Come Tomorrow – the 2nd story in the “Three in the Morning” collection

Come Tomorrow

Have you ever been frightened? I don’t mean nervous I mean that cold, empty dread that you feel when they tell you that you might have cancer. Wendy is being sick again but, so far, I feel normal. I have done my best to make the cottage airtight by using anything that comes to hand to seal the windows and