,” said Hewitt, thoughtfully. “You lot have always said I was the pessimist.” “I think the words were miserable old sod,” said Oliver, getting back into his stride. Amy butted in, more concerned with the now than the bigger picture. “Come on,” she said, “We need to focus. We have to try to get the heating in here fixed somehow. Lawrence, is there anyone else you can call? I suppose you’ve asked our friends.” “Yes. They have had the same problems. I’ve tried every tradesman in the area. I could try to fix it myself, but I haven’t got the tools.” “Could Emma Stamford help? She might know of someone?” said Amy. “It’s a thought. I’ll give her a call,” said Hewitt. “In the meantime you two are going to have to come back with us. You can’t live in a house with no services, and I’m going to try to get something for us all to eat tonight.” Zoe and Oliver didn’t argue. Hewitt scrolled through his contacts and made the call to Emma. Zoe and Oliver listened intently while Hewitt nodded wordlessly. Eventually he said, “Okay – will you have a word with this Andy for

us? Sounds just the job. Yes, I’ll ask them. We’ll keep in touch – thanks then – okay – bye.” “Sounds positive,” said Oliver. “Yes. She said she’ll sort it. Also, she wanted me to ask you both if you think she should leave the UK – she said everyone she knows is trying to get out.” “I can’t answer that, Lawrence or give her any advice. It was hell over in France and I guess a lot of other places too.” “Maybe we should think about getting out,” said Hewitt. “Emma was saying that her friends are making serious plans to leave.” “And go where?” said Zoe. “Anywhere where they can resume a normal life.” “Maybe we should.” Oliver looked grave. “We were pinning everything on being back here. Now I wonder why we bothered.” “I don’t want to leave,” said Amy. “I have my home here and my things. It wouldn’t be like when we work away. It would mean abandoning everything.” Zoe nodded. After weeks on the road she was in no mood to go anywhere. “At the moment Zoe and I need to rest,” said Oliver. “I can’t tell you what a shock it’s been for us when we arrived back and saw how bad things had become, so quickly.”

And they were about to become a whole lot worse.

15 It was the end of June when Katla finally blew. For six days before the eventual cataclysm there were serious earthquakes recorded in Iceland as the earth strained under the pressure from the building magma. Land all around the volcano seemed alive with the pulsing forces pressing underneath the crust. Huge rents tore through the ground, allowing a red glow to sear through to the surface like a wound. Each day new gashes would appear through the ashen surface, defying the Arctic cold and changing the topography forever. At ever more frequent intervals, loud rumbling could be heard emanating from the mountain, before missiles of pumice rained down on the surrounding area. Thunder boomed through the air as lightning played over the summit of the volcano. Dust and ash had become feet-thick in places that had once been farmland. No-one was now there to witness the destruction of their homes and towns apart from a handful of scientists and journalists, and even they were at a respectful distance away from the volcano. Then one morning, there was a deep roar which

came from deep within Katla’s throat. The final detonation seemed to fracture the air with its intensity. The mountain crumbled, throwing yet more ash into the atmosphere. A white cloud bloomed and spread high into the already saturated air. Then it went quiet. Ash from Katla had now spread not only all over the United Kingdom, Scandinavia, northern France, Belgium and the Netherlands, but was creeping down towards the south of France and east until it came up against the Alps which formed a natural barrier. It hung high in the stratosphere, still grounding the planes in all these countries. Over the next weeks it would spread over the whole of the northern hemisphere, reaching down over Canada and the United States, Russia, China and Japan. Despite the clamour to carry on as normal from both the hard-pressed business community and tourists alike, no airline was prepared to risk ruining its fleet by allowing its engines to suck in abrasive ash particles which could destroy the turbines. So while aeroplanes sat on the ground, meetings were cancelled, deals weren’t done and cargo wasn’t delivered. It was now well into July. A few determined tourists pressed on with their plans and travelled over land and sea to get to their destinations. Some, who had the means, left their

homes to get away from the cold and the hardship the weather was bringing to northern Europe, but for most, this was not an option, especially as transport had become oversubscribed. It was difficult to find a boat or a train anywhere that was not fully booked. Of course, ticket prices had soared, putting escape to another country beyond the reach of most people. Cruise and leisure craft had been commandeered by the government to transport cargo in and out of the UK. Food was still coming in from the United States and the southern hemisphere, but it wasn’t enough to make up for the shortfall in supplies. Day by day, problems mounted. There were not enough surplus staples on the world market to satisfy the demand of the now famine-stricken European countries. And where economies were collapsing, the money was running out.

16 London

It was now three weeks since Emma had suggested to Hewitt that her neighbour Andy Balham could help with the repairs to Zoe and Oliver’s house. Andy was in great demand due to his building skills. At last he got their heating fixed, repaired the plasterwork and got rid of the burgeoning mould that had spread all over their ceiling like instant stalactites. The Carters, however, never moved back into Grosvenor Street. “You’ll never guess,” said Andy, sitting in Emma’s kitchen and drinking her coffee, “all that bloody work – lovely old house too – and now the gas supply has gone down. I ask you, what are we expected to do? Nobody can keep warm without the gas on – except you, of course with your wood burner.” He nodded towards the stove with a smile. He looked proud of his handiwork. “What are they going to do, Andy? Stay with Lawrence and Amy?” “God knows. Mrs Carter and Mrs Hewitt have been at the University all hours according to your mate Lawrence. And what they have found out is

not looking good. They say there is a high-pressure system building over the UK which will sit there for some time. It would have been a lovely summer if it wasn’t for that volcano – just think – we should have been sitting in the garden now drinking a nice cold lager.” “Oh, stop it Andy. I can’t bear it.” Emma poured herself a second cup. “So hang on – what exactly are you telling me?” “That there is no end in sight to the cold weather and that the gas is going to stay off for the foreseeable.” “Did they say that?” “They did.” “But it’s a break in the pipeline, so surely that will soon be mended?” “Not according to Mrs Carter who seems to have some contacts. She’s heard that the gas has been turned off because the government has run out of money to pay the bills, so the utility companies aren’t getting enough income to pay their suppliers. The pipeline story is a load of rubbish.” “It must be the same story all over Europe, then.” “Not really, babe. The Germans have huge stores of gas, they say. The French have got nuclear power. They can last probably through next winter with careful rationing. We are up shit creek, as they say.”

Emma sipped her coffee. She had on a bodywarmer over her thick jumper. She had lost some weight in the cold conditions and the food shortages. Everything was on ration now to stop panic-buying. The electricity was only on for two hours a day. If the gas was off for any length of time, she would have to rely totally on her small reserve of fuel to keep warm. It wouldn’t last long if she had to light the woodburner every day. The phone rang and Emma got up to answer it. “Emma?” It was Lawrence Hewitt. “I’ve tried calling Andy but he doesn’t seem to be in – can you get a message to him?” “Actually, he’s right here,” said Emma. “Everything okay?” “Well, no not really. Can you ask him to go back to Zoe’s and drain their central heating system, and put the house in mothballs? They’re leaving the UK.” “What? This is a bit sudden isn’t it?” “Yes. It’s all happening at once. INC is sponsoring a study on the effects of Katla as the government has requested a report. Zoe and Oliver will be going, of course.” “What about Amy?” “She will go if she is needed. I don’t know yet. They might want her here as a co-ordinator.” “How do you feel about that, Lawrence?” “Not great, I have to say. But if she needs to go,

I won’t try to stop her. She has been lecturing for a couple of years now to be with me, and I appreciate that. But I’ve done a lot of thinking lately. Amy is always there for everyone else. She needs to be told that it’s okay to do what she wants occasionally. I didn’t marry her to close her down.” “You know, Lawrence, I could quite warm to you, after all.” “Thanks,” he said, without a trace of sarcasm. “Tell Andy won’t you?” “What was all that about?” said Andy. Emma explained about the house. “Everyone’s leaving,” she said. “James and Kate have gone to live in the country. Carol’s housemate has left for Spain. I’ve only got you and Carol now from the old gang. You know that she is trying to let the house? She is going to move in here. It would be good if the three of us stayed close.” Andy looked uncomfortable. “Actually, Em, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Emma braced herself. “What?” she said, dreading his reply. “Well, I’ve got this mate in Brisbane.” “You don’t have to say any more,” she said, feeling weary with the effort of trying to keep a social network going when everyone else seemed to have something better to do than be with her. “Don’t be like that, sweet, I haven’t decided to

go or anything. It was only a suggestion.” “Oh you’ll go. If you think about it, what’s to decide? The only issue is whether you can manage to get out of this hellhole. If what Zoe Carter says is true then this weather is here to stay. I’ve been hoping against hope that the ash would clear by autumn and we could get just a little warmth coming through before the days get too short to make a difference. It’s not going to happen is it?” “No, darlin,’ it’s not. But getting to Oz will not be an easy task. I would need to get a boat to the eastern Med or North Africa and then fly the rest of the way. The fares would be expensive, but I’ve been doing very well here for work just lately so it just might be possible. We’ll see.” Emma felt a deep gloom spread over her. It seemed that everyone was making plans but her. She was drifting into self-pity but could not help herself. Everything nowadays just seemed so difficult. She had been reassured by Zoe and Oliver’s return to the UK. It had seemed to mean that expert opinion was to carry on as best one could. No need to panic. Now what? She said as much to Andy, “But they’re not leaving as such, Em. They are only going because they need to work.” “I know, but all the same, if they are mothballing the house, I can’t see them returning anytime soon.”

“No,” said Andy, pensively. “Neither can I.”

17 London

Emma had been standing in a queue outside the bread shop for twenty minutes. The wait here was always longer than if she went to the supermarket, but the bread was made on the premises and was a rare treat that she thought worth the effort. Rationing had made sure there was enough food, more or less, for everyone, but there was not much variety or quality on offer anymore. It was now late August. Last night there had been a slight frost which quickly dissipated in the long summer dawn. The streets were now clear of snow, at least in the city. Apparently, in the country, snow was still heaped up in the corners of every field, there never being quite enough heat during daylight hours to melt it completely. It was about three or four degrees but it felt colder than that in the breeze. Emma shuffled forward. Soon she would be inside the shop where she could get a little welcome warmth from the ovens. Twice a week she queued at this little bakery, each time seeing the same faces staring blankly ahead. No-one spoke. When it was

her turn to be served the man took her card, stamped it and handed her a large loaf. She gave him the money and got a brisk, barely intelligible acknowledgement. “Next!” he shouted. Emma then hurried around to the supermarket to get some groceries. There was a strange mixture of imported goods on the shelves, which were adequate but very expensive. She picked up two bananas, an orange and a large potato. She looked again at her card. She could get an apple, but decided to buy one later in the week. Stocking up on fresh food was no longer an option as it led to waste if one couldn’t eat it straightaway, and then there would be a gap at the end of the week when one had used up all one’s allowance. Emma thought of the bags of sprouting potatoes, mouldy carrots and limp salad that she used to throw away most weeks. She winced inwardly. There was nothing like hard times to focus the mind. She then went to the butchery counter and queued up with everyone else. She got two sausages and a scant fifty grams of mince. The price of meat now meant that she hardly thought it needed to be rationed. She went through the checkout and counted her change carefully. She was okay at the moment, but didn’t know how long she could survive if work didn’t start coming in soon.

Emma decided to go home via the Gallery Café. She needed cheering up. She spent too much time alone nowadays, and without the regular routine of work to sustain and direct her she was getting depressed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window before she went inside. Emma had always looked young for her fifty-four years, and felt it, too. But now this dull-looking woman was staring back at her. All she seemed to do nowadays was to trudge the streets with her shopping bag, counting the pennies. She sat down with her coffee and a scone. At least café food wasn’t rationed; one just took a chance that they had managed to source something edible. She picked up a newspaper from the rack and started to read it. The flu epidemic seemed to be abating, but not before it had taken its toll on the vulnerable. Everyone was being urged to get a flu jab as soon as autumn set in to avoid another serious outbreak. Emma made a mental note to book an appointment as soon as she could. Everything was doom and gloom. Householders were being warned about rodent infestations as desperate and starving rats were becoming more audacious. Birds had died in their hundreds of thousands, but those which had survived thus far were becoming aggressive. Urban foxes had started to attack pets.

One article said that the number of people trying to leave the country was going up sharply after a lull. In July and early August many had decided to stay on, hoping that the ash would clear and things would get back to normal. Now it was getting dangerously close to the end of summer. As the days grew shorter, those hopes were fading quickly into fear of what winter would bring. Emma sighed. This was definitely not cheering her up. “Hi, Emms. Mind if I join you?” said a loud voice above her. Emma nearly jumped out of her skin. It was Andy. He didn’t wait for a reply. He scraped back a chair and sat down heavily on it. “Thought I might find you here, sweetheart. Guess what?” Emma shook her head but deep down she knew what was coming next. “Got my ticket out of here, that’s what. Getting a train to the south of France, then a plane, an actual plane, to Dubai, then on to Brisbane. It’s their spring. Soon be their summer. Just think I could soon be running down a beach and planning a barbi.” Andy grinned triumphantly. Emma smiled thinly. She wanted to be pleased for him but the truth was she didn’t really feel it, and it showed on her face. She found it difficult to believe that normal life was still going on in other countries. It seemed like a fantasy. “When do you go?” Emma managed to look interested at least.

“Next week. My mate says there’s plenty of work out there for someone like me. You never know – I might not come back.” Emma looked surprised although she didn’t say anything. “What about you, babe? What are you going to do?” “Oh I’ll be alright. I can’t leave, if that’s what you mean. I’ve nowhere to go. I’ll just stick it out till the ash clears – things will soon get back to normal then.” Andy looked at her, unconvinced. They sat for a moment in silence. “Come with me.” “Don’t be stupid,” she replied. “What’s keeping you here, Em?” She didn’t know. She tried to say something about the house but in the back of her mind she was thinking about Jack Ellis. “The house will still be here for you if you leave and then come back later.” She tried to be practical. “It’s a substantial property and in a good area. We worked hard for this place all our lives. And without a job I can’t afford to rent anywhere else, can I? It’s not so easy.” “You don’t want to leave because you see this as yours and Bill’s place,” said Andy. Even as she denied it, she knew there was some truth in what he was saying. To strike out on her own would be seeing herself as an individual again

and not one half of a couple, which she had done for the last twenty-odd years. To do that still didn’t seem right. Emma expected Andy to say something trite and well-meaning – he would have wanted you to be happy – instead Andy replied quite brusquely, “It doesn’t matter what he would have thought, or might have thought, because he isn’t here.” “Andy!” “Well it’s true. It’s not relevant anymore. And trying to imagine what somebody else might have wanted is a waste of time – it just becomes your fantasy.” Emma reeled from the accuracy of Andy’s observation but replied robustly, “We haven’t all got a mate in Brisbane though, have we?” Andy conceded the point. “If things get too bad here – and I think they will – you need to have a plan B. That’s all I’m saying.” Emma frowned but said generously, “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” “You need to take care of yourself.” He got up to go. “Need to press on, babe. Got a lot to sort out.” He grabbed his coat and then squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “See you later.” She watched him go, with a mounting feeling of unease. Suddenly, she wished she was going somewhere too. Why didn’t she yes to Andy and just leave? Her hopes for an Indian summer, which

she had been mentally hanging on to, now seemed like wishful thinking. If this summer had been hard, what would the prospect of another winter be like? It was as though she had been in denial of how bad her situation was. The trouble was, she genuinely couldn’t think of a way out. She finished her drink and made for the door, buttoning up her coat as she did so. When she stepped out into the street, fine snow crystals blew through the air, stinging her face and dampening the paving as it melted. The sky looked full of it. Her whole world had become grey and cold. Emma hurried home. That night she found it impossible to sleep. She turned back and forth, never getting quite warm enough to allow sleep to come naturally. It took her back to her childhood, to her childhood home. Her parent’s house. A large old house with no central heating, still fairly normal in the 1960’s. She remembered the winters she spent under an eiderdown, hoping her hot-water bottle wouldn’t get cold before she dropped off, when every movement allowed a blast of cold air down her back. The mornings were somehow worse. How cruel it was to wake up in a nice warm bed knowing that one had to get up for school in a room where one could see one’s breath. Emma thought she had left all that behind her for good. Then, as she fell into a slight doze, surrounded by pillows and two

billowing duvets, she half dreamed, half imagined towering ice sheets bearing down on her, and heard the animal noises of ice-age creatures, come back to claim their territory. She dreamt of a wolf, just as she was drifting. She heard the savage noises of a life or death struggle. She sat up, her heart pounding. Emma went over to the window and drew back the curtains. Through the gloom she could see the writhing shapes of what could have been the urban foxes or abandoned domestic dogs, now starving. Creatures which would have been pets only a few weeks ago had now reverted to being pack animals. “Emma – you okay?” said a voice from the landing. It was Carol who had also been woken by the noise. When Emma didn’t answer straightaway, she tapped on her door. Emma went over and opened up. “Yes, I suppose.” “Go back to bed, hon, you’re cold.” Emma did as she was told. Carol came into the room wrapped up in a thick blanket. “Sorry if I woke you,” said Emma. “No. I couldn’t sleep either,” said Carol. “It said on the TV that this could trigger an ice age,” said Emma. “Yes, I heard that too.” “Do you think it will?”

“I have no idea,” said Carol. “And neither do they.” “Will you be leaving, too?” said Emma. “I don’t know what to do,” she replied honestly. “I’ve let my house for three months at a reduced rate. It’s enough to pay my mortgage, and it lets me have a while to decide. I don’t think they’ll stay though. No-one wants to commit to anything at the moment. And you know I can’t pay you anything for letting me stay here and that bothers me.” “Don’t worry about that, Carol. It’s good to have you around.” “Perhaps we should go with Andy. Use up the last of our savings and get a ticket out of here.” “Tempting isn’t it? But I keep thinking that I could use up my life savings and things could get back to normal here quite quickly. It’s a gamble. And anyway they probably wouldn’t let me into Australia without a job.” “Have you thought of the States?” said Carol, tentatively. “No. How could I? Everyone who is going abroad has someone to go to – family or friends. I don’t have that.” “Just a thought,” said Carol. The two women went back to their beds. It had gone quiet outside and Emma snuggled deep under the covers hoping to get some sleep at last. The words of their conversation drifted through Emma’s

mind. Going to America seemed a more ridiculous idea than going to Australia with Andy. Then she got Carol’s meaning. Of course. Jack Ellis was in the States. Emma turned over. Emma’s pulse quickened slightly as she thought of him. For the first time in a long time she began to feel roused. She missed the easy physicality of a long term relationship, but dreaded the thought of making a fool of herself out there. She had an image in her head of tracking down Jack in New York to find him with a beautiful, selfassured American woman who had the sense not to talk all day about her ex. He was an opportunity long gone. She only wished Carol would stop trying to raise her hopes when clearly all hope was lost. Romance was for more indulgent times. All she needed to focus on now was survival. And as the last of this dead summer slipped away, Emma didn’t know how true that was going to be.

18 Calais

Andy set off for the station at first light. The chill wind blew across dry pavements, scooping up litter and the few odd bits of brown vegetation which had frazzled and died on the trees even before they had a chance to turn green. He carried a bulging rucksack on his back and wondered where he was going to pack his padded coat and stout walking boots, once he had landed in Dubai. No matter. He’d sort that out when the time came. In a few days it would be September. The downward spiral would begin again. Shorter days would soon mean that the precious daylight that kept the air above freezing would be dwindling away. He couldn’t wait to get out. It was deserted on the street. Many of the houses were empty now as residents had abandoned their homes for a better life. He wondered how many of them would come back. There was open speculation now that a second winter might trigger a bigger climate change which could lead to a mini ice-age.

The polar ice caps had spread south, cooling the oceans and reflecting even more precious sunlight back into space. But the main problem was still the energy supply. The creaking infrastructure hadn’t been able to cope with the surge in demand for power that the ash cloud had caused. Electricity was now on for less than an hour a day in some places. Business was getting the lion’s share of power to avoid a wholesale collapse in the economy, but it meant that normal life was unable to carry on. People were now suffering great hardship. Goodness knows what the winter would bring. Andy strode on. He hoped Emma would be alright, but secretly, like a lot of self-made men, thought those who couldn’t keep up were losers. He glanced up and noticed a heap of something in the road. Instinct made him wary of anything he wasn’t sure of. He kept his eyes fixed on the object and started to give it a wide berth. A sudden flash in the corner of his eye made him start. He was wise to be cautious. Andy paused then approached the area with trepidation. He was close enough now to see that the object had been a large dog. His heavy footfall made the road alive with scattering rats. He looked away, disgusted. Then came the call of gathering gulls, mournful and atavistic, they were eager to get their share. He

thought they might not notice him if they were focussed on the carrion. He walked as quickly as he could away from the scene. Gulls were dangerous predators now. Huge and swooping they could hurt a grown man. In a gang, they could kill the vulnerable. Andy hated them. He hoped they would starve. Once in the railway station at St Pancras he relaxed and began to feel better. At least here there was some semblance of normal life. Some people were still going to work. Coffee was being served at the stall. He bought a bacon sandwich. The station was packed with people who would normally fly, so Andy prepared himself for a long wait. At last he got onto a train bound for Dover. The carriage was packed and he had a struggle to force his way in. Everyone was carrying large items of luggage. These were no commuters, he saw straightaway, but people like himself, trying to get away. Some were families with young children, looking tired and fractious. He wondered how far they would have to go before they found their better life. The train lumbered along, slowed down by the many extra carriages it had to pull, each one as full as the one he was in. When the train stopped no-one got off, but at every station more tried to push their way inside, making the journey the most uncomfortable he had ever had to endure. At Dover the melee was even worse. The

backlog of people waiting for the ferry looked the size of a football crowd, only without the mood of expectation and excitement. Everyone was tired and bad tempered, worn down by the wait. Disappointment seethed under the surface. Andy kept his head down. It took eleven hours to board the ferry. He walked up the ramp wearily and got into one of the passenger lounges, carried by the tide of people all rushing to get a seat. There was no chance. One or two groups were already marking out their pitches on the floor so he did the same, worried that he might find himself up on deck in the freezing wind if he wasn’t quick enough. He picked out a suitable corner, put down his rucksack and leaned up against it. Andy was hungry. The only thing he’d been able to buy at the terminal was an unappetizing and very small meat pie. He slowly ate a bag of crisps that he’d brought with him and hoped for something better when he got to France. He dozed off in the stuffy room. Bored as much as tired, he rested his head on his bag and tried to get comfortable. The noise was unceasing. He was pushed and tripped over constantly in the crush. A few minutes later he felt vaguely aware of movement. He opened his eyes briefly. He was floating. They were under way. Andy woke when a rising level of activity around

him permeated his consciousness as people hurriedly got to their feet and began collecting their things. A voice over the tannoy system announced that they would be docking in a few minutes. Andy had slept deeply. He stood up stiffly and stifled a yawn. It took an age for anyone to move but eventually he picked up his bag and shuffled towards the exit, following everyone else. It was when Andy got to passport control that he got his first shock. A humourless official took his passport and waved him through. “Hey! When am I going to get that back?” said Andy. The man ignored him and gestured at him to hurry on through. He’d been greeted by uncomprehending outrage by so many thousands of fleeing people that he could no longer be bothered with an explanation. Andy stumbled past the desk feeling disoriented. He’d no idea what to do now, or when he’d get his passport back. Looking around him he could see that none of his fellow refugees had any more idea than himself. Puzzled groups were asking each other what it meant. No-one seemed to know, but there was a general sense of movement which Andy could see led down a wide corridor. He decided to go with the flow and see what turned up. The corridor opened out into a massive space, like an airport terminal building, only it was

windowless and had no shops or cafés, only rows of seats. Andy sat down. At the far end of the room was a row of desks. Along the wall there was a water cooler and some toilets. He needed a drink and the toilet but didn’t want to leave his bag unattended or to risk losing his seat so he stayed put. They must be allowed to go through soon. After an hour of staring at the row of empty desks, Andy could wait no longer. He reached for his jacket pocket and felt the familiar shape of his wallet through the material. His money and tickets were inside. Leaving his bag on his seat he took his chance. He queued for twenty minutes for the toilet and another ten for the water. Stress was gripping his every fibre. He sat down again, pleased to see his bag still there. He darted a look around the room. Where all this was leading? He was getting a bad feeling in his gut. Suddenly a flight out to Australia seemed a really stupid idea. After another two hours, by which time the waiting area had filled to capacity, four officials walked into the room and sat down at the desks, causing a lull in the hubbub and a rush of excitement. One by one people were called up to the desks where they were interviewed. It took forever. Andy couldn’t work it out. Some people walked out of the far door looking okay. Some were shouting and protesting. Security bundled these out of a side

door without ceremony. There was obviously some sort of processing going on but he couldn’t work out the criteria. His heart thumped. He had no idea things would be like this. If everything took this long he would miss his flight to Dubai. He felt sick at the thought. It seemed like hours later that he was called up to the desk. He sat down and saw his passport in the hands of the interviewer, who spoke good, clear English, much to Andy’s relief. He’d never been any good at French. “Where are you staying,” the official barked. “I’m bound for Paris,” said Andy. “Address?” “I haven’t got one – don’t need one...” “No-one is allowed to leave here unless they have somewhere to stay. Paris is awash with refugees already. You cannot go there. You will stay here until the next ferry departs, then you will be returned to the UK. Next!” Andy was shaking with fear and anger. “No, you don’t understand.” “Next. Don’t cause trouble, monsieur. We have many more people to see.” Andy, his voice rising in panic shouted, “Please, monsieur, I mean Paris airport. I have a ticket. I don’t plan to stay.” Andy fumbled in his pocket. The man didn’t even look at him. Two security guards started to

walk towards him. Andy had to hurry or his chance would be gone. He got out his ticket to Dubai and waved it at the seated official. He deigned to look at the paper. Andy held his breath. All his plans and a lot of his savings were in the hands of this one man who saw him as a total nobody. His head swam with possible plans. Could he bribe someone? Or jump ship? Or try again? The reality was that there was nothing he could do. In twenty-four hours he had become a powerless individual in a country where he was not wanted. Or, to be more fair, in a country which couldn’t cope with the number of people now flowing through its borders. He was a refugee, a displaced person. “Okay,” said the official. “Go to the door straight ahead. Here is your passport.” Andy took it without a moment’s hesitation and headed for the door as quickly as he could. He now realized that the ones going out of the side door were being deported. He had no time for sympathy for their plight, just as desperate as his own only a moment ago. He marched straight ahead and out into the Calais evening. He breathed the air of freedom like he’d never known it before. Adrenaline now kept him moving. He would not stop until he had got to Paris. *** As Andy’s train slowly pulled up alongside the platform of the Gare de Lyon, he could almost feel

the resentful stares burning into him as he stood up. He was dishevelled, unlike the smart commuters, who saw him as an unwelcome guest. He stepped down from the train and tried to get his bearings. “Where can I get the train to Nice?” he asked someone in uniform. He was answered with a shrug and a look which told him to piss off. He walked around trying to find the right platform but could see nothing going to Nice on the departures board. Desperately hungry, he left the station concourse and decided to get something to eat before he tried again. It wasn’t long before he found a café. There were a couple of seats outside so he sat down under the awning and waited to be served. Ten minutes later he began to get the picture and he stood up to leave. “Alright, mate?” said a voice at his side. Two men stood there grinning. “Just leaving,” said Andy, pleased to hear an English voice. “Don’t think we’re very welcome around here.” “Can’t blame anyone really. Been a few who leave without paying. I’ll see if I can order you something, I’ve been here before so they know me. I’ll go in and pay up front.” “Thanks,” said Andy. “I’d really appreciate that.” This was the first person he’d actually

engaged with, apart from officialdom, since he’d left home. It was a relief to find a friendly face. He took off his coat and sat back down. He then took his wallet from his inner coat pocket and handed the man a few euros. “I’m Gaz, by the way, and this is Kev.” “Andy.” “Sit down Andy. I’ll be back in a minute.” Gaz appeared with three cups of coffee and some bread. He sat down. “So what’s your story, then?” said Gaz. “My story?” “Everyone has a story. I left the UK because I lost my job.” “And have you got another?” “Not yet.” Kev smirked and Gaz shot him a glance, as though to shut him up. Andy was puzzled but said nothing. He was wary but told himself to stop being paranoid. These two might be useful. “I need directions for Nice,” said Andy. “The airport there is still open; I’m due to fly out tomorrow.” “The airport? That sounds interesting,” said Gaz. “Most people who arrive here haven’t a clue where they’re going.” “Like us,” said Kev. Gaz laughed. “Yeah, like us,” he replied. Andy joined in the laughter while eating the bread hungrily.

“So where are you headed?” pressed Gaz. “Got somewhere warm in mind, I bet.” “Yeah, very warm.” Andy’s first instinct on this trip had been to keep his head down. But these two seemed okay. And he was dying to tell someone where he was going. Andy swallowed. “Dubai, actually.” Andy tried to look casual, but he couldn’t help a smile. Gaz encouraged him. “Go on! How about that, Kev. Dubai. Jammy sod.” Andy relaxed. The coffee was good and the food was getting to work on his mood. “Yeah, then on to Brisbane – got a mate there.” “Jeez. Lucky so and so. Wish I had a mate in Brisbane – I have to make do with Kev.” Kevin grinned on cue. “Anyway,” said Andy, finishing his drink and getting up. “I really need to make a move. You guys seem to know your way around here. Do you think you could point me in the right direction for a train to Nice? No-one seems to be very helpful at the moment.” “Yeah, sure,” said Gaz. “We’ll do what we can.” Gas got up clumsily and scraped his chair. He caught himself on the back of Andy’s chair knocking Andy’s coat on the floor as he did so. “Sorry, sorry. Here let me get it.” Gaz reached down for Andy’s coat. “Oz, eh? Well fair shout to you. Don’t blame you

for getting out of this place.” Andy struggled into his rucksack and made his way back towards the station with Gaz and Kev in tow. As soon as they reached the entrance Gaz asked for directions. There was a train due in fiftyfive minutes. “Look, platform 15.” He said, pointing. “Lookout for the word quais – platform, and sud – that means south. You’ll be okay.” “Thanks guys.” said Andy, looking up at the signs. He turned around but they were both gone, disappeared into the crowd. Andy went up to the ticket office and waited in the queue. When he was near the front of the line he reached into an empty pocket where his wallet had once been. He knew in a micro second that his money, his tickets and his passport were all gone. He spun round scanning the crowd for signs of Gaz and Kev but they were long gone. His fists clenched in anger he cursed himself for being such a fool. He moved away from the queue and dropped his bag on the floor in frustration kicking it as it lay there. “Bastards!” he shouted across the concourse, to anyone who could hear. Nervously, a few people looked around and quickly turned away. He sat down. His escape plan was in ruins. He had no money and no passport to get home. His savings had been wasted and he’d no idea what to

do next. He sat for what seemed like an age, trying to assimilate the disappointment he felt. He couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t be on a plane to Dubai in twenty-four hours. He screwed up his eyes to fight back the tears. Somehow he’d have to get to the port and back home, and he had no idea how he was going to achieve that.

19 London, Autumn

Emma turned on the TV. Today there were to be huge demonstrations in the middle of London and all other major cities, protesting about the outages and transport chaos. Emma switched to the news channel and sat down. She hoped the power would stay on for long enough to watch the programme. Normally when it did come on it would be a race against time to get everything done before it went off again. It had become normal to have the blackout, as it was called, and a luxury to have services running. Protesters marched, carrying their banners, filling the streets of central London with noise and bustle. Police lined the route. The crowd was diverse in makeup in age and background. These were ordinary citizens, law-abiding people who had had enough. The demonstration was set to be peaceful, but tensions were running high. The government’s response had been seen to be poor. And with winter looming a deep feeling of anger and pessimism had set in which could boil over at any time.

The newsroom went round the country gathering reports of the demonstrations in other major cities. It looked like a good turnout. There were politicians in the studio blaming the ash for the disaster and saying they were doing all they could, but nerves were stretched to breaking point and patience was running out. While the cold summer had limped on there was at least some hope that when the ash cleared the weather would get back to normal. Now that September was looming pessimism was turning to panic at the thought of a winter that would be intolerable. The news team went over to the weather forecast to get the latest. It was not good news. The high pressure which had stubbornly sat over the UK and northern Europe was still showing no sign of breaking down. This had been the worst possible scenario as it kept the fine particles of ash suspended in the upper atmosphere. Sunlight was filtered out by the dust and the cold clear nights allowed what little heat had got through during daylight hours to radiate back into space. Emma watched, exasperated. She’d heard it all before. She could now see no end to the nightmare and neither could the experts. The news anchor handed over once more to the outside broadcast for an update on the demonstrations. Now that the disparate groups were merging on Westminster, Emma could now

see that the numbers taking part were huge. Homemade banners were held up for the benefit of the cameras. They said No More Cuts! People First! Old and Cold! Emma smiled at that one. But she did notice how many carried the name of a populist politician, Simon Haggett, who had recently decided that as he could no longer use immigration as a way to build his power base, he was going to use his man-of-the-people persona to rally the masses and get us all out of this mess. “Easy answers,” said Emma aloud to the TV screen. “People are desperate,” said Carol, walking into the room. Emma turned around. “They’ll believe anything at the moment, and Haggett tells them what they want to hear.” “Of course,” said Emma. “Once he has got himself into Westminster he’ll be saying the same as everyone else.” “I think he’s dangerous,” said Carol. “He’s authoritarian and wants to be a dictator. Trouble is, because the present government is weak and indecisive the appeal of the strong man is tempting. Haggett says he wants to take on Enlecco. The government won’t do it as all their City cronies are making a fortune out of it. It’s not that I’m against making a profit – I’m a business woman, after all. But I don’t like how certain people can get hold of an income then get super-rich for doing very little.”

“Absolutely,” added Emma. “It creates an elite and an underclass – the haves and the have- nots, whereas I believe anyone should be able to do well in society if they work hard.” “I agree.” Just then the screen went blank and everything in the house shuddered to a halt. “Here we go again,” said Emma. “Carol...” “What?” “Do you think we can get through this winter? “I don’t know, Em.” “The ash might clear.” “Well yes. It’s bound to eventually. But the weather is stuck in a pattern, as far as I can see. The sea is bitterly cold and icebergs are now appearing off the coast of France. There will still be no food and we’ll need massive amounts of gas to keep warm which we don’t have. I think the next few months are going to be hell. You really need to be less optimistic, Emma. It’s unrealistic.” Emma took what Carol said to heart. “I didn’t see myself as an optimist. In fact, I’ve been quite down lately.” “But you constantly fool yourself that the end is just around the corner. It’s not. As far as I can see we’d be better off out of here. I’m going to consider it.” “Oh no, Carol, not you too. Don’t go. Please.” Carol seemed taken aback by the passion in

Emma’s voice. “I’m only saying. I have no particular plan to go. I was just wondering why I’m staying when life is so hard. Don’t worry, I won’t just take off and leave you.” Emma smiled thinly. “Let’s listen to the radio.” “Okay.” Emma wound up her radio noisily until there was enough charge to tune in to the BBC news channel. “... and we are just going across to Dover where, I am told, there is some breaking news.” Emma and Carol both went quiet. They didn’t like the sound of it, whatever it was. “My God!” said Emma. “They’ve closed the Channel Tunnel!” “No, listen,” said Carol, flapping her hand at Emma to keep quiet. “It’s closed to France. They will still allow freight to come in, I think.” “I hope so or we’ll starve!” “Shhh.” Both women listened intently while the reporter explained the situation as best he could. It was all very confused. He’d heard reports that all ferry passenger services would be suspended next. In short, anyone who intended to leave the UK would have to do so in the next few days or not at all. As the weather looked set to worsen at the approach of autumn, the French government had acted rather than wait for thousands more refugees to descend

on their ports. “Can’t blame them,” said Emma. “They can’t cope as it is.” “At least you don’t have to worry about me going anywhere,” said Carol, cynically. Emma’s phone bleeped the arrival of a text message. “I’ll make us a drink,” said Emma, picking up her phone casually as she headed for the kitchen. “The power’s off, remember?” “I left a kettle on the woodburner. It should have boiled by now.” “I keep forgetting. It was a great idea, the stove. Andy was so brilliant getting that fixed for you.” “Andy!” Emma shouted. “What?” “This text is from Andy.” “Oh, don’t tell me he’s in Dubai sunning himself; I don’t think I could bear hearing about it.” Emma read the message and then re-read it to make sure she wasn’t getting it all wrong. The cloud which passed over her face told Carol that something was amiss. “Andy’s on his way back!” “Why? Have they stopped him travelling? Did he miss his flight?” Shock was written all over Carol’s face. “He just says, back in Dover. Trying to hitch back or walk. Andy.”

“Or walk! My God. Why would he be walking? I don’t like the sound of that.” “Neither do I. Something’s obviously gone terribly wrong.” “He says back in Dover. Back. That surely means he had got to the Continent. Do you think he was deported?” “Who knows? But if he had been turned back surely he would just get a train home. This doesn’t sound right somehow.” “I’m going to call him,” said Emma. She tried his number but just got ‘it is not possible to connect your call’ recorded message. “What do we do now?” said Emma. “I don’t know,” said Carol. “I guess we wait. If he’s not back by tomorrow, we’ll have to think again.” Emma agreed. She was deeply worried. It was not just that Andy could be in trouble – that was bad enough – it was as though, with his message, that he had destroyed the very possibility of escape. Whatever the conditions were now, she would have to deal with them. There’d be no way out of this one. She looked at Carol, who, she could tell, was thinking the exact same thing.

20 Emma lay awake that night, worried about Andy. Nowhere was safe to walk anymore. In the still night she heard the sharp crack of gunfire. It could be the gangs who got more brazen daily. Maybe things were worse in France than here. The Channel Tunnel was now closed. She now feared the cold. The thought of Andy out there in the open bothered her. She trembled, turning first on one side then the other. Thoughts tumbled around her tired brain at random, wearing her out, achieving nothing. She slept for a while then in the early hours she woke once more when she heard the wind starting to rise, a sound which she hadn’t heard in weeks. It moaned eerily as it bore through the telegraph wires outside her window. It made her room colder than ever. She got out of bed and looked out of the window. Snowflakes were drifting past her window, catching on the frame and building triangles in the corners. It was starting to settle on the car roofs. She got back into bed and checked her phone. Still nothing. She noted that the battery was low. As soon as the

power came on she’d have to remember to charge it. The moment she thought it, she realized that Andy would have no means of charging his phone, which might explain why there had been no further contact from him. At least that could be positive. He could be well on his way home but unable to let them know. As Emma lay there she started to make plans in her head as to what to do when the electricity came on again tomorrow. Unfortunately everyone else had the same idea which sometimes overloaded the grid. So the power companies had the idea of switching on the electricity at random times to prevent a surge in use. Either way she would try to be ready. Always practical, Emma had become adept at getting the most out of her energy supply. What if it didn’t come on for several days? She thought of the snow gathering on the streets, making life even harder for people who were trying to keep it together. What if the supply failed and it didn’t come on at all? Power lines could come down in heavy snow. Pumping stations could freeze, jeopardizing the water supply. If roads were blocked maybe the meagre food supplies wouldn’t get through. Emma sat up. Her heart thumped in panic. It was as though, in a moment she had just seen what the whole winter was going to be like. And now she was trapped. There would be no way out. Not until the ash was gone. She needed to feel

that she was doing something. Over breakfast she called Lawrence Hewitt. “Lawrence, are you documenting this event?” “If, by this event, you mean our millenniumwithout-a-summer, yes of course I am.” “Don’t joke,” said Emma, secretly rather pleased to hear Hewitt’s dry wit again. “Who’s joking,” he said. She didn’t know if he meant that or not. “I had an idea,” said Emma. Hewitt sighed audibly. Emma pressed on. “I’m going to record this – make a video diary – and turn it into a documentary. When this is over everyone will want to see footage. And a great personal record for posterity. I knew you’d be ahead of the game, already taking pictures. Why don’t we team up and compile a book to go with the film? I think it’s a great idea.” Emma waited for his negativity to kick in and turn her down. Instead there was a long silence. Emma wondered how she could persuade him to join in her project. She waited. Maybe it was a stupid idea after all. “Emma, you still there?” said Hewitt testily. “Yes,” she said. “Well?” “I agree. I need a project. Amy has gone to join the Carters for three weeks. And the news from them isn’t great. Amy thinks we’re on the verge of what could be a twenty or thirty year cooling

event.” “Oh brilliant. That’s just what I needed to hear. I knew you’d cheer me up.” “There’s no point in being cheered up if it’s not based on anything. We need to be realistic.” Emma winced. This was the second time in two days that she’d been told to be realistic. “Actually, if you think about it, I’m the realistic one around here.” Emma fought back. “Who’s got the woodburner and a wind-up radio I might ask? Not you or Carol.” “Carol?” said Hewitt, puzzled. “Yes. She said I had to be more realistic, too.” “Oh. Well I think we’re going to need more than that if we’re to get through this winter. Roads are already blocking up in the south-east. And the train service is close to collapse. We’re heading back to the bloody Dark Ages.” “Well at least we can let everyone know how civilization ended, Lawrence. I’m going to start today. I’m sick of being stoic. I need to feel that I’m in control.” She rang off. *** Emma went down to the basement of her house to get her broadcast camera. It was freezing down there, and dark, as the blinds and curtains were tightly drawn. She pointed the torch at the steps and inched down. Carefully she opened the

cupboard door and took out the camera, which she placed on the desk. The place was dank and creepy. It would be good to check the place out now that she was down there. She flicked the torch around the room, once so busy; now so dead. The beam faded out. Automatically she started winding but it was taking too long. Cold and impatient, Emma marched over to the doors and flung back the curtains. She then opened the blinds letting in the white snow-light. The sight which hit her next sent her reeling. At the window, rats were scratching at the wood frame. There were dozens of them. She staggered back, closing the blinds and the curtains as fast as her shaking hands would let her. Grabbing her precious camera she ran up the stairs in a total panic, dropping the torch. She thought she felt something brush past her leg. She screamed. Carol dropped what she was doing and ran to the basement. “Emma!” Emma appeared, “Oh my God, oh my God!” she said and slammed the basement door shut behind her. She was out of breath and as white as a sheet. “What the hell is it?” said Carol desperately. “There are rats trying to get into the house. They’re nearly through. There might even be one in there already. Jeez, Carol. What are we going to

do?” “I don’t know. If they get in they could attack us.” “I thought I felt one!” Emma cringed. “I was down there in the dark. I could have been bitten!” Emma was getting hysterical. “Okay Em. You’re okay. It’s alright.” Carol took hold of her arms. “Look, we need a plan of action. There aren’t any rats in here at the moment. We need to do a sweep of the house to confirm that – it’ll make you feel better. This door needs to be kept shut.” “Then what?” said Emma. “I don’t know.” Carol was sounding calmer than she looked. She took a deep breath, then continued, “Yes, I do I know. We’ll call the Council – Pest Control. See what they say.” “It sounds so obvious. I didn’t think of that.” Emma, glad of something to do, called them immediately and told them what she’d seen. Much to her surprise they were on the case straightaway. “We’ve had a lot of calls from your sector,” the man said, “We’ll be around tomorrow.” She thought it odd that he’d said ‘sector’ rather than ‘street’ or ‘area.’ Made it sound like a war zone. Which perhaps it was. “Right, said Carol. We ought to go from room to room checking for signs – of rodents – she added.

We need to make sure there’s no food out of any description – even crumbs.” “Okay,” said Emma. “And I’ll check the bins.” “Be careful if you do, Em. Wear thick boots and gloves. On second thoughts we’ll go together.” “Carol.” “What?” “I’ve been thinking.” “Go on.” “Well, we’re not very prepared for a winter here are we? What if the power goes off altogether, or we run out of fuel?” “That can’t be allowed to happen, can it?” “I think we need to start looking after ourselves instead of just lurching from day to day.” “And how do we do that?” “We need to get some basic equipment together that isn’t energy-dependent. I’m going to go foraging.” Carol looked dubious. “And we need some more fuel. My stock is getting low. We’ll scour the house for signs of rats and block off any possible entry routes from the outside. Then I’m going into to the nearest scrapyard to see what I can scavenge.” Emma was on a mission. “Then I’ll have something to record for my video diary. And we can film and interview the rat-catchers at work tomorrow. I bet they’ve got some great stories to tell.”

Emma led Carol around the house looking in corners and under furniture. Thankfully they found nothing. Then they ventured outside. Carefully they checked the air-bricks and waste pipes for signs of damage or incursion. There was nothing obvious but there were a great many footprints in the snow. A sudden rustle in the undergrowth next to her made Emma jump out of her skin and she grabbed Carol’s arm. Everything now had the potential to be hostile. Emma was learning a new way of looking at the world. Thankfully it was only a bird. Nothing now could be taken for granted. Satisfied that their home was secure, Emma said goodbye to Carol and set off on foot for the scrap yard. *** The snow was driving down when Emma returned home three hours later. She had managed to buy a few hand tools and a pair of flat irons. Everything else from the pre-electrical age had been stripped bare, but she did spot a large pile of old wood. “That would be good for fuel,” she said to the man. “How much do you want for it?” “Fifty quid and it’s yours,” he replied. “Bring it round in your van and it’s a deal,” she said, knowing it was too much. It was builder’s rubbish, but things took on a different value now. He nodded.

“I’ll need the money up front,” he said. “I’ll pay on delivery,” said Emma. No-one now was to be trusted. He didn’t argue. When she got back to the house she told Carol what she’d done. “I’m impressed Emma, but I don’t know what you are going to do with these.” She held up the flat irons, laughing. “We might need those. You won’t laugh then,” said Emma, defensively. “You think if we are totally without power, cold and starving that we are going to be making sure the ironing’s done?” said Carol, doubling up. “Well we need to maintain standards,” said Emma, looking at the irons and suddenly seeing a lot of hard work – actually, maybe not,” she said laughing. It was good to have Carol around.

21 Kent

Andy Balham left the port of Dover, knowing he’d got to walk back to London. He set off with the grim determination that if he just kept going he should be home in a few days. He had received a boost on the first leg of his journey when a lorry driver gave him a lift as far as Canterbury. When the driver had given him something to eat, he’d been deeply touched by this first act of genuine kindness he’d experienced in a long while. It had made him think – about the way his own attitudes had been hardening lately. It was easy to blame others for their own misfortunes; to think that it was their fault for not being good enough or prepared enough to sort their own lives out. He’d been giving himself permission to stop caring about anyone else but himself. He stepped down from the lorry in Ashford. The driver fished in his pocket and found two pound coins which he pushed into Andy’s hand. “Get yourself something to eat,” he said jovially. “Good luck!”

“Thanks mate. I really appreciate that,” said Andy. He forced a smile but actually he could have cried. Hurriedly he slammed the door and set off. At the next convenience store he bought a cake and a bottle of water. The man behind the counter was wary, even hostile towards him. His unkempt appearance and obvious lack of resources had put him firmly on the other side of a barrier which had looked very different when he was on the better side of it. He walked all that first day and made quite good progress. By the time darkness fell he was weary beyond anything he had ever experienced. He was cold and the constant, gnawing hunger drained him of the natural energy of youth and the high level of fitness he’d always enjoyed as the result of his job. He looked around for somewhere to sleep. The prospect of sleeping in a doorway seemed too preposterous – and too dangerous, anything would be better than that. He spotted the bus station with a sense of utter relief. Inside it was warm and people were milling about. He looked for somewhere to sit. A brightly lit bus had London displayed on its brow. It dipped slightly on its suspension every time another passenger squeezed in, waving a ticket at the driver who scowled back at each person invading his space. Andy looked on enviously at the people who were boarding. They, at least, would soon be home.

When he found a seat, sleep overwhelmed him immediately. Four hours later a rough voice barked him awake telling him he had to leave as the station was closing. Andy was gutted. He’d thought he was there for the night. He avoided the unseeing eyes of the station official and left hurriedly dragging his bag up onto his shoulder as he shuffled away. The air outside was deeply chilled. A frost had already formed and a few tiny flakes of snow began floating in the wind. Andy was still drugged with sleep but he made the decision to keep walking. He was afraid that if he stopped he would die of the cold. For the next two days Andy ploughed on in a trance. Walking every hour until he could go no more, he curled up next to his rucksack and catnapped till the cold got too much to bear. He’d given up trying to hitch a lift. He looked like a tramp and nobody wanted to know. On day three he reached the London suburbs. By then he was lightheaded with hunger. He’d eaten the last, golden crumbs of his precious cake and he’d no more money left. He kept putting one foot in front of the other because there was no alternative but to lie down and die. He really thought that. He was running on fumes and for the first time in his life he was contemplating a scenario that he didn’t think he would get out of. And to

think, he could have been in Brisbane by now. He never thought it would end like this. At first, Andy had been cheered to reach the suburbs. Like all Londoners he saw it as representing civilization. The snow gradually turned to slush on the pavements and the roads were relatively clear. Some traffic was still making it through, but there weren’t many private cars running. There were some busses but they were packed with people bulging out of the doorways. No-one cared about the rules anymore. As the snow drove harder Andy could hardly feel any sensation in his feet or legs. He ached with cold. All he could think about was getting home, yet when he thought of his house he knew it would be a cold, cheerless place with no services on and still no food. He pressed on for another half kilometre. He had to stop for a break. Every step was getting harder. Every break took longer to get up from. His feet hurt so much he wondered if he was getting frostbite. Then a bus stopped at the side of him and a couple of people jumped off. His survival instinct kicked in and even before he knew what he was doing, he hauled himself onto his feet and grabbed the handrail in the middle of the open door where half a dozen others were trying to do the same. He was half hanging outside the vehicle when it

lurched forward with him clutching the rail with numb hands. He kept his head down so that the driver didn’t see him and ask for his fare. It was a joy to cover the next few kilometres without having to walk. The bus stopped at traffic lights outside a hospital. When he saw the sign he could have wept. He could get some help. Someone could look at his feet and he could sit in the warm for a few hours. At last he felt he knew what to do His joy was short-lived. The queue for the Emergency Department went around the whole building. Ambulances were ferrying people nonstop into the hospital at such a rate that many were left on trolleys in the cold under the portico. Andy went up to the back of the queue. “What’s going on here, mate? Has there been a major incident or something?” The man laughed rudely. “Yeah. It’s called a fucking volcano,” he said. “They’re seeing kids as a priority. People are having heart attacks in the cold. Infections are everywhere. The flu epidemic is coming back. You’ll be lucky to be seen this time tomorrow. It’s like a war zone in there, they say.” Andy trudged on his way. There was no point in staying. He knew he was getting hypothermic and was worried about his hands and feet. Queuing outside in the biting wind was not going to help him

one bit. He’d be better pressing on. The snow was settling quite fast now. The lift from the bus had given him the boost he needed to get the last leg home. As the wind grew stronger and the light began to fade, Andy decided to take no more rests. He thought of a warm fire and a hot meal obsessively. He found himself turning into roads he now knew. He didn’t even feel the cold anymore, now that he was on home territory. Then, as he stared at the white, never-ending pavement in front of him, it suddenly tilted up towards him and hit him in the face with a sharp, icy blow which knocked him into a black pit. He was only two streets away from Purbeck Road.

22 London

Emma had the camera set up ready for her first diary entry. The pest control guys were outside even though the light was fading. She did a short piece to camera then put on her coat, zipped up her boots and trudged outside to film the men as they worked. She was sure they would do a brief interview after they had set the traps. It had stopped snowing but the ground was covered already with a pristine white sheet. The air felt cold on her cheeks as Emma ventured outside. The frost would soon be forming, crisping up the fallen snow and framing what was left of the garden shrubs and trees with silver rime. “Better stay inside there, madam, if I were you,” said one of the men. “But I only wanted to ask you a few questions and film how you went about your work,” said Emma. “I don’t think you’ll want to see this,” said the man, who threw down some bait which looked like rotten meat before retreating to the edge of the garden. He ordered Emma to stay close to them. In

minutes the ground came alive with scurrying grey bodies. Emma recoiled. She hoped the bait would carry enough poison to see the rodents off, but what happened next shocked her beyond anything she could have imagined. The men brought out what looked like hunting rifles and took aim at the pests now devouring the bait. Emma turned on her camera. After five minutes the carnage was complete. “Sorry about that, madam, but poison takes too long, and in a lot of cases, doesn’t work at all. We have been through every property in this street today. The authorities have insisted we take action to prevent an epidemic. We’ll leave baited traps for small rodents. Leave no food out of any description. No feeding birds or other wildlife. We’ll clear up here. Call us again if you still have problems.” Emma nodded mutely. She was impressed and repelled in equal measure at what she had just seen. “What sort of an epidemic?” she asked. “They can spread all sorts of things – rats and mice,” said the man. “Not just plague which we know about – typhus, Weil’s disease, TB, e-coli, salmonella. Because they are hungry, they are trying to get into houses where they can pass on infection. We have to take pest control seriously or we could be in big trouble. And if you get bitten, get medical help straight away.”

Emma recoiled at the thought. It made good copy but Emma couldn’t wait to get back inside. She didn’t want to see any more. She thanked the men and started to leave when she heard thumping on her front door. She went around the side of the house to see who it was. It was her delivery of wood. “Can you leave it round the side here?” said Emma. “So no-one from the street can see it.” “Yes, okay,” the man from the reclamation yard said reluctantly. “But first – you haven’t got a phone I could use, have you?” Emma looked suspicious. “Only mine’s out of charge and I’ve just seen someone lying out in the snow. I want to call the police or the ambulance or something.” “What!” said Emma. “I can’t just ignore him, can I?” “Did you stop and see if he was okay?” said Emma. “No way. It could have been a trap. Or maybe he was dead.” Emma was horrified. “Where is he?” she said. “On West Road, about halfway down.” Emma tried to phone the emergency services herself but found herself in a queue. They were stretched to breaking point. The driver quickly dropped off her delivery then

took the fifty pounds she had promised earlier while Emma persisted with the call to no avail. “I’m going to go and see if this man needs help. We could be waiting ages for an ambulance. Will you come?” “I need to be getting back, madam. Keep trying the police. Don’t go by yourself. Let them sort it out.” Emma nodded, her resolve wavering. It was nearly dark, after all, and she didn’t know what she’d do if she found him, not if she was on her own. She tried the police non-emergency number and at last got a reply. They told her they would send someone out when they could. It didn’t sound very convincing. She went inside telling herself she had done what she could. She busied herself around the house getting something on the stove for dinner and tending the fire. She felt rich indeed having the store of wood outside. That would last for at least four weeks she guessed. But no matter how busy she tried to be the voices in her head wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t stop thinking of the man in the snow and wondered whether to call the police again and ask if he was okay. Eventually, knowing she would get no peace until she did, she picked up her phone and got through to the community officer she spoke to before.

“We sent for an ambulance, so I expect he’ll be picked up by now,” said the woman casually. She obviously had more important things to attend to. Emma didn’t know what to do. She wanted to believe he was okay but hated the thought that she was turning her back on him. It’s funny how quickly people become non-people when their situation changes, and how easily we all cast around for reasons to do nothing when doing something seems like an effort. It was nearly dark. Emma looked at the clock. In about fifteen minutes she thought the electricity would come on. She wanted to see the news and to upload her first diary entry onto i-Vu. Then she would try to get some clothes dry. Life now was a never-ending battle of trying to do normal things for an hour a day and then slipping back into the awfulness of Victorian living in a society geared up for the twenty-first century. She wondered if the riots and protests would make any difference. So far the government had stuck to the line that this was a natural phenomenon and that they were doing their best to deal with it. She had to admit they had a point. No amount of rioting would make the ash disappear anytime soon. Emma had become very passive over the years, but especially since losing Bill. It had knocked the wind out of her sails totally. When he died, she had

also lost their future which they had planned for and expected to be living now. She had lost her support and her confidant. It was a bitter pill to swallow, to be alone at the time of their lives when she should have been reaping the rewards of a lifetime together. But she also had to admit that her passivity had been born, not only out of depression. It had begun a long time ago as the result of living with someone who had a big personality and the drive to always override her and want her to fit in around him. He meant well; he had been caring and protective, but the effect on Emma had been to chip, chip away at her independence and selfconfidence. Emma hadn’t realized to what extent this process had undermined her as an individual until left on her own, she felt unable to make the smallest decision without the need to refer to someone else. Carol was back. She banged the door shut and called out from the hall. “Hi! Anyone home!” Emma walked through to greet her. “It’s bloody cold out there!” said Carol, grumpily. “Did you see anyone in the snow,” said Emma. “What on earth do you mean,” said Carol. “There are lots of people out there, all trying to get home.” “I mean someone lying in the snow.” She told

Carol what the delivery man had said. “Well we’d better go and see,” said Carol without a moment’s hesitation. “Are we alright going out there by ourselves?” said Emma, still dithering. “We’ll soon find out,” said Carol. When they got to West Street, they saw a bundle of clothes in the middle of the road. They approached cautiously. About twenty metres away the dogs were pacing back and forth. Every so often they whined menacingly. “Let’s take a look then get him out of here,” said Carol. “Guard my back. I hope to goodness he’s not dead. I can’t stand things like that.” Emma was full of admiration for the way Carol put her own safety and qualms to one side for the sake of a stranger. Emma felt only shame for the way she had left this poor soul out here for so long without even checking him out. So many people must have walked past him today. What in God’s name was happening to us all? she thought. Carol bravely pulled back the man’s hood and looked at his face. She started back with a cry that chilled Emma’s heart. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Emma stood there, trembling. “Is he dead?” she ventured, not daring to look. “Jeez, I hope not!” said Carol. “It’s Andy!”

“Andy! No! Oh no! And I nearly left him out here on his own to die of the cold because I couldn’t be fucking bothered to check him out.” “We have to get him home.” “How are we going to do that? We can’t carry him.” “We have to try. Between us we have to get him upright and put an arm around each shoulder. It’s not far.” It wasn’t, but it was desperately hard work getting Andy back to Emma’s house. When they hauled him into the living room they sank onto the sofas, panting. For a moment they could do nothing for their friend till they’d had a moment to recover. Emma noticed that any exertion seemed to take its toll on her nowadays. It was the result of constant hunger. They allowed themselves a minute to get their breath back and then knelt down to tend to Andy who was blue with cold and still unconscious. Carefully they pulled off his outer clothes which were filthy and nearly frozen solid. They placed him close to the fire. Carol called his name and shook him gently in an attempt to wake him. Emma raced upstairs to get a duvet to wrap him in. He groaned slightly. “Come on Andy, you’re safe now. Wake up. Wake up for goodness sake.” They wrapped him in the duvet and got him a hot

drink. Emma held it to his chapped lips and he sipped it awkwardly, still with his eyes shut. “Are we doing the right thing?” said Emma. “Who knows?” said Carol. “Probably not, but we have little choice here do we. I just hope we don’t kill the poor sod, now he’s got this far.” It was just what Emma had been thinking. When the lights went out the house became still once more, as though its pulse had been taken away. As Emma sat by the stove with Carol and Andy, all she could hear was the spit and crackle of burning wood and the moaning of the wind from behind the curtains. After about three hours they managed to get Andy to finish a drink of hot, very sweet tea which he sipped groggily. He tried to sit up but just groaned with the effort. His voice was weak. “My hands and feet are killing me.” He grimaced as he tried to move them. “Have I got frostbite?” he said, anxiously. Carol took his hands out from the duvet and examined them. “I don’t think so. Not that I’m an expert, but they look red and swollen. They’ll hurt like hell as you warm up, but if there was frostbite, don’t they go black?” “Yes,” said Emma. “I think you’re right.” “Let’s take a look at your feet,” said Carol. She carefully removed his foot from his sock.

“You’re okay, darling. Good thing you were well equipped with your walking socks and boots.” Andy choked back tears. He’d feared that he could lose his hands and feet and never lead a normal life again. Carol put her arms around him and held him close. He was still very cold. Emma went upstairs to get him some warm fleece gloves and new socks. They got him to eat some hot cereal covered in sugar to give him energy. Then he fell asleep. Emma looked at Carol. “We’ll try to find out what happened to him in the morning. And when the power comes on tomorrow I’ll wash his clothes. Poor thing.” But she waited in vain. The electricity didn’t come on the next day for the usual hour. Emma was furious. Now all her plans were in ruins. Carol went out to buy some food and came back with hardly anything. Fine, cold snow drifted past their window, building a white blanket over the dying city. Irrationally she flicked the light switch on and off as if that would make any difference. She tended to Andy who was now sitting up and was clearly going to make it. It was funny, but when the power didn’t come on the next day, she knew it wouldn’t be coming on again. And it didn’t.

23 East Millcott, Winter

It was the middle of December. The short days, which never seemed more than twilight, slipped by too quickly, giving the upper hand to the dreary, black nights. Starless and flat, the cold sky had lost its twinkling beauty. It was as though the throb of life had been sucked out of the universe. The sun’s vital energy no longer penetrated the thick mantle of dust and ash wrapping around the planet’s northern hemisphere. Seasons merged into one. The Earth prepared itself for eternal winter; it had been there before. It was the people who weren’t so lucky. Derek Stringer looked out of his window furtively; making sure none of his neighbours could see him peeking around the blackout curtain drawn tightly against the bitter cold. The desolation clawed at him, matching the feelings he had inside. He craned out as he had heard a vehicle approach. It was an army truck. Maybe calling at yet another house to take away a body. It seemed to be the only reason a motorized vehicle got through nowadays. It was either the cold or the flu, he guessed. He’d

lost count of the number of neighbours who were gone. It all seemed so matter-of-fact. After June had died of complications due to the flu, he’d almost lost the will to go on. He couldn’t understand it. He’d done everything he could to protect his family. He’d abandoned his principles and taken work offered to him by Steve Mills, selling his expertise in return for getting the status of a Priority User in the energy industry. He’d thought that it would make them safe, but June had died of pneumonia because he couldn’t get her to hospital quickly enough when she’d become ill. He felt that he’d sold out – and now he couldn’t even enjoy the rewards of his pyrrhic victory. The familiar roads and landmarks had all but disappeared under layers of snow. Even the abandoned cars were now just gentle round hillocks. The telegraph poles were little more than reminders of a bygone age – at least for most people. He carefully replaced the curtain and drew back into the room, making sure that no chink of light could escape before going into the kitchen and switching on the kettle. Derek took some milk from the fridge and made some tea. His dinner was in the oven, bubbling away. He took a bottle of wine from the rack and placed it on the table for later. June had always done that. He looked at the clock. There might be time to check his emails and do an on-line shop

before eating. The goods came round in an unmarked Enlecco van once a month. After dinner he’d watch some TV. He hoped there would be some comedy on, or a good crime drama – anything to distract him from the gloomy thoughts which had now become his world. He ate his meal in silence then cleared the things away and switched the dishwasher on. He then remembered to check the hall. Carefully, he pulled some blackout curtains over a door he’d rigged up halfway down the hall. A candle sat on the side table with a box of matches next to it. If anyone came to the door it would look as though his power was off, the same as everyone else’s. Derek had had to learn to be very discreet so as not to arouse suspicion and jealousy. Every knock on the door meant going through a ritual of checking that appliances were switched off. He listened to the TV on headphones most of the time so his neighbours wouldn’t hear. He kept the radio on low. The backdrop of silence, oppressive and timeless, hung in the air. The noisy, pre-ash world was now dead. Outside, the hum of traffic had been replaced by the intermittent trudge of boots on snow. And voices which carried on the wind. Noone had heard an aircraft in months. Derek poured himself a glass of wine before settling in front of the TV, the volume turned down as he couldn’t be bothered with the headphones.

On the sideboard, there was a picture of himself and June in evening dress, dancing in a competition. He glanced away, unable to face her smile. The jeans and open-neck shirt were more than warm enough as the effects of food and wine spread through his body. He kicked off his slippers and tried not to look at the empty chair on the other side of the room. He jabbed at the remote control just in time to see the titles of his favourite police drama. Then the phone rang. “Dammit!” he said aloud. He got up to answer the call. “Derek!” It was Steve Mills. Derek bridled. What did the conniving bastard want now? “Oh, hi Steve,” said Derek smoothly, aware that all his home comforts were owing to Mills’ influence. “What can I do for you?” “I need you to do some more consultation work for us, Derek.” “Not a good time for me, Steve. Sorry and all that. I think you’ll have to get someone else – what with – well you know how it is.” “What’s the problem? It’s an easy job – well within your remit.” “You heard about June didn’t you?” said Derek, annoyed that he had to spell it out. “Oh, yes, of course. Really sorry about that. But

look, Derek. You should keep busy. Isn’t that what they say? It might help. Take your mind off things.” Derek felt his hand grip the receiver as anger coursed through his veins. He wanted to punch Mills. He’d no idea. What was he thinking? That writing out some crappy report for Enlecco would make him forget that he’d just lost his wife. Derek took a deep breath and was about to tell Mills to take a running jump, when the other man carried on. “Don’t be too hasty, Derek. I’m sure you’re warm and cosy at home, for the moment, but just remember it’s minus fifteen out there tonight and it’s not much fun sitting in the cold.” Derek was about to tell Mills that they wouldn’t all be in this position if Enlecco hadn’t seriously under-invested for the last twenty years, while they rolled in the profits. But Mills rang off, sensing an outburst. Not all conversations were private anymore. Derek seethed. As much as anything he was angry at his own stupidity at getting involved with these people. He’d naively thought that he could keep his family safe by doing a one-off report in return for getting Priority User energy status. Now they had no intention of letting him go. He knew too much about the way they worked to let him off the hook, and if his neighbours saw the way he lived now they’d lynch him.

At this moment Steve Mills was probably writing a press release saying that Derek Stringer, critic of Enlecco’s efforts to modernise the industry was living the life of Riley in his Midlands home, while his neighbours starved. If Derek didn’t do as they asked, all Mills would have to do is file a hatchet job on him to the newspapers and he would be in deep trouble. He took a mouthful of wine and sat down to watch his program. His mood was now destroyed. Fifty minutes later the credits rolled and Derek flicked the TV over to the news. The Prime Minister announced that in the interests of national security, the day-to-day running of the country would be placed in the hands of the National Emergency Committee. On the face of it, things didn’t seem to be too different. The NEC had been a select group of MP’s who had special responsibility for managing the crisis caused by the ash. But Derek saw that a number of MP’s had been replaced by non-elected appointees from the world of banking, the armed forces and industry. The PM looked a lot less happy than the NEC. Democracy was being side-lined for the duration. Did anyone realise how hard it would be to get it back? Derek had seen it all before. Once elites become entrenched, they stay in charge by appointing each other to the top jobs. The

electorate loses its power to sack a bad government and is reduced to rubber-stamping whoever is already there. Derek sighed. There would be no opposition; everyone was too cold and hungry. Most people wouldn’t even see the news tonight. Suddenly Derek jumped as he heard a loud thumping on his front door. He fumbled with the remote before hurrying into the kitchen to check that the dishwasher had finished. He then grabbed an old woollen hat which he pulled down over his ears. He walked through the hall and carefully closed the curtain behind him. Three more loud knocks rattled the front door in its frame but still he took the time to pick up an old blanket and wrap it around his light clothing. He lit the candle. Derek opened the door nervously, afraid of everyone lately. “Derek! Let me in. It’s me!” He squinted at the figure shivering on his step, his eyes not used to the dark. “Who’s there?” said Derek. “It’s me, Steve. Let me in, it’s bloody freezing out here!” Derek opened the door in astonishment. “Steve?” Mills was the last person he expected to see. Derek felt his pulse quicken. This could only mean trouble. “Look, you know I’ll do the report. I’ve no choice have I? What do you want harassing me at this time of night?”

Derek stepped back and Mills, without further invitation pushed himself inside the house. “Come in,” said Derek, sarcastically. “Thanks,” said Mills, without a trace of irony. “No, don’t touch that!” shouted Derek as Mills made towards the inner hall door. The other man froze. “I need to secure this first, or people might see our light from the street.” Derek arranged the blackout with practised ease then took Mills through to the twenty-first century. The room was warm and homely. Mills took off his coat and Derek gestured for him to sit down. “What’s going on Steve? Surely you could have phoned me tomorrow? “Derek, I need your help.” Mills voice was tight. Derek was taken aback at the other man’s discomfiture. This was totally unexpected. He thought Mills looked flustered. “You’ll get the report, I told you.” “No it’s not that. I needed to speak to you. I couldn’t on the phone. I used that call to set up a reason for seeing you.” “What do you mean?” said Derek, more puzzled than ever. “I suppose you saw the news.” “Yes, is that relevant?” Derek sighed. He didn’t think Mills had come around to talk current affairs. “Look Steve, are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Well, yes. Maybe. I don’t know. The thing is, I want to get away from this set-up and I don’t know if I can.” “I know the feeling,” said Derek, cynically. He then poured them both a glass of wine and put one into Steve Mills’ hand which trembled slightly, maybe with the cold. Mills took a large drink then set his glass on the table. “I don’t know where to start, Derek. I used to think I worked for a company which generated electricity. Now stuff is happening which is on too a big a scale for me. I feel caught up in something I no longer understand.” “Like what?” said Derek, unable to believe his ears. He still didn’t see how he could help a man like Steve Mills. He had no idea how he was going to help himself. “These people who have been running Enlecco, they are not industry men. They are money men, and now they want political power as well. In fact they have just used the ownership of utilities as a means of generating vast incomes for doing very little. I threw myself into getting on in the organisation as I genuinely believed they were modernising the old industries. And yes, I was in it for myself. I wanted to make as much money as I could. We’ve always dragged behind the times in this country – hanging on to steam trains when the

rest of the world was electrifying their railways, making goods on machinery from the nineteenforties and then wondering why the far east took it all over. We’re obsessed with the past and fearful of the future. I could see us hanging on to obsolete power stations when everyone else was forging ahead with new forms of energy technology.” “I know you see me as some sort of a dinosaur, Steve. You think I want to keep coal powered stations for sentimental reasons or because it’s what I know. It’s not true. I’m an engineer and I love to see new innovations. But I could see that these power plants were being closed for economic reasons, and, crucially, before we had anything else to replace them with. Energy investment is costly, and these people in charge didn’t want to put anything back.” “But we couldn’t have stuck with the coal powered stations for environmental reasons.” “If we had put in place some carbon capture technology we could have kept the old stations open and avoided this fucking nightmare we’re in now. People are dying, Steve. This is real, not economic. People are cold and people are hungry.” Derek jabbed at the table in frustration. “I do know that,” said Mills. There was a tense silence. “I’ve heard what they are planning to do, Derek. And that’s why I want out.” “What do you mean?”

“There were all sorts of rumours flying around at Enlecco, but this was from a reliable source. The UK was going to be opened up to fracking which would have been very profitable for Enlecco and a good source of cheap energy for British industry. But since the ash, well, where do we start? Many of the transformers are damaged by the corrosive ash. Power lines are down, transport links are disrupted. The cost of repairing and restoring a full service will run into hundreds of billions even if the ash clears and the weather improves next year. If it doesn’t – and some meteorologists are saying that the ash cloud has caused a change in climate that could last for decades – then there is no hope of restoring the infrastructure in our lifetime.” “So, what are they going to do?” said Derek. “Nothing, in short,” replied Steve. “They regard the UK as a dead duck. They made vast profits because they were given massive government subsidies. They won’t be available anymore so Enlecco will be shipping out. We are on the brink of a widespread famine. These shortages are the last remnants of the food supply which is about to run out. We can’t grow anything and imports are trailing down to nothing now. The ports are frozen and airlines are all still grounded. Enlecco are moving operations to other countries where they can still make money, mostly in the southern hemisphere. Already some areas in the UK are

totally without power. People there are either dying in their beds or the stronger ones are abandoning their homes.” “And going where?” said Derek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Only the ones with connections get out. Others are dying on the roads.” Steve took another draught of his wine. “And how do you fit into all this?” said Derek. “I’ve been asked to close down all our UK operations.” “Ah, I see,” said Derek. “And when I protested that we couldn’t just abandon the population I was told I could join them out there in the cold if I wanted to, but I wouldn’t get any help from the company – and without that I might as well just curl up and die. I was due a large bonus. I tried to pay the cheque into a foreign bank to keep it safe but Enlecco have stalled on it until I do as they say. They also warned me in no uncertain terms to keep my mouth shut – they now see me as unreliable.” “Five-hundred thousand is a big temptation, Steve. Are you sure you want out?” Mills eyes widened and he nearly choked on his drink. “What! How the hell? How did you know that, for God’s sake?” Derek shrugged and said nothing.

“Anyway, one thing I do know is that whatever they say, I am not going to get any money. I just know it. They are using me. Once they’ve left the UK operation they aren’t going to be worrying about me.” “I suspect you’re right – about the money – but if they leave, someone else will have to step in. Can’t the government do anything?” said Derek. “They could nationalise the power plants and get the army in to restore energy to people’s homes. There have been riots in London. Something needs to be done!” “The government is not really in charge anymore. The National Emergency Committee is. To be honest, there has been a blurring of the lines between government financial and media interests for a while. The NEC has been virtually taken over by that lot you saw on the news earlier tonight. What sickens me is that if the ash clears and the climate gets back to normal, we won’t have a democratic system left anymore and we won’t have an infrastructure either. We will be run by unelected technocrats, bankers and political chancers.” Derek looked a bit sceptical. Had Mills had a change of heart? Or was it the loss of his bonus which suddenly made him see the wider issues. “There’ll be more protests – not just London – I mean,” said Derek.

“Well there already are in some areas, but they’re just being ignored. Also there are still many people who are just about managing with their stores of food. Life is one long struggle, leaving them with no energy to protest. They probably think the power is coming on again any day soon and so are hanging on. Poor sods.” “So, Steve, why are you telling me all this?” “I thought I had to do something. I couldn’t just keep my mouth shut, so I spoke to the Energy minister. Said that Enlecco were going too far and that you, as the Union spokesperson, agreed with me.” “You did what!” “Well, yes. Maybe I shouldn’t have. This is why I’ve come to you now. Found out the Minister was in bed with Enlecco so my visit to him will be reported straight back to the company. He told me everything I said would be in the strictest confidence. Of course he only said that to get me to open up. I actually said that I knew Enlecco paid politicians to promote their interests. What a fool I’ve been!” Mills squeezed his hands together in a nervous gesture, his eyes darting around the room as if trying to find a way out. Derek offered some advice. “Best thing is to try to keep calm – say nothing and hope it will blow over – all these people have

got bigger things on their minds than you, I dare say.” The other man squirmed in his chair then looked Derek straight in the eye. “You could see all this coming, Derek. We shouldn’t have let things get so bad.” Mills paused. “And I’m sorry about June.” The two men sat in silence for a long time. When Mills sat upright and took a deep breath, Derek stiffened. “What is it, Steve?” “There’s something else,” he said.

24 New York

Jack Ellis stared out of his office window, unable to do any more work that day. A freezing wind skimmed over the iron streets. There were no faces anymore, just padded coats and pulled down hats, hurrying, always hurrying to get off the sidewalk and into a warm interior space. Coffee shop windows streamed as packed commuters held onto their paper cup of heat, a moment’s respite from the worst winter in living memory. Getting about was a pain. But hey, this was New York, people got by. It was the newspaper headline staring out at him from his computer screen that worried him. Deep Freeze Britain: no let- up in sight for new Ice Age. He’d been reading similar reports for weeks. During July and August he’d heard it called the year without a summer, but he hadn’t attached too much importance to what the papers said. Britain has poor summer is hardly newsworthy to most ex-pats after all. But this had caught his eye. There was a picture of London looking like a snowed-up Russian port. He thought it was a mock-up at first,

until he read the accompanying article. It said people were dying of the cold in their thousands. It said that people were fighting over food in the streets. The English Channel was almost frozen over at its narrowest point, soon linking the UK with the continent for the first time in ten thousand years. In Scandinavia and the rest of northern Europe things were not much better. They hadn’t escaped the ash in New York. They’d had a dreary, cool summer under a lid of bleached out skies, but not on the scale of what they had in Europe which had lain right in the path of the thickest ash fallout. He was disappointed that Emma Stamford hadn’t answered his emails or his recent texts. He had only been checking to see that she was okay. He had to admit that he was concerned about her, and he had done what he could. If she didn’t want any further contact between them then that was her choice. Before the ash, when he still lived in London, Jack thought they might get together. After Bill died he saw a chance for their friendship to develop into something closer, but she clearly hadn’t been ready to move on and he didn’t want to hang around forever. Taking the job in Amsterdam, then moving on to New York was meant to be a clean break. He made friends, went on dates and made the most of the New York social and cultural scene.

But nothing serious worked out. He couldn’t stop thinking about Emma, who couldn’t even be bothered to send him a text. The thought that she might have got someone else gnawed at him, too. That was the news he definitely didn’t want to hear. “You nearly finished here, Jack?” It was Jeff Golasky, who worked on the next floor up. Jeff was in his early forties, of medium build. He had never worn anything but jeans and open-necked shirts, whatever the weather. He was full of energy and New York back chat and had become friendly with Jack over the months. “Yeah. I’m done for today. How about you, Jeff? Got time for a drink?” “Sure. So long as you’re paying. Hey will you look at that!” Jeff looked at Jack’s monitor and saw the picture of London. “Looks pretty bad, huh. You must be glad you got out when you did, buddy.” Jack switched off his computer and grabbed his jacket. Jeff was already on his way out of the office and marching down the brightly lit corridor towards the elevator. Jack hurried to catch him up. Sometimes the decade between their ages was too apparent. They spilled out onto the bitter cold street and made for a bar on the corner of 34th Street and Eighth Avenue where they ordered some wine and a bowl of French fries. They found a seat by the window and sat down amongst the after-work hubbub.

“Okay, Jack, now tell me what’s on your mind.” Jeff didn’t mess about. “I think you need to talk.” “Okay, Jeff, I guess you’re right. It’s those pictures of London. They’ve really shocked me. I didn’t know things were so bad.” “So, it’s cold over there. It’s cold here. We sometimes get snow four feet deep. What’s the problem? Or should I say who’s the problem?” Jeff cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips into a knowing smile. “No, no. It’s not just cold in the UK. It said that the population was starving – not disrupted, not inconvenienced, but starving. It said that the power outages had affected large areas of the country. There’s no gas for heating – that’s gas, not petrol.” “Hell, I’ve known you long enough to know what gas is,” said Jeff. “And I haven’t heard from a friend of mine, Emma, in weeks.” “Hey, now we’re getting down to it. You’re worried about Emma, right?” “She hasn’t replied to my emails. She might be in trouble. Or she might not want to talk to me. I just don’t know. She’s not the sort just to ignore me. I keep asking if she’s okay, and nothing.” “And she’s just a friend?” “Yes, well, yes. There was never anything between us.” “What’s she like?”

“She’s about my age – mid-fifties. Brown hair. Nice smile. Hang on. Look. I’ve got a picture here.” Jack got out his phone. “This was taken at the café where we used to hang out. Emma’s the one second from the end.” “She’s beautiful. Is she married then?” “Was. She’s a widow.” “That’s tough. You can’t even slag off her ex.” “Or even compare to him,” said Jack, mournfully. “Hey, come on. Now let’s get this straight. Either you care for this lady enough to do something about it or you don’t. Simple as that. You gave up too easily last time so she thinks you don’t care. Try calling.” “I have. There’s no response. The phone doesn’t ring.” “Okay. So the power is off – you said so yourself. She can’t charge her phone; her computer is down, nothing. She never even got your emails.” “I never thought of that.” “It’s obvious,” said Jeff. “So you think she’s okay?” “No I don’t. She’s in deep trouble Jack, if you ask me, which you are doing. There’s no food, no heat, no light, no nothing. How can she be okay?” “Then I need to do something. I need to help her. But what if she’s with someone else? What do I do then?”

“Kick his ass,” said Jeff stuffing his mouth with a handful of fries. Jack grinned broadly, loving the image, and loving even more Jeff’s attitude to a problem. “I might try to go back to the UK. What do you think? It’s time I took some leave. I’m owed some time off. I could find out if Emma’s okay.” “Might be easier said than done to get there, man. No planes, remember?” “I could take a boat.” “What! Are you kidding me? A boat! I’ve heard it all now. You could be gone for weeks – they’ll never give you that much vacation.” “Well it was you who said I had to do something, not just sit here.” “Yes, but a boat! Jeez, this Emma must be someone special.” Jack just stared at his drink and looked sad. “Tell me about her,” said Jeff more gently. “It’s strange. I don’t really know her that well. But we were part of the same circle of friends and we always seemed to get along.” Jack paused for a few moments. “It just seemed natural that we should be together somehow. After her husband died I thought I might be in with a chance, but somehow it never seemed the right time to ask her out, so we just stayed friends. And she talked about Bill all the time. I wondered if she did that to keep me at arm’s length; to warn me that she didn’t want

anyone else.” “She maybe didn’t realise she was doing it. I don’t know. But, Jack, you can’t go through life imagining what people might say to questions that stay in your head. You need to ask them and then deal with the actual answers they give to you. My mom used to call it ‘thinking for other people’ and a lot of folks do it. You know what it’s like when someone says to you that they didn’t ask you to the party because they didn’t think you’d be able to make it.” Jack laughed. He knew exactly how it felt. And it made him realise that he’d had a fantasy relationship with Emma for so long that he’d not wanted to spoil the dream. Now, though, things were different. The ash had changed everything. He could no longer count on going back to the UK for a visit and picking up where he had left off. Emma could be ill. Emma could be dead for all he knew. It was time to act. “Jeff, will you wave me off from the quayside?” “You bet I will. Just make sure you book a return ticket, buddy.” “For the return journey I’ll make sure I book two tickets,” said Jack grinning. He was already on his way.

25 East Millcott

Derek stared at Steve Mills. “What? What do you mean there’s something else?” He waited for Mills to continue. “This is classified information. It’s been going on for months, maybe years. I...” “Now hold it right there, Steve. I’m not sure I want to know after all. Not if it’s classified. We’re getting into dangerous waters here...” “You’re telling me! I’d heard mumblings about it before. Enlecco funded many scientific projects. Some useful; some less so. The science guys were being asked to come up with something to mitigate against global warming. Most of what we heard was impractical – some ideas sounded like science fiction. But this one got funding. It’s called...” “I don’t want to know what it’s called!” shouted Derek. “The Icarus Project – well who thought that one up? It was due to come crashing down if anything was!” Derek winced, wishing he hadn’t heard the word

Icarus. “I don’t want to know any more!” he said, panicking. “You might as well – everyone will assume that you do.” Derek opened his mouth to speak but nothing would come out. Mills ploughed on, “The Icarus Project had been around for years in various forms. Basically it was thought that if you could send something reflective into the upper atmosphere – a chemical or something physically reflective – then you could cool the Earth. Save the planet. Stop us from sailing past the Two Degree mark. All very laudable and a lot of scientists backed it. Thought science could get us out of the climate hole we’ve been digging for ourselves these last two hundred years. It would mimic the effect of a volcano erupting and cool the planet very nicely.” “Oh, I get it! And Enlecco could expand into fracking and carry on burning fossil fuels with impunity.” “Exactly. Only no-one thought it through.” “Well, they don’t need Icarus now, do they?” said Derek with a forced laugh. “We’ve got a real volcano to do the job for us! How ironic! So – why is this classified? Does any of it matter anymore?” “You don’t get it, do you, Derek? Project Icarus isn’t for the future. The stupid bloody idiots only went and did it!” Derek felt the colour drain from his face.

“What do you mean? Actually put stuff up there? No! When?” “About five years ago.” It all fell into place. The last few years of freezing winters and miserably short summers. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d said something wasn’t right about the weather. Now he knew why. “Good God!” he said. “So now we have the nightmare scenario. They’ve engineered a cooler climate only for Katla to blow up and tip us into the next Ice Age.” “And they’re worried that you will spill the beans.” “Exactly! I’ve been getting threatening phone calls and emails. Anonymous of course. They’re doing it to intimidate me.” There was another long silence, and then Derek was the first to speak. “We have to leave here, don’t we?” “Yes. We do. I’m being watched, which I why I set up a reason for coming to see you. To be honest we needed to move out anyway. These special deliveries aren’t going to continue once they pull out of the UK. There are Privileged Users all over the country who think they’ll ride out this storm in comfort till the ash clears. Boy are they going to get a shock! Well they can get someone else to shut down UK operations. I can’t do it.”

“Have you resigned?” “I’ve told them I’ve got the flu, which will buy me a few days unless anyone has seen me out and about. They’ll probably just think I’ve died if I don’t get back to them.” “Let’s hope so,” said Derek, enigmatically. *** Next morning Derek got up early, still in a state of shock. Steve Mills was in his house and making breakfast. They were both wanted men. He went downstairs. He was eaten up with curiosity about Icarus. He’d try to find out more later. Mills was frying some eggs. “We need to get out of here soon,” he said. “We can’t go just like that,” said Derek. “And anyway I’ve got a delivery of food arriving today. We can’t leave that behind. We’ll need it.” “Okay,” said Mills. “But get your stuff together. I’ve got a four-by-four out in the road. Pack up as much as you can get in there and we’ll leave as soon as the food arrives.” By five-thirty that night both men realised that Enlecco’s delivery wasn’t going to turn up. “We should be going,” said Mills. “What! At this time of night,” said Derek. “Now we have the vehicle packed we have to go. It probably won’t be here in the morning if we leave it till then.” Derek was dressed in all his warmest winter

clothes. He took a last look around the place he had called home for the last twenty-eight years. There was no time for tears. He shut the door and dropped the key in his pocket. The four-track slithered on the road for a few metres before it got some traction. “Right,” said Derek. “Where are we heading?” “South,” said Mills. “Where south?” said Derek. “London,” said Mills. “The last redoubt.” “Where in London?” “No idea.” “But I thought you had somewhere to go?” said Derek, now alarmed. He looked at Mills, who shrugged and added, “I was hoping you’d think of something.” Derek cursed under his breath realising that he’d just left behind a warm house to go to God-knowswhere with a man he’d never been able to stand. “Cheer-up,” said Mills. “Don’t look back – there’ll be no more on-line shopping, and the electricity will be off at your house by tomorrow, you can bet your life.” They drove through the night, making slow progress on the pack-ice. As they approached the capital, roads were passable with care but coated with a thin layer of freshly fallen snow. Dawn hardly penetrated the dead, grey sky. Derek looked out onto roads strewn with abandoned rubbish

mixed up with broken grey slush, now re-frozen and treacherous to walk on. Torn black bin liners were piled up in every front garden and in front of every shop or office. Animals slunk around every corner. Here and there were huddled groups of people pushing prams full of belongings. It was like a war zone. Every now and then he heard a shot ring out. There were a few lights on in the bigger buildings but no street lights were on and hardly any private houses were illuminated. “My God!” said Derek. “Thought things might be better here,” said Mills. “More resources. Might have made a mistake.” Derek saw a group of people on the road ahead close in across the highway as they heard the car approach. “What do we do now?” said Derek, his voice dry with rising panic. “Hang on,” shouted Mills as he put his foot down and drove straight at them. “You can’t!” Derek screamed, his eyes widening with terror at the thought of mowing into the group. “Stop!” yelled Derek. At the last minute the crowd scattered. The four-by-four swerved as it went through the narrow gap left by the diving bodies. Mills regained control and sped off as fast as he could. “Someone could have been killed,” said Derek.

“Yes, us,” said Mills. Derek squirmed in his seat, knowing that the other man was right. Sometimes it was good to have a ruthless so-and-so on your side. They needed somewhere to stay, but all the big hotels looked closed up, some with shuttering over their frontages. Derek didn’t intend on staying anywhere with strangers just across the hall so he ruled out the smaller hotels and guesthouses as being too dangerous. “Maybe we should get out of London,” said Mills. “Maybe,” said Derek. “But first I have an idea.” He got out his phone and called the only person he knew in London, Emma Stamford. There was no reply.

26 London

Shaking with the cold, Emma forced herself out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, pulling her thick fleece dressing gown tightly around her. Downstairs, the kitchen had a tomblike chill within it. The outside had finally crept through the walls and settled in her home, making her feel unwelcome in a place that should have been a source of comfort and protection. She put her hand on the stove. It was a sharp, metallic cold that meant that the fire had gone out hours ago. She could have cried. When she heard the door go she looked up quickly to see who was there. “Oh Andy! It’s only you!” Both Andy and Carol lived in her house now. She breathed a sigh of relief and saw the cloud of her breath float in front of her. Andy threw a bundle of firewood down on the kitchen floor with a clatter that made her jump. His face was red with frost and his beard had beads of frozen water stuck to it. He tore off his gloves and rubbed his hands vigorously to get some warmth back into his aching fingers.

Emma forced herself to get up from the chair and help when all she wanted to do was curl up and try to keep warm. With expert hands she cleaned out the ash from the bottom of the grate and swept it into a pile. She then tied a few meagre sheets of old newspaper into a knot and tore up a thin cardboard cereal box into long strips. Nothing was ever wasted now. She took a match from the box. It felt slightly damp and she was worried that it might not strike. Carefully she dragged the scarlet tip over the emery and nurtured the flame when it appeared. Slowly the fire took. Andy picked the driest of the firewood and laid it upon the blackening paper. Immediately it started to smoke. Emma willed it to take hold before the paper burned away. For about half an hour the stove sulked miserably, giving neither light nor heat to the huddled pair around it. A pan of snow stood on the hotplate, steadfastly refusing to melt. Andy sat in his coat in silence. “I’m going to get dressed,” said Emma, pulling herself away from the struggling fire. “Okay babe,” said Andy. Emma’s normal wardrobe of smart slacks, skirts and blouses now hung uselessly on the rail in front of her. She pushed them aside and found a thick pair of walking trousers and a long sleeved thermal base layer from the days when she and Bill used to go on hikes together. He had loved the outdoors.

Emma less so but was infinitely grateful now that she had some cold weather gear to fall back on. She then put on a thin jumper. All her clothes were cold to the touch and she started to shiver again. She rooted around in the bottom of the wardrobe until she found a thick jumper that had been Bill’s. She pulled it on and immediately felt better. A thin snood felt comforting around her neck. She fastened up her trousers and then pushed her frozen feet into lined ankle boots, lacing them up with thick, clumsy fingers. Lastly she slipped on a padded body-warmer. She was hungry. Back downstairs Emma said to Andy, “That’s our last box of matches. We need to work out a plan.” “Any ideas?” he replied. “We should make sure the stove never goes out.” “I don’t know if we’ve enough fuel for that. Your wood store is looking depleted. I foraged some stuff this morning to eke ours out. We’ve a long way to go this winter.” “How many candles have we got left?” said Emma. “A couple of boxes. Two bags of tea lights. About four large ornamental things in jars.” “I was thinking of always keeping a flame going. What do you think, Andy?” “I like the sound of it, but wasteful to keep a

candle burning all the time. I think the stove might be a better idea after all. I’m going out today to see if I can get more wood or coal – charcoal – anything.” “Where will you go?” said Emma, “There’s lots of empty houses around now. I’ll go through them and see what’s left. Trouble is, most have been picked over already.” “I’m going to try to get some food,” said Emma. “It’s ration day. I suppose I’ll have to queue all day but I’ll do what I can.” She bent down to look in the cupboard and see what was left of their diminishing stocks. “Oh you’re up already. I wondered where you’d gone,” said Carol to Andy before noticing that Emma was in the kitchen too. She and Andy exchanged a brief glance. “Oh, I see the water’s boiling. Shall I make us a brew?” she added hurriedly. Emma noticed the ever-so-slightly too breezy tone and looked at the two of them. “Am I missing something, here, by any chance?” she said. Their silence said it all. “Like I would mind – or even care?” said Emma. “Is it anyone’s business?” said Carol. “Only in the sense that if you live in my house it would be good to know.” “We would have told you,” said Andy.

“Why did we need to tell you?” said Carol irritably. “And we don’t have to stay here if you’re going to do the ‘my house’ thing.” “I didn’t mean anything,” said Emma. “But it’s awkward if one of us is in the dark, that’s all.” “It’s awkward having to feel that you have to explain yourself all the time. We’re adults. You’re not my mother...” Emma suddenly felt like a middle-aged pain in the ass. She opened her mouth to answer back but Andy butted in. “Cool it, darlin’. We’re all cold and hungry. It doesn’t matter. Leave it.” Emma bit her lip and made them all a pot of tea out of melted snow and one teabag. There was no milk. She then made breakfast out of some leftover semolina she found at the back of the cupboard dated 2008. She boiled it with the rest of the water and added some sugar. It was hot and filling and everyone scraped their bowl clean. Emma still stung with the spat, frightened that Carol and Andy might leave her. Now that they had each other, she could be side-lined. She made up her mind to be more conciliatory. Survival was now all that mattered. Andy went out to get more fuel and Carol disappeared off back to her room. Emma got out her camera and did another two minutes of her diary. At the moment the battery was still good as

she had carefully stuck to only switching the camera on when she was ready to do her slot. She didn’t try to analyse the situation too much. Instead she recorded the detail of life under the ash. How she would edit that into a programme, she would decide later. Just recently she had wondered if there would ever be a later, or if this was it. Life from now on. She tried not to think about it. When she did, she found herself fantasising about the things she most missed, like taking a hot bath, or hearing the dawn chorus start up at first light on a May morning as she lay in bed with the window open. The smell of hot pavements when rain begins to fall. The sound of roasting meat. Emma went out to get the food. She stood in the queue for two hours to get four tins and a piece of cheese. She was another hour and a half waiting for bread. She trudged home with her meagre provisions. Down a side street she spotted a body being taken out of a house by the wardens. They were kept pretty busy now. The light was beginning to fade when Emma got home in the middle of the afternoon and the air was noticeably colder than when she had set out. They were no doubt in for another hard frost that night. The Siberian cold just would not shift. “Hello, everyone!” she called out as she stepped inside the house. That was when she got her first of two shocks

that day. She pushed open the kitchen door and actually felt some warm air wrap around her frozen cheeks. The stove was properly lit and a generous scoop of coal was glowing red beyond the open doors. “Oh my God! How did you do this,” she said to Andy and Carol sitting side by side at the kitchen table. “I found a small pile of coal in a nearby cellar. It’s taken me all this time to get a few bags as it’s frozen solid but it was so worth it. There’s not much, but it burns so much hotter and longer than the scraps of wood we’ve been using.” Emma tore off her coat and her thick jumper. The heat was delicious. “Good work Andy.” “What did you get to eat?” said Andy eagerly. “Two tins of spaghetti, two tins of beans some cheese and a sliced loaf. No fresh meat or veg. No tea or coffee. They said that ships carrying supplies are having difficulty berthing because the ports are iced up. Things are really getting desperate.” “Shit,” said Andy. “It gets worse every day.” Later that evening they ate their meal. Then Andy produced a bottle of sherry. “What the hell is that!” said Emma looking on as he poured the amber liquid into three small glasses. “Cream sherry. I found it in a sideboard where I got the coal.”

Carol looked sneery as Andy handed her her glass. “It’s what your Gran drinks at Christmas,” she said, superciliously. Emma took a drink. “Actually, it’s delicious,” she said feeling a warm glow spread through her body. “No, you’re right,” said Carol. “It’s the perfect accompaniment to orange spaghetti. Or maybe we just need the calories. I’ll have a drop more, if I...” The doorbell rang and echoed around the hall. They all froze and looked at one another. Emma’s stomach turned over. Quietly Andy got up, put his drink down and walked towards the door. The women waited nervously, straining to hear who it was. They were always wary nowadays. They tried to listen as they heard the door open. “Emma!” Andy yelled from the hall. “Guy here calls himself Derek Stringer. Says you know him.” “What!” said Emma marching towards the door. “Jeez! What the hell are you doing here – and who’s that with you?” Emma peered at the other man suspiciously. “Let us in, can’t you. Before anyone sees us.” Emma nodded at Andy who stood aside and gestured for them to come in. It was then she recognised Mills. She noted that neither Derek nor Steve Mills looked thin and drawn like everyone else nowadays.

“What do you mean before anyone sees us? What’s going on?” She looked hard at Derek for an explanation. She knew he hated and mistrusted Mills. She didn’t like the look of it. “We tried to call. We had to leave – Steve has walked out on his job with Enlecco. We need to lie low for a while.” Derek sat down in the warm kitchen. “So we thought we would head to London – that there would be power on here. We’d no idea. There are lights on here and there – public buildings mostly and Privileged Users, I expect.” “What do you mean by ‘Privileged Users,’” said Andy, butting in. “Anyone connected to Enlecco, or the government, or top brass. No-one who is anyone is going without anything, believe me,” said Derek. Emma’s mouth hung open. “Until yesterday I had never had a power cut,” continued Derek. “And food. Although you don’t look as though you are doing too badly here by the look of things,” he said amiably. Emma was so angry she could hardly get the words out. “This is like a lottery win for us today, Derek! This is the first time we’ve had a proper fire in months. We’ve just eaten some tinned crap that I queued for nearly four hours for. And Andy nicked this bottle of sherry, probably from someone who has died of the cold.” “I’m sorry,” said Derek. “I didn’t realize.”

“So, you decided to leave your principles behind and team up with the enemy.” Emma looked daggers at the two men. “I was just being pragmatic,” said Derek. “But you were the one who was against Enlecco and its ruthless practices. Now you, Steve, have the nerve to come to me now you have realized what they are really like.” Steve Mills sat in silence. “No-one could have foreseen this,” said Derek. “No, quite. But Enlecco were the worst of the energy companies. There are others who are socially responsible and are now doing their best to keep the power on. Unfortunately they are too small to make much difference.” Emma took a deep breath; she was close to tears. “Look, Emma, I can see you’re upset,” said Mills. “Upset!” Emma blew. “We are hanging on by a thread here. No-one can understand how things have got so bad, so quickly. Why isn’t the government dealing with this? Why isn’t the army getting the services on? And getting food supplies secure? We are, were, a modern industrial country with the means to ride out a disaster like this. We have gone down like a pack of cards due to one summer not turning up and a Siberian winter taking hold. While an elite – you two included – are sitting pretty as the rest of us starve. Of course I’m upset –

I think we’ll be lucky to survive this winter. For the first time in my life I am contemplating death as a likely outcome to this scenario. I’m frightened and angry and I can’t see why you two think you can waltz in here and expect help when you did nothing for anyone else while you had the chance.” Mills spoke quietly. “You’re right – about me anyway. I can’t argue with what you say, Emma, but don’t be hard on Derek. He’s lost his wife.” Emma looked at Derek who glanced away awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry.” There was a long pause eventually broken by Carol who said with her usual candour, “Actually, who exactly are you two and what are you doing here?” She poured them a small glass of sherry each to show there was no animosity and sat down waiting for the story, which they told as briefly as they could. “Let me get this straight,” said Andy to Steve Mills. “You’re now saying that more power plants are to be closed down! Just when we need every last drop of energy we can get to see us through this coming winter. We’ve been assuming that every effort was being made to re-connect homes and businesses. Is Enlecco taking the piss or what?” “They were running down uneconomic power

stations anyway – this was the root of the animosity between me and Derek here. If anywhere needed investment they just asset-stripped and moved out, or demanded more government subsidies. They wanted to get into fracking on a big scale as that was where all the profits were being made. There was no way they were going to put up the money to build new nuclear plants, or to bring the coal-fired ones up to EU standards.” “So why hasn’t the government stripped them of the franchise and let some other companies in, like Saffo, for example. They’re a brand people know and trust.” “There were too many Enlecco people in high places. They had it all sewn up,” said Mills. “But how can they get away with abandoning their duty to their customers?” said Carol, looking more and more incredulous. “The ash has panicked them. The energy system in the UK now is totally broken. Lines are down everywhere. This is why you’ve had no power in this region for weeks. Transformers have been damaged and air intake systems have been clogged. Any moving parts have potentially been damaged. The cleanup will cost many billions. The government is bankrupt as the tax-collection mechanism has ground to a halt along with most normal economic activity, so it can’t subsidise the recovery. Enlecco is getting out and moving its

operations to the Southern Hemisphere. They wanted me to oversee the closure of the last operating plants in the Midlands. I couldn’t do it. They’ve got people in the other regions to close down the rest.” “We’ve been holding out, hoping that things would get better, especially as the ash clears – as it must,” said Emma. “But you’re telling us that the power isn’t coming on. We can’t live like this! Not for much longer. Food is getting harder to obtain and we’re running out of options when it comes to scavenging. We’ve been living on the leftovers of the pre-ash days for too long already. We’re now reduced to fighting over the last few dregs of what’s left. After that – well – what?” “Exactly,” said Derek. “Which is why we couldn’t be part of what seems like national suicide. Many of the other European countries can hold out because they have more reserves of gas and more generating capacity than we do. We’re in dire trouble because we left our vital utilities in the hands of sharks. This is what you get with unregulated profit-seeking and weakened public services.” “Oh get off your soap-box, Derek,” said Mills. He wasn’t going to be blamed for everything. “There’s nothing wrong with making a profit.” “Really? I said unregulated. Take a look around you. See where it has led us. And now the rats are

leaving the sinking ship.” “Well you would, wouldn’t you?” said Carol. “Leave a sinking ship. It would be stupid not to.” Mills sniggered. Derek looked at her, thinking it through. “My point is this; we shouldn’t be letting anything sink. We should all be doing our best to get the country back on track. I might be oldfashioned but I believe that if you’re successful then you should give something back. I think the place has been run for too long by self-seeking, jack-the-lads with the moral depth of plankton and now it’s coming home to roost.” “Oh, for God’s sake Derek, have a day off,” said Mills. “We all can see now that it’s gone too far. But no-one knew that a volcano was going to blow up and cast us back to the Dark Ages.” Derek banged down his glass. He was red in the face with Mills attitude. “How can you say that after what you told me about Icarus?” Mills flashed Derek a warning glance. Derek bit his lip. “What the hell’s Icarus?” said Carol to Derek, seeing the exchange. “Oh, just some management crap,” interrupted Mills. He quickly changed the subject back to where they were. “Our main concern now is that no-one from the company knows where we are.

They are not going to like the fact we know a lot about them and that we jumped ship, to extend your metaphor.” “Oh, come on,” said Emma. “You don’t really think you are in danger do you, for walking out on a job?” “I don’t know. I just hope we’ve gone off their radar,” said Mills. “We know that Enlecco had too many top people in their pockets and gave false information to government in order to get their own plans approved. Me included. They were behaving illegally because they thought they were above the law. They won’t tolerate potential whistle-blowers.” “All I’m bothered about is getting through this,” said Emma. “Pure and simple. We need the electricity back on and the gas supply restored. The question is; how do we achieve that?” “It’s not going to happen,” said Mills. “We need to make plans to get out of the country.” “I’ve tried that,” said Andy. “And nearly died trying. We’ll never do it.” “Well we can’t stay here much longer,” said Emma. “But we’ve got a base here,” said Andy. “And shelter. I’m not risking moving out if we don’t know where we’re going to.” “As we’ve found out,” said Mills. “Derek and I thought it would be better here in London; that services would have a priority. We couldn’t believe

our eyes when we saw that the capital had ground to a halt. Only a few large buildings had power on – and I’m guessing some of those were public shelters. It’s bandit country with gangs of thugs fighting over territory and resources. By the end of this winter if someone doesn’t get law and order reestablished, it’ll be like Syria here, or Iraq.” Derek nodded. “We’re on the brink of losing everything. Our prosperity, our comforts, all the signs of a civilised society will disappear. Education – forget it! Even the concept of going out to work and earning some money is breaking down. Everyone is on the streets scavenging. Our hardwon civil rights will be a thing of the past, as will the idea of legality. The law will be dished out by robber barons. Entitlements – like those to property will be brushed aside by people who control the food supply.” Emma replied, “The isolation makes it worse. We haven’t heard the news in weeks. We can’t access the internet. I can’t even phone anyone now my landline and mobile have lost charge. The country could have gotten back to normal everywhere else and we wouldn’t know. It’s impossible to know what to do.” Emma sighed. “No, I quite understand. Power’s still on in many places, albeit on an ad hoc basis. We could see that as we drove down here. Maybe we should move to

one of those areas,” said Derek. “And live where?” said Emma. “What do you suggest we do, choose a family and move in with them?” “I think we have to stay put,” said Andy. “Once you leave, there’ll be no coming back. Someone could move in here. Then what?” “I agree,” said Carol. “We can see out this winter. Next spring things will begin to get back to normal.” Emma was exasperated. “Carol, we are not going to last out till spring! Can’t you see? There’s virtually no food left now. Some is getting through, but not enough to feed sixty-five million people. At the moment we’ve got water but how long for? If we’re careful we might have enough fuel for three more weeks. We could be in the very depths of January and February without any form of heating. If that happens, we’re all going to die.” “You’re being alarmist, Emma.” Mills drained his glass. “The ash could clear by then.” “For God’s sake! We can’t rely on that!” said Emma. “The trouble is, you two haven’t suffered any hardship or inconvenience yet. I don’t think you grasp how dangerous this situation has become.” “So what do you suggest?” said Derek. “We have to get the power back on. By hook or by crook, it’s the only answer. We can’t go on

living like this. It’s ironic isn’t it, that environmentalists have said for years that we shouldn’t be reliant on centralised systems that could go wrong – that we should have solar and wind power, and grow more of our own food. And yet now that Katla has blown, we get nothing from solar power because of the ash blocking out the sun, there’s no wind under this persistent high pressure and the intense cold means we’re totally unable to grow any produce. What we now need is a centralised system which works on a big enough scale to heat and power the cities. I’m not saying I don’t agree with solar and wind power, but in this particular scenario we need the grid up and working by any means. We should have had some spare capacity in the system to deal with a natural catastrophe.” Emma paused. “And not-so-natural,” said Derek. “Shush,” hissed Mills. Again, Carol noted the exchange but said nothing. Mills continued, “Yes, and we’d all have voted for higher taxes to pay for them, I don’t think.” “The problem was,” said Derek, “that Enlecco had become a virtual monopoly in the energy market. So it ceased to be a free market based on competition. Enlecco are pulling out of the aging nuclear plants as they don’t want to incur the costs of decommissioning. Yet nuclear is vital to keep the power supply on without the carbon emissions. The

government should have had a proper strategy in place to protect the national interest and to insist that energy companies work within those parameters. They’ve done that in other countries and they’re coping with this disaster better than we are.” “For God’s sake!” said Carol. “We all know we’re up shit creek but I really don’t want to hear another debate about free trade versus protectionism. I don’t bloody care! I want my central heating back on. I want fluffy towels. I need a good meal. I want an end to this nightmare!” The rest sat in stunned silence. Then Carol began to sob quietly as Andy put his arm around her and tried to tell her that things would be okay. “They won’t though will they?” she said between shaking breaths. “No, they won’t,” said Emma decisively. Not unless we do something about it. In this world, we have to look after ourselves. No-one is in charge any more. No-one is going to come to our rescue.” “What about the army and the police?” said Andy. Mills answered, “The army is undermanned – has been for decades. They are fire-fighting. They are supervising food distribution, and trying to keep order.” “Protecting the elite while the rest of us starve,

more like,” said Derek, bitterly. “Actually, it might not be a bad thing to protect the elite, as Simon Haggett, the far-right populist, is poised to take over the government if they fail. I wouldn’t like to see him and his party of bigots get their foot in the door of Number Ten. And it was nice while we were part of it for a while, remember,” said Mills, pointedly. Derek winced. He had nothing to be proud of anymore. He was just a sell-out like everyone else. Emma stepped in. “If you two are hoping to stay here in my house, you’re going to have to stop bickering. It’s wasting our energy and I’m sick of hearing it. Carol is right. We’re sitting here arguing politics and economics when we need to focus. What we have here isn’t going to last, so we need a plan B. If only we knew what was going on out there. We don’t know if Katla has stopped pouring out ash, or if the weather is going to change. I just wish I could contact Lawrence Hewitt. Life is impossible without a phone.” At that moment Mills dug into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. “Help yourself,” he said. “It’s still charged.” Emma looked at the phone with wonder. Its lit screen looking like a portal to a magical world of twenty-first century living. She tapped in Hewitt’s number. A moment later, to her astonishment, he answered.

The news was not good.

27 London

Emma went to bed that night with a mixture of emotions. She felt safer with two extra people in the house and there would be two extra people to scavenge, but also two more to feed. On a personal level there was already friction. Everyone was going to have to put their differences to one side and agree to get on, or else when things got tougher – which they undoubtedly would – their little group would fall apart. They needed to focus on something or they would go under. She slipped off her outer clothing from beneath her two duvets then struggled into her pyjamas. She had taken to keeping her clothes under the quilts with her so that they would be warm in the morning. Tomorrow she would have a wash while they still had some coal for hot water. Hewitt had been straight to the point as usual. He told her that Katla was no longer erupting but there was so much ash still in the air at high levels that nothing much had changed. The amount of sunshine getting through to the Earth’s surface was still down by more than twenty percent. That

together with the plume of Siberian weather now stuck over Europe was causing the worst winter conditions for centuries. There was a lot of talk amongst scientists that the cooling of the seas in the northern hemisphere could provoke a chain reaction of negative feedback leading to a mini Ice-Age which could last for decades. Zoe Carter warned that abrupt climate change was just that; the descent into a full Ice-Age could be complete in as little as ten years. If that occurred, there would be no option but mass migration. It didn’t bear thinking about. The good news was the sun was in an unusually active phase at the moment which normally would mean warmer temperatures. Also the position of the Earth in its orbit was relatively close to the sun. Under normal circumstances these factors would influence the weather positively but not drastically. According to Zoe, Hewitt explained, if all the factors had gone against us in a lethal matrix of negativity we might as well hand the keys over to the polar bears. As it is, when the ash clears, there is a chance we could get back to normal. Typical scientist, thought Emma. Not committing until the evidence is there. Emma pulled the duvets up around her neck in an attempt to keep out the chill. She felt her mind making itself up. They couldn’t stay here no matter how tempting it was. Her eyes prickled with hot

tears at the thought of leaving her home, but they had to make plans to move on, maybe as soon as tomorrow. They now had access to a vehicle. There were enough of them to feel safe on the road. She drifted off with the phrase plan B echoing around her thoughts and then merging with surreal dream-logic into Millcott B. Seeing Derek Stringer and Steve again took her back to the windswept car park at Millcott B power station where she’d done her filming. She remembered Derek racing towards her, his jacket billowing, shouting that he’d something to tell her. Then she fell into a deep sleep which lasted till the morning. Over breakfast Emma got everyone’s attention. Mills had been out to the car and brought in some milk which he’d packed in the boot before they left Derek’s place. They had some cereal and toast, crisped on the stove, and some real coffee. “I think we should start making some preparations to move out.” Emma spoke decisively. Everyone else groaned. “Look, Emma, I know things are running out here. But where can we go? If things are bad here, how much worse do you think things will be if we’re in a vehicle as our only shelter? Believe me, sweetheart, I know,” said Andy. “I still think we need to make plans. We need to get some essentials together in boxes ready to go. What we take will need some careful thought. And

we need to close down this place and make it secure. It’s my home, remember. I don’t want to leave it – or come back to see it’s been trashed.” “Emma, have you lost the plot or what? We can’t just set out and hope to find something better.” Andy looked gloomy. “I’m not stupid,” said Emma. “We need a plan. We must concentrate on finding one – all of us. We can’t last a winter here.” “Maybe we can,” said Carol. “Either way I don’t think we should leave unless we have to. It would be foolish. Andy’s right.” Emma drank some of her coffee. It was heavenly. As she thought, Andy and Carol were sticking up for each other against her. She had to tread carefully. “Lawrence is coming over this morning,” said Emma. “Lawrence Hewitt. With my video diary and his stills, we’re going to collaborate on a programme. We need to catch up. I hope he’s got some more info from Amy. He said he’d call her last night to get an update.” “I can’t believe you’re still thinking about work at a time like this,” said Andy. “I have to record what’s happening. It’s vital that we get a complete picture one day. At the moment everyone’s experience of the ash is unique to them. I hope others are doing the same.” ***

An hour later Hewitt arrived. “How come your phone worked, Lawrence?” Andy demanded straightaway. “You’re not a Privileged User are you?” “Sadly not,” said Hewitt, ignoring the jibe. “I have a landline.” Emma looked astonished. “A landline! You mean that still works!” “But ours doesn’t,” said Carol. “It hasn’t for weeks.” “That’s because you’ve got a cordless phone that needs power to charge the base, I’m guessing. Mine’s an old-style plug in type.” “I don’t understand – how can it work in a power cut?” said Emma. “Because it uses very little power which it gets anyway from the telephone exchange. They have back up batteries and emergency generators. It might not work for much longer, but it’s always the older, simpler technology that’s the last to go.” Emma got up, leaving the warmth of the kitchen to head for the basement. It was like entering a freezer down there. Her breath hung in clouds as she searched around for some storage boxes. She looked in two or three of them, rummaging around amongst old electrical gear till she found what she was looking for; a cheap handset that she almost threw away when she got her new phone. “Hey, everyone! Look what I just found,” she

said when she got back. “I’d give it a couple of hours to warm up before you plug it in,” said Hewitt. Emma looked crestfallen. “Well you don’t want to short it,” he added. “Okay,” said Emma. “I guess I’ve no choice. I didn’t realise we could use a phone like that. Just shows what a little expertise can do. It’s funny – look at us all – the expertise we’ve got between us. Carol and I are journalists and business women, Andy’s got a great range of building skills, Lawrence here is the intrepid Arctic explorer, Steve and Derek know the energy business inside out, particularly Derek the engineer who knows everything there is to know about electricity generation,” Emma laughed. “I think we’ve enough knowledge between us to run our own power plant – and here we are sitting in the cold and dark, slowly starving to death, waiting to be rescued by the authorities who probably left the country weeks ago. Ironic, isn’t it?” She stopped. Everyone was staring at her. “What?” she said. “I was only saying – I only meant...” Five pairs of eyes continued to bore into her. Emma was desperately trying to work out what she’d just said. Obviously no-one was in an ironic mood today. Steve Mills broke the silence eventually.

“Why didn’t we think of this before?” “What, running our own power plant? Don’t be so bloody stupid,” said Andy. *** Emma spent the rest of the morning with Hewitt, doing another entry into the video diary, and showing him the rushes. “I’ve only got about thirty minutes left on my camera at most so I’m doing about two minutes, twice a week to eke it out. I could do with more material really to edit later, but it focusses the mind. I try not to repeat anything.” Hewitt agreed it was the best approach but said little. Emma could see he was very down. “You must miss Amy,” she said. Hewitt nodded. “I’m worried about her. I didn’t think she’d be away this long. And there’s no chance now of me joining her. I should have gone with her. Now it’s too late.” “She’ll be okay,” said Emma, inadequately. She then patted his arm in a gesture of comfort. Hewitt looked back at her, slightly surprised. Emma looked away. “I’m starting packing today, Lawrence. I’ll film it and my visit to the shop when I go for the rations later. I’m going to interview some people in the queue as well.” Emma chattered on. Aware of Hewitt’s look and still feeling the imprint of his arm on her hand. She was suddenly conscious of how

much she missed physical contact. “Yes, good idea,” he said standing up. “I ought to be getting back. If you decide to leave, let me know, won’t you?” Hewitt turned and left the room. Emma winced as she followed him out. Had she made a pass at him? What if he was flattered by it and responded? She knew it was out of the question, but he was a nice guy and she was lonely and frightened enough to lose all sense of judgement and make a complete fool of herself. She made up her mind to be more business-like in future. And not to spend time with Hewitt alone. Emma went back into the kitchen. “Lawrence is just going,” she said. “Coffee?” said Carol brightly, picking up the pot. “Not for me,” said Lawrence. “A little,” Emma said. “Shall I finish it off?” “Go for it,” said Carol. Emma reached up to get a mug from the cupboard when she heard a strange sound. She looked around but couldn’t get where it was coming from. The others heard it, too. It was a deep roar like an engine. Andy frowned, “I wonder if someone’s found a generator,” he said. It grew louder. “Is it thunder?” said Carol. “No it can’t be, it’s too constant,” said Hewitt.

“It’s getting closer,” said Carol. “You said closer,” said Emma, “not louder.” “It’s a plane,” said Hewitt. “How the fuck can it be a plane?” said Andy. “I don’t know how, but it’s definitely a plane,” said Hewitt with his terse practicality. Emma’s head started to race with a dozen thoughts at once. What could it mean if it was an aircraft? She grabbed her coat and headed for the door. The others piled after her. Once outside the scream of a jet engine became at once unmistakable and utterly deafening. In another second the sky above her was blotted out by a lid of silver-grey metal, lights flashing. It seemed like only metres above the roof tops. She half expected it to plough into the next street in a ball of flame; instead it forged on, skimming the city as it went. It was heading west. Suddenly everyone was out on the street pointing and shouting. Emma decided to go straight away to the shop to get some rations. It might be a good place to pick up some gossip and find out what was going on. *** As Emma expected, in the queue for bread all the talk was of the low-flying plane. They all had a theory. One man had just come from town. He said, “Everyone was out on the streets. Rumours were flying around. They said the Prime Minister and the Cabinet were on the plane; some said the Royal

Family were, too. If they were heading west then they must be going to America.” Everyone agreed that it must be true. Emma got home with some bread and some packets of dried soup. She told the others what she’d found out. “Whether or not it’s true, it’s causing trouble already,” said Derek. He showed Emma the view from the front of the house. In the distant sky was an orange glow. There was a lot of noise and sporadic gunfire, some of it quite close. “We need to get ready,” said Emma. “Ready for what, babe?” said Andy joining them. “To leave. It’s turning ugly. I could feel it out there. People have struggled along stoically for months. Now everyone feels abandoned. There’s a lot of anger on the streets. And now the realisation that not everyone is so badly off after all and have the means to escape. It’s now becoming desperate. The food I got today won’t be enough for all of us. Tomorrow I’m betting that the shop will be closed.” “And we’ve got another mouth to feed,” said Andy, angrily. “What do you mean?” said Emma. “Suddenly Lawrence has decided to stay, as well as Derek and Steve.” “I’m sorry Emma, but I think it’s too dangerous for me to get home tonight. I hope you don’t mind.” Lawrence looked awkward.

“No of course not, Lawrence.” “But we haven’t got enough food for us, let alone all these others,” said Andy. “So what do we do, kick them out?” said Emma. “Maybe,” said Carol. Emma couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “We need to survive. I still think we should stay here where it’s safe and get the other three to make their own arrangements. We can’t look after everybody.” “Carol!” Emma looked at her friend desperately. She was shocked. Things were falling apart. They were all thinking of their own skins. Carol wanted to look after herself and Andy; Emma thought they would all do better together. Emma went upstairs to her bedroom. She needed time to think. She sat down on the edge of the bed. The room, once her refuge, pretty and comfortable, now seemed an unfriendly space. She couldn’t remember what it was like to see the sun streaming in through the bay window. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to be warm and not hungry. She pulled out a large rucksack from the top shelf of her wardrobe and began stuffing it with her core range of essentials. Thick jumpers, trousers. As much underwear as she could find. Her last few precious toiletries. She could hear gunfire getting closer. There was a clamour of raised voices in the distance suggesting a large crowd. Every so often there was the tinkle of breaking glass. Someone

tapped on her door. “Emma,” Derek called through to her. “You’d better come down here.” Emma’s heart jumped. She grabbed the bulging rucksack and headed back downstairs. In her kitchen Andy and Carol sat there looking defiant. “We only took what was ours,” said Carol. Andy and Carol had eaten their ration of bread and most of the soup, leaving a little for Emma and none for the rest. “What do you think you are doing, you two? Fair shares for all.” “Why should we give our ration to them? There’s not enough for us as it is!” “You won’t say that if they get something and you don’t.” “Well they haven’t, have they?” said Andy. “You didn’t mind drinking my coffee this morning, or eating the cereal,” said Mills. “I expect you’ve got plenty more stashed away, you two. I never liked the look of you or you being here. You’re obviously up to no good or you wouldn’t be hiding. What was that you said about hoping no-one had seen you?” Andy stared at them, defiant. “What do you mean by that?” said Hewitt to Andy. “Ask them,” Andy answered. Derek spoke first.

“We’d been working for Enlecco, as you all know, but when they asked us to be part of closing down their operations in the UK, Steve refused and walked out. Now that there’s no money to be made here they’ve decided to go invest somewhere else. Steve has a lot of inside information, some of it sensitive. We were only being practical.” “Very wise,” said Hewitt. “See – I told you they were trouble. We don’t want to be dragged in,” said Andy. “Anyway, it’s clear now we can’t stay with you. We’re causing too many problems. Me and Steve will get our stuff.” Derek looked downcast. “Derek, this is my house,” said Emma. “You can stay as long as you like.” “Thank you Emma. But we have to go.” “And I’ll be gone in the morning,” said Hewitt. “Don’t worry about that.” “No! This is insane. We need to stick together,” said Emma. “But we’re not – sticking together. We’re fighting over scarce resources. It’ll only get worse,” said Hewitt. Hewitt always seemed so calm in a crisis and could read a situation. Emma really admired that. She didn’t want him to go. Briefly she caught Hewitt’s eye. He understood what she was trying to say but just shrugged. Steve Mills and Derek quietly left the room and

went to pack their few possessions. Emma showed Hewitt the spare room where he would have to stay. When they were alone she spoke quickly. “Lawrence, I’m scared. Really scared. I don’t feel safe in this house anymore. If you, Steve and Derek head out – I can’t stay here with Carol and Andy. I don’t know what’s happened to those two but I don’t want to be tagging on to them. If they leave me I will be completely alone. And I no longer trust them.” “I can’t stay here, though, can I?” Lawrence said patiently. “I’ll have to go in the morning. I’ve not got any clothes with me.” “I know. But none of us can – stay here. Listen, don’t worry about your things. Here’s a holdall. It used to be Bill’s. Pack it with anything you need. I know it’s weird taking his stuff but please – don’t go back to your place tomorrow. When you’ve packed, ask Steve if you can put your bag in the car they came in. It’s a large four-by-four parked around the back. I’ll do the same. Don’t tell Andy and Carol yet – it might cause another fight. We’ll tell them we’re leaving in the morning.” “What if they want to come along after all?” “I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I won’t turn my back on them if they want to be part of us.” *** That night Emma watched as the London skyline grew brighter with every passing hour. There must

be whole streets alight to be visible from where she lived. Finally people’s spirits had been broken. The rising forces of anarchy were unstoppable. In a desperate attempt to calm the situation the National Emergency Committee had ordered troops to try to get more power on by mending broken lines and trying to repair ash-damaged equipment. It was too late. The mob attacked those in uniform trying to help them. Sub-stations and anything with the black and orange Enlecco logo on it was set on fire or smashed beyond repair. The authorities retreated before the onslaught overtook them completely. The jet that Emma had seen earlier that day had indeed contained the elected government, the Royal Family and some senior civil servants. They had been ordered by the NEC to leave the country and set up a government in exile for their own safety. But when the secret was leaked, the situation had gone into meltdown. Now the worstcase scenario had happened. There was a power vacuum and plenty of smalltime chancers who wanted to fill it. Andy and Carol had gone to their room. Emma toasted the last of the bread and handed it around. There was just enough soup for everyone to have a spoonful. After the meal everyone was still hungry. Nobody spoke. When the attack came, Emma jumped. She heard

the glass go in her front room. She attempted to lean against the internal door but there were too many of them; eight or ten at least. The intruders saw the woodburner with glee and decided that the house would make a good HQ. Immediately they started ransacking cupboards to see what they could find. One of them found Andy’s bottle of sherry. Andy and Carol burst back into the room to see what was going on. The selfappointed leader, Lenno, took a long swig then grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He then yelled, “Right, you lot clear out! This is our place now. I’m running this street. So just fuck off!” When no-one moved Lenno shouted again. Andy and Carol sidled further into the room. “Yes, you, too!” he shouted. “We could stay,” said Andy. “I know this manor. We could help you in return for a share in whatever we get.” Secretly Andy thought he could take on Lenno, a skinny kid who was all mouth. If anyone was going to run this street Andy intended to do it. “Andy, are you crazy! Let’s go. We need to get out of here,” said Emma. “I think we’ll stay,” said Andy, looking straight at Lenno. “If that’s okay with the man.” Lenno grinned. “Carol! Come with us. You have to. You can’t stay here!” Emma pleaded.

“I’m staying with Andy,” she replied. Her face was hard. Emma didn’t recognise her friend anymore. “Carol – this is insane. Come with us – please. We’ll look after each other.” “You won’t last five minutes out there, sweetheart,” Andy said to Emma. He could only think of his doomed attempt to go to Australia which nearly killed him. “Andy – you are putting yourself and Carol in danger.” Hewitt spoke calmly but firmly. “And what will you do? Where will you go?” Andy retorted. None of them could answer. Lenno butted in, “Shut it guys! Time’s up. Now get out of here before I lose my temper.” Just to show who was boss he pulled a knife out from his inner pocket and thumbed the blade menacingly. Emma backed away. Hewitt pulled her further towards the door and told her to go. He got a punch in the back for his trouble. Derek and Steve Mills were already out of the door. Hewitt spun around and in the split second before the door was slammed in his face he caught a look of panic in Carol’s eye which made him wonder if she had changed her mind. He paused but knew he couldn’t help her – there were too many of them. Hewitt stumbled out onto the street with Emma, Steve Mills and Derek Stringer. He felt sick at the thought

of leaving. Hewitt hung back from the group now trudging through the snow. “We can’t just leave them!” he said. “We have to,” said Mills. “They’re in deep trouble,” said Hewitt. Mills ignored him. “Lawrence! Hurry up,” said Emma in a stage whisper. “Don’t let them see you hanging around. We need to get to the vehicle without them seeing us or they might try to take it for themselves.” Hewitt backed away from the house reluctantly. When they reached the car they sat inside without closing the doors. “I’m going back for Carol,” said Hewitt, suddenly. He made a move to get out of the car but Emma grabbed his arm. “No! Wait!” Hewitt froze. “Oh my God!” said Emma. “Steve, we need to get moving – look!” At the top of the road half a dozen dogs stood in a group, watching them. Then in a matter of seconds, the pack swelled to twenty or more. They began to trot, whining menacingly. Then they broke into a run. Mills released the handbrake and slowly they began to roll down the hill. At the bottom he started up the engine. They banged the doors shut and got away as quickly as they could. The pack barked

around the vehicle, jumping and turning, teeth bared. Mills could go no faster on the ice road but eventually pulled away leaving the starving animals whimpering with anger and disappointment. Emma sat with beads of sweat sitting on her brow. She was as white as a sheet. She forced herself to look at Hewitt. “This is what the ash has reduced us to,” she said. “Without electricity we’ve become nothing. We’re just prey for a pack of mutts who were eating roast chicken and playing ball a few short months ago. If it wasn’t for you having this car we’d be dead by now, Steve.” Emma began to cry. Hewitt put his arm around her. “We shouldn’t have left Carol and Andy,” Emma said, shakily. “I know,” said Hewitt. “If anything happens to them I’ll be haunted by it for the rest of my life.” “We tried!” said Mills. “It was their choice. We aren’t going back! And looking at what things are like out here, they might actually have made a good call.” Emma didn’t answer. Whatever they told themselves, she knew they should have stuck together. She felt only torment, and she knew that Hewitt felt the same. His arm was comforting around her shoulder. “We need to get some weapons,” said Mills.

“You’re right,” said Hewitt. “But that won’t be easy. You can bet that every gun shop has either already been raided or is very well guarded. I wouldn’t have a clue where to get a gun.” “Can you use one?” said Mills. “Yes I can, actually. I needed to have one when in the Arctic in case of polar bears. Amy showed me – she’s quite a good shot.” “Well, that’s a start,” said Mills. “Also, I’d quite like to know whereabouts we are going. Any thoughts, people?” Mills was trying to lighten the mood but he was grating on Emma. She was still thinking about Carol and Andy. She hoped to goodness they’d be okay. “Perhaps we could head for the port at Dover. We could maybe get some supplies – some ships might be docking, you never know.” Hewitt, as always, was being practical. “And if not?” said Mills. “Then maybe we could get to the Continent and out of this hell-hole for a while.” “And join your wife?” Mills ventured. “Well, why not?” Hewitt said undaunted. Emma pulled away from Hewitt’s embrace. “We need to go north,” said Derek. Up until then he’d been silent. “You aren’t thinking of going back home are you?” said Mills. “You know we can’t.” Derek had an other-worldly look about him.

Emma caught her breath. Suddenly she knew what he was thinking. “We’re going to Millcott B, aren’t we Derek?” said Emma. Derek didn’t need to answer.

28 On The Road

“Are you off your bloody rocker, man?” Mills said to Derek. He thought Hewitt’s idea of heading for a port made more sense. “The port will be a chaotic mass of refugees, escapees and people as hungry as ourselves,” said Derek calmly. “We can be at Millcott in about four hours if we’ve enough fuel.” “We might just make it,” said Mills. “We’ve nowhere else to go. Even the rescue centres will be short of food soon. Then there’ll be even more desperate people on the streets. Emma’s right. There’s only one way out of this nightmare and that’s to get the power back on. The government’s kept a limited supply on up to now through the independent companies, but it’s not enough to get the country through the winter.” “What are you saying?” said Mills. “The National Emergency Committee has blown it. They’ve lost control. Either ordinary people must act independently or we won’t get through this. Those with some supplies of food left are only giving themselves the privilege of being the last to

starve.” Derek pointed at the rows of semidetached houses rolling past them, “Soon these will be home only to dead people who spent their last days hiding from gangs and the dogs. And we aren’t amateurs. I know Millcott B like the back of my hand. I’ve run it for years. We can make it work again. I can make it work again or I’ll die trying. I’m an engineer and proud of it. I’m not going to sit around waiting for international financiers to do the right thing and come to my aid because it isn’t going to happen.” “I’m with you, Derek,” said Emma. “Steve?” “I guess.” “Lawrence?” “Why do I always get dragged in?” said Hewitt forlornly. “We’ll need all the help we can get,” said Mills. “We’ll need volunteers.” “You can help with that, Steve,” said Emma. “Oh yeah, I’ll set up a recruitment Open Day shall I,” he said sarcastically. “If we can get some power on and get into the computer systems then you’ll have access to employee records. We can’t do this on our own – we’ll need a skilled workforce. We’ll contact key workers and get them in.” Emma was rising to the challenge. “Actually you don’t need that many people to operate the plant – everything is computer-

controlled now. But some will have left the area. Most will have no phone or internet access. Some will have died...” Mills sighed. “We’ll have to play that one by ear when we know more,” said Emma, not wanting to hear too much negativity. The mood was quiet as they sat back in their seats. They watched the white landscape float by. Here and there a flurry of snowflakes fell diagonally in the stiff breeze, sticking to the windows before dancing off into the car’s slipstream. The packed ice road surface was passable with care and they kept up a speed of about forty miles an hour. There was very little other traffic apart from a few lorries, which meant there was still fuel around, probably in private depots. Some army vehicles trundled along in neat procession. It was eerie and vaguely threatening. They were stared at by ones and twos of shuffling people who hadn’t seen a private vehicle with fuel for some time. Glared at more like. Emma was fearful that they could be an easy target and was glad when they rolled down the slip-road onto the motorway. There were abandoned vehicles everywhere at the side of the carriageway. Hard to think this was once choc-a-block with traffic and one of the main arteries of the country’s road network. “Derek,” said Emma, tearing her gaze from the

broken landscape for a moment. “Where are we actually going to stay? You said we couldn’t go back to your place, but where else is there?” Derek smiled slightly. “There is an apartment at Millcott B. Not many people know about it. It was for key workers in case of a national emergency. I think this qualifies us, don’t you?” “And you’ve got access?” said Mills, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know about this.” “No, and no-one else needs too either. You check that, Emma and Lawrence?” “Of course,” said Emma. “No problem,” said Hewitt. They rolled on. Further north the snow and ice was thicker. The surface ice was ridged and pitted and made the ride bumpy. They slowed down to thirty. Many times they had to swerve around a long-abandoned accident, the broken vehicles now covered in a fresh pile of snow. Emma wondered where the people were now who’d had to leave their cars behind. She nervously counted every mile to Millcott B. Every minute took them a fraction nearer, and would be that much less to walk if it came to that. Steve had gone very quiet. He was as worried about their fuel running out as she was. At last they reached the empty, quite flat countryside of the south midlands. As they left the motorway they struggled on the side roads which were much deeper in snow. Emma held her breath

as they forced their way through. One big drift could end their journey. For ten minutes the car lurched and rolled along alarmingly then the road opened out a little as they reached the edge of a small town. It looked deserted. Suddenly, Mills braked. “Why have we stopped?” said Emma, her heart beating. “There’s someone in the road,” said Mills. “Look.” “It could be a trap,” said Emma. “Let’s keep going.” “I can’t, not without running him over.” “Well what do we do?” said Emma. “We wait.” “And run out of fuel,” said Emma. Mills turned off the engine. Everything went deathly quiet. They sat and waited. Nothing stirred. The landscape seemed completely dead. The creeping cold started to inch its way into the car now that the engine was off. “I’m getting out,” said Hewitt. “It’s a body. I’m going to move it out of the way and get going. There’s nothing here.” His door creaked as he pushed against it then thudded shut behind him as he stepped out onto the snow. Hewitt looked all around, alert for any signs of trouble and then made a few strides to the corpse lying on the ground, frozen solid.

He took a deep breath. He screwed his eyes up, determined not to look too hard at what could become an indelible image. It was then he heard the noise he most dreaded. The yelps and barks and the padded thump of pounding feet. He turned quickly and slipped on the packed snow. Emma leaned out of the car, “Get back in!” she screamed, throwing the door open for him. He scrambled to his feet, panic filling his entire body as a large animal bore down on him faster than he could ever have imagined. His heart throbbed violently in his head. His lungs swelled as the breath stuck in his throat. The dogs were only metres away. Emma was tugging at Hewitt’s clothing to try to pull him back into the car, when the shot rang out. The leader dog fell, twitching and scrambling in its death throes. A second shot sent the others scurrying away. Hewitt fell into the vehicle and slammed shut the door, daring to breathe again. He shook all over. His face had turned white. A figure approached the car. Mills let the window down a crack but locked the doors. “Got any food?” said the man. “Gerry Meager,” he said by way of an introduction. He held out his hand, his manner relaxed, even affable. “Yes, a little,” said Mills, cautiously, letting the window down further and taking the other man’s

hand. “I’m Steve Mills. Great shot, I have to say. We don’t know how to thank you,” he added. “You saved our friend’s life.” “Glad to help,” said Meager. Emma reached into the back and rummaged around. Her hands were shaking. She got a can of beans and a packet of cream crackers. It was all they could spare. Hewitt noted glumly what his life was now worth. The man’s face lit up. “I’ve eaten nothing but game for weeks,” he said. “Don’t suppose you know where we could get our hands on one of those?” Mills added, looking at the gun in the man’s hand. “Sorry my friend. Need all I’ve got for hunting. And defending myself.” “It’s the second time we’ve been attacked by dogs.” “They’re the worst,” said Meager. Mills passed the items through the window. The other man took them and hid them straightaway in his coat pocket. “Can you cover me while I move that poor devil out of the way?” said Mills. He thought it was too much to ask Hewitt to get out of the car again so soon. “Of course,” When Mills was outside, Meager said to him, “Are you people from the government?”

“No,” said Mills. “You’re not from Enlecco then, are you?” Meager’s eyes narrowed and he held the gun a little tighter. “No way,” said Mills. He looked at the other man and tried to gauge him. “You could have shot us back there and taken any food you wanted.” “I’m not a murderer.” “Lucky for us. What then? What are you?” “I used to be in IT. Came out here to farm. Escape to the country. So I now have two totally redundant skills, fixing computers and growing food. Just holding out now till things get better. So who are you lot then? Nobody just drives around anymore. You must be up to something.” “I can’t say.” “You going to the power station?” Mills hesitated, which was as good as admitting that they were. “Why do you think that?” he said. “There’s nothing else around here.” “We used to work there. We’re going to try to recommission.” “So you do work for Enlecco.” Meagre scowled and raised the gun ever so slightly. “Take it easy. Used to. Not anymore. We are doing this off our own bat.” “Just you four?” “Well yes.”

Gerry Meager burst out laughing. “You’ll have to hurry up. Enlecco are sending people in any time at all to remove the usable plant and sell it on before the wreakers come in. And then they’ll start fracking.” “How can you know that?” said Mills. “Some of the engineers stopped at the local pub and said that’s what they were here to do.” “But we need Millcott. It’s one of the major generators in the country. They can’t just take it apart at a time like this. And they still haven’t got permission to start fracking around here.” “Tell them that,” said Meager. “They are using this collapse to do what they always wanted to do anyway if the weather picks up. You’ll see. They won’t bother with permission now. They’ll call it ‘reconstruction’ and people will be so grateful to have any fuel at all they aren’t going to complain. Anyway, tell me this. How exactly is getting some electricity back on going to help things? We’ve no food. That’s what we need.” “Sure, but we need the infrastructure working again if we are to get that food out to the population. The water supply is going off sporadically because there is no guarantee of power for the pumping stations. Same with sewage. And if we could pump fuel again we could get some transport back delivering food. The railways need electricity and so do any factories that make the

things we need. The list is endless.” “I think you’re too late. It’s gone too far. Our entire infrastructure was dependent on IT; manufacturing, transport, retailing, even farming. People have scattered. So many have died. By the end of this winter we could be back to the stone age.” “Not if we can help it,” said Mills. “We can’t give up. If we can get the power back on at Millcott to boost what’s available to the grid, then others can do the same. People will feel a lot different if they can get warm and have the lights on.” “They can starve in comfort,” said Meager, cynically. Mills knew he wasn’t going to convince the other man of anything. “Give me a hand?” said Mills glancing towards the heap of frozen clothes lying in the snow. Mills couldn’t look. It was just as well he didn’t. Mills got back to the car. Gerry Meager gave a brief wave before turning and heading off back to his farm. *** No-one spoke for a while; Mills’ gruesome task still hanging heavy over him. Hewitt was still in shock. They got on their way. “That guy had a gun,” said Hewitt. “He could have taken what he wanted. Instead he saved my life and took what we gave him. I feel quite moved.”

“Not everyone has lost all sense of decency,” said Emma. “Yet.” About a mile down the road Hewitt spotted a farmhouse. The front door was open and a few of the windows were broken. “Steve,” said Hewitt, leaning forward. “Can you pull over? I think we should take a look in here.” “What the hell for?” said Mills. “Farmers have shotguns. This place looks deserted – it won’t hurt to take a look.” “Okay, but be careful.” The open door swung on its hinges. The house had an air of dereliction about it. They stopped as close as they could to the building. Emma and Mills got out. “Wait here and keep a look out,” said Emma to the other two. Tentatively they peered in a window, edging nearer to the door before stepping over the threshold. The place was quiet and almost totally empty. A few bits of broken furniture lay scattered on the floor. It looked as though it had been chopped up for firewood. Mills clumped through to another back room, a snug. Once someone’s study or den, it was now only home to empty shelves. Emma looked on. “I bet they burnt the books,” she said. There were a few CDs and video tapes lying around. “There’s not a crumb of food left in this house –

just this crap.” She pointed to the tapes. “It just shows what has any intrinsic value. Now all this electrical stuff is useless junk.” “Don’t be too harsh, Emma,” said Mills. “This stuff is our culture. Man cannot live by bread alone. Now, what’s this here?” He saw what he was looking for; a gun cupboard on the wall. It was locked. They went into the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers. “Will this do?” said Emma. She handed Mills a long, thick steel used for sharpening knives. “It will have to,” said Mills. Straining hard he prised the padlock off the hasp and the door burst open. Mills grabbed the shotgun and some boxes of ammunition. “You know what this means don’t you?” said Mills, running his hands over the gun gently, getting the feel of it. “What?” said Emma. “That whoever lived here probably never left. Or they’d have taken this with them.” Emma understood what he meant immediately. Unconsciously, she glanced at the ceiling, trying not to imagine what might be upstairs. “Come on. Let’s go!” he said. But then a moment later they heard a creak on the stair. They both froze, terrified. Mills fumbled with the gun but didn’t know how to load it. They heard another step, then another. Emma went into

total panic and raced for the door. She didn’t even think of Steve Mills as she got out into the open and dived into the vehicle. She got into the driving seat and started up the engine. If Mills hadn’t jumped in beside her she would’ve left him behind. “Thanks, Emma,” he said and then handed the gun to Hewitt. “Sorry,” she said. “You’ll just have to keep up.” She glanced up just in time to see a goat run out of the front door. It was as thin as could be. It ran to another of the farm buildings. “Well I didn’t know it was a goat,” she said defensively. “Never mind. Let’s go,” he said. Emma released the handbrake and let the car roll forward then gently picked up speed when the wheels gripped onto the snow. They needed to get to Millcott B as quickly as they dared. She looked nervously at the fuel gauge, and at the outside temperature. It was minus six and still not dark yet. Emma felt her stomach tighten. If they were stranded out there, they wouldn’t last the night, let alone the winter.

29 Millcott B

There was little of the dull winter light left by the time they reached the power station. The row of cooling towers had a dusting of dry snow clinging to the concave walls on the windward side of each massive structure. There were no white vapour clouds pouring out now. The site sat frozen and desolate, like it had had its day. It was hard to tell if anyone was around. “Pull up to the front gate,” said Mills to Emma. “Look like you belong here.” Emma drove up to the barrier. A man in uniform jumped out of the booth clearly surprised to have visitors. Emma let the passenger window down. “Steve Mills. My ID,” He handed over his laminated card, hoping the man hadn’t been briefed about his disappearance. “We weren’t expecting anyone,” said the security guard. “I don’t expect you were,” said Mills, affably. “I’m in charge of the shutdown.” The guard looked over the four sitting in the vehicle. He thought of phoning his superiors for

confirmation but knew that could take time. He was due to finish his shift in ten minutes. He wanted to go home after twelve hours in that booth. He noted Stringer’s ID. Emma and Hewitt held up their visitor’s passes, hoping the guard wouldn’t check them. They were only temporary ones from their previous time there. They were waved through. What swung it was that Stringer and Mills looked well-fed and tidy. No-one looked like that nowadays unless they worked for Enlecco. “Have you got the key to the fuel depot?” said Mills. “Or does Watkins still guard it with his life?” Emma winced. She wondered if Mills was pushing it. She just wanted to get inside. “Oh, it’s right here, sir. Poor Watkins has left with everyone else.” He handed over the key, confident that Mills was who he said he was and smiled slightly. They filled up straightaway. Mills carefully returned the key then they pulled up in front of the main building. “I hope to goodness they haven’t changed the code on the locks,” he said. He punched in a series of numbers on the key pad then heard the familiar electronic click and buzz. Emma let out a sigh of relief. Once inside they followed Derek who led them up several flights of

stairs and down the empty corridors until they got to the turbine room. Its vast space was filled with the monumental engineering that had once been the living pulse of the power plant. Now its purposeful hum had been replaced with deathly silence. They clanged along the metal walkways, their footsteps echoing back from the distant walls. Derek took them up a short flight of stairs and past the window to the control room. This was where the heart of the operation should have been beating. Instead the empty chairs and blank screens said it all. They pressed on. Down a dark, cold corridor with some store rooms and access doors to the utilities. Then, right at the end was a blank door. There was no handle or keyhole. At the side was a fire alarm button in its familiar red case and glass front. Derek pushed it to one side. Underneath was a double row of buttons. Derek punched in his code and the door clicked. He pushed it open and a light came on inside. Warm air began to pour from the AC. Emma gasped with a mixture of surprise and joy. Inside was like a modern hotel suite. “I can’t believe that no-one has ever told me about this place!” said Mills. They all walked slowly into the softly lit lounge, savouring every minute. Comfortable sofas, a flatscreen TV and computer monitor greeted their astonished gazes. There was a desk with a telephone. Emma walked through and found the

kitchen. Straightaway the others followed her and began opening cupboard doors. The fridge was working but empty. Desperately they searched through everywhere else. There was food and shrink-wrapped bottles of water, dozens of them. Mills ripped open a packet of cakes and ate one greedily. Derek grabbed another. Then they took another each. They were so hungry they ate without giving anyone else a thought. Hewitt stepped in, “Hey, hang on a minute, you two! There’s us as well, remember.” Mills didn’t respond so Hewitt snatched a cake from the pack and gave it to Emma. He then took one for himself. “Oi!” said Mills. “I found these. Go get your own!” “Get a grip, man!” said Hewitt, angrily. Emma was shocked and frightened. Hunger and fear was making them behave out of character. She hadn’t eaten properly for so long she now didn’t feel hungry. It was like her body had given up. She was thin and weak compared to the others who hadn’t been on reduced rations for as long as she had. She sunk down on one of the sofas. Even though the room was warm she still hadn’t taken her coat off. She was chilled to the bone. Her cake lay untouched in her hand. Mills saw and shouted,

“See, she doesn’t even want it. I might as well finish it.” He made a move to take it. Hewitt strode over to where she was sitting. He grabbed Mills by the coat and pushed him to one side. He raised his fist. Mills did the same. “For God’s sake!” shouted Derek. “It’s only some cake!” “You’re behaving like animals!” said Hewitt. Hewitt grabbed the other man’s arm. He was wiry and strong and too much for Mills who stood down. Hewitt turned to Emma and Mills marched away from the group and went into one of the bedrooms slamming the door behind him. Derek looked downcast. He’d behaved badly too and felt ashamed. He tried to make up for it by making them all a drink. Emma drank her tea then went to see Mills. She was still shaky when she sat down beside him. “It gets too much,” she said, taking his hand. “I understand.” “It got too much for me, you all kept it together.” He looked forlorn. “It’s too much for anyone. I thought I was going to pass out when I got in here. I think it was a mixture of shock and relief, together with the terrifying thought that it’s only temporary. Tomorrow we could all be out there again. Sometimes I could scream with anger that our lives

have been destroyed by this thing, the ash. Sometimes I wish that death would stop playing with me and get on with it.” “You mustn’t talk like that.” “I’m frightened.” “It’s you who got us up here. It’s you who could get us out of this mess.” He recognised Emma’s strength even though she looked so fragile. “I can’t do it by myself,” said Emma. “We need you on board.” Mill’s nodded gratefully. He sat for a while. “Emma,” he said tentatively. She waited for him to speak. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Only a few months ago I was so full of myself. Money and status had come my way and I’d been looking forward to more of the same. I’d achieved that by dancing to the corporate tune. I’d no time for anyone who couldn’t keep up. I openly sneered at people I thought of as losers. Why now the self-doubt? Because next to people like you and Derek I feel like a shell of a man, glib and shallow. I knew that this hard exterior repelled people but I told myself I didn’t care. I now realize that I do care. I like you, Emma. I like you a lot.” He squeezed her hand looking steadily into her eyes. She looked down aware that he was reaching out to her. She didn’t want to rebuff him, but neither did she want to encourage him so Emma returned the pressure.

“It’s okay,” she said. She left to join the others his words ringing in her ears. She’d never expected him to say that. Hewitt stayed in the kitchen and rustled up a meal for all of them. The smell of it nearly drove them mad. “Shall we put the TV on?” said Emma trying to distract herself from the smell of food. The news was desperate. The army was guarding the remaining power plants which were functioning, and they were out en masse around the ports where ships were still able to dock. People were migrating to the big cities where there was still some food distribution. Everyone else was on their own. “Ready folks!” said Hewitt, carrying plates from the kitchen. Everyone sat down at once and began to eat their meal of pasta and tinned Bolognese sauce. No-one spoke. Afterwards Emma and Hewitt cleared away and Mills went into the kitchen to join them. “Look, Lawrence, I know everyone thinks I’m an arse,” said Mills. Hewitt glanced up at him. “Well stop being one then,” said Hewitt with his usual terse logic. Emma could see that Mills looked crushed. She glared at Hewitt. “Steve came in to apologise,” she said. He turned to Mills his eyes softening. “Look, we’ve all had a bad day. Forget it.”

Mills nodded gratefully then made for the door. *** Back in the lounge Derek was asleep while Emma watched the news. The death toll since the Ash came was now in the hundreds of thousands. That was confirmed numbers. The news anchor said what everyone else was thinking; that it would be many times more. A spokesperson for the National Emergency Committee said that they were doing all they could. Simon Haggett had virtually taken London. He had appointed himself Mayor when the government had gone into retreat and left the country. The idiots. As if they were going to run anything from outside. Or ever be welcomed back for that matter. Emma felt a wave of despair wash over her. The biggest problem was the sense of isolation. With limited access to news, on-line information and social media, everyone’s experience of the ash was personal. No-one knew what to do or where to go. Although in some ways that was a blessing. If Haggett had been able to rally the population he would have taken over the entire country by now. “So Steve, we’re here. What do we do now?” said Emma. “We need to talk to Derek.” “He’s exhausted. Let him sleep.” “I’m going to get into the company files. Try to contact some key workers.”

Hewitt joined them. “I’m going to contact the army base around here. We need to get some serious manpower involved to get this show on the road, and some heavy equipment.” “You’re what!” said Emma. “Also, we can’t hold out against the wreakers on our own.” “He’s right Emma. No-one knows we’re here at the moment – but that isn’t going to last long. As soon as we switch on our mobile phones and use the computer we could be traced. That’s assuming anyone is bothering to look for us anymore,” said Mills. “I guess so. The Enlecco people could be here taking this plant apart at anytime so we have to move fast,” said Emma. “Lawrence, you said we need some serious manpower, but Steve reckons we don’t need that many people to run this operation.” “That’s true when it comes to our job in here,” said Steve Mills. “It’s out there that we need a lot of help to move coal on an industrial scale to keep the place running.” Emma thought for a moment. “Lawrence, I think that you and I should head out and try to contact the army base. There’s a massive HQ at Chilwell not far from here. What do you say? Steve and Derek need to stay here and initiate the systems in the control room.” At the sound of his name, Derek woke up.

“I agree,” said Steve. He turned to Derek who was rubbing his eyes and stretching. “I think it’s time we booted up the computer and re-charged our phones.” “Go ahead,” said Derek. He was up to speed at once, “it’s got to be done. I’m going to the control room now to get things moving.” He leapt from the sofa, his agility and balance still there from his dancing days. Emma felt old, her aching limbs devoid of strength. She added, “Steve, can you start contacting former workers. If I were you I’d call key workers direct, but also put out information on social media. Some people will access it and pass it on to others by word of mouth. Ask for volunteers. Any help will be vital. Lawrence and I can’t go out till morning. We’ll make a start first thing. Meanwhile I’ll go and see the security guys and tell them to let no-one on site unless they clear it with you, Steve. We don’t want to wake up and find a demolition squad here before we can do anything.” “Good plan,” said Mills. He and Derek Stringer went up to the control room and began to reactivate the dormant systems. Emma plugged in her phone then went out of the apartment to the front gate. The biting wind took her breath away. She adopted a brisk tone and told the night security guard to report directly to Mr Mills if anyone else wanted access to the plant. She

hurried back to the main building, shivering. Already, thick frost was forming on the ground turning the dirty, churned-up snow into iron. It was slippery underfoot. Emma was glad to get back into the safety and comfort of the apartment. *** Once inside she disappeared into the bathroom and ran a tub of hot water. There was soap and shampoo. And a clean towel. She threw her clothes onto the floor then looked up. The sight of herself in the steamed-up mirror left her stunned. Her hair was about six inches longer than she remembered it. Now dull and lank, it had once been her pride and joy. She was thinner than she had ever been as an adult. A gaunt, tired old woman stared back at her. She was in her midfifties but looked ten years older. Her hands and feet were red and swollen with the persistent cold. The bath was delicious beyond description. After the last of the water had drained away, Emma took a disposable toothbrush and began to clean her teeth. Her gums bled badly as she spat weeks of neglect down the pristine sink. It was no longer just a matter of discomfort. She needed to try to get back to modern civilization; she was in poor shape – worse than she’d thought. She wrapped herself in the thick towels and a robe. She bumped into Hewitt on her way to one of the four bedrooms.

“Lawrence,” she said “My teeth feel loose. Do you think I’ve got gum disease?” “You’ve probably got scurvy,” he said. “Oh, very funny,” she said collecting her phone before retiring. As she closed the door of her room she suddenly realized that Hewitt wasn’t joking. She was stunned. My God, he could be right, she thought, staring at her teeth in the mirror. For the first time in her life she was facing a scenario where her health might be failing. Actually failing. She felt helpless and angry in equal measure. Poor Bill, she thought. What he must have gone through when the cancer got him and he realized he wasn’t going to get better. When your body lets you down and there is nothing you can do about it. She fought back the hot tears and told herself to be strong. She took a deep breath and stood up. Emma reached for her phone, hoping it would still work. It started up and straightaway began to bleep incoming messages. Most were junk from the phone company, then came a series of texts, some weeks old, all from Jack Ellis. Her heart thudded in her chest as she read through them. He’d been trying to get through to her and she hadn’t answered his increasingly desperate enquiries. There’d been nothing for the last month. Emma winced from the shock and frustration of knowing that once more she’d had a chance to get

closer to Jack and messed up again. He must have cared for her a little to send her those messages, and once more he’d got nothing from her. She dashed off a text saying she was okay and that she was at Millcott B power plant in the midlands. It failed to send. No credit. With shaking hands she got out her debit card and tried to top up. It didn’t work. She had no idea why. Emma put her head in her hands and cried with anger and frustration. Later that night another message came through to her phone from Jack Ellis. It said on my way from the States. Pls let me know where you are. J. But Emma was fast asleep by then.

30 Emma

was up at dawn. She got dressed and headed straight for the kitchen. Hewitt was already there and just finishing off his breakfast. He handed her a large mug of tea. “You’re looking pleased with yourself, Lawrence,” said Emma. “I talked with Amy last night. I managed to get a Skype link. She’s okay. I’m really relieved.” “Oh, that’s brilliant,” said Emma, not pleased at all. She couldn’t help but contrast her own disappointment with his upbeat mood. She grabbed some cereal and wolfed it down. “You might like some of this,” said Hewitt, handing her a carton of long-life orange juice. She took it off him and poured herself a glass. It was the first taste of anything remotely fresh in months. “How much do we have here in supplies?” said Emma. “Difficult to say. About a month’s worth at a guess for one person. For all of us I’d say we’d be lucky to get through the week.” “That doesn’t sound good,” said Emma. “It’s not,” said Hewitt. “It doesn’t really give us

enough time.” Emma finished off her drink in one last gulp. “Are you ready?” said Hewitt. “Yes, I’m ready. Have you got the shotgun?” said Emma. “Of course,” he replied. “Okay,” she said and grabbed her coat. “Let’s go then.” *** They left the power station in the four-by-four telling security that they would be back later that afternoon. It was still dark. The long nights and short days of January didn’t seem to be moving at all as the ash persisted. Hewitt looked deep in thought. “You okay, Lawrence?” said Emma. He turned and looked at her still distracted. “I’ve been mulling over what Amy said.” “What did she say?” “She said that the polar vortex – the wind which circulates around the pole – is breaking down – is weakening. When this happens you get cold Arctic air slipping southwards.” “Oh, yes. I remember it happened in the States in the winter of 2013-14. They had record low temperature values. It was on the TV.” “Yes. Well it seems to be happening again, like it did last year when we had a cold spring. Only now with the lack of heat due to the Ash, the effects

could be that much more serious. If we think it’s bad now just wait – she says we could get a plume of Arctic air dropping south over the UK. We could be talking of temperatures of minus twenty or less. We’ll never cope with that.” “When might this happen?” “In a few days.” “Jeez, Lawrence. What do we do? Did she give any advice?” “Oliver did. He said get the fuck out of there, if you really want to know.” Hewitt grinned. “He sounds like a good friend. I’d like to meet them, Zoe and Oliver.” “You’d like them,” said Hewitt. “Did you tell Amy you were at Millcott B,” said Emma. “Not yet,” said Hewitt. “I couldn’t quite find a way to say I was in a power plant, illegally, with a documentary maker, an HR man, and a retired engineer and that we were going to run our own energy company as no-one else seems to want to be bothered. I also forgot to tell her that I’d almost been eaten by dogs, twice, that I’ve left our home, and I now carry a shotgun around at all times.” “Well it just shows you, if that talentless boor, Simon Haggett thinks he can run London, I don’t see why we can’t sort out a power station. We are ordinary people plunged into an extra-ordinary situation. I think we can rise to the challenge.”

Hewitt didn’t look convinced. “We have to. This has to work, especially now with what you’ve just said. This polar vortex will kill millions if they are left without power.” There was a long silence, both lost in thought. Thoughts that separately converged on the same subject. Eventually it was Hewitt who voiced what was on both their minds. “Do you ever think about Carol?” he said with his usual lack of preamble. “Of course I do.” “I mean, do you think she’s alright? I still feel bad about leaving her like that.” “Who knows if she’s alright?” said Emma. “I hope she is. I really do. But we didn’t leave them, as such. They chose not to come, her and Andy.” “It was that last look she gave me. A look of total panic.” “She wanted to be with Andy. I just hope he looks after her.” “You don’t seem too worried I have to say.” “I was very fond of Carol. But she changed. She became hard and selfish. I felt I couldn’t get through to her.” “Even so, I still think about going back there, just to make sure.” “Really? But it would be impossible, Lawrence. We’ll be lucky to get ourselves out of this mess, let alone anyone else.”

“I know. But still, it preys on my mind.” Emma felt depressed by their conversation. She was worried about Carol too, but had tried to rationalize the situation by telling herself they’d done all they could. Suddenly Lawrence had voiced her own doubts and fears. Her conscience smarted. Now she felt guilty for not being more concerned. They drove on, the conversation still hanging between them. “Okay,” said Emma. “I don’t know how – but we’ll try to find out if she’s alright. Deal?” Hewitt nodded then looked back at the road. *** The army depot at Chilwell sprawled away from the road, its drab functional military buildings half hidden by the blanket of snow. A large sign read ‘MoD, Authorised personnel only.’ Hewitt pulled off the main road and drove up to a raised barrier very slowly. A sign ordered vehicles to stop. There was no-one in the booths. “Shall we go in?” said Hewitt. “Okay,” said Emma nervously. Hewitt continued to drive slowly, looking around all the time. “Over there,” said Emma, pointing to a cluster of buildings to her right. “In for a penny...” said Hewitt. As soon as they approached the complex they were surrounded by army vehicles.

“Out of the vehicle, now!” bawled one of the men, his face set against any resistance. He used his weapon to point to where he wanted them to go. Hewitt decided to leave the gun inside. Emma felt her legs shake beneath her as she tried to get out of the car. Despite the cold she felt beads of sweat form in her armpits. Hard hands gripped and stroked intrusively all over her body as they were frisked and told to explain themselves. Hewitt asked to speak to their commanding officer. The soldiers, despite their aggressive manner, looked nervous. Emma took over. She thought a middle-aged woman might seem less threatening. “We have a shotgun on the back seat,” said Emma, her voice wobbling. The young soldier tightened. “It’s to protect us against the dogs. I’m telling you so you know we’re not hiding anything. We need to speak to someone in charge, that’s why we’re here.” The soldier relaxed a little but wasn’t listening. “You’re trespassing on military property. I’m ordering you to leave. Now! On your way!” Emma wouldn’t budge and an argument ensued. At the sound of raised voices an officer marched over. “What’s going on!” he shouted, his feet crunching over the packed snow.

“Please!” said Hewitt. “We need to talk to you!” Freezing cold and looking sick of the whole damn business of being stuck in this place, the officer told them both to go to his room and wait for him there. Four squaddies escorted them to the office and waited with Hewitt and Emma for the officer to join them. They had faces of stone. “Thank you. You can wait outside,” he said to the men when he got there. “Now then, what’s this all about? I’m Major Letworth and I haven’t got all day.” Emma told the Major that they were in direct contact with a scientific team stationed in Iceland that was warning of the approach of a polar vortex. She needed to establish some credibility before she told him about Millcott B. She told him that temperatures were about to plummet and that millions could die. “And this has what, exactly, to do with me?” he asked resignedly. He looked like a man who was worn out with the hopelessness of the situation and really didn’t need any more hassle. “We need to get the power back on,” said Emma. “Quickly. People have got to have the utilities back on and they need food. The Ash will start to disperse soon. But we need to get through these next few weeks first. We have power stations lying idle while the population sits in the dark. It’s an outrage. Enlecco have left us in the lurch and

no-one else seems to know what to do.” “Yes, yes. I know all that. It’s a scandal. At the moment nearly all my men are guarding food distribution and trying to keep law and order. For the most part we are not succeeding. It might be better if we all packed our bags and left. The NEC is hardly in control anymore. I get no orders. I have to act on my own.” “Good,” said Emma, “Then you are the man to help us. Major Letworth.” “What do you mean?” he said. “In a nutshell, we have taken over Millcott B.” “You’ve what?” “We’ve decided on direct action, but we need more manpower and machinery.” “What are you going to do – turn it back on? Don’t you think it might be a bit more complicated than that?” He was now more amused than anything. He’d heard it all now. “Yes, we are. I’ve got the chief engineer there and a senior manager who between them know the plant backwards. We’re getting together as many of the workforce as we can right now. But we’ve got to move before Enlecco sends in its demolition squad. And we need help shifting coal. We need drivers for the bulldozers and so on.” “You’ll need more than that, I think,” said Major Letworth. “Those vast coal heaps are frozen solid. No-one can move them now.”

Emma’s face dropped. She’d never thought of that. Hewitt stepped in. “Can’t you blast it out? You’re an army for God’s sake.” The Major thought for a moment. “You say the chief engineer is there? “Yes. He’s worked at Millcott B for most of his life.” “How much difference will one power station make?” “It’s not just one power station. It’s vast and will make a huge contribution to the grid. We have to try. We also need some men to guard the line workers who are being attacked as they work to restore the cables. It’s no good generating power if it can’t be delivered to people’s homes.” Major Letworth got up out of his seat and wandered over to the window. He stared at the bleak, grey landscape for a long time. He’d been sent to Chilwell because of its logistical importance. It was a major army depot and had become the HQ for equipment and supplies. It was also a transport hub for the whole country since the new railway links to London had been completed. Now he sat amongst the depleted barracks, the stranded trains and the dwindling supplies, wondering what the hell he was going to be asked to do next. There were also many big power plants in the area built originally as they were near enough to

coal reserves and sizeable rivers. Not to mention the gas powered ones, the biomass stations the hydro-powered and the renewables. At first it was thought the army could help keep the stations going, but as gas supplies disappeared, solar power proved to be useless under the cover of the ash. Wind turbines stood like statues under the relentless high pressure. Frozen rivers prevented hydro-electric plants from functioning. The only things left were nuclear and coal. Major Letworth sighed. “How long will the polar vortex stay over the UK?” “Who knows?” said Hewitt. “My wife says...” “Your wife?” “She’s a climate scientist and has joined the team out there who saw Katla blow.” The Major looked impressed. “Amy says it could be days or weeks. Then hopefully, after that, the south-westerlies should return. If that happens, rain will wash the ash out of the atmosphere and warmer air will restore the climate to something like normal.” “And if they don’t reappear – these southwesterlies?” “Then we could be facing an abrupt climate change scenario, even leading to a new ice-age. If that happens we are talking about mass migration of the survivors. And if we don’t get some power

on soon there won’t be many of those.” “Alright,” said the Major. “I’ll send a detail back to Millcott B to see what we can do. I’m making no promises but it might be worth a try. We could at least make sure there is power on at the mass shelters and all public buildings in the area. I need to contact my superiors and try to get them to declare a State of Extreme Emergency. A polar vortex, you say. Well it will be better than sitting here freezing my ass off.” With that he left.

31 “I liked him – Major Letworth,” said Emma as they drove back to Millcott B. “Let’s hope he’s as good as his word,” said Hewitt. It was already getting colder. The high, grey cloud lay over them like a slab. It was hard to believe there was still a yellow sun out there, shining as before. Their four-by-four bumped over frozen slush. Emma turned the heater on full but it hardly penetrated the chill. She reached into her pocket for her phone, intending to try once more to load some credit onto it. She turned it on and waited. It was then she spotted that she had another message from Jack Ellis; one which had come through after the others. “Oh my God!” said Emma. “What’s wrong?” said Hewitt, turning towards her. “He’s on his way from the States!” “Who, exactly?” Hewitt frowned. “I hate it when people don’t just say what they mean without having to be asked.” “Jack Ellis. He says he’s on his way here. He could be here already.”

“Who’s Jack Ellis?” Hewitt sounded even more testy. “A friend of mine. He’s asking where I am and I haven’t answered and I can’t because I have no credit. Lawrence, can I use your phone? I need to get a message through to him. If I miss him again he’ll stop trying. He might already have given up and gone back. He might think I’m dead or with someone else or that I don’t want to contact him...” “Here for God’s sake use it,” he said pulling his phone out of his jacket. “A friend, you say?” Lawrence looked deadpan as he said it. Emma flushed. “A good friend.” “Don’t worry,” he said, relenting a little. “I remember how I felt when Amy seemed out of reach.” She tapped out a text. When she was sure it had sent she handed him back his phone. “Thanks, Lawrence.” When they got back to Millcott B the security man flagged them down. “An Enlecco van was here earlier. Said they’d be back to begin the demolition tomorrow. They were surprised to see anyone else here at the plant.” The man looked uneasy. “Let’s hope the Major gets here first,” said Hewitt under his breath. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing here,

sir,” said the guard. “I don’t want to get into any trouble.” “It’ll be alright,” said Hewitt. “Mr Mills has it all sorted, and we have the army coming on board. Answer to them and you can’t go wrong.” The man grinned broadly. “Thank you sir. That’s all I needed to know.” *** When Hewitt got back inside the apartment, he got straight onto the computer and called Amy. Her concerned face stared back at him from the screen. She was trying to take in that her husband had abandoned their house and was now holed up in a power station. “Zoe will you talk some sense into him?” she said to her friend just out of shot. Hewitt thought that was a bit harsh coming from someone who had gone to Katla’s ground zero. He said as much. Zoe’s face appeared. “Hi Lawrence. Listen, we’re almost done here. The University has told us to leave. We are heading out to Canada and then the States where we’ll do follow-up research at a sister college in Atlanta. Amy is desperate for you to join her there. She wants to know if the house is okay. She’s worried about the polar vortex, too.” Another face appeared. This time it was Oliver. “Where the bloody hell did you say you were, Lawrence? What are you doing – having a protest sit-in? That’ll worry Enlecco!”

Hewitt didn’t rise to the bait. He explained the plan. This time Oliver didn’t laugh. “But why didn’t you just stay put in London,” he said. “Because there was no electricity on in our area. No fuel. No food. Nothing. There’s mob rule on the streets and if you venture out without a gun, the packs of feral dogs, which are terrorizing the population, will attack you. That apart from the rats and the birds. We were hoping to try to restore something of normality.” Zoe shuddered at the mention of rats. She still hadn’t got over her stay in Calais. “Not a chance, Lawrence. Even with the expert help you seem to have there.” “How can you say that?” said Hewitt, genuinely concerned. He liked Oliver too well to feel irritable with him. “The sudden drop in temperature will mean that the extra supply will be unable to keep up with demand. You’ve got to get out.” “When will the temperature start to fall?” said Hewitt. Zoe butted in, “We think by tomorrow night. By late afternoon you’ll know it’s arrived. After dark the thermometer will drop like a stone. You need to be somewhere safe or get out while you still have the chance. Amy’s really upset that you left your house to go with these people.” “But I was at Emma Stamford’s house already.”

Hewitt paused. He knew he’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words left his mouth. “You were where?” said Amy angrily. “Listen Amy, I need to explain,” said Hewitt. There seemed to be some confusion at the other end of the link. Amy left the room and banged the door. Zoe ran after her. Oliver reappeared on the screen. “You’ve done it now, Lawrence. I was going to tell you to get to the nearest port and head out if there’s time. However, in the current climate you might be better off staying out there and freezing to death.” “Oliver – explain things for me will you?” said Hewitt desperately. “I was at Emma’s house with about six other people. I stayed on longer than intended because of the riots – I didn’t dare venture out. Then we were turned out of her house at knifepoint by a criminal gang.” “You were what?” said Oliver. He was stunned and caught his breath. The news took a minute to sink in. “I didn’t want to scare Amy but, believe me, if you thought things were bad when you were here, you have no idea how it’s deteriorated in the past weeks. I don’t know if we can get out. We might be better off staying here for the duration.” “I’m sorry, Lawrence, I’d no idea. For God’s sake be careful – I mean that. I’m really worried

now.” “Thanks I appreciate that. But look. I’m more bothered about Amy. Talk to her, will you?” “I’ll sort it,” said Oliver. “Or rather, Zoe will. But listen, Lawrence – it could get down to minus thirty tomorrow night. Temperatures like that are not to be messed with.” “I know. I’ll be okay.” He rang off. *** Oliver found the two women, Zoe and Amy, heads together. Amy’s eyes were red-rimmed. “I knew I should never have left.” Amy looked forlorn. “Well?” said Zoe, waiting for her husband to speak. Oliver looked at Amy. “Stop giving the poor bloke a hard time – he nearly got eaten by dogs.” Amy started to cry again. “I don’t think you’re helping, darling,” said Zoe. “You don’t think he likes this Emma, do you?” said Amy. “Don’t be so bloody stupid,” said Oliver. Amy wiped her eyes. “But what if she fancies him?” “No chance of that,” replied Oliver. “What do you mean?” said Amy, sounding indignant but secretly comforted by Oliver’s confident banter. He obviously didn’t think there was anything to worry about. “He’s lovely,” she

added, defensively. Oliver sighed and looked towards the computer. “Well, if you think he’s so lovely I should get back on there if I were you, stop blubbing and tell him that.” Five minutes later Amy was all smiles. “Come on, guys,” she said to Zoe and Oliver. “We’ve got to get ready to leave. I’ve told Lawrence we’re heading for Canada, then the States. He’s promised he’ll get out as soon as there is an opportunity.” *** Hewitt went up to the control room at Millcott B where he found Steve Mills and Derek Stringer busy at their desks. It almost looked like old times. “Steve – everyone – you need to hear this – we have a problem,” Hewitt said. “That must be the understatement of all time,” said Mills. “Well, another one then. Amy said a polar vortex is due to reach us by tomorrow evening. The temperatures will then begin to crash. My scientist friends say there is little we can do here to make any difference to supply as demand will go up massively. They recommend that we leave if we can.” “But we can’t do that,” said Derek. “Of course demand will go up. And many people will survive because there is some power on who wouldn’t do

otherwise.” “Can we actually get any power on?” said Hewitt. “Because, if we can’t, we need to make a decision to leave immediately. Whatever happens we mustn’t leave it too late and be caught out without shelter.” “We can’t say for sure until the army arrives. Without their help we can’t get this operation moving.” “Leave?” said Emma who had just walked in. “Who’s talking about leaving?” When no-one answered she felt a surge of panic wash through her. If they left, it might mean that Jack Ellis could arrive at Millcott B to find it deserted. He might not know of the vortex. That could put him in serious danger. “I’m not leaving,” said Emma decisively. “We might have to,” said Mills. “There’s only enough food left for a few more days in the apartment, which is fuelled by a diesel generator. That won’t last forever.” Emma scowled. It seemed like Mills was taking over this project now he was on his own territory but she didn’t want to fight with him as he was a key to its success. She said nothing. The phone rang. It was security. There were Enlecco vans outside. They were demanding entry. The heavy demolition plant would be arriving any time at all.

“Jeez! What now!” said Mills. “If they find us here, they will order us out and we’ll be on the road when the vortex hits.” Emma looked terrified. “Here,” said Derek, taking the phone. “Tell them that Mr Mills is in charge of the shutdown and that he is in the control room at the moment and that he’s waiting on orders from HQ. Tell them to park at the social club.” “Okay Mr Stringer. Will do.” “That should buy us some time,” said Derek. Emma looked at Hewitt. “If only Major Letworth would arrive.” “He won’t come now,” said Mills. “This operation’s a dead duck. We need to get back to the apartment and pack our things. Then just go before anyone down there suspects anything.” “We can’t go!” said Emma. “We can’t stay, for God’s sake! We could get arrested.” Mills was shouting. He was red in the face. “You know what Enlecco is like!” Hewitt chipped in, seeing Emma’s distress. “I think Steve’s right, Emma. We need to pack and get the car ready to go. If Letworth and his men don’t arrive soon the Enlecco people will get suspicious of why we are stalling and will contact their HQ themselves. We could be in big trouble. They could just begin knocking the place apart with us in it if we refuse to leave.”

Have you forgotten why we’re here?” said Emma. “It’s to get some power on.” “We can’t do that on our own. If Letworth doesn’t show in the next hour we need to get out of here or we won’t have time to beat the vortex,” said Mills. “Well I’m staying,” said Emma. “Don’t be stupid, Emma,” said Mills. “Is there something going on here I don’t know about? It’s you who got us back to this place. And now you are behaving very strangely, if I might say. I remember you were working for Enlecco at one time. There are a few things that don’t seem quite right to me. Like why were you snooping about asking my secretary questions about my pay-out? And meeting up with Derek here after your contract had ended. And – Derek – getting us to go to Emma’s house when we could have gone anywhere in London. Are you trying to get something on me? Is this a trap?” Emma was aghast that Mills knew so much about her. “Steve, either you’re getting paranoid,” said Hewitt, unable to believe what he was hearing, “Or you’ve worked for Enlecco for too long. Emma isn’t trying to stitch you up. No-one is. Look, we’re all in this together now whatever happens and if this project is going to work then you’ve got to trust us. Emma has more personal reasons for not

wanting to leave Millcott.” Emma looked away from them all but said, “I’ve got a friend who’s looking for me. Someone special.” Mills glanced at her. He seemed more hurt rather than angry and quietened down. Derek fiddled meaninglessly with the control panels, feeling the tension in the air. He sensed the storm was about to break. Hewitt drummed his fingers on the desk, calmly picking his moment. “Now, Steve, I think it’s time you told us about the Icarus Project.” He spoke quietly. *** Mills jumped visibly. Derek stopped fidgeting and sat back in his chair. There was a stunned silence. “I told you it was just an HR initiative. Nothing to interest anyone else.” “Try again, Steve,” said Hewitt. “When you arrived in London you two were on the run and afraid you were being followed. When Derek mentioned the word Icarus you couldn’t wait to change the subject. Just now you said you could be arrested. For what? You know more than you’re letting on and I think Icarus is at the bottom of this.” Steve looked at Derek. “You might as well tell them,” he said.

“Okay. I’ll tell you what Icarus is if you really want to know. It was only the most stupid, most illthought-out idea in the history of failed projects.” “What do you mean?” said Emma. She didn’t like where this was going. “Think back – to before the ash. Do you remember what it was really like?” said Mills. “Of course. We had jobs and food and sunshine...” said Emma. “Well two out of three,” said Hewitt, cynically. “We had food and jobs alright.” “Exactly!” said Mills. Hewitt looked puzzled. “What? What are you saying?” Emma’s mind raced. “We had a series of poor summers. So? This is the UK. It happens.” Hewitt came in, “I remember now, Amy kept saying there’s something not quite right. There was talk of a new mini Ice Age like we had in the seventeenth century. But none of the data quite fitted. She was always looking at the temperature values and comparing what she found with the computer models. She factored in the Gulf Stream, sun spots, El Nino, the North Atlantic Oscillation – you name it. Nothing ever explained why our weather got so cold. Scientists were even looking for a new climate cycle but found nothing.” “No. They wouldn’t. Project Icarus was meant to be the antidote to a runaway greenhouse effect that was getting too close for comfort.” Mills fidgeted

uncomfortably as he spoke. His face was grey. Emma leaned forward. She felt her heart skip a beat. Mills continued, “Enlecco funded the project to cool the Earth down by putting huge amounts of reflective material in the upper atmosphere. It was the perfect answer. Save the planet and at the same time enable the energy companies to carry on burning fossil fuels. It seemed to be working, too. Everywhere was cooling off very nicely and then Katla erupted and spoiled the party.” Emma heard her blood sing in her ears as her anger mounted. “How could they!” she shouted. “How bloody could they! How dare they mess with my world? The sheer arrogance of it beggars belief!” She shook with passion at the sudden realization that their predicament was partly manmade. Without the cooling effect of Icarus they could have coped when Katla blew. “The idiots! The absolute idiots! Were you in on this, Steve?” said Hewitt, straight to the point. His eyes stared coldly at the other man. “No! No! I swear. I only found out about it long after the stuff had been sent up there. I saw some papers – highly confidential. At first it didn’t matter that I knew – for Enlecco it was a great success story. But the ash changed everything. Suddenly Enlecco didn’t want to be blamed for their disastrous foray into climate engineering. I was the

only one outside the Enlecco inner circle who knew about Icarus. They offered me a huge pay-out to keep me loyal but when I wanted out because of the shut-downs, I became a marked man. The last thing they wanted was for me to spill the beans! I should have left the country as soon as I heard about Icarus. Just packed my bag and said I’d got another job. “ Emma froze. Her stomach turned over with a stunning realization. That was what Jack had done – left without a word. Had he stumbled across Icarus too? She felt sick with fear for him. And now he was coming back for her. She remembered Carol gently urging her to go to the States. It was beginning to make sense. She swallowed hard, not daring to say anything. Hewitt sighed deeply then banged the table with his fist. “I need to talk to Amy,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Derek. “No, don’t,” added Mills. “There’s no point in dragging her into all this.” He was still agitated. Emma agreed, her rage subsiding as a wave of pity for Mills’ plight washed over her. He looked a broken man. She went on, “I hate to say this – but we need to decide – to stay or go.” Hewitt paced about the room impatiently, looking at his watch and sighing with frustration. “Now where the fuck is Letworth?” he said to no-

one in particular. “If he shows up we might be able to decide what to do!” The silence in the room stretched out between them as the minutes ticked by. Then, on cue, the phone rang. Mills picked up. “The Major is asking to speak to Mr Hewitt,” said the security guard. “Escort him to the control room,” said Mills. Minutes later Major Letworth burst through the door with six armed men in tow. Hewitt, Mills and Derek Stringer jumped up. Emma stood up and walked over towards him her hand outstretched. “Thank goodness you’re here, Major,” she said. “Well, I think we got here just in time,” he replied cheerfully.

32 Bristol

Eleven days after leaving New York, Jack Ellis arrived in Portbury Dock near Bristol on the freighter Antonia. The freezing wind whipped at his face as he stood on deck. Behind him towered rows of neat, brightly coloured containers, full of food and goods from across the Atlantic. He watched with disbelief as the land grew closer. This was never the place he had left behind only a few months ago. Looking down through the railings he saw the sea, brown with silt, churning around the rusting metal stern. The engines cut out then he felt the ship berth with a shudder. An eastern European sailor shouted hoarsely to a figure on the dock side before throwing a rope in his direction. Everywhere there was bustle and noise. In the distance cranes stood out against the grey sky, dipping and turning as they lifted their cargo onto waiting transport. The once familiar green fields, ancient hedgerows and tree-covered hills had all but disappeared under deep drifts of snow. The air smelt of cold as Jack breathed in his

homecoming. There was a hard clang of metal as the gangway was lowered. He followed the crowd to the exit and prepared to disembark. The Bristol Channel was clogged with shipping frantically trying to berth and discharge their cargo to a desperate nation. It was one of the few ports still functioning. The massive tidal reach along the Somerset coast had helped to keep the dock icefree as the sea was never still. Huge ice-bergs dotted the Avonmouth estuary and the water looked thick and silky as though its super-cooled surface was ready to set solid at the first opportunity. Jack stepped down the gangway and onto the dock, hugging his down-filled coat around him as he swung his bag over his shoulder. He needed the trapper hat he’d brought with him. The level of activity was overwhelming. Every square inch of dockside was taken up with cargo heading to the major cities. He could hardly walk for the crowds of people desperately trying to direct some much needed food to where it was needed. It didn’t take a genius to work out that these containers were nothing like enough to provision a whole country. A crowd formed by the barrier near where Jack had just disembarked from the Antonia. As soon as the ship was emptied of its passengers and crew, the human tide surged forward, knocking the officials out of the way in

their haste to get on board. It was like this every hour of every day, said a woman standing by a container. She wore a blue uniform and a Hi-Viz jacket. Jack had thought she was Port Authority security due to the logo written across her back. “I stole the jacket,” she said. “It makes me feel safer. I’m in retail logistics. I’m trying to get some stuff out to where it’s needed. Hey you!” she shouted loudly. Jack nearly jumped out of his skin. Someone had gone up to her container. It was then he noticed that she carried an automatic weapon. “Do you know where I can get a train to the Midlands?” he said. “You must be kidding? It’s a nightmare trying to get anywhere. Everybody’s trying to get to a big city where there’s some food on ration, or they’re leaving altogether. Where are you from, anyway? Who in their right mind would want to come here? If you don’t mind me asking?” “I just got in from New York. I’m trying to find a friend. I’m Jack Ellis, by the way.” “Pleased to meet you, Jack. I’m Carly Dobson.” She looked at Jack with the practised eye of a bouncer. She liked his expensive-looking coat, and his polite manner. She guessed correctly that he was in his early fifties. And as he didn’t look hungry she believed he had just arrived as he said. She took a gamble.

“Come with me,” she said. “I might be able to help.” She shouted instructions into her walkietalkie to the nearby crane-driver to load her container onto the waiting train. “That’s the last one!” she added. He replied with a thumb’s-up sign as his voice crackled an okay into the handset. She beckoned Jack to follow her. They walked for ten minutes, pushing through the packed crowds and mayhem of the docks. The noise was deafening. Eventually they reached a helipad where a grey helicopter was parked. The pilot nodded as they got closer. *** “Chris, meet Jack Ellis, just arrived from New York.” She turned to Jack, “This is Chris Hallam, my pilot.” “Hi,” he said. “Can we take a passenger?” said Carly. “Sure,” he replied. “Wow!” said Jack. “Look at this! Is this your ride?” “It’s the only way.” She was completely matterof-fact about it. “Get in.” Carly let Jack climb inside while she looked out to make sure no-one approached. She then got in herself. Jack noticed that the pilot was carrying a side-arm. Retail had never been like this. They belted up and waited while the engine began to pick up speed.

“I’ve just had a weather update – we’ve got a problem, Carly,” said the pilot. “What’s the matter, Chris?” “They’re calling it the polar vortex. A plume of extreme weather is heading down towards us. Could be blizzards. We have to get down before it reaches us or it will be too dangerous to fly.” “Can we drop Jack off in the Midlands? It’s on our route.” “We should be able to. I’m more worried about getting back to Head Office in Sheffield. We might not make it that far, especially with the Pennine weather. Whereabouts in the Midlands are you heading, buddy?” “It’s a place called Millcott B. It’s a power station.” “Funny place to go.” “Yes. That’s what I thought. But I have a friend there, and I think she might be in trouble.” “Okay, I’ll do what I can.” “What’s this about a polar vortex?” Chris explained. “You might be better not trying to get back to Sheffield tonight then,” said Jack. “It sounds pretty serious to me.” “No way,” chipped in Carly. “I need to get home.” “Where’s home?” said Jack. “On the outskirts of the city. I’ve got a husband

and two teenage children. I need to be with them if this polar thing heads our way.” Chris logged his route with his flight follower and waited for clearance. There was so little air traffic nowadays it was hardly needed. Apart from a few light aircraft and emergency helicopters the skies were now deserted. They took off. Jack had never been in a helicopter before and was a little nervous. Carly sat back and closed her eyes. It had been another long and difficult day. They swooped upwards, banking round till they gained enough height to get above the curve of the Avonmouth Bridge. Then they headed north following the M5. The motorway had become a flat, white ribbon, only just visible between the landscapes on either side of it. It was dotted with abandoned vehicles. They spotted a convoy of lorries heading north at one point. Nothing else moved. After about fortyfive minutes Chris turned to Jack and said, “There’s Birmingham on your left.” Jack looked out of the window and saw a huge pall of smoke rising into the cloud cover. Here the snow was grey and churned up. Some high-rise buildings stood out from the deep drifts. Chris kept high and gave the city a wide berth. “You never know what’s behind those windows,” he said. “We’ve been shot at before now.” “My God!” said Jack. He thought he’d seen it all

in New York. Nothing could have prepared him for this. They banked round to the north-east then dropped altitude when they were clear of the city. Carly opened her eyes. She sat up and pulled her coat tighter around her body. “I’m freezing,” she said grumpily. “Temperature’s dropped,” said Chris. “What’s it reading?” she said. “Twelve below. We must be on the edge of the vortex already.” “Look,” said Jack. “Up ahead. What’s that cloudbank, Chris?” “Looks like snow to me.” They were already seeing the odd flake drift past the window. “I’ll radio base.” What Chris heard was not good news. The polar vortex was confirmed over Scotland. On its front edge was a band of storm-force winds and driving snow. It would be over the north of England in a couple of hours, max. Could be sooner. The temperature was already dropping rapidly. Chris thought that they might be able to reach the east midlands. He was beginning to think that Sheffield was out of the question. He explained the situation to Carly. “I have to get home,” she said angrily. “I have to. I’ve got supplies here. If I don’t get this food to Bob and the kids they could starve. I didn’t like going away and leaving them but this job gives me

the chance to get some food. Chris, please.” “We could all die trying to get back to Sheffield. Do you want that?” “I can’t abandon my family. This vortex could last weeks. I have enough food to get us through. They don’t. You have to understand, they could die.” “If I’m ordered to ground, then I will have to, honey. Remember I work for the company, not for you. If I go to Millcott and drop Jack off it will cost us ten to fifteen minutes, at least, more if I can’t find a good place to land. That could be the difference between getting back home and being brought down in a white-out. Actually the safest thing would be to hole up with Jack at the station. Then we could fly on in a few days.” “It won’t be days though, will it?” Carly felt her hand go to her automatic weapon. She gripped it and let her coat fall open. “Woh!” said Jack. Chris turned around, his eyes widening when he saw Carly’s gesture. “For God’s sake! Carly! What the hell is all this about. Don’t be so fucking stupid.” “Guys! Guys! Cool it. Chris, you’d better not detour to Millcott. Just go straight to Sheffield. I’ll make my own way.” Jack was shaking. What a fool he’d been to take this ride. “Okay, we’ll do that. Now calm down Carly. We’ll get you home.”

The pilot re-set his course for Sheffield but knew in his heart that what he was doing was almost as dangerous as provoking Carly. Jack felt his pulse hammer in his head. At the same time his heart sank. He’d been hoping to find Emma today. Now he would miss her again. It could be weeks before he could get back to Millcott. No doubt, by then she would have moved on.

33 Millcott B, The Polar Vortex

“Attention everyone!” shouted Major Letworth. He was clearly enjoying having a real job to do at last. “I am commandeering this facility and I have informed the National Emergency Committee of that fact.” “I hope you’ve told Enlecco,” said Derek. “Why?” said the Major. “Because, looking at the CCTV we have a demolition squad out there, starting to move heavy equipment.” Major Letworth glared at the screen. “I’ll see to this – how many men have you now got, Mills, to get this plant up and running?” “About a dozen, sir,” Steve Mills wasn’t sure how to address a Major being a civilian, so he went along with the other men. “They’re trained technicians who used to work here. We should be okay unless we hit any big faults with the plant being idle for so long. We’re working on it now.” “Stringer – any problems?” “Not yet, Major. It’s the coal delivery systems

that are my main worry. We need bulldozers to fill the conveyer which feeds the hoppers. And I’ve only one driver. We need more.” “Okay. I’ll see if I can get a contingent of Engineers over here.” With that he hurried out of the control room with his entourage and headed down to meet the Enlecco demolition squad. “I’m coming, too,” said Mills. Hewitt followed at a safe distance, clutching his rifle. Emma meanwhile was trying to contact the local radio station to tell them what they were attempting to do, and to get them to put a call out for any former power workers to volunteer their services. In its working days, Millcott B had been the locality’s biggest employer and Emma hoped that many of its workers had stayed local. It was a long shot. *** Outside in the yard the wind was biting. Hewitt pulled his hood up over his hat. Already the cold air had seeped through his gloves. He shuddered and put his free hand in his pocket for extra warmth. His other one gripped the rifle numbly. The Major strode on in his fatigues, ignoring the weather. A few small flakes of snow flew around in the wind, landing like cold pin-pricks on his face. He walked like a man whose time had come. For months he had been on the nerve-sapping duties of

distributing food to dangerously desperate people and of riot control when supplies ran out. If – when – food supplies failed completely, his job would be impossible. His family, a wife and two sons, now never left the barracks in Wiltshire. It would be hard to get back to them, to protect them, if the worst happened and there was a total breakdown of society. After the government top brass and some royals had left the country, he had been tempted to throw away his uniform and do the same. He wasn’t sure what stopped him – loyalty or fear of the consequences. The problems had become too big, too complex for him to understand his role anymore and cynicism constantly ate away at his resolve. Then, when a slight, frail-looking, dark-haired woman in her fifties appeared in his office that day and announced that she was going to take over a power station he began to look at things in a new light. At first he’d thought it was a huge joke. However, there was something about Emma Stamford that connected with him. She wasn’t to be laughed off or brushed aside. Before the ash she had been an ordinary woman, making a living in the suburbs. Now the ash had changed everything. Ordinary people in extraordinary situations behaved very differently to how one expected. It brought out the best in some; the worst in others,

like in battle. Emma had risen to the challenge and seen what needed to be done. That had appealed to his can-do, practical nature. Major Letworth had always been part of a hierarchy, ready to defend his country’s interests in whatever way he could. Lately he’d been more of a policeman-cum-aid-worker, fighting against the forces of chaos; fighting a natural disaster no-one had been prepared for. Waiting for orders; waiting for help. Emma had been the same; waiting for someone to sort out the mess. But then she had seen what he should have realised months ago; that no help was going to come. Enlecco, having created a virtual monopoly in the British energy market had simply walked away when the going got tough, leaving a stretched and under-invested infrastructure to topple like a house of cards when the ash came. In the social and political vacuum people like Simon Haggett had risen to the top. Letworth hated him and everything he stood for. He had the smell of small-town corruption about him. Now there was the chance to galvanise people into taking control of their lives. Get them to volunteer – give them a role – then they’d be less likely to follow the easy rhetoric of the charlatans with all the answers. “That’s far enough!” A rough voice echoed around the vast yard outside the main complex of the power plant.

The Major raised his hand calmly as a signal for his men to stop. A huge bear of a man jumped down from the leading truck and stood square to the Major and his men. He was wearing the familiar black and orange Enlecco uniform. He continued, “We are taking this place apart, starting today. Whoever you guys are, you need to get out of here, right now.” “I’m Major Letworth and this plant has been commandeered by the British Army. I’m in charge now and no-one is going to be demolishing anything.” “My orders come from the company. They pay my wages and for a ticket out of here when the job is done.” “What’s your name?” The man grinned. “They call me Gus.” “Well, Gus, you need to get your outfit away from Millcott B. Tell Enlecco they no longer have any authority ...” “No way buddy. We’re going ahead whether you like it or not. I want my bonus and I intend to get out of this place as fast as I can when the job is done.” “We are acting in the name of Her Majesty’s Government,” called the Major. He didn’t like the way this was going. Gus was unmoved. “What government? Her Majesty? Haven’t you heard – they’ve all fucked off.”

The other workers gathering behind him all laughed. The snow began to fall more thickly, gathering on the men’s hats and shoulders. Suddenly, another figure appeared on the scene. “And Enlecco haven’t then?” Letworth, his men, Mills and Hewitt all turned at the sound of a woman’s voice carrying over the noman’s-land in between the two groups. Emma was walking briskly up to them, her hood down so they could see her face. The workers stopped laughing and turned to Gus. He hesitated. Emma continued, “When were you last paid, Gus? Any of you?” Emma paused to let the seeds of doubt take hold. “My colleague, here, was promised a handsome pay-out to write off Millcott B to the authorities He did what he was asked to do and has never seen a penny of what he was supposed to get. They’ve gone – fucked off – as you put it. We’re on our own here and you’d better believe it.” “She’s right, Gus. I’m Steve Mills. I used to be a director here.” The men huddled together and talked frantically amongst themselves. They didn’t know what to believe now. “So you’re Mills are you?” said Gus with a smirk that Emma didn’t like. Finally Gus turned back to face Letworth. “We’re staying,” he said. “I cannot allow you to demolish this facility. You

now have no authority. If you don’t leave I will have no choice but to detain you and your men.” “You and whose army?” Gus mocked looking at the small contingent of soldiers in front of him. “There will be reinforcements arriving here any time. If you have not left the premises by that time, you will have to face the consequences.” The Major hoped his bluff would pay off and buy some time until he could get some extra help. The settling snow made him wonder if anyone could get through in time. “Gus,” said Emma. “Even if you want to go ahead with your plan to demolish this plant, you can’t do anything now that the polar vortex has arrived.” She gestured with a wide sweep of her arms at the thickening snowfall. Look all around you. It’s here – can’t you see. No-one can work in this. We need to take shelter.” “Polar vortex? What the hell is that?” said Gus. “I haven’t heard of any vortex. Okay, it’s snowing. It’s been snowing for the last eighteen months – so what!” Hewitt stepped in. “It’s a super-cold weather system which has spun off from the arctic and is stretching down to our latitude. As our land and sea temperatures are already freezing it is going to be an extreme weather event. Everyone will need to take shelter.” Gus looked sceptical. He didn’t want to lose face

now by backing down. “They might be bluffing, boss,” said one of Gus’ colleagues. “This is no bluff,” said Emma. “We need to get some power on or hundreds – maybe thousands of people could freeze to death. “My plan,” called out Major Letworth against the rising wind, “is to get enough power on to heat all large, public buildings in the nearby town of East Millcott, including the Three Counties Arena, which is being used as a shelter already. If we can get this place anywhere near capacity we can also get electricity on to a hundred thousand houses in the area. The plant is already being recommissioned. I am ordering you to leave.” “Fuck you. We’ll stay with the trucks,” said Gus. Emma added, “All of you need to find some shelter before nightfall. You can’t stay in your trucks. It could fall below minus thirty tonight. “ Even as she said it Emma could see that her words were having no effect. She began to shiver with the cold which grew more intense with every passing minute. Her face burned in the icy wind. She pulled up her hood. “Gus,” shouted the Major, his patience worn out. “Make a decision. You either stay here but with your vehicles outside the perimeter fence and I have the keys. Or you leave.” He nodded at his men who raised their rifles as a signal that

negotiations were over and the time for action had come. “Woah!” said Gus. “What’s the matter with you guys? We’re only trying to do our jobs. There’s no need for this. Come on fellas. Let’s get away from these idiots before we get our heads shot off.” Gus backed off and went to his truck, climbing into the cab which now had a covering of fresh snow. The other men did the same. The trucks’ engines roared into life and slowly the first one rolled forwards forging a deep tyre track in the newly fallen snow. Sullenly the convoy headed towards the gate before disappearing into the murk. Major Letworth marched back to the control room. Everyone else followed. Emma told Hewitt that she wasn’t happy about Gus. “I don’t think he’s going to leave,” she said. “I don’t trust him.” Hewitt agreed. Then, just as they neared the main building they heard a strange noise. They turned around listening for the trucks. Then they looked up. They heard a helicopter. They couldn’t see anything but it was definitely a chopper. They wondered if it was Enlecco, come to survey the end of Millcott B, but being painted dark grey it was invisible against the leaden sky. *** Jack Ellis strained forward, hoping he might spot

the vast array of cooling towers as they flew over the site. He wished with every fibre in his body that they could land and find Emma safe. But instead they were doggedly, foolishly pressing on to Sheffield. With every passing mile the weather was worsening. Carly was white-lipped. Jack closed his eyes and willed their journey to end soon and safely.

34 It was afternoon when the Sappers arrived on site. The Major teamed them up with the drivers who showed them how to load coal onto the conveyer which fed the hoppers. It was a slow start due to their lack of experience in what was a specialized operation. It didn’t help that the stockpiled coal sitting in vast pyramids on the edge of the site was frozen solid. Letworth got together a detail of men to start laying explosives and blow it apart. It was dangerous work. There was no way of knowing if the whole black mountain would disintegrate and pour down upon them all. The men were dressed in arctic gear. It was now well below freezing and still dropping rapidly. Emma and Lawrence Hewitt were in the control room when they heard the explosion. “That should do the trick!” said Derek Stringer cheerfully. “I didn’t like the sound of that,” said Emma. “It sounded really close but these things can be very deceptive,” said Hewitt. “I’m going to take a look around,” said Emma. “You coming?”

“Yes,” said Hewitt, glad of something to do. “I feel like a spare part now that everyone has a job.” Emma shot out of the control room and headed down the long corridor towards the generators. “Keep up, Lawrence!” “Where are we going exactly? I thought you wanted to see if the coal had been shifted.” He hurried after Emma, clutching his rifle. It never left his side nowadays. “We can go via the turbine room. I’m sure the noise seemed to come from there.” Emma flung open the door when she got there. She could smell something burning. “Quick, Lawrence. Something’s wrong. Maybe something’s over-heating. After all, it’s been a while since this plant was last fired up.” She ran along the mesh walkway, her hurried footsteps ringing around the massive space which formed the turbine room. It was a jungle of pipes, condensers, generating plant and control panels. Complex and beautiful; it epitomised an industrial age where man and machine still had some connection with each other. She couldn’t tell where the burning smell could be coming from. She strode up a short flight of steps and looked down. She was now right at the heart of the operation. The huge machinery symbolized a pinnacle of engineering achievement which had brought modernity and prosperity to her

world and which no longer could be taken for granted. Outside was a return to savagery. In here was the key to getting civilization back. She froze when she heard the scrape of a shoe on concrete. “Lawrence! What was that?” she stage whispered. He froze too. They both strained to hear if there was anyone around. They waited; somehow it seemed too quiet. They looked at each other. Then Emma spotted a wisp of smoke. “Over there,” she said to Hewitt. He nodded and they rushed towards it. When they got closer they could see there was an electrical fire, starting to take hold. “Quick!” She said. “We need a fire extinguisher.” Hewitt raced off clanging up the stairs as he went. He darted up and along the walkway then down another short flight of steps. He disappeared around a corner then reappeared a few seconds later clutching a large red canister. He aimed the powder at the seat of the fire, smothering it in seconds. “You seemed to know where that was,” said Emma. “My photographic memory,” he said flatly. “It comes in useful sometimes.” Emma stared at him. “You’re full of surprises!” she said. He smiled at the remark. “I think we all are nowadays. What do you think caused the fire? Any

ideas?” “Maybe this old place is past its sell-by date after all.” “But I heard an explosion. And someone was here – we both heard it.” “Could have been a rat. I guess the bang you heard was outside. I’ll get Derek over here to look at the damage.” Hewitt was just about to leave when they heard footsteps and the sound of a door closing. “That was no rat,” said Emma. The second explosion when it came was deafening, ringing around the turbine room. Suddenly there was smoke everywhere. Hewitt raced down to where he heard the door close, followed by Emma. The fire broke out behind them, cutting off their escape. “Quick, we need to get out of here!” shouted Emma. Hewitt got to the door and pulled hard. It was locked. He peered through the glass panel to see a large figure disappear into the darkness. “Gus! That was Gus. They must have started the demolition!” “What is the matter with those idiots?” shouted Emma. “They are determined to go ahead. We have to stop them!” said Hewitt. Meanwhile the fire was taking hold. Hewitt

tossed the extinguisher to Emma who fired it at the crackling, fizzing wiring. Some of the flames died but this explosion had been too big and straightaway more flared up, twisting and floating. The heat was becoming unbearable even in that short time. Hewitt was banging at the door. The fire was licking under the walkway making escape impossible. Emma realized the situation was getting out of control with staggering speed. “Lawrence! Use your gun – shoot off the lock!” He felt the heat on the back of his neck and didn’t need telling twice. He took aim. “Get down!” he shouted. Emma crouched low and covered her ears with her hands. She screwed her eyes up tight and held her breath. With an ear-splitting sound of clanging metal, the lock blew apart and the door flew open. In seconds the draught from the open door fanned the flames to an inferno. Hewitt grabbed Emma by the hand and pulled her through the gap and out into the corridor. Her singed hair told her how close she had been to disaster. They ran down the corridor as fast as they could. At the end was a fire door which had been forced. Emma spotted the alarm button on the wall and broke the glass. She hoped that Derek or the Major would hear the alarms and send help. But it was Gus who heard it first. When Hewitt and Emma stepped outside they saw him lumber around

the corner of the building, clutching his chest and hunching against the driving wind once he left the lee of the wall. Emma gasped in the freezing air. If she thought she had become used to the cold she was mistaken. Her throat hurt as the diamond dust ice particles rasped at her airways. Hewitt felt his hands go numb. “Get back in,” he said. “But what about Gus? Where do you think he is headed?” “I don’t know, but we can’t go out there without protection for more than a few minutes.” They got back inside the doorway but acrid smoke was starting to creep towards them. “Give me your scarf.” Emma handed him the scarf. There was no time for questions. He wrapped it around her face leaving just enough space for her to see. He then did the same with his own, tucking his sleeves into his gloves and pulling his hood tight. “Come on!” he said. Emma followed, bowing to his experience as an Arctic traveller. They walked as fast as they could around the power plant and in through the side door. The back of her hands were burning where she’d pushed the scarf against her mouth. Once inside Emma felt she could breathe again. She was shaking visibly with the cold. Despite that, she flew up the stairs and shouted Derek’s name as loud as she could. Hewitt alerted

Major Letworth of the fire. They were on to it at once. It took two hours to get the fire under control. Derek looked at the scene bitterly. The damage was fairly local but it would inevitably reduce the plant’s capacity to produce electricity. Just when they needed every last kilowatt. “I’ll just have to close that section down. It’s a blow but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Good thing you spotted it in time, Emma.” Derek was trying to be positive but Emma, perched on one of the desks, noticed how tired he was looking. “Have you been listening to the radio?” she said to him, looking at the set on his desk. “Any news?” “We’ve got some volunteers – former workers – in response to your appeal. Apart from that the news coming in isn’t good. They said people are dying in the streets of hypothermia. And as ice cakes the inside of already freezing homes, many, who’d struggled on for so long, are not expected to last the night. Already thousands of weary families are heading for the overcrowded mass shelters hoping to get through the next few days. The situation is dire in the extreme.” Derek sighed. Emma jumped down from the table and walked over to the window. “Where did Gus go, do you think?” said Emma to Hewitt. “I didn’t hear them leave.” “What do you mean?” said Letworth. “Didn’t he

go back to his vehicle?” “I don’t know. I expect he thinks he’s disabled the plant and will begin knocking things apart tomorrow. He just doesn’t get how cold it is out there. Even your men are struggling with the conditions, and they have the best equipment available.” “Sir!” a young squaddie burst in wearing the biggest anorak Emma had ever seen. He tore off his goggles which had steamed up and pulled down his hood. “What is it?” said the Major, tersely. “We’ve seen the demo vehicles smash through the perimeter fence. They are headed for the fuel dump.” “They could have decided to fuel up and leave,” said Derek hopefully. “Maybe they think they’ve done enough to get their bonus.” “The fuel dump!” said Emma. “I think they’ve decided to finish the job in one go then run for it. They could have realized that the weather has closed them down and blowing us up would be a quick way of telling Enlecco they’ve done the job.” “We need to get down there,” said Letworth. “Your men need to get some more coal into the hoppers so I can get the turbines working. We are hardly producing anything at the moment.” “And what good would that do if we are blown to pieces,” said the Major.

“If we don’t get this plant running up to capacity soon and get some heat out to those poor souls huddling in shelters then we might as well let Gus have his way and destroy Millcott B ourselves. If we don’t get some power on tonight then we might as well give up.” Emma felt wrenched in two by the dilemma. She looked around for Hewitt, but he had gone back to the apartment to get an extra layer on. The control room had suddenly become very cold. Major Letworth pulled out his phone and got through to Chilwell. He asked for reinforcements. They said they’d do what they could but most of their manpower was now deployed at the shelters to keep order and distribute food. “Good news though, Letworth,” said his colleague. “We hear that the National Emergency Committee has voted off the Enlecco members due to public outrage channelled by Haggett.” “And what does that mean exactly?” said the Major. “That power stations all over the country are going to be taken into public ownership for the duration.” Emma overheard. Was it good news? It could mean the beginning of the end for Enlecco, running out of control, sitting above and beyond the reach of elected governments. It had paid virtually no tax and had been answerable to no single country. It

had sucked out a generous income from every household in the land and given back little in the form of investment. It had bought up other smaller companies, many of which had been well-run firms who offered good customer service. Healthy competition had been replaced by a cartel of industry giants who had then coalesced into Enlecco, the monopoly, growing fat on large government subsidies. It was ironic that in economic terms the two polar opposites, that of monolithic state control and unbridled capitalism now looked very much the same to the average consumer. Both models, devoid of competition and diversity were self-serving and unresponsive. Enlecco had become the parasite which was destroying its host. Emma would be glad to see the back of it but didn’t want a dictator like Simon Haggett taking over and using the present catastrophe to further his own desire for power. She sighed. It was no use agonizing over what was going on out there anymore. They had more immediate concerns. Survival was now all that mattered. Surviving the next few days. After that she didn’t like to speculate. Food supplies in the apartment were almost gone. Even with power on, they couldn’t stay without support. Major Letworth and Derek were still battling it out. Emma saw Hewitt’s gun.

She reached the door, surprised that no-one had seen her. Her heart raced as adrenaline pumped around her body. She felt terrified. Carefully she wrapped her face with her scarf and zipped up her anorak as high as it would go before putting on her gloves. Sick with fear, she pulled her hood over her hat. It was getting dark. Through the glass door she could see the dizzying flakes of snow flying almost horizontally past the opening. She had to get to the fuel dump and stop Gus and his colleagues trying to blow them all up. If he succeeded they’d have nowhere to go. It was too late for them to get to the town. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to destroy their last hope of survival. Once the door was open, the wind forced Emma to gasp as the cold, hard air took her breath away. The snow drove into her face as she pulled the snorkel hood as far forward as it would go. She edged along the wall, feeling her way along as visibility was down to five or six feet. Her feet, already numb with cold when she set out, were now beginning to hurt. She got to the end of the wall and could make out the fuel facility ahead of her. It was a large tank on stout wooden legs. The deepening drifts rose up around the structure. She thought she heard a voice. “Ready, Gus!” A muffled shout carried through the thick air.

35 “Back off or I’ll shoot!” Emma heard herself yell into the blizzard. Gus’ head shot round. He saw the barrel of a shotgun pointing straight at him. He saw Emma’s slight figure now shaking with the cold or maybe fright. He stood up and tried to outface her. She stood her ground. “If you destroy Millcott, we are all going to die!” she said. “What do you think you are doing?” “Getting my ticket out of here, and making way for the future.” Gus’ breathing rasped in the steelcold air. “For God’s sake man!” said Emma. “I mean, why are you doing this? It’s insane! Don’t you see we won’t last the night without this place! Nor will thousands of others. You won’t get out of here tonight. It’s thirty-five below and dropping. You need to get shelter. Get back inside the plant with me. It’s your only chance. If you try to detonate I’ll kill you first. If you try to run for it you won’t get far. Give it up now!” “No way honey! Not till our job’s done here.” “But why risk your life out here to destroy an old

plant that might still be of some use. Since the ash came nothing’s the same anymore.” “Not for me it won’t be. Not when me and my men get our hands on half-a-million pounds.” He tried to laugh but could only wheeze. “Half-a-million! Enlecco aren’t going to give you that kind of money for a demolition job!” “No, but they will for getting rid of Stringer and Mills and any careless talk about the Icarus Project! We’ve been following them since they left Derek’s place. Mills knew we were after him then. This is perfect. It will look like an accident, and I can retire somewhere warm.” Emma felt her knees give way as she took in the news. So the destruction of Millcott was only half the story. These were hit men! If she’d thought she could talk sense into Gus a minute ago, she now knew that that was no longer an option. She would have to kill him or he would kill them all. Then the world went quiet apart from her thumping pulse. She saw Gus fall to his knees. She couldn’t remember pulling the trigger. She felt panic rise in her chest. When Gus’ colleague saw him fall he jumped down from the truck and levelled his gun at Emma. There was the thin crack of a gun being fired, then another one. Emma fell to one side feeling the weight of another body landing on top of her. She waited for

the pain. She waited for the darkness to take her. More shots. It was all confusion. She was so cold.

36 London

Carol Ashton had heard the door bang with a sense of finality when Emma had left her house with the others. She caught Hewitt’s last look. He obviously didn’t want to go anywhere. Panic gripped her as she watched her friends go out into the night. She thought she would never see them again. What fools they were for not staying with her and Andy. A few moments later she heard the howl of the pack of dogs echoing around the street. Her stomach tightened. They might not even get to the end of the road in one piece. She was sure Lenno would have let them stay if they’d tried a bit harder. Later, she sat by the stove warming her feet. Andy was bragging to Lenno about how they would soon be running this street. He was laughing at Lenno’s jokes. The others began rummaging around the house to see what they could take. “Where did you used to live” said Lenno to Andy. Andy was on guard straightaway. People like Lenno didn’t do chit-chat. “In Walthamstow,” he said smiling slightly to

look confident. “My folks had a place there.” Carol took note that Andy didn’t want anyone to know he had a house next door. “What about you?” he looked insolently at Carol. “I had a house in Dover Street,” said Carol, truthfully. “Yours?” Lenno was mentally building his empire. “Rented,” said Carol. “All my stuff’s here.” Lenno scratched at his thin body and stared into the fire. He didn’t know whether to believe them. Andy came to sit with Carol and she leaned against him ignoring the smirks and the knowing looks that came her way. Suddenly she felt old despite her attempts to keep herself well-groomed, cutting her own hair and eking-out the lipstick. She was in her late fifties; Andy a good fifteen years younger. When they had first got together Carol had felt a sense of triumph. Andy was a goodlooking bloke. She had even wondered if Emma was jealous. But the malicious looks from Lenno’s people had depressed and scared her in equal measure. Now Carol felt insecure. If Andy became a figure of fun in the gang’s eyes he might dump her, she thought. Without him for protection she didn’t like to think of her chances with this lot. She had to look strong and confident; any sign of weakness or victimhood and they would make her

pay. Despite her fears, it was alright for a couple of weeks. Andy was subtly taking charge of the house because he knew the local area and because of his practical skills. Carol saw what he was doing and stayed close. Secretly he would go back to his own house next door and leave a few things there – bits of food, fuel – anything which might be useful. Some of the gang looked up to him as a sort of father figure. But that didn’t go down well with Lenno once he began to see that his authority and standing within the gang was wearing away. The first big row came on the night when the last of the coal had been used up and they were all cold and hungry. The two sent out to forage for wood had come back with nothing. Two more had been sent out to get rations. Somehow Lenno was never the one who had to go out and scavenge. The pair queued up for three hours before hearing rumours buzzing up and down the line that the lights were on in Bristol. They got some bread and a carton of long-life milk. One nudged the other and pointed to the delivery lorry parked up outside the distribution centre. In one slick, silent movement they had slid inside the lorry and then held their breath until they felt it vibrate beneath them and pull away. “Lenno won’t be pleased,” said the younger lad. “Fuck him. There isn’t enough here for us all. We’d have had nothing,” said the other.

So back at the house there was no food. The stove had gone out. The row when it came was ferocious. “I’ll kill those two sons of bitches when they get back,” said Lenno. His face flushed. “They aren’t coming back,” said Carol, forgetting to lie low. She was sick of having to be the invisible woman while the men took charge. Lenno’s eyes flashed. His finger stabbed the air in her direction. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid cow. When I want you to speak I’ll tell you.” Carol reeled under the assault. She felt blisteringly angry that he had talked to her like that. She wanted to slap him but knew it could have cost her life. She was trembling all over; her heart thumped in her ears. Andy walked in. “What’s going on?” There was no reply. Carol hurried to her room and shut the door. Andy looked around and then yelled at Lenno, “Why have you let the stove go out? Can’t you do anything right when I’m not here?” Lenno’s eyes turned black with hatred. His hunger was consuming him. “There’s nothing left to burn, you idiot. What do you expect me to do?” “Get your ass out there like anyone else would and look for something to eat. Like I’m going to have to do. It’s time you showed some responsibility, loyalty, ability to work, instead of

pratting about around here, posturing and complaining.” “You don’t tell me what to do man. I’m the boss around here and don’t you forget it. You and your old lady.” He said the word ‘old’ with a sneer and a look of pure contempt. Andy would have liked to take Lenno on there and then, but Lenno still had a knife whereas Andy did not. He also probably had the support of the others. The older man pulled on his coat and slammed the door as he went out. Carol heard the door go with a sense of rising panic. Suddenly she was angry at Andy for going out and leaving her. Thinking quickly, she rammed the chair under the door handle. Seconds later she heard the handle turn. “Next time, bitch,” shouted Lenno through the closed door. Carol sat on the bed and wept with a mixture of fear and anger. She knew now that she and Andy were in great danger. Andy could handle himself pretty well, but what chance did she have to protect herself? She was willing Andy to come back soon. Her brain was turning over. She needed a plan to get out of there. It was like they had gone back to the Stone Age in a few months as far as women’s rights were concerned. She knew nothing of selfdefence and had no weapon to protect her. Without the societal and legal structures to maintain her

rights she had become a nobody, reliant on finding a strong man to protect her from harm. If Andy died or left her she was finished. She dried her eyes. She looked around the room for inspiration. There was nothing even remotely useful for her defence. She rummaged around in drawers and under the bed to see if there was anything there. This had been Emma’s spare room. It was depressingly tidy and all Carol found was a pile of old Home and Fashion magazines and a plastic storage box full of broken or obsolete electrical paraphernalia. She closed the lid with an impatient shove. Some use all that stuff turned out to be, she thought. She pushed it back under the bed then stood up. The cupboards over the wardrobe were stuffed full of handbags and hats, a dressing-up box of things which belonged to a different world – of weddings and Christmas parties, birthdays and summer concerts. Carol looked at them as though she were seeing such things in a museum. They looked quaint and irrelevant like the bonnets and crinolines she used to go to see in the V&A. She wanted to linger, glad of the diversion from her present state, but the urgency of her situation pressed in on her. She closed the door. It was then that she noticed the built-in cupboard under the eaves. It looked as though it hadn’t been opened for some time and it took some effort for

Carol to yank the door free. Inside was a black and yellow plastic tool box. Carol’s mood lifted as she fiddled with the catch. It must have been Bill’s, she thought. She desperately wanted to find something useful inside. She held her breath as she lifted out the first layer, a plastic tray with a few nails and screws. Her reward lay there, waiting for her to claim it. She picked up the bradawl with a feeling of fear and excitement. Excitement that she now had a weapon. Fear that she might have to use it. There was also a small torch which she pocketed with the bradawl. Carefully she put the toolbox under the bed before shutting the cupboard door. She heard the handle of the bedroom door turn again and nearly leapt out of her skin. She grabbed her coat and looked towards the window, just in case she needed a quick escape. “Andy?” she called, desperately. “What’s going on?” he said. She sighed with relief. She moved the jammed chair and opened the door. “We need to get out of here,” she whispered. As soon as he was inside, she closed the door and put the chair back. “I don’t feel safe – I’m not safe here anymore. Don’t leave me again. Neither are you. It’s falling apart and we need to leave. Did you get anything?” “Very little.”

“What?” “There was nothing in the shop. I went around to the Gallery Café. They gave me these two bread rolls. Yesterday’s.” Andy dropped them on the bed. “We should eat them now.” “No, save them for later.” “We should go – leave – today – now,” said Carol. “Where to?” said Andy, reasonably. Carol grew angry. “Look, can’t you see? This gang don’t want us here anymore. You can’t take on Lenno...” “Oh that’s it is it? You think I’ve not tried? Waited for my moment? There are too many of them. He’s armed. I thought I could see him off but he’s a wily and experienced street fighter. I don’t want to get myself killed or injured. We have to be patient.” “We’ve run out of time,” said Carol. “Now that the fuel and food has gone.” “I have to go back out there and forage for more food.” Andy removed the chair, ready to go back out. “Don’t leave me here alone, Andy. I have to come with you.” “You’d be better off here.” “I don’t think so! Why do you think I barred the door?” Carol said, exasperated. “Can’t I make you see what they are like? I don’t know if it’s all

empty threats but I’m not prepared to wait here and find out.” She gripped the bradawl tightly. She was aware that she hadn’t told Andy about it. She wasn’t sure why. “I could slip out with you and into your place next door.” “But we can’t stay there, babe. There’s no heat, for a start and if we go, we have to get away.” “What about my old house. We’ll go there.” Andy thought for a minute. “Well, okay. It’s a thought. But it would only be temporary. I don’t think it’s far enough away from here, though. Look, I tell you what. We could slip a few of our things next door, then leave tonight and head for Dover Street. The only thing that worries me is that we’re leaving a place with some heat on. Are you sure you want to go, Carol? “For God’s sake Andy! What do I have to say? The coal has run out! There is no heat here anymore! I’m not safe!” Carol was trembling with anger. Desperate fear clutched at her stomach. Suddenly they heard a creak on the stair. Carol, wide-eyed with terror felt her heart leap. Before either of them could move the door swung open and knocked Andy off-balance. Lenno saw the bread rolls and grabbed both of them. “Thought you could keep these for yourselves did you?” He swore under his breath, then, quick and hard, he punched Andy in the stomach, leaving him

gasping. He went for Carol and held her in a neck lock. Pain ripped through her body as he twisted her arm back. He dropped the bread. Andy lurched forward to help her and got a kick which jolted his right knee. Andy ignored it and went forward, landing a punch on Lenno who still didn’t let go. Then Andy picked up the rolls and made for the door. Lenno released Carol in one go. He wrenched the bread out of Andy’s hand and stuffed some of it into his own mouth before anyone could take it off him a second time. Andy tried to get hold of the other piece but in the struggle it broke into bits and fell on the floor. Two of the other gang members, hearing the disturbance had come by to see what was going on. They saw Lenno eating something and the scraps on the floor. They fell onto the food and devoured it, leaving Andy and Carol backing out of the room. This is what it had come to. “Come on!” shouted Andy to Carol. “Run!” “Not so fast, mate!” said Lenno. They found their path blocked by one of the youths. “You are the only one who has found anything today, Andy. I think we need you, after all.” He smirked unpleasantly, still chewing at the stale bread. “I think you can go out again and find us all some dinner. And just so you don’t think of doing a runner, we’ll keep her here to make sure you come back.” He looked at Carol whose face turned white.

She thought quickly. Her mind focussed. They all grinned. Quick as a flash she pushed past the youth, her only instinct now was to run, but he grabbed at her and held her arm. Andy was able to knock the other one out of the way. He made for the front door, thinking Carol was behind him. She tugged to try to get away from her captor whose grip was hard and painful. Terrified, she felt her other hand close round the bradawl in her pocket. She jabbed it deep into his arm until she felt his hand release her. His face was numb with shock. She ran, blindly down the stairs. He slumped down clutching his bloodsoaked arm. Andy paused. “Go! Go!” she shouted at him. “Don’t stop, just go. I don’t care where, just go!” They hurried onto the road, nervously looking behind them every few seconds but no-one followed. Then they darted into Andy’s old place and shut the door. “Did anyone see us?” said Carol. “I don’t think so,” said Andy looking out of the window whilst pressed against the wall. Then one of the gang appeared on the pavement, straining to look down the road to see if he could see the two fugitives. He pulled his coat tight against the cold then hurried back inside. Andy froze. “We’ll lie low for a while – get a few things together then head out to your house. Let’s hope we can get into it.”

“What if we can’t? What do we do then?” Andy sighed as he wracked his brains for an answer. “It’ll have to be a public shelter,” said Andy. “As a last resort,” replied Carol. “I’ve heard they’re the pits.” “Me too. Listen, it’s just a thought, sweetheart, but I was wondering if we could try the Carter’s house. You know I did some work for them. It’s not that far. I can’t remember the name of their road, though. I will have to look in my work diary and see if I’ve still got their address. It’s a house in a nice area. It might be safer than here.” “This used to be a nice area,” said Carol. *** Lenno certainly didn’t intend to brave the dogs and the cold to go searching for those two. The injured man was surrounded by his friends. He’d lost a lot of blood. They patched him up as best they could. They told him he would be okay. He went to lie down and they forgot about him. That was how it was. *** Andy found his work diary. Flicking through the well-thumbed pages, he found the name Carter together with the address and phone number. The four-digit security number was still there for the electronic entry system. He ripped out the page and

stuffed it into his pocket. Carol went around the house getting a few things together. There was not much left to salvage. She put on some extra layers of Andy’s clothes, now way too big on her. She noticed that his own clothes were looking loose on him too. They left the house as quietly as they could, dipping behind the wall until they reached the road. They took cover behind abandoned cars, darting quickly between the open spaces. Carol nervously glanced behind her all the time. Andy urged her to hurry up. She couldn’t relax until she was several streets away from Purbeck Road. They trudged on, dodging past anywhere without cover as much as they could to avoid the dogs. Carol felt the air burn on her face. “I can’t believe it’s so cold,” she said, anxiously. “Just keep moving,” said Andy. Neither of them had heard of the Polar Vortex as they felt the air turning to stone around them. “We need to get to shelter,” said Carol. Dover Street was hardly recognisable. Huge snow drifts were piled up, covering some ground floor windows. It seemed that the angle of the road had caught the full force of the driving winds. A thick layer of grey ash coated everything. A truck had been parked across the end of the road and a bonfire smoked miserably next to it. Four figures stood next to it carrying large sticks.

“What do you want?” snapped one of them. Carol told them she used to live at number 46 and that she wanted to go back. “No way,” said a woman at his side. “Someone else lives there now. Clear off!” Carol looked at Andy. She didn’t think the woman could know that but felt it was useless to argue. They turned and pressed on. They stopped at a shop. Every shelf was stripped bare. “Nothing here, I’m afraid,” said the shopkeeper. “As if it wasn’t bad enough before, the whole country’s in lock-down while the Vortex lasts. What the hell are you two doing out in the open?” “What Vortex?” said Carol. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” “The Polar Vortex. It’s a plume of Arctic air. It’s going to be like Siberia out there tonight.” Andy and Carol looked at one another. “And before you ask, I’m sorry, you can’t stay here. I’ve no room. And frankly, I don’t trust strangers. Nothing personal.” “Can’t say I blame you,” said Carol. “Do you know where the nearest shelter is?” “I don’t know. Wembley? The Millennium Arena? Try the town hall, I don’t know.” “But they are miles away.” The man shrugged. Clearly he couldn’t help and he wanted rid of them. Carol turned away.

“Come on,” she said to Andy. “Let’s go.” The man looked sorry all of a sudden. “Wait,” he said and turned back into the shop. Carol’s heart lifted. Maybe he could help them after all. He came back a moment later. He handed them a biscuit each. They stared at him in disbelief. Carol wanted to tell him to keep it, but then again, she didn’t know if this was part of his last packet of food. “Thank you very much,” she said with as much seriousness as she could muster. “That’s very kind of you.” And with that she put it carefully into her pocket urging Andy to do the same. They walked on. Cold now seeped into every pore. No-one was outside but them. On every side street stood abandoned cars, long out of fuel and gradually merging into the icy landscape. The grey sky looked full of snow. Here and there lay an animal or bird carcass, picked clean by something that had managed to survive another day. Many of the houses had broken windows. Rotting curtains blew uselessly in the wind. A few streets away something was on fire. Every now and then they heard a gunshot ring out. This was rock bottom. It felt like the end. After an hour Carol sank down onto the road. “I can’t go on Andy. My feet hurt. My lungs hurt. I’m dying.” Don’t give up, babe. We’re bound to find

something soon. We could get into one of these houses and hunker down for a few hours if you are tired.” “Without food and some heat, what’s the point?” She fought back the tears. “You go, Andy. I am holding you back. I’m done.” “No way Carol. I can’t leave you. You know that.” Andy sank down beside her. They were desperate for a drink but there was nothing. They didn’t dare try to bite on the deep frozen ice all around them. It would hasten hypothermia. It would kill them. After resting for a couple of minutes they both heard the sound they dreaded the most. A dog yowled. “Oh, no!” said Carol. A few seconds later it was answered by another one, still some streets away. Carol got to her feet. Her head swam with the effort but she knew that the sight of them both collapsed in the road was sending signals that there were easy pickings to be had. Fear gave her the will to press on. Andy went white. With a trembling hand he urged Carol on. Many of the dogs were in the last stages of starvation. They were as desperate as themselves. One or two of the houses had lights in them. Faint lights from torches or candles. People who were holding out. Carol tried knocking on a door. There was no response. They tried another and

were yelled at to clear off. Everyone was afraid of everyone else. No-one was going to help, it was clear. They pressed on, keeping ahead of the dog they had heard. It seemed to be following them. Of course it was. Andy turned to Carol and said, “I don’t think we’re far from the Carters’ house now. I remember that pub over there.” Andy pointed to a derelict building, the sign still intact. “You have to remember where it is, the house, come on Andy!” “It’s on Grosvenor Street, about half way up. I’m sure I’ll know it if I see it.” “Andy, we can’t wander around hoping you might recognise the street. It could take hours. We have to find something before nightfall. We might have to go into any empty house, after all.” “Yes, but look around you. It could already be someone’s territory, like Emma’s house has become. It’s risky. Others are open to the elements; burnt out or damaged. And picked clean. The Carters’ house was well protected, as they were away so much. It might still be intact. It’s worth a try.” Carol was too exhausted to argue. She walked on automatic pilot. Too tired to go on. Too afraid to stop. Then in desperation, Andy walked up a drive at random and tried the front door. It was locked. He took a large stone from the side of the path and

broke the glass panel. Reaching inside, he turned the lock and opened the door. Then he shut it again quickly and turned away, almost running back down the path. Carol stared at him. “Let’s go,” he said, not meeting her eye. “What’s wrong Andy?” she said. “You don’t want to know,” he replied. They weaved up and down the suburban streets. She felt sure the dogs were getting closer. She turned around, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. She gasped. “There are four or five of them now,” she hissed to Andy. “This road looks familiar,” he said. Carol took no notice. She’d given up hope of finding anywhere to hide. There were no large public buildings. Nothing but despair. Anywhere that had once been a shop had been trashed. “Look, it says Grosvenor Street,” he said pulling snow away from a part-buried sign. Andy peered all around him for confirmation that this was indeed where he had once worked. They walked along a street covered in dead trees and shrubs where once it would have been green. Pretty gardens were now gone. Deep snow hid everything. It was hard to recognise anything, let alone a place one had only visited a couple of times. Carol staggered. “Babe, come on. Hold on to me. Look! Look at this. This is it! Mrs Carter’s place. He pointed to a

house across the road. It was a handsome town house, possibly Georgian, solidly built of stone. It had a secure gate at the front. The windows were barred with security screens. The front door was still closed. The Carters had made sure their house was as burglar-proof as possible. Carol looked at Andy. “You can see why no-one got in there.” Andy knew what she was thinking. “Listen, I got in before – they gave me the security code for the lock. I’ve got it here. As long as they haven’t changed the number we can get in. It’s battery -powered so it should still be working.” “How do we get past the gates? They are locked,” said Carol. They looked at the solidly padlocked gates. “We’ll have to climb over,” Andy said. “You’ll have to help me.” She spoke quickly. The dogs were now on their road. They were prowling. They were hungry. Andy rattled the gates in frustration. Mentally he was wondering if they could scale the gates. It wouldn’t be easy in their weakened state. Or rather, it wouldn’t be easy for Carol. He could get over alright with a bit of effort. The dogs drew closer, now menacingly quiet. “For God’s sake, hurry up!” said Carol weeping with frustration. Using up the last of his strength Andy clambered

up the gate. He reached down and hauled Carol up after him. Quick as a flash, they both dropped into the front garden. The dogs sensed that their quarry was escaping and as one they began to run up the road, yelping as they went and scrambling up the railings, teeth bared. Andy ran up to the keypad next to the door and punched in the security code with stiff, tired fingers. There was a sickening pause before an electronic clunk opened the door. They both fell inside almost smelling the breath of the slavering dogs behind them. They slammed the heavy door. For five minutes they could hear the frantic scratching of claws as the thwarted dogs tried everything to get in. At last it went quiet. Only then did Carol start to breathe again. She had never been so close to death before. She lay on the hall floor, too weak to move. Andy walked into the kitchen. He found a bottle of water which they shared. Carol sat up. “We need to see if there’s anything to eat,” she said. “I daren’t look,” said Andy. Carol looked at him. She knew what he meant. It would be hard to cope with the disappointment, if there was nothing. “I’ll go,” she said. She struggled to her feet. They were numb with cold. In one cupboard there was some dried fruit,

hairy with mould, a handful of pulses which they had no way of cooking, and a half-empty jar of pickle. Carol wondered whether to try the pickle but was worried that it might make her sick. They searched every cupboard and shelf. There was nothing else. Andy then decided to try the tap. Water came out, dull-looking and spluttering with air-pockets. But at least that meant the pumping stations were still working. He let the water run. If he could get some fuel they could at least boil it and have something else to drink. He ventured outside tentatively looking all around for the dogs. The temperature was getting worse by the hour. The Carters’ courtyard garden was unrecognisable. The shed had collapsed under the weight of snow. Dead wood lay all around that had once been trees and shrubs. Andy dragged a stack of it inside. Carol came out and helped him. It was slow work. They laid a fire in the kitchen hearth. Carol found some matches in the dresser drawer. The wood was thick with frost and would be damp when it thawed, but it was all they had. She found some tea-lights and set them into the fire. They would need something substantial to get the fire going. She carefully lit the candles and pushed some screwed-up paper into the cracks. It caught. An hour later the soft wood still smoked sullenly. The candles were nearly spent. It would be a close

call as to whether they would get a proper fire that night. Carol knew that she ought to go and look around the house to see what she could find, but the tiny flame was addictive and she couldn’t pull herself away. Andy saw her staring at the fire. “Babe!” She didn’t reply. Andy went out of the room to search for anything to eat. He found nothing. He sat in front of the fire with Carol leaning against him. At last the wood took hold and sent out a little heat into the room. Outside the temperature dropped to minus forty. They got some duvets from the bedrooms and lay down under them in front of the fire. Exhausted and starving, they both fell asleep. Neither of them expected to wake up. For Carol she was just grateful to be allowed to die in bed.

37 Millcott B

Emma felt herself being carried by strong hands, bumping along. She was indoors. She could see uniforms all around her but couldn’t make out what they were saying. She could make out Hewitt’s face. He was telling her to drink some hot sweet tea. She took a sip. It was laced with Scotch. It jolted her out of the shock she was falling into. Derek sat nearby, ashen-faced. Hewitt gave him a shot of Scotch without the tea. Emma sat up as someone wrapped her tightly in a duvet. “I didn’t want to kill him. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...” “You didn’t,” said Hewitt tersely. He wasn’t happy that Emma had taken his gun. “He had a heart attack.” Emma had thought she had killed a man. She was wrong. Gus dropped because he felt as dull, gripping pain tear across his chest and down his left arm as the biting cold air was freezing his lungs and proving too much for his heart. Emma stared blankly around her, trying to take in the news that she wasn’t to blame for a death

after all. Her relief was short-lived. “Where’s Steve?” she said, noticing Derek. He looked away, sharply. There was a long silence. Derek then swallowed hard and said in a strained voice, “I’m afraid he’s dead.” “Caught in the crossfire,” said Major Letworth.” “He took a bullet for you,” said Hewitt icily. Emma winced. She thought back to the feeling that someone had knocked her out of the way. That must have been Steve. He’d shielded her from harm. Emma felt herself crumple inwardly. Feelings of guilt and gratitude swirled around her brain in equal measure. She wanted to cry but she was too cold, too shocked to respond. Her body wanted to shut down. She felt the blame in everyone’s eyes. Hewitt looked scarily angry. The major was more pragmatic. “Gus’ lot killed Steve before my men could take them out. Steve knew they were after him and Derek. He wasn’t going to let you get killed, Emma. Bloody hero if you ask me.” “If you hadn’t gone out there alone, he wouldn’t have had to get himself killed,” said Hewitt. “Simmer down, Lawrence,” said Letworth. “I can’t bear to think of a life wasted!” said Hewitt. He was once more heading to the black pit of grief and despair that that he’d been in when his son, Ben, had died in a car accident ten years ago.

The stress and fatigue of their ordeal had taken him right back to a place that he thought he’d left years before. Hewitt slumped in his chair and shut his eyes to keep out the reality which had become too much to bear. Derek stifled a sob. Emma felt afraid that everyone was against her. Desperation made her cruel. “I don’t know why you are all so cut up about Steve – none of you could stand him when he was alive!” She stared at Derek while she said this. He winced, knowing there was some truth in what she said. He had once thought Mills a selfish, callous man, only out for what he could get when they worked together at Millcott. Emma herself had been witness to how Mills had treated him. But since the Ash, Derek had got to know him better. Derek had seen a side of Mills that he never knew existed before. Circumstances had thrown them together and given them a chance to be different. Mills had been brave and principled in the end. “Emma!” he said genuinely shocked and hurt. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling ashamed. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She closed her eyes for a moment and then glanced at Hewitt who still was staring into a void that no-one could share. She tried to be conciliatory, “And Lawrence – I’m sorry I took your gun...” “It’s a bit late for that,” said Hewitt.

Letworth butted in. He could see things falling apart if everyone bickered. They were forgetting what they were all here for. “Okay, people,” said the major. “Enough!” Hewitt opened his mouth to speak. “I said enough!” The major said, glaring around the room and daring anyone to question his authority. “We still have a job to do here. Derek – how close are we to getting some power on? My men need to get back inside.” “We are good to go,” said Derek trying to focus on the job in hand. He turned and faced the panel of dials and switches. He found the familiarity of the control room comforting. Here he was the expert. “Get your men back in, Major. We’ll see what we can do.” Letworth barked some orders into his radio. A couple of minutes later the men whose job it was to load coal into the hoppers burst back into the main building. Despite their Arctic gear they were desperately cold. “We’ve done what we can, sir.” “Well done, everyone. What’s it like out there?” “Unbelievable, sir. You can’t breathe. We offered to take The Enlecco stragglers in, under arrest, but they fled. Idiots. They won’t last an hour out there.” “How much coal did you manage to load?” said Derek, staring at the screens in front of him. “Five hoppers are full.”

“Is that enough?” said Emma. “It will get us through the next forty-eight hours – that’s all I can say at the moment. When this place was working at capacity it needed to be fed all the time by a team of bulldozers. It powered a vast area of the midlands in its heyday. I just hope it all still works.” He tapped the controls fondly as if for luck. Derek counted down in his head, just he used to do when he was waiting for the advert breaks on the TV to herald the surge in demand for power. It was just like the old days, apart from his shaking hands. He felt chills running down his back. There was total silence in the room; all eyes were on the screen on the wall. Derek closed his eyes and pressed the button on his desk.

38 London

Carol awoke with a jolt, thinking that she had heard something. She strained to listen, nudging Andy awake as she did so. “Andy!” He sat up. They heard the sound of a vehicle outside, and voices, and something else. Carol was sure she heard the gate being opened. “Wait here!” he said, throwing off the cover and getting up. Stiffly, he walked over to the door and pulled it open cautiously. “Oh my God!” he said, staggering backwards. Carol’s heart froze. “What is it?” she said, getting to her feet. “It’s like a blast chiller out there.” He slammed the door shut before reaching for his hat and gloves. Carol felt her head swoon with the effort of getting up. She drew level with Andy who was staring into the hall. She rocked slightly and sank to her knees as her legs gave way beneath her. “Come on, darlin. Come on, get up. We need to

see what’s going on out there. I could definitely hear voices. Presumably everyone else has just realized there is something going on, too. I’m going to open the door.” Carol stumbled to her feet, taking deep breaths. “Be careful, Andy,” she said, rubbing her face. He opened the door a crack. Freezing air again hit him like a razor. It was daylight but only just, the thick grey cloud still creating an almost permanent dusk. He went out. He could hear some voices, closer now, and see an army vehicle. Heavily armed troops circled the truck which rolled along on its caterpillar track. People were coming out of the houses and mobbing the truck which clearly held some supplies. The corporal barked at the crowd, “Stay back!” No-one did and a warning shot was fired. The group of people shrunk back a little. The corporal jumped onto the top of the vehicle and shouted, “Wait in line!” Some boxes of supplies were lifted out of the back of the vehicle. The small crowd surged forward again, only to be met by a row of raised rifles. The people fell into a sullen queue. They had no doubt that the soldiers meant business, and would shoot. Everyone got a small box. Andy nursed his back to the safety of the house where Carol was waiting by the door. As soon as he was

inside she slammed it shut and locked it. They pulled at the tape with cold, shaking fingers. Inside were packets of high energy biscuits, dried meals and drinks. There was also a tiny solidfuel stove and a box of matches. Andy decided that it would be best if they melted some snow, rather than risk the tap water. He dug some out from the pile in the courtyard while Carol kept guard. Once inside again, they stuffed a container full of snow. Andy opened up the stove, the lid opening out to make a stand for a pan, and lit the fuel. Flames licked around the blocks. It took ages to boil as the ice was deep frozen. They made themselves a cup of hot chocolate and ate some biscuits. It tasted so good at first they wanted to eat like animals but after only a few bites Carol got stomach cramps and bent over in pain. “Take it slow, babe. I know it’s hard,” said Andy. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him as his body had to get used to the new sensation of eating something. He waited. Every second felt like an hour. It was agony. Andy blew out the stove to save fuel. Carol said, “I’ve got to lie down.” She went back to the makeshift bed in front of the fire. She took her drink and sipped listlessly at it. Then she lay down. It was funny not feeling hungry now food was there to be had. She began to doze. Andy, meanwhile had opened up the curtains,

determined to get some daylight into the house. He sat by the window, looking out as the truck moved away. He craned to see down the road as he thought he could hear something else. There, in the distance, was another large truck, completely unmarked. It crawled down the street. As it got nearer Andy could see a team of people in white suits going up each drive in turn. He could see that if a house was occupied they had a quick word then turned about. He wondered what they might want. He saw them go to the house across the street. They hammered on the door. When they got no reply the man at the front beckoned to the rest of the team who approached the door with a policetype battering ram. In seconds they were in. Andy nibbled his biscuit and finished his drink. Already he could feel some energy return to his starved body. He looked at Carol. She wasn’t in good shape. He wondered whether to wake her up. He glanced back at the house opposite as a movement had caught his eye. The white suits were pushing a trolley from the house. There could be no mistaking what was in the sealed bag. They went back in for two more. Andy thought back to the house he had broken into yesterday. So the authorities had begun the clear-up. He felt sick again at the terrible image he had seen. One by one each house was visited and more bodies were brought out.

The thumping on his own front door woke Carol. “I’ll go!” he called out. “Any casualties, sir?” said a young woman from behind a mask. Andy thought the euphemism pointless for a population which had witnessed so much. “Why don’t you just shout bring out your dead!” said Andy. “Not heard that one before, love,” she retorted sharply. Andy shrugged. “Only trying to be respectful, sir. These are people’s families. I take it that’s a no then?” Andy nodded. “Will they be bringing round any more supplies?” “Who knows?” she said. “They are doing what they can. The power might be on soon in this sector. The National Emergency Committee has taken over the utilities and is trying to get power on in as many places as possible.” “About time. What’s brought this about?” “Rumours everywhere – but I heard that some civilians have broken into a power station up north – and got some power on. I don’t suppose it can be true but I guess the NEC has been jolted into action by the thought of people power gaining ground.” Andy felt a twinge of excitement surge through him. Could it be true? Maybe Emma had made it to Millcott B after all! Maybe something was going to

be done to ease their plight. It seemed too much to hope for. He went back to see to Carol. He got her to eat another biscuit. He couldn’t believe how thin she looked. “They say they might get the power back on soon,” said Andy. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” said Carol, weakly. He looked again at the box of supplies. There was a foil pack which said chicken casserole. He found another the same. “We’re having these,” he said. She didn’t argue. Carefully, he added the contents of the packs into a pan then put a handful of snow on top. He relit the stove and watched it while the snow melted. As the meal began to reconstitute it smelt like the finest food ever; it nearly drove them mad. The meal was all over too soon, but the energy it gave them was instant. Carol looked through the box and found some tea bags and a couple of sachets of coffee. “Which one, Andy?” said Carol, holding them up. He pointed to the tea bags. She made them a mug each from one bag and added some dried milk. She savoured every last sip. It did more than warm her up. More than rehydrate her, it made her feel human again. “They were saying that a power station might have been taken over – just rumours,” said Andy.

Carol looked up, her face suddenly bright, her mouth widening into a triumphant grin. “Emma? It’s Emma! I know it is! Andy – it must be them. Oh my God – they’ve only gone and done it!” “It can’t be,” said Andy. But Carol’s eyes brimmed with tears. *** By the next day Carol and Andy had burnt the rest of their wood. Their food box was now empty. When they woke up they ached from the cold. Andy made them a last cup of tea and poured the rest of the sugar in. He peered out of the living room window, scratching ice off the inside of the glass before he could see anything. There was a patrol outside. He put down his cup and went out. “Any more supplies coming this way?” said Andy. “Sorry, mate. Not today. Maybe next week.” The soldier looked wary. “What about the power?” “No idea.” Andy was disappointed. He knew that he was being stonewalled. “Do you know how much longer this vortex is due to last? We can’t hold out much longer against these temperatures.” “Tell me about it,” said the squaddie. It didn’t sound good. Andy went back inside.

“I think we should leave here while we have the strength,” said Carol. “And go where?” replied Andy. “We could try the Gallery Café.” Andy glanced up. Carol continued, “It was the last place we tried where we got some food. We know the owners. It’s not far and we wouldn’t be so alone.” “Okay, but we are reasonably safe here. And we might get more supplies.” “With no fire we might not get through the night. And the soldier said next week.” Carol paused. “And there’s a feeling in the air that things are on the move. The vortex could pass over in a few days. The authorities are nervous. The weather might start to improve – electricity could be back on. It will be chaos. Everyone’s in lockdown at the moment. And if the weather doesn’t get any better with the arrival of summer then we will be facing mass evacuation.” Andy thought through what Carol had been saying. It made sense, he had to admit. He took a look around the room they had made home for the last couple of days. He looked at the hearth now filled with grey ash and at the empty food box. “Come on babe,” he said, putting his arm around her. “Let’s go.” *** They reached the door of the Gallery Café, tired

and cold. Inside wasn’t much better. The power had been on that morning for an hour or so. The owners had made some soup which was in a large thermos and some tea. There was nothing to go with it. Andy and Carol sat down in the corner. On the other side of the room were three other people, two women and a man. The women were facing away from them, looking out of the window. They drank the soup in shocked silence. “I’m sorry, it’s all we’ve got,” said the man behind the counter. “No, really, it’s very good,” said the man, tall, broad-shouldered and well-spoken. The two women looked at him. One had fair, shoulder-length hair, the other was slightly darker. “I have to admire your tact,” said the one with fair hair. “Well, I’ve had worse,” said her husband. “No, actually, I haven’t. It’s bloody awful.” The man behind the counter pretended not to hear. “I guess you’re not from around here,” he said, tentatively. Strangers usually meant trouble. He was glad to see Andy and Carol back. “No. We flew in this morning,” said the man. “Oh yeah? Must have been with that pig I saw. There hasn’t been a plane in the sky for months.” He didn’t like the sound of this. They must be lying so what were they trying to cover up? Andy

heard the exchange and thought the same thing. He stared at the trio, who realized that things weren’t going well. “We’re scientists. We got tickets for the flight that came in today full of VIP’s. We think the climate has stabilized and passed the tipping point where an abrupt climate change event takes place. We need to get back to our university and study the data. We might have to go into the field and see what’s going on. It’s a crucial time; no-one knows which way things will go.” Andy shrugged. It all sounded a bit far-fetched to him. “Where are you staying, if you don’t mind me asking,” said the café-owner. “Not sure yet. The university might be able to find us something,” said the man. “We went around to our house today – it’s a fair walk from here – over in Grosvenor Street...” “There seemed to be someone in there,” said the first woman who turned around for the first time. “So we didn’t dare go in. We’ve informed the police.” Andy started. Carol tensed when she saw him do that. “Don’t say anything,” whispered Carol in alarm. “It’s okay,” said Andy. He then looked towards the group. “You’re Mrs Carter, aren’t you?” Zoe looked

blank. “I’m Andy Balham – the builder – remember I did some work for you? I’m sorry, but we took refuge in your house. It was us in there.” “How the hell did you get in there?” said Oliver. “Did you break in? I suppose anyone can get in now.” He didn’t look happy. “You had the pass code,” said Zoe. She then said to her husband, “We forgot to change it.” “We were desperate,” said Andy. “We haven’t done any damage.” Oliver still didn’t look too pleased. He got up and said to the café owner that they’d be back later. “Come on,” he said to Zoe and Amy who were already getting to their feet. They pulled on their gloves then picked up a rifle each as casually as if they’d just remembered their umbrellas. Just before they got to the door Amy paused. She turned to Andy. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my husband have you?” she said. Andy looked puzzled. “Lawrence, Lawrence Hewitt,” she said by way of explanation. “Not since him and Emma Stamford went up north,” he said. “To the power station.” Amy was sorry she asked. *** After the group of scientists had left Andy

looked at Carol. “What do we do now, babe?” he said. “We’ve nowhere to stay.” “We could try going back to Emma’s place in Purbeck Road. Lenno and his friends could well have moved on by now.” “And if not?” “I don’t know.” “You can come back here if you’ve nowhere else,” said the café owner. “For tonight. Then tomorrow you could head for one of the public shelters. I hear the power will be coming on soon in some sectors. Sounds too good to be true. But you never know.” “Thanks,” said Andy. “Andy,” said Carol. “These boots of mine have about had it. The sole has nearly worn through. If we can get into Emma’s there might still be a pair of my boots there up in my old room. I think I will need them if we’re going to walk to a shelter.” They set off. It didn’t take long to get to Purbeck Road. Stealthily they walked up the once prosperous road, looking about them all the time. There were piles of rubbish and abandoned cars everywhere. Packed snow filled every space. All fences had long ago been pulled up and burnt along with any garden sheds. As had the trees and shrubs, long-dead anyway. Some houses with wooden windows had had them ripped out. Ragged curtains

hung over the gaps. Some doors had been smashed off too leaving hallways indecently exposed to the elements, snow piled up inside, furniture gone. One place had been burnt out. Others still looked inhabited, but it was hard to tell. When they got to Emma’s house they hid behind an abandoned van and watched for a long time to see if there were any signs of habitation. When they were sure there was no-one around they inched around the back of the house to take a closer look. “What are we doing here, Andy? There’s nothing. This street has been picked clean. Let’s go inside and see if there’s any of my stuff left to salvage then go.” They tried the back door which opened. Andy stepped inside, creeping through to the hall. He looked in every room. There was no-one around so he waved Carol to follow. They then braved the stairway. Every step cracked under their feet. They reached the landing. Carol stood at the top of the stairs trying to catch her breath. “You alright, babe?” he said in a stage whisper. Her head swam but she just nodded. She had gone very pale. She wondered if it were her heart, but said nothing. “Quick, let’s just get the boots.” They went into her old room. It was filthy in there and dishevelled. It would have stunk if it were not so cold. She rummaged around for a couple of

minutes but could find nothing. They heard a crack on the stair like a gunshot going off. Then a voice right next to them in the room. “All gone – burnt or bartered.” Lenno stood there grinning at them. “Oh my God!” said Carol. “Quick, Andy let’s get out of this place!” “Oh, no. Not this time.” Lenno’s eyes were bright with hunger. He looked so thin that he could hardly stand but he gripped the knife tight. He grabbed Carol and held the knife to her throat. “Now you go and find me something to eat,” he barked at Andy. “Or I’ll kill her.” Carol’s eyes were wide with terror. Andy made a move towards the pair. Lenno gripped Carol harder. Andy stopped. He knew he couldn’t risk trying to free her. Andy backed towards the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, babe! It’ll be okay! I’ll get something – don’t you hurt her!” he said to Lenno. “D’you hear me? Just don’t do anything stupid.” He could have said the last bit to either of them. Lenno pulled Carol after him towards the stairs cautiously edging his way down backwards while she clumsily stumbled after him. When they got to the basement door he opened it and pushed her

through. “Don’t leave me down here!” she cried in terror, remembering the rats that Emma had been so afraid of. “I’ll let you out when he gets back,” said Lenno. “If he has some food. I’ll give him a few hours. You’d just better hope he shows.” He wasn’t grinning now. He stared with pure hatred into her eyes. He slammed the door shut and slid the bolt across. Carol knew she was trapped. She knew Andy would do his best to get some food but that wasn’t so easy unless you found an army patrol. He could be out for hours. Also it was dangerous to be out alone. There was a very real chance that he might not make it at all. Carol sank down onto the steps. She was so cold her body ached with the effort of keeping warm. It was quite dark down there, and creepy. Tentatively she crept down the stairs and inched her way towards the French windows. The gang had moved two large, heavy bookcases over the doors to wedge them shut. Carol feebly pushed against them to see if she could prize them away from the exit. It was hopeless. In her weakened state she couldn’t move them at all. For her effort she felt herself go dizzy again. She sat down. Resigned to her fate, she thought that Lenno wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of killing her. She felt that if she gave up

and went to sleep now she would never wake up. She sat for what must have been some hours, constantly straining to listen for Andy returning. There was nothing. The tiny amount of light coming into the basement from behind the bookcases began to fade as day turned to night. Carol didn’t think she would see Andy again. Or Lenno. He might have cleared off, not caring that he had left her to starve. She curled up into a ball on the bare floor and closed her eyes. She was shutting down and she was too weary to care.

39 The

helicopter was bucking and rolling in the turbulent air like a fairground bronco. Jack Ellis felt sicker than he’d ever felt before. Chris Hallam’s desperate attempt to reach Sheffield before the weather became impossible had just come to an end. They were only a few miles north of Millcott when the vortex bore down on them. “Just get us down, can’t you!” said Carly, hardly able to make herself heard over the noise of the engines and the howling wind. “I don’t care where! Anywhere will do before we drop out of the sky! I’ll do the last stage on foot if I have to.” Chris shouted back, “I can’t see! I can’t land blind! I can’t get any perspective. What do you want me to do? It was you who made me fly on when I told you it wasn’t right!” The winds were terrifying. Chris expected to lose control of the aircraft every time there was a massive gust. He was a great pilot. Tonight he needed to be. He pulled the helicopter up as high as he could to

get above the cloud, then he turned around and headed back south. “What are you doing?” yelled Carly. “We can’t go south. I’ll never make it home!” Chris was no longer afraid of her threats. “We are heading back,” he said calmly. “We can chase ahead of the vortex and try to find somewhere, anywhere to land. We have no choice. Further north it is already so cold the rotors will freeze and we will drop out of the sky. So if you don’t like it you can shoot me now. If you want to see your children again I suggest you don’t.” The air grew taut with the battle of wills. Jack didn’t dare look at anyone in case he made the situation worse. His heart beat in his throat. Seconds passed. Carly sat back and sighed. Chris began to breathe again. “Where are we heading?” said Jack eventually. The helicopter lurched to one side causing the passengers to grab their seats. They steadied. “The first landmark. Anything where I can land. Keep a look out, both of you, and shout out if you see anywhere that looks okay. I’m doubling back the way we came.” Jack peered out of the window. “I can’t see anything but driving snow,” he said. Chris flew on. Too low and they could hit a building or power lines; too high and they couldn’t spot a potential landing site. It was a nightmare.

It seemed that with every minute that passed the air grew colder and the ferocious gusts of wind became more frequent. Jack noticed that Chris looked tired. He thought the chances of them getting out of this alive were getting slimmer by the second. “How are we for fuel?” said Jack, aware that they had been in the air way too long. “It’s getting critical,” said Chris. “Fifteen, twenty minutes at most. Less if I have to keep fighting the wind.” Jack thought as much. At least one way or another it would all be over soon. His stomach turned over again as the aircraft lurched and dropped. He felt so ill he was beginning to think death was preferable to more of this. They flew on for about ten more minutes. “Guys, I’m going down low. I’m going to feel my way down. We have to land soon – hold on.” No-one argued. They hovered briefly until a massive gust knocked them sideways. Chris held on to the controls, his face grey and set with concentration. They started to descend slowly, slowly. Jack and Carly strained out of opposite windows to see any hint of a landmark. They inched their way down. So far so good. Snow sped past the window, making them both feel dizzy. Still they dropped, anxiously waiting for the cushioned halt which would tell them they were safe.

Chris felt something touch the runners. He hovered for a second. “Can you guys see anything? We are still too high according to my instruments. They tilted forwards and then levelled again. “I’ll try again.” Jack thought he saw something glinting in the headlights. Carly must have seen it too. She screamed, “Go up, up! Quick!” They lurched forwards and upwards a few meters as the arm of a crane loomed at them, the silver metal trellis shining in the headlights. They were above the tangle of a building site. It was impossible to spot power lines or anything else which could take out their rotors. They couldn’t tell if any high buildings were nearby. Since the onset of the power outages, the night landscape was totally black. There could be a city beneath them and they would never know. They spun around. Chris was trying to see a landing site in the copter’s lights. It was hopeless. They rose higher. Chris had made up his mind to fly on for a couple of hundred metres and then take his chance and go down again. The pilot told the others what he intended to do. They didn’t argue. Suddenly Chris jolted upright in his seat. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “What the Hell!” he said, mostly to himself. “What? What?” screamed Carly in terror. “Look! Look below!” He saw a string of lights

flicker on beneath him. Suddenly he could get a sense of distance and direction. Yellow points of light pierced through the darkness. It was like he had flown out of their nightmarish, blighted, postash world and into normality once more. It was like coming home. “Oh my God – see that!” he said, still not sure what he was looking at. Lights appeared in first one zone then another. In the distance they could only make out a soft glow due to the weather conditions. The others craned to see. In fact it was the moment when Derek had pressed the button on his console which sent their newly generated energy coursing through the veins of the grid again, bringing everything in the surrounding area to life. “What the..?” he breathed out the words in awe. He didn’t trust his senses. “Hey!” said Carly. “What’s going on? Look! Look! Jack – can you see? Chris?” “There are street lights! There are lights on in buildings – houses even.” Chris said. “Over there!” yelled Jack. There’s a road. You can see the street lights. Chris – look ahead – just over there. I can see some red warning lights in vertical rows. It must be the cooling towers. It’s Millcott B, has to be. Go for it. There is a wide open place to land and we can get shelter there.” Chris headed straight for the road and followed

the ribbon of amber dots, his eye drifting to the fuel gauge. Soon they spotted the lights of the power plant itself. Jack had been right. It was definitely Millcott B. There was nothing else like it in the area. The complex looked vast from the air. The rows of red lights clearly marked out the high chimneys and the rows of cooling towers. The helicopter swooped down low. They picked out the windblown car park, now feet deep in snow which was banked up high against the massive brick walls. The rotors caused a blizzard to swirl around them as they came into land. They settled into deep snow, resting at a steep angle on the soft drifts. Chris cut the engine. He closed his eyes and blew hard to keep his sense of relief in check. He turned to the others, “Jeez, that was close!” “I don’t want to know how close,” said Jack. “It’s saying minus 37 degrees, and that’s without taking into account the wind chill. Before we leave here we must know where we are headed and then run for it,” said the pilot. The rotors slowed down and the noise of the engine gave way to the screaming gale. “Look!” said Jack, “Over there.” They all peered through the glass and saw a truck parked up close to the main building. It was difficult to tell but it looked as though there was a doorway. Snow reached almost to the top of the jamb.

“It would make sense,” said Carly. “That someone would park as close as they could get to an entrance. Shall we go?” “You bet!” said Chris. Pulling their hoods low over their faces, they prepared to jump outside. Carly went first. Head down, she didn’t stop to see whether the others followed. That was up to them. She got up close to the truck and saw some dark shapes in the snow, now almost buried. The shock hit her like a blow to the stomach. She could see three corpses lying stiff and grey in the biting winds. She could see some lettering on one jacket. It was almost obscured by the clinging snowflakes but Carly could tell by the style that it said Enlecco. It had become the most familiar graphic in the country. She walked sideways around the bodies pointing them out to Jack and Chris who had caught up with her. They glanced at each other. “They were trying to get in, poor sods,” said Carly. “Look, they’d cleared some snow from the door. Just didn’t have enough time” She felt a wave of pity for them. And fear that she might be joining them if she didn’t get out of the blizzard fast. Jack tried the door. It was locked. He hammered on the door as hard as he could. The noise echoed around the corridor just the other side of the glass. Chris and Carly frantically tried to scrape snow from the door. Despite their hard

work, in five minutes they were numb with cold. Jack could hardly breathe. They turned and looked once more at the bodies in the snow and felt a wave of despondency crawl over their efforts. They cleared the door and stood in front of it in a row. “Now!” said Jack. As one, they kicked the door as hard as they could. It refused to budge. “Surely someone must hear us,” said Chris. I can’t believe they didn’t hear the helicopter.” Jack thumped on the door with a desperation that left his fists aching. “It’s no use,” he said. “This is what these poor bastards must have been doing till the cold overwhelmed them. We have to think of something else.” “I know,” said Carly. “I’ll fire my gun.” She took her pistol out of her inside pocket and aimed it high into the air. The sharp crack reverberated around the walls of the power plant. They waited. Nothing. “The truck! Let’s use the truck!” said Jack. Chris didn’t wait to reply. He ran to the vehicle and pulled open the door. Slumped to one side over the wheel was the driver. He slipped slightly as the truck rocked on its suspension. Chris jumped as the man stared up with grey, unseeing eyes. Like everyone else, the pilot had seen a lot of bodies since the Ash, but none so close. He backed down. The thought of touching the frozen corpse totally freaked him out. As he backed away Jack saw the

body, too. He hesitated. He wondered if he could do any better than Chris. Carly pushed past them both. She stepped up onto the plate, leaning inside and grabbing the dead man’s coat as she hauled him back up to a sitting position. She then pulled him forward as hard as she could. She stepped back allowing his body weight to tip him out of the cab and onto the snow. He lay, stiff and awkward. The sheer ugliness of death affected them all. It was the most distressing thing Carly had ever had to do. She felt sick, but faced her revulsion. She touched the man’s upper arm and paused for a second remembering that this was someone’s son “Sorry”, she whispered. She took a deep breath and jumped back into the cab. The engine turned over and slowly she let the monster roll forward. It didn’t need a lot of speed – the weight was enough to burst the door open. Carly turned off the motor and jumped down, Chris and Jack helping her out. They went through the doorway with utter relief. “Well done, Carly!” said Chris. “You were awesome,” said Jack using the Americanism. Carly smiled. “Hold it right there!” said a voice from the darkness. The trio froze. *** They saw a group of soldiers emerge from the

shadows. Their weapons were pointed straight at them. Jack, Carly and Chris looked at each other and wondered what they had just walked into.

40 Millcott B

Lawrence Hewitt heard his phone ring for the first time in days. He looked at the screen. The name ‘Amy’ was there in large letters. It was beyond anything he could have wished for. “Darling!” he said urgently. She was calling from the States. Her voice was full of anxiety. Even before he could answer she pressed him. “Lawrence?” “I’m okay – really – I’m at the power station.” He stopped. His relief at hearing her voice together with her concern for him hit him full on. He suddenly felt himself well up. He wanted to be in her arms so much it hurt. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. They talked over each other in their hurry to say their stored-up news. Then they both paused together. Oliver had heard enough. “Let me talk to him for God’s sake, Amy. We’ve only got a few minutes.” He took the phone. “Oliver!” shouted Amy. “Give me that!” she snatched the phone back and told him to go away. Zoe was impressed and smiled broadly. “Serves you right,” Zoe said to her husband,

unsympathetically. Unoffended, Oliver shrugged. “We need to warn them to get out of there. We haven’t got time for all that missing you stuff.” “I’m sure Amy’s quite capable of telling him that herself,” said Zoe. “Yes, eventually,” said Oliver. Amy turned to Zoe and handed her the phone while she composed herself, glaring at Oliver as she did so. Zoe got straight to the point. “Lawrence, this vortex pattern could be over the UK for the next two to three weeks. It’s going to be like the Arctic for that time. Very dangerous.” Hewitt scoffed, “Like it hasn’t been for the last six months.” Zoe sighed. “Okay, point taken. But this is worse. The intense cold will be difficult to survive. The pattern should break after that time but it’s hard to predict. The computer models don’t concur. Some say that as the Ash has now dispersed then temperatures will rise as spring approaches. Some are less optimistic. They think the intense cold might have triggered off a downward spiral of poor weather and that the UK could be like Newfoundland for the foreseeable future.” “That’s hardly the main issue,” said Hewitt. “Oh, really? Well what is then?” said Zoe. She sounded exasperated.

“Lawrence, you need to see the bigger picture, for God’s sake,” said Oliver over his wife’s shoulder. “You need to get away from that bloody power station and get out of there. There’s no more you can do. One power plant will not make all that much difference to anything.” “Of course it does!” said Hewitt. “To the thousands of people who would have died in their beds if it wasn’t for Emma’s persistence here.” Amy felt the word Emma like a sting. She couldn’t help but wonder if they had been together too long. Hewitt continued, “Millcott B has been a lifeline in an ocean of hardship. It might just mean that people here can last out till the spring – if it comes. But we have hardly any rations left. We can’t stay. The army have access to some provisions but not enough for everyone. I just hope we have done enough to get some people through. Trouble is – we are trapped in a massive dilemma. If we stay we go hungry; if we leave, we also leave our only means of shelter.” “So what are you going to do?” said Oliver. “Talk to Amy. Put her back on.” “For God’s sake,” said Oliver handing back the phone. *** “Major,” said Hewitt. “Can we hold out here till the vortex passes over? My scientist friends tell me

we can expect two more weeks of this intense cold.” “And then what?” said Letworth. “The Ash has almost cleared, they say. If – if – the climate hasn’t been nudged into an ice-age, then spring might just be around the corner.” “The Ash has cleared?” “Apparently so.” “We have four or five days of rations, I would say, max. The men are doing heavy physical work in very cold conditions. At the moment we can’t get more supplies from Chilwell. But – they are trying to send some stuff over next week.” “We need to try to leave. We have done our job here and are using up rations you need for your men.” “You can’t leave in these temperatures, and we need Stringer.” “So what do we do then?” “Nothing. For the time being. Best not to panic. If the temperature rises a little in the daytime Chilwell might be able to get some supplies over sooner than we think. Something might turn up. I’m thinking ahead now. Things are on the move, Hewitt. I can sense it. Dangerous times coming up – like at the end of a war. People’s hopes are raised. And there’ll be a power vacuum, politically. The population has had to get by alone for the last year and little fiefdoms have taken root. Criminal

elements – too big for their boots. It will take a while to get a sense of national unity again. The key to getting a grip is to get the services on. Emma was quite right about the importance of this. It’s the cornerstone of modern society, and we need to build on what we’ve done here and take it all over the country. I’m thinking of declaring a State of Extreme Emergency with Millcott B as regional HQ for the Midlands. Got in touch with COBRA who have rolled it forward and intend to do the same thing with Drax in the north and Hinkley in the south-west for starters. Then there’s Thameside in London. We don’t want anyone else controlling the energy supply now we’ve got rid of Enlecco, after all. “ Hewitt nodded his approval. He liked Letworth. He was man who saw his role in all this as vital, not his personal ambition. He was a good organiser; someone who knew what to do in a crisis. The Major looked thoughtful until a sudden disturbance interrupted his concentration. “What the?” He spun around when the door burst open and some of his men came in. “Intruders, sir. Found them breaking in, downstairs. Must be more of that Enlecco lot. They arrived by chopper – were armed, too.” The soldier placed Carly’s gun on the table. Major Letworth looked at the trio in front of him, shivering uncontrollably, their faces burned red by

the wind. They looked like a corporate delegation, probably sent over to see if Gus and his men had finished the job. Just what he needed – three more mouths to feed; three more trouble-makers to sort out. “Thank you, Stewart. Okay. Leave this to me. Well done men.” He waved them away, looked at Hewitt for inspiration then back to the intruders. “Are you from Enlecco?” barked the Major. Carly shouted desperately, “We’re not from Enlecco. I’m in retail logistics!” “And I’m a freelance pilot – nothing to do with Enlecco!” Letworth looked away, not knowing what to believe. Jack Ellis butted in, shivering so much he could hardly talk, “I’ve come to find Emma Stamford,” he said in a juddering voice. “I’ve heard she’s here at Millcott B. We were in trouble in the storm and couldn’t land. Then we saw your lights.” Just then the door swung wide open at the mention of her name and Emma stood there framed by the jamb. She stepped forward gingerly and let the door close silently behind her. Letworth and Hewitt turned their gaze towards Emma. She saw Jack Ellis standing there looking her way, but still not sure who he was staring at. Her pulse thumped in her chest, almost knocking her off balance. She

grabbed the back of a nearby chair but didn’t trust herself enough to speak. She swallowed and then took a deep breath before she said, “Jack?” tentatively. “Emma?” he replied, staring hard at the gaunt, pale figure standing before him. Her thick, dark hair was flecked with grey and had grown down her back. It was tied up loosely with a band. Her many layers of winter clothing were too big for her slight figure. Her eyes were strong and kind lighting up the face of the boneweary person he was now studying. He was shocked. What she must have been through! “Jack – you came to find me?” she was staring at him with incredulity. “Are you okay Emma?” he said. “I’ve been trying to find you. I kept thinking I’d be too late. I’ve been so worried about you. I’m going to get you out of here. I’m taking you back to the States.” He walked towards her. He put his hands gently on her shoulders. She responded by putting her arms around him. They hugged, briefly. “Jack – I don’t know what to say.” Emma looked flustered. Jack still shuddered with the cold. His nose and cheeks were flushed with red but underneath his skin was white from the effects of the recent flight and the rough landing. He seemed ready to drop. “Hot drinks all round!” shouted Letworth. “Get

these men, and lady, some blankets! Emma, I can now assume that you know these people.” He paused, his eyes twinkled slightly. “I know Jack Ellis, sir. We were friends before the ash.” “Does he work for Enlecco?” “No, Major.” “What about the other two?” Jack replied. “None of us do. I hitched a ride. They were going back up north to their retail HQ. It seemed a good idea at the time.” “I need to get back to my family,” said Carly. “Yes, we all do,” said Major Letworth, unsympathetically. “Did you say you had a chopper?” “Yes,” said Chris. “It’s on lease to us at the moment.” “Well I’m commandeering it,” said Letworth. “You can’t do that!” said Carly indignantly. “I need it for my work.” “Ah, yes. You said you were in retail logistics?” “That’s right.” “Well you look as though you know what you’re doing,” said Letworth shooting a glance at Carly’s handgun. She smiled despite herself. “You sound like just the person we need to get things moving again.” “But I work for Moor’s Foodmarkets. I’m based

in Sheffield.” “Under the rules of the Extreme Emergency you will be answerable to me. Just till we get things up and running again.” Carly didn’t argue. Truth be told, she was excited by the prospect of being a key worker. And if she was doing something vital in the Sheffield depot she might be able to get home and see her family after all. She nodded and said no more. The drinks arrived and the blankets. Eventually Jack felt some heat creep back into his starved body. He sat down and Emma sat next to him. “You look awful,” he said. “I know,” she replied flatly. After all the months of hoping to see her again, hoping she would be ready to move on from Bill, wondering if she even remembered him and that was all he could think of to say. It wasn’t in his many rehearsals of this moment. He could have kicked himself. “I’ve been thinking of you all the time,” Emma said. She could never have imagined saying such a thing a year ago. “Have you?” said Jack, heartened by her lack of offence. “When you went to Amsterdam I just thought you hadn’t noticed me. You never told me you were leaving the UK, Carol did – and then when you went to the States...”

“I thought I was flogging a dead horse. I knew it was a bad time for you and that I could never compare to your husband so I took the job when it was offered.” “I didn’t realise what I was doing. You were a good friend and I was off-loading on to you. Trouble is, when you’ve been in a long-term relationship like with me and Bill, it’s all I had to talk about. I thought it was a way of getting closer to you – it was hard being on my own. Instead I was driving you away. I don’t blame you, I must have been such a bore.” “I never thought that,” said Jack. “Thank you for coming to get me,” said Emma. Her voice trembled as she said it. “My pleasure,” he replied, diffidently and smiled.

41 For the next four days Derek Stringer hardly slept. Even though he knew the workings of Millcott B like the back of his hand, it was a near impossible job to keep the plant going on his own. The death of Steve Mills had shaken him badly. He also missed his professional support. He’d grown to like Steve since that night when he turned up, unannounced at his house. He didn’t recognise the old Steve who he used to work with before the ash. He’d been a self-centred bully. Now Derek thought him a hero and his eyes pricked with tears as he remembered the night he died. Derek was training Lawrence Hewitt to help out in the control room. “You alright over there?” said Hewitt to Derek. He knew it sounded awkward but Hewitt still had difficulty using people’s names. Somehow it seemed too personal. “Yes, yes, I’m alright. Just thinking about Steve.” “Yes,” said Hewitt. “Such a shock. Poor chap.” “The thing is,” Derek continued, “he was such a pain when I worked with him. Had it in for me, I can tell you. But when he was in trouble – with

Enlecco – it was me he turned to for help. I can never forget that.” Derek paused. “He knew he was in danger – and in the end they got him. There was nothing I could do to help. I think I let him down.” “No, no. Not at all. You were very magnanimous taking him in, from what I heard. You couldn’t help him the other night. None of us could. He saved Emma. It’s not your fault he died – so stop blaming yourself.” Derek nodded, glad to have someone to talk to. He took a deep breath and got back to work. Hewitt was a quick learner with a great eye for detail and a photographic memory. Even so, he had to constantly refer to Derek for help which he knew slowed the other man down. The volunteer former workers at Millcott were helping out in the turbine room and in the fuelling operation. They did a good job on the whole, but many were doing work they were not familiar with and needed constant supervision from Derek who constantly looked ill from fatigue. Hewitt noticed the drawn look on Derek’s face. Not surprising he was getting emotional, he thought. Anyone would. The cold polar vortex beyond their redoubt still had an iron grip on the landscape. When Emma ventured outside with Jack Ellis to look at the helicopter it was like stepping into a dead world. The snow had stopped falling and nothing moved. There was no sign of any animal or bird life left.

Even the noise of heavy machinery dragging coal from the stored heaps into the hoppers was muffled and distant. Icy air clung around their faces as they walked with difficulty over mounds of snow. Major Letworth followed them, walking with Chris Hallam, the pilot. “I’ve contacted Chilwell. They will send some aviation fuel as soon as they can. Then at last we’ll have some transport.” Emma and Jack exchanged glances. They were both thinking of their escape. “I can’t wait, Major. What are your plans?” said Chris. “I have to wait for orders. Carly is going to be crucial in all this, though. I need you to get her to the northern depot to ferry supplies here. COBRA thinks using Millcott B as the regional HQ is a good one, and if I can show that our position here is sustainable then they’ll back my plan for the other regions as well. That way we can rebuild this broken country.” “I hope Chilwell hurry up,” said Emma. “We are very low on food. It looks like rice and soup again tonight.” “They are doing their best, but I hope so too. It could be touch and go whether we survive until the vortex goes and the temperatures rise. And God knows what we’ll find out there when the snow goes.”

Emma felt a chill run right through her. To think they could fail at this last hurdle was unimaginable. And if it wasn’t the last hurdle, if this cold weather was now a permanent feature of the UK, then things would never get back to normal. Jack Ellis said they were going to go to the States. Emma could only think of that as a dream. She knew they had to concentrate on the next few weeks. To dream of escape now would mean losing focus. It was too dangerous. “Once we get the helicopter operational we can get out of here,” said Jack. “I don’t think so,” said Emma. Jack looked hurt. He stared at her as if he were trying to work out what she was saying. Emma picked up on his mood. “We are not going to be their main priority, Jack.” “We could try to get to a port if the weather breaks,” said Jack. “It’ll be chaos out there. The major is right about the power vacuum. Everyone will be leaving the shelters and trying to get back home. And many of those homes have been taken over by armed gangs. I’ve thinking about this, Jack. I have a house in London. It used to be worth a great deal of money. If I leave now to go to the States I will be handing it over to the people who forced us out. I don’t even know what status legality has any more. So many have died; so many systems have broken down.”

“You want to go home?” He looked incredulous. “I don’t know.” Emma sighed. She really didn’t know what to do. “There’s no way we’re going back to your house, yet,” said Jack. “It’s much too dangerous. And you’ve no back up. There’s no guarantee of food supplies for the foreseeable. We need to get out of here – and come back later if that’s what you want.” Emma didn’t reply. The next two days were an agony of waiting. The cold showed no sign of abating and coal supplies were looking depleted. If Millcott B was going to power the region for much longer then new supplies of coal would have to be transported in. Major Letworth was on to COBRA to get help with that, but they could do nothing while the weather held. Food for the civilians was getting ever sparser. Emma put on her heavy winter gear and went outside. She needed time to think. She trudged past the stranded helicopter and over to the Social Club building where she had first met Derek Stringer. Inside was as cold as a freezer. Frost caked the inside of the ash-grey windows. She sat down on a torn chair, remembering that the last time she had done so she had been a professional woman with her own business, with a car waiting to take her back to London, a house to call her own and a circle of friends she used to meet with at the

Gallery Café. She stared at the torn posters now brittle with cold, representing a world which seemed like a foreign country, never to be revisited. She must have been sitting there for fifteen minutes, lost in thought when she heard a step on the wooden floor. “I wondered if I might find you here, Emma.” She jumped visibly at the intrusion. Derek stood before her. “Derek!” Emma said. “You startled me.” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Last time we were here, all I wanted was for this place, Millcott, to come to life again. And I wanted you to help me to achieve that aim. It seems we got our way. Even if it has been in a way no-one could have predicted, and at great cost.” “Derek – if you’ve come here to blame me for Steve...” “No, no. That’s not what I meant to say at all.” Derek sat down. Just standing seemed to tire him out nowadays. Emma noticed his hands, how blue they looked. “You need to see a doctor, Derek,” she said kindly. “I think it’s too late for that,” he said, glancing away. “And anyway, I want to stay here till I’m sure my work is done. I just wanted to say – how much it means to me – to hear the hum of the generators – to feel the pulse of the turbines

working again. I never felt so proud in all my life as when the lights came on again.” Emma saw him well up at the memory. “Well, Enlecco have gone and good riddance. I was never interested in politics or economics. I’m an engineer and that’s what I care about.” “We couldn’t have done this without you, Derek,” said Emma. “And I wouldn’t have done this without you.” “The ash has changed us all, I think.” Derek paused for a minute before saying, “Jack’s a good man. Will you be going to New York with him?” Emma flushed slightly. Already everyone saw them as an item. “I...I don’t know. You see, I’ve grown up a lot over this last year. I’ve become independent. I worry that if I go to the States with Jack then everything is his – his job, his place, his money. I don’t know if I want that again. I made that mistake with Bill. I let him dominate me. I didn’t realize how much until he wasn’t there anymore.” Emma got up and walked over to the window. “Derek,” she said. “What?” “I think Jack knew about Icarus.” Derek’s face clouded over. “What do you mean?” “I think that’s why he left in such a hurry. I

couldn’t understand why he never told me was going. It all makes sense now if you think about it.” Derek was visibly shocked. “Could he have known? Was that possible?” “Maybe. I just don’t know, but he had a lot of contacts in the energy industry. It could be possible. I’m so scared that he could be on someone’s list, too, like Steve. He shouldn’t have come back for me. If only he’d told me instead of leaving like that. Do you think he is in danger? I don’t know what to say to him.” “Well if he did know, he obviously didn’t want to involve you, so I should leave it like that. You could be jumping to conclusions – and if you ask him if he knows about Icarus then you could be dragging him into something that he previously knew nothing about. The whole thing has become toxic. My advice is to keep right out of it.” “I just don’t know what to do anymore.” “But you do want Jack, don’t you?” “Yes. I do. We’ve been good friends for years and I think that’s a great foundation to build on. And I really fancy him.” Emma smiled. “But I don’t think we need to rush things,” “I wouldn’t over think it, Emma. Marry him.” Emma started slightly at the thought. “Take your opportunities – you never know what’s ahead.” “You still miss June.” “She was a lovely dancer,” said Derek, his eyes

misting up once more. “I can still feel her in my arms when I think of our favourite tunes.” He got up and struck a dance frame. He spun around, his practised feet floated over the ragged carpet. Emma smiled. He was so graceful. “What are you trying to tell me, Derek?” He sat down again, flustered by the effort. “I think you should go to the States. His job there isn’t permanent. And you need time to recover. If I might say so, you don’t look well either. Let him look after you for a while – then come back and sort out your house and rebuild your business – together. It’s not going to be all one way. I was talking to Lawrence – he’s no fool you know – he reckons that Jack needs you. He didn’t come back here just to make sure you were alright – he needs you as much as you need him. He won’t control you. It’s a balance – and that’s how it should be.” And that’s how it’s going to be, thought Emma. This time.

42 Next day, after two weeks of the most intense period of cold ever known over the UK, the polar vortex began to dissipate. It should have been a good day, full of hope, but Emma, Jack, Lawrence Hewitt and Major Letworth all sat around the breakfast table their faces set in glum disbelief. When Derek Stringer had failed to appear that morning, everyone thought he was having a muchneeded lie-in. At eight o’clock Hewitt made him a cup of hot tea and knocked on his door gently. After a few moments Hewitt went in. Derek’s toostill shape lay under the bedclothes, unresponsive to Hewitt’s shake of his shoulder. “Major Letworth, you’d better come and see,” said Hewitt. The major marched in and stopped in his tracks when he saw Hewitt’s face and the unmoving form under the covers. He walked slowly over to the bed and felt expertly for a pulse. There was nothing. He pulled the sheet up over Derek’s face and put a consoling hand on Hewitt’s arm. “What do we do now, sir? Without Derek we can’t work this plant.” Hewitt, to the point as usual,

didn’t mean to sound callous. “I’ll get on to HQ, but first, we need to tell the others.” Emma dabbed at her eyes. She felt sad but not shocked or even surprised. Hadn’t the others seen how ill he looked lately? Still, however much one thinks about something in the abstract, it’s a different matter when faced with the actuality of death. She thought of their conversation yesterday. He must have known then. She felt a surge of gratitude engulf her. His wise words still rang in her ears, giving her a sense of peace that she had not known in years. The major spent the morning on the phone, trying to sort things out. Emma walked around the turbine room aimlessly. Some of the plant employees were trying to keep the place going but hadn’t the expertise to run it properly. They, too, were knocked sideways by Derek’s death. Many of them had known him for years. Emma thought that Millcott would have to close down later today or tomorrow if they didn’t get help. Hewitt did what he could. “There you are, Emma.” The major strode in and bounced up the stairs to where she was overlooking the turbines. “After all this, have we failed?” said Emma. “Did poor Derek work himself to death for

nothing?” “Not at all,” said Letworth. “He got the process going. Even if Millcott shuts down it will only be temporary. And many lives have been saved in the meantime.” “Are they sending help?” “I’ve got my orders,” said the major, avoiding the question. Emma wondered what the major was keeping from her. He seemed edgy somehow. “We should have fuel arriving this morning. If – when – we get the chopper going we will be heading out of Millcott. Our job here is finished.” “What!” said Emma. “I’ve been deployed down south. I’ll be in charge of Thameside power station, co-ordinating the recovery as we’ve done here.” Emma smiled. “You’ll be nearer your family there, won’t you?” The major nodded. “I just hope they’re alright. I’ve been so desperately worried about them. I should be able to get home from Thameside on a forty-eight hour pass.” “They’ll be alright – you’ll see.” Letworth smiled thinly. He so wanted to believe her but didn’t dare. He was glad of someone to talk to. “Start making plans to move out. It could all happen very quickly.” “We need to keep Millcott B going, Major. We

can’t just let it all go now.” “I have reassurances that we will get people in to keep the power on. Won’t be easy to replace poor old Derek, though. They don’t make them like that anymore.” Emma sighed. “How much longer will the vortex last? Any idea?” “They’re predicting another cold night tonight, then by tomorrow it should be hovering around minus two or three. Fingers crossed it might get above freezing by the end of the week. Then – well we’ll just have to wait.” Letworth smiled briefly then turned and left. Emma went back to the flat and started to put her things in her bag. She heard a soft knock on her door. She opened it. Jack was standing there. “May I come in?” he said. Emma smiled. “Of course,” she said. He closed the door quietly. He caught Emma’s look and said gently. “Better stay in here a while. They’ve sent a detail to collect your friend. They’re taking Derek to the army morgue until they can arrange things properly. They will be up here shortly – we’ve all been asked to keep out of the way.” Emma sat down on the bed. “At least if they do close this place down, Derek won’t have to see it happen. He died doing what he loved best.” “Thanks to you, Emma.”

They sat in silence for a while. They couldn’t help but hear the footsteps outside the room and the hushed voices. The trolley scuffed the walls as it was steered out. There was a heavy click when the outer door closed. Then silence once more. He was gone. Jack sat beside Emma and took her hand. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m not,” said Jack, knowing the time had come to speak. “Not until I know what we’re going to do next. I need to know what you want to do, where you will go. I need to know how things are between us.” Jack looked into her eyes, his hand gripping hers. Emma felt a belt of electricity hit her full on. She felt her limbs tremble; her mouth go dry. It was like being an awkward teenager again. She coughed and tried to sound calm. “Jack, I... I don’t know what to do. I ought to go home but the sensible thing would be to go back to the States with you...” Emma knew straightaway that she’d said the wrong thing. In her head all she could hear was Derek’s voice saying marry him. “Sensible!” Jack looked incredulous and disappointed. “I must say I expected more from you, Emma. Maybe you just aren’t that bothered about a relationship after all. You weren’t before and things are obviously no different now. I’ve been dreading the thought of me leaving here alone

and you saying, See you around.” Emma’s nervousness made her come across as indifferent when she felt anything but. She searched around for something to say but couldn’t find the words. She saw the hurt in his eyes. “You seem to think that you can pick me up or drop me according to what you think is practical.” He got up off the bed. “I’ll leave you to pack,” he said. Emma stood up. “No, Jack, wait! I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” “Well how else could it sound? You just never seem bothered. I don’t get it.” Emma felt her head swim with anxiety. Suddenly she knew that this was her last chance. When Jack had gone away before, she’d let him go. If he went this time, she knew she would never see him again. He made to go. Emma felt herself again trying to imagine what Bill would think of her. It was a mental habit that she kept going back to. She hoped to goodness Jack wouldn’t read her thoughts. But suddenly she realized that Andy was right when he told her that it didn’t matter what he thought. Bill had faded out of her life. He was from a bygone age which didn’t exist anymore. Jack was here and now and she saw his retreating form with a surge of panic which told her to act. She heard the words come out of her mouth as though they had been

said by someone else. “No! Don’t go. Jack, please! I am bothered. Really. Sometimes I can’t think straight and that’s because all I have thought about for this last year is hunger and cold.” He turned. His eyes looked straight into hers. He felt a wave of tenderness for her. For once she didn’t shy away but looked straight back. She leaned into him. He put his arms around her and held his lips on hers. He then held her close, his face touching her cheek. His kiss was warm and strong. “I’ve loved you for so long,” was all he said. Emma felt the tears roll down her face. “I love you too,” she said, kissing him back and pulling him closer, losing herself in his arms. They fell onto the bed and made love with all the passion they had dreamt of over the years. Afterwards, Jack leaned up on one elbow, caressing Emma’s hair. “Should we have done that – today – you know – so soon after...” “It’s okay,” said Emma. “He wouldn’t have minded.” “How can you know that?” said Jack, laughing. “Oh, just something he said.”

43 Millcott B

Emma stood in the control room with her bag packed ready to leave. It all seemed to be happening too quickly. Chris Hallam, the helicopter pilot walked in with Carly Dobson and dropped their meagre possessions on the floor. They couldn’t wait to get out. Hewitt leaned on the control panel, staring into the middle distance. He hadn’t slept well and he yawned once or twice. “The weather’s on the turn,” said Carly triumphantly. “I heard it this morning, on the radio. The vortex has broken up. In ten days’ time we might get above freezing for the first time in months.” She was grinning widely. Emma was still concerned about Millcott B’s future. “Major, will the lights stay on here when we’ve gone. It’s still going to be cold for a long time. The recovery will be in jeopardy if we let the utilities fail now.” “Don’t worry Emma. The NEC has it sorted. It’s going to take time, I grant you. But if people see

things are on the move it will give them the heart to carry on.” Emma had no choice but to demur. She looked at Letworth. He seemed anxious, somehow. Or disappointed. There was something about him she couldn’t fathom. Jack Ellis joined the group and stood close to Emma. The major continued, “Emma, Jack. We can take you with us if you want. First we are heading south – Thameside – then Carly is to take up her role helping with food distribution in the northern sector. I’m sure they could take a detour to Bristol if you are thinking of shipping back to the States.” Jack nodded vigorously. It was the news he had been waiting for. Emma took a deep breath. “We’ll be coming with you, Major. To London.” Jack Ellis looked puzzled and worried. “Look, Emma,” said Jack, “I know you want to see if your house is okay – but we can do that later. I have a job to go to in New York. I have to get back there.” Lawrence Hewitt, who up until now had remained quiet, standing next to his holdall of borrowed clothes, stepped in. “Yes. Me too. I need to get to the States to see Amy. Since that last skype I haven’t been able to contact her. But first we have to go to London.

Emma and I both know why we are going back to there. It’s not about our houses is it Emma?” Jack looked from one to the other, puzzled. Emma looked down. She began to speak, falteringly. “Jack, we, we left Carol. At my house. We begged her to see sense but she refused to come with us – her and Andy Balham.” “Hold on a moment – you mean our Carol – Carol Ashton?” “Yes. She was with Andy.” “With Andy? You mean with Andy? Well I’ll be...” He paused for a moment while the news sank in. “So what’s the problem? I guess Andy would see she was okay.” “The house, my house, was taken over by a gang. They forced us out at knifepoint but Andy persuaded them to let him and Carol stay. It was madness. They wouldn’t come. We tried to persuade them. Carol had lost the plot as far as I could see. We left on bad terms, but I always felt guilty about going without her.” “We should have gone back sooner,” said Hewitt. “But we needed to get here as soon as we could. We were saving our own skins and I still feel guilty about it.” “As she did, Lawrence, remember. She thought staying was the better bet. Carol had become very hard and angry,” said Emma.

“I know,” said Hewitt, “Everything had got to her. She couldn’t deal with it anymore, I suppose, but she didn’t see the danger, and we did. Andy thought he was going to take over those thugs and rule the roost with Carol. That guy – Lenno – thought he was going to get rid of Andy and use Carol for his own purposes.” Emma went pale. It was a scenario that she’d tried not to think about. “Jeez!” said Jack. He sat down heavily. “So what do we do? I have to be back in New York soon.” Emma looked hard at Jack. He was anxious to get away and maybe for good reason. She didn’t want to risk delaying him, but couldn’t leave without seeing Carol okay. “Yes, well I’d like to be back with Amy as soon as possible. But I’m not leaving until I’ve checked this out. You don’t have to come along Emma,” said Hewitt. “What do you mean, I don’t have to come?” Emma was indignant. “Carol was my friend and I don’t intend to let her down a second time, even though she was a complete bitch last time I saw her. If you need to get back to the States, Jack, maybe I could join you there?” “Are you kidding? And risk letting you go and sort out an armed gang with just you and your photographer friend – no offence, Lawrence, but what do you think I am?”

“Listen up, people,” said the major, tired of the complication. “We’re heading for London in fifteen minutes. Be ready or make your own arrangements. We’ll talk about this later.” *** They piled into the helicopter, the biting wind still whistling over the snow-covered car park. It was still below freezing but the sky did seem lighter and the clouds less dense. Emma hardly dared to hope that the Ash was over. The rotors built up speed. Emma was told to put on her cans. The engine noise was overwhelming after their quiet, traffic-free existence. She’d never been in a helicopter before and was a little nervous. Jack held her hand, suddenly the veteran. Major Letworth looked straight ahead. He seemed very keen to get airborne. Emma guessed he couldn’t wait to see if his family was okay. She was going to say something encouraging to him when a movement caught the corner of her eye. She felt the helicopter lift off with a swoop that took her breath away. She craned out of the window to take a closer look. She could see a long convoy of vehicles and plant arriving through the main gate of Millcott B. Only it wasn’t the camo paint of the army that had caught her eye. It was the all-pervading orange and black logo which had come to symbolize everything that had gone wrong with the energy industry in the UK, which was now

trundling through the front entrance. “Enlecco! What the fuck are they doing back here?” said Emma, enraged. The Major looked away. “You knew!” said Emma. “I knew you were holding out on me. How can they be allowed back after what they have done to us? It was their irresponsible money-grabbing which left us totally vulnerable when the Ash came. They just got too big, too powerful – beyond the reach of governments and the law. They cannot be allowed to run things again!” She was close to tears. “I had no choice in this Emma. The National Emergency Committee sent Enlecco in as they’re the only ones with the expertise and enough manpower to get the power stations going again. They had the clout to get international loans to pay for the re-investment and the repairs. It’s them or nothing. People are starving and cold. We can’t wait while new companies set up and train their own workforce.” “They didn’t need to. New, decent, companies could have got that international money and reemployed former Enlecco workers to do a proper job! Now we’ve the old guard back they will take the money, do as little as they can get away with, charge us all a fortune and be just as ill-prepared for any future problems as they were before. They will ask for, and get, vast government subsidies and

they’ll pocket the profits. Nothing is going to change!” Emma thought of Derek and hot angry tears rolled down her face. Hewitt and Jack Ellis looked down upon the orange and black line crawling through the snow with disbelief. “We still did it Emma,” said Hewitt. “We got this place working again. It was that fact that started the ball rolling.” “But in the long run the little people always lose,” she said. “Don’t despair, Emma,” said the major. “Millcott B is staying open. And there’s going to be an Energy Security Act passed by the new government, to prevent things being run purely for economic reasons. Smaller, independent companies will be encouraged eventually and we will have to have a greater storage facility for gas.” “I’ll believe that when I see it,” said Hewitt. “They wouldn’t be back if it didn’t suit them.” “Needs must,” said the major, pragmatic, as usual. Emma dried her eyes and sat still, staring out of the window for a long time. *** They flew over the snow fields, still set like iron, a desolate, broken country. Chris, the pilot, punched up through the cloud canopy and they saw clear blue sky instead of ashen grey for the first

time in months. As they approached London the cloud cover became more sporadic, allowing sunlight to reach the ground and cast shadows onto the icy streets below. Carly made them all start when she pointed to the west and shouted, “Hey, guys! Look at that!” They all craned to look. A plane was landing at Heathrow. “Have flights resumed then?” said Hewitt, to Major Letworth. “Very limited at the moment, I hear,” he replied. “The runway has been partly cleared to allow priority flights. There’s still not enough fuel to reopen commercial flights, yet. That plane could be carrying the bigwigs back.” Emma groaned. “The ones who ran away and left us to it, you mean. This is so utterly depressing. Priority flights. Enlecco back in charge. I can see it now – every bad thing that we’ll have to put up with will be justified in the name of the Recovery. Austerity for us; plenty for the Enlecco elite. Look! Look down there! We must be nearing Thameside.” Sure enough the car park was full of black and orange. A huge Enlecco banner was strung over the front of Thameside power station. Chris Hallam swooped around and hovered over the helipad before making a perfect touchdown. They turned to look at each other. “I guess this is where we part company Major,”

said Jack removing his cans and straightening his hair. “Not quite yet,” he said, enigmatically. Emma stared. Surely he couldn’t stop them leaving. She felt her stomach tighten as she wondered if they might all be in trouble for hijacking Millcott B. She felt her pulse race as she feared for Jack’s safety, too. Would Letworth turn them in? She saw him nod towards his men. “I trusted you, Major Letworth,” she said, her heart now thumping with panic. “Don’t tell me you’re in with that lot after all. You seem to have been very uncomfortable with us lately. Now I know why. We’ve been stitched up good and proper haven’t we – coming here with you.” Emma gripped Jack’s hand. “Are we being told that we’re not allowed to leave, sir?” said Hewitt. Suddenly he could see his re-union with Amy receding into the distance. “What’s the matter with you people?” said Letworth, surprised at suddenly finding himself cast as the bad guy. “You want to go and find your friends. Well I’m not letting you go – alone. I’m coming with you, Emma. There’s no way you can take on an armed gang without support. I’m taking two volunteers along with us – Stewart and Fisher you’re coming with us, get your stuff.” Emma smiled with utter relief at her mistake. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry, I...”

“No time for all that,” said the major. They ducked down out of the helicopter and walked across the packed ice to the main building of Thameside power plant. Letworth marched in and issued orders to the staff there who were waiting for him to take charge. They seemed put out that he wasn’t staying, but he told them to get on with it until he took full command tomorrow. They trundled back outside. Carly Dobson and Chris Hallam were perched on a wall near the heliport, sipping a hot drink. Letworth went over towards them. Emma watched them shake hands then the two of them climbed back inside the chopper to await orders.

44 London

Amy Hewitt sat in the corner of the living room in Zoe and Oliver’s place staring out of the window. She’d been crying but didn’t want Oliver to see. Since they’d landed at Heathrow, they’d been staying at the Carters’ house in Grosvenor Street. They’d arrived together with about eighty other scientists, a hundred or so government officials, senior ministers and royalty, none of whom had left the tightly guarded first class area. It was all very sudden. Secrecy was paramount and Amy had been unable to let her husband know that she was returning to England. They’d put a tent up in the back room and got out their four-season sleeping bags; arctic camping in their own dining room. It was beyond bizarre. Oliver got a pack of rations and a few luxuries from the university – like instant coffee. They were desperate to do some fieldwork but travelling around had become too dangerous. Zoe said they were wasting their time and should go back to the States. Amy went back to her old house with Oliver and Zoe and found it abandoned with no clue as to

where Lawrence had gone. When she’d tried to call Millcott B she’d been told that it was under Enlecco control now. Enlecco hadn’t seen any army or civilians, they said. They didn’t want to know. She didn’t know where Emma Stamford lived and most mobiles were dead. Lawrence could have gone out to the States to look for her, for all she knew. She didn’t even know if he was alive. She didn’t look around when she heard someone come into the room. “We’ll find him, Amy,” said Oliver with a gentle concern that hit Amy more than a blow could have done as it was so out of character. She burst into tears again and fell onto his shoulder, weeping. He held her till she calmed down. She took a big shuddering breath. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?” said Amy. “It’s not like you to be sympathetic.” “I am worried about him,” said Oliver without a trace of his usual bluster. Zoe came into the room, looking as though she was going to say something. She then spotted Amy. “You alright Ames?” “Yes. Yes, I’m alright.” Zoe passed her a handkerchief. “Here, use this,” she said kindly. Amy blew her nose. “What were you going to say, Zoe?”

“That we need to get over to Isaac Newton College today if we can. I’m desperate to start work if it’s possible. It’s so disorganized. I thought when they got us on that flight everything here would be in place. The situation here is worse than I thought.” “I don’t think I can, Zo. I can’t concentrate. Maybe I could stay here and see if Lawrence turns up.” Amy dabbed at her eyes and tried to compose herself. “You can’t stay here alone,” said Zoe. “And it might be better if you’ve something to do.” Zoe said. It sounded inadequate but she knew there was no point in staying here worrying. “Okay,” Amy said. “I suppose. I’m just a bit stressed that’s all.” “Can’t think why,” said Oliver. Zoe smiled at her husband. Not everyone appreciated his dry humour or their husband and wife repartee. But she loved his confident warmth. He was just what she and Amy needed at this time. He smiled back. Zoe gazed around the campsite in what had once been their living room. As Arctic travellers they were good at making the best of things, and they had the advantage of owning some serious kit, but Zoe realized that this was arrangement could not be sustained. She spoke with the authority of someone who had made a decision.

“Listen, you two. I need to say something. We’re not living like this. We’re going back to Isaac Newton today. The university might have some power on and somewhere for us to stay.” “They said all their accommodation was full, if you remember,” said Amy. “That’s why we came here.” “Then we’ll sleep on the office floor,” said Zoe. “At least we can do some work and get some food. Our leftover packs of rations have now gone and I don’t know where to get anything else.” “But what about Lawrence?” said Amy. “We’ll stop off at that café we went to the other day and leave word where we are. It seems to be the main meeting place in this community. There is a notice board and the owner was helpful. And we need some breakfast. There’s nothing left here.” “Not even some porridge?” said Oliver, hoping there was a sachet or two left. “No,” said Zoe. “And the croissants, the honey, even the full English. We don’t seem to have any left,” said Zoe with biting sarcasm. *** They gathered up as much stuff as they could carry and headed off towards the Gallery Cafe carrying their rifles. “We could tell Andy Balham if we see him that he and his friend can stay at the house after all, if you like,” said Zoe.

“Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have someone staying there. And they did say they were desperate,” said Oliver. Amy was still very quiet. She felt helpless. At the Gallery, the owner had managed to get a pack of oatmeal from the army convoy. He made a large pan of it with water and a tin of evaporated milk. He ladled out the hot concoction to anyone who came in without asking. Everyone was hungry. Everyone sat down, hunched and grateful, without a word. Oliver said to him, “You deserve a medal for what you’ve done here.” The man nodded. He didn’t get much appreciation nowadays. “If you see that builder chap, tell him to go to our place if he still needs anywhere to stay. And, we are going to the university. If – um, “Emma,” filled in Amy. “Yes Emma. If she comes back here with a guy called Hewitt, could you let them know that we have gone to the Isaac Newton College?” “I can do that,” said the man. *** Meanwhile, Emma Stamford had left Thameside power station, together with Jack Ellis, Hewitt, Major Letworth and the two soldiers on their quest to find Carol. They got a lift with an army truck for the first few miles but after that they had to go on

foot. It was hard going over the uneven terrain. As they got further into town they were constantly approached by groups of people wanting to know if they had any supplies. Major Letworth noted how the friendly smiles soon turned to menace when he told them they had nothing. Once or twice they got jostled. “We’re attracting attention in these uniforms,” said the major. I thought it might help but it’s the other way round.” “Tell them there’s a truck following,” said Hewitt. “It will buy us some time and avoid them being disappointed.” “Good idea,” said Letworth. They weaved along the suburban streets, Hewitt leading the way. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” said Emma. “I studied the map before we set off. We’re fine.” Emma just hoped Hewitt’s memory was as good as he claimed, but as they neared Emma’s house the streets began to look familiar and she relaxed a little. “Lawrence,” she said. “I wonder if we should go to the Gallery Café first to check things out. I’m nervous about going straight to my house just in case those people are still there. It could be

dangerous, even with the support we have.” “I don’t think so,” said Hewitt, testily. “We need to find Carol as quickly as we can. The major will see we’re alright.” “I agree,” said Jack. “But they always know what’s going on there – at the café – it might be wise.” Emma persisted. “And have a half hour detour when I’m already exhausted. I really don’t think it’s a good idea.” “What’s the problem?” said Letworth, butting in. “Emma wants to go to one of her old haunts called the Gallery Café to check out the situation. I think we should go straight to Purbeck Road and see if Carol is there first,” said Hewitt. “But it’s not that far to the cafe,” said Emma. “Far enough in these conditions,” said Hewitt. “The chances are it won’t still be open, Emma,” said the major. “But if it is they could give us the low-down. And we might be able to get something to eat or drink. I’m all in.” Emma was determined but knew that no-one else agreed. The squaddies looked exasperated. Everyone looked to Letworth to decide. He couldn’t see why the diversion mattered. It wouldn’t cost them much time and the thought of a hot drink was very appealing if by no means certain. “We’ll go to this café,” he said. ““I’m sure your

friend will be alright for another few minutes.” Hewitt was annoyed. “Well I’m not going” Everyone looked at him. “I’ll see you at Purbeck Road.” Emma felt upset. Now Hewitt would be going into her old house alone. The major stepped in. “You’ll come with us,” he said decisively. If Hewitt was tempted to walk away, he thought better of it. Hewitt demurred. He’d no choice. They all trudged off towards the café. Emma felt no sense of triumph. She had thought that over the last year she had become more self-reliant, more confident, why then was she such a poor winner? The Gallery Café was still there but in a sorry state. They couldn’t even tell if it was open at first. The windows were dark and there was no-one about. Major Letworth strode up to the door and pushed it open, pausing for a moment before venturing in. Then a familiar-sounding voice called out, “Who the hell’s left the door open? It’s bloody freezing enough in here as it is!” Hewitt stopped dead and his mouth literally dropped open in surprise. “Oliver?” he shouted back. “It can’t be!” Oliver shot out of his chair and over to the door. His eyes stared in disbelief. “Good God it’s you! It really is! You’d better get

yourselves in here before we all die of cold.” Oliver gave his friend a bear hug. “Lawrence, am I pleased to see you!” They trooped in. Zoe and Amy were sitting at the table at the far end of the café. They looked up when they heard the commotion. Amy spotted Hewitt from across the room. A pulse of adrenalin pumped through her body. She caught her breath, “Lawrence!” was all she could say. He raced over into her arms, not knowing if he said anything. He held her tight; she held him back, kissing him several times and asking him repeatedly if he was alright. “I take it he knows this lady,” said Letworth, drily. “Good thing we dropped by,” said Emma. *** When Carol woke up in the basement at Emma’s house, vaguely aware that it was day time, she slowly got up into a sitting position. It was a day that she had never expected to see. She ached all over; her joints stiff, her muscles cold. She listened intently but could hear nothing. Andy, if he were to come back should have been back by now. If he’d been out all night there was little chance of him surviving. She looked around her certain that this would be her last day, too. She ached with sadness. For the moment she decided to keep quiet and wait. In her mind she went over the possible

scenarios. She could wait for Lenno to reappear and hope he wouldn’t harm her after all. Andy might even get back with some food. Time drifted by; it was impossible to tell how much. Bored, Carol got up once more and struggled to her feet. She thought it worth one last chance to try to escape. She found a stick and tried to use it as a lever to shift one of the bookcases. It broke. She went dizzy with the effort. It was hopeless. She then went back up the basement steps and tried the door. It was bolted. She needed a drink. She sat down on the floor and once more started to drift off into a troubled doze before waking up with a start on hearing a noise above her. A door banged. She listened to see if it was Andy but there were no voices. Quiet. Then footsteps. Then she heard the door above her open. As she made out Lenno’s lean and desperate form in the gloom she had no doubt that he was alone. Carol’s heart thumped in her chest. “Where’s Andy?” she said, her voice shaking. “Who knows?” said Lenno, his eyes blank. His gamble to get Andy to get them some food hadn’t worked. He grabbed her coat with his fists and pushed her hard against the wall. The blow echoed through her body with a dull pain. She hadn’t the strength or the will to struggle. He hit her again a couple of times

and she sank down. He hadn’t the strength to go on. He let her slip to the floor with a cruel jolt. He thought she was finished and left her there. He hurried away, up the steps and out of the basement, leaving Purbeck Road without a look back. He walked; the only thing on his mind was to get something to eat. The cold whipped around his thin body. Lenno didn’t give Carol a second thought as he slunk along the road. He didn’t see the dogs prowling on the corner, suddenly alert at his approach. One of them got up and pricked his ears at the sound of human footfall. The others then fell in behind, sniffing and circling. Then one whimpered and Lenno looked up just in time to see the pack heading straight for him. *** When Carol opened her eyes again her head ached. Her back had gone numb from the blow. She felt her face swell where another one had landed. She found it hard to breathe in as a pain tore through her ribs. Her dry mouth craved a drink of water. She drifted in and out of consciousness unable to get up. When Emma reached Purbeck Road and saw her house for the first time in weeks she almost broke down. Jack put his hand on her arm but said nothing. She didn’t know what to think. It was her home. But now it was violated and wasn’t welcoming. Jack Ellis was nervous. All he wanted

to do was to get them both out of there. He dreaded Emma deciding to stay. “It looks empty,” was all she managed to say. “Let’s take a look,” said Zoe. “I hope some of my things are still there,” said Emma. They crept inside, Zoe covering her with her rifle. “It looks like Carol and Andy have long gone,” continued Emma. “I do hope so. I hope they are in a shelter somewhere. It’s freezing here – there’s no sign of a fire.” The major went upstairs with Lawrence Hewitt and Oliver. Amy followed and searched the back bedrooms while her husband covered the front. The major stood at the top of the stairs, alert for signs of trouble. Jack Ellis went out through the back with the two soldiers. He searched while they kept a lookout. There were no fresh tracks. Nothing. They went back inside. They all met up in the front room. Emma was pale and tried to hold back some tears. It was weird how her stuff now looked so utterly familiar and alien at the same time. Jack gave her a quick hug. She looked over at the fireside chair and tried to imagine Bill sitting there like he used to but the image wouldn’t take shape in her mind. Jack watched her, “I can guess what you’re thinking,” he said. She stood there some time. It was hard to be back. “We need to look for any clues as to where Carol

might be. They might have left a note – or something that we could follow up,” said Emma at last. “Yes, everyone,” said the major. Take a good look around.” They did, and found nothing. Carol had pulled herself up to a sitting position when she heard voices and the creak of footsteps above her. The sounds were very muffled in the old house and she couldn’t make out who it might be. It could be help; or it could be more trouble. She didn’t know what to do, so she kept quiet. “I think we’re all done here,” said Major Letworth eventually. “So what do we do now?” said Hewitt. “Get back to HQ at Thameside. We get the power back on, try to get more food shipped in and wait for the weather to improve.” It all sounded so simple. “There’s nothing more we can do here, Emma,” said Zoe, kindly but firm. “I guess your friend has moved on. Okay guys!” said Zoe, looking around the room. “Let’s get our stuff together and get out of here.” Everyone moved towards the door, eager to go – except Emma. “Just a minute,” she said. Jack sighed his impatience. “I’d just like to go to my old office and retrieve a

camera. It cost me a lot of money and it might still be okay.” “Hurry up,” said the major. “Where is this office of yours? I thought we’d searched everywhere.” “It’s down in the basement,” said Emma. “I won’t be long.” She walked over to the door and slid back the bolt. “We’re coming too,” said the two soldiers. Emma peered into the semi-darkness of the basement. It smelt stale. She walked down the familiar steps slowly, then at the bottom one of the soldiers pushed ahead of her and looked around to see if it was safe to proceed. When Carol heard someone coming down she shrank inside herself, terrified that it was Lenno coming to finish her off. Or someone else, just as dangerous. She tried to move and scuffed her foot on the floor. Quickly the first soldier raised his weapon in the direction of the noise. “Who’s there?” he shouted. There was no reply. Carol didn’t recognise the voice. “Answer or I’ll fire!” he shouted. He was about to squeeze the trigger when Emma saw the shape of a figure on the floor. “No! Wait!” she screamed. The gun went off anyway but missed its target. At the commotion, the others came running down the steps.

Carol screamed, “No please, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Please!” “Carol?” said Emma, running over to see if it could be true. “Emma! Emma! Thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness it’s you!” And she fell sobbing into her friend’s arms. Somehow they got her up the steps and into the light. Zoe rushed forward to help the stricken woman who appeared before them. Jack Ellis strode forward to grab Emma as she reappeared. “You okay, darling?” he said. “When I heard the shots...” “Jack, we found Carol.” It didn’t register for a moment, what she was saying. He looked around then he looked again at the person they brought up from the cellar. His hand went to his mouth and he turned white with shock. The Carol he had known was intelligent, warm, funny and self-possessed. She was stylish in a way that reminded him of many of the American women he had met while in New York. He hardly recognised the bruised, emaciated figure before him, her clothes filthy; her face tear-stained. Her eyes were full of fear; her spirit broken. “My God, Carol!” he said in a hoarse whisper. She looked away, ashamed to be the person she had become. To his credit, Jack overcame his feelings and held her close, pressing her head gently against

his shoulder. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. We’ve got you now. Thanks to Emma. We’ll take care of you now.” Amy stepped in. She saw to Carol’s injuries as best as she could. She found her a drink and gave her some pain killers. “You came back,” said Carol to Jack Ellis. He was looking at Emma when he replied. “I had to. Simple as that.” Carol smiled weakly. “I knew you would.” Major Letworth interrupted. “We should be getting back to Thameside.” “But Carol can’t walk there. She’s not strong enough,” said Amy. The major conceded the point. “I’ll try to sort something out,” he said striding into the living room punching at his phone. Just then something happened which took them all unawares. The light changed. Hewitt noticed it first coming from the dull hallway. Zoe and Oliver pulled open the thick, heavy curtains in the living room. An old duvet was pinned to the window frame and had been there for over a year to keep out the bitter cold. Oliver lifted it away from the window. Yellow light filled the room in an instant. He tore down the quilt and threw it on the sofa. At once the dead room danced into life. They rushed outside. A crack of blue sky

appeared as the grey cloud cover thinned and broke into gossamer streaks. The white light on the packed ice was dazzling in its intensity. The air at last felt warm. A wet sheen began to form over the snow cover as the surface started to melt. Emma shouted, “It’s over!” The two soldiers whooped and shouted in the street, letting off a couple of rounds in their excitement and bringing everyone out to see what was going on. The party atmosphere spread, driving out the fear and suspicion that had its grip on a miserable and helpless population. “Oliver, we need to get to work as soon as possible,” said Zoe. “It’s all happening around us.” “I agree, darling. We’ll make our own way to Isaac Newton right now, what do you say?” said Oliver. Amy and Hewitt agreed straightaway. “We can’t do any more here,” said Hewitt. “That alright Major Letworth?” “No problem,” said the major. *** An hour later they were ready to go. Zoe, Oliver and Amy and Lawrence Hewitt said their goodbyes to Emma and the rest and set off on foot to their university, promising to keep in touch. Emma was still worried about Carol. She didn’t look in good shape.

“Major,” she said quietly. “What are we going to do? I know things are looking up, but it could be days before Carol is strong enough to walk with us – and there’s no food here. She’s starving.” “Don’t worry, Emma. It’s all in hand,” he said briskly. Emma anxiously watched over her friend while she dozed under the effect of the painkillers. Jack used the time to close the house up securely, knowing that they would soon have to leave. He didn’t relish the walk back to Thameside. It was then he heard the low whooshing pulse of a helicopter flying overhead. “It could be the police,” said Emma. “More like Enlecco, taking over where it left off,” said Jack, cynically. “You’re both wrong, it’s our lift!” said the Major, now jubilant. Emma and Jack rushed outside to see a helicopter so low they thought it must be in trouble. It put down in the street. They could see Carly and Chris grinning at them from the cockpit. “You made it!” said Letworth rushing over to greet them. A few minutes later they were taking off from a suburban street, swooping above the glistening rooftops as they made their way to Thameside. Already they could tell that everything looked different. People were out in the streets. Some

traffic had started to move. Lights were coming on in public buildings. It was like an awakening after a long hibernation. At Thameside, Major Letworth jumped out of the helicopter to take up his task of overseeing the recovery in his sector. An ambulance was waiting in the car park where they landed. “Your friend needs to be in hospital,” he said decisively. “She may have internal injuries, and she needs proper care while she recovers so I’m sending her to the military hospital for now.” “What about us?” said Emma. “Where do we go now?” “Carly’s got a consignment of goods in Bristol to organise, ready to take up north. I thought while you are there in Bristol, you could get a passage to New York. I hear that the Antonia is due to sail any day.” “Major, that sounds like a plan,” said Jack Ellis, beaming. “You coming, Emma?” he added. “You bet I am!” said Emma. Major held out his hand to Jack and wished him all the best. He then did the same to Emma which she ignored. Instead she kissed him on the cheek and gave him a spontaneous hug. “Oh,” he said, and blushed slightly. “Thank you,” was all she could think of to say. A couple of minutes later they took off, swooping forwards into the westerly sky. The vivid

orange and purple streaks of thin cloud framed the dipping sun as the most spectacular sunset briefly filled the evening with colour. Warm winds were now blowing over the snowfields, which had had their time and would soon be starting to melt. The sky had never looked so blue or the light so clear. Jack put his hand on Emma’s. It was August. Deep snow lay in every field. Towns and cities were stranded as the arteries of the modern world; the trains and roads were still blocked and would be for some time. Even a rapid melt would need weeks to make an impact on the deepest drifts. Cold earth would need a long time to warm up sufficiently to grow crops once more. The sea was still thick with ice which could hold the temperature down for some time. The albedo effect of the lying snow would deflect much of the lifegiving heat straight back into space. Despite the euphoria of knowing that the Ash had gone, they were not out of the woods yet. They needed weeks of warm south-westerlies to hasten the thaw before another winter set in. It would take years to rebuild the broken infrastructure of the UK. Emma looked at Jack and smiled. She could already feel the New York sun on her face. “Suddenly, I don’t feel sad to be leaving,” said Emma. Jack was surprised. “You don’t?” he said.

“No,” she said, firmly. “I don’t. I’ve done enough. I’m tired. Someone else can take over from now on.” Jack felt a wave of contentment wash over him. Then Emma took her hand from his and pointed urgently. “Look!” she said, leaning forwards to peer out of the window. “I can see the sea.”

AFTERWORD It took five years for the melting snow to disappear from every corner, valley and north-facing slope of the UK. During that time the cool, short summers struggled into life, hampered by a combination of the albedo effect and freezing seas. Only gradually did the icebergs retreat northwards and for many long months Zoe Carter and her colleagues saw their computer models predict a descent into the next ice-age. Then, meteorologically, there was a stroke of luck. A positive North Atlantic Oscillation began to build towards the end of the fourth year, bringing strong winds which sucked warm air from the oceans, heating the land with its life-giving caress. The countryside turned from white to brown. Bare and desolate, it slowly began to turn green again. Young, vigorous plants burst from seeds which had been hibernating in the cold dead soil. New trees sprouted from the debris of fallen forests. Crops were sown once more and animals were returned to the fields. The cities had it harder. The lawlessness never went away. Without structured employment, gang warfare became the norm. Disease raged in the

insanitary conditions. Within seven years a generation had grown up without learning the skills taken for granted in a modern society; how to run a home, go to work, clean, cook, pay bills. They said five million had died. Many more had emigrated. Mainly the strong had gone, leaving the elderly, the poor and the very young to fight it out. During the Recovery, as those years were known, the country was governed from regional head-quarters based at the main power stations under the auspices of the National Emergency Committee. Major Letworth had made his name and became a member of the NEC. Then when civilian government returned he became an MP. Carol Ashton spent a month in the military hospital before joining Emma and Jack Ellis in New York in time for their wedding. She took to the Big Apple like a duck to water. She got a job and found a place to live declaring that she was never going back to the UK. She never found out what happened to Andy. Emma only went back to Purbeck Road once. She had the house cleared, made secure and then put it on the market. Soon afterwards she drove up to Millcott B with Jack. As they approached the complex they saw that the vast plant was pouring out energy. There was activity everywhere and no shortage of investment now that the government subsidies were

pouring in. Massive orange and black Enlecco posters festooned the site declaring that they were Leading the Recovery. Emma felt only dismay when she looked up and saw the smiling faces in hard hats beaming down from the hoardings. She wondered if there was any such thing as the truth anymore. Katla had gone quiet. Where the mountain had been, there were now vast fields of rubble and ash. It would remain dormant for maybe another eighty years – maybe more after such a major eruption. A few Icelanders had resettled the coast, confident that one day they would be farming their land again and painting their houses. Where Katla had once stood, already a new mountain was starting to take shape, metre by metre, rising from the ash. The broken landscape was already beginning to heal; it was the broken lives which would take much longer.

Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication CONTENTS FOREWORD Chapter 1: London, Spring Chapter 2: Greenland Chapter 3: Millcott B Power Station Chapter 4: London Chapter 5: London Chapter 6: London Chapter 7: London, Summer Chapter 8: Iceland Chapter 9: London Chapter 10: London Chapter 11 Chapter 12: Millcott B Chapter 13: London Chapter 14: London Chapter 15 Chapter 16: London Chapter 17: London Chapter 18: Calais Chapter 19: London, Autumn Chapter 20 Chapter 21: Kent

Chapter 22: London Chapter 23: East Millcott, Winter Chapter 24: New York Chapter 25: East Millcott Chapter 26: London Chapter 27: London Chapter 28: On The Road Chapter 29: Millcott B Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32: Bristol Chapter 33: Millcott B, The Polar Vortex Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36: London Chapter 37: Millcott B Chapter 38: London Chapter 39 Chapter 40: Millcott B Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43: Millcott B Chapter 44: London AFTERWORD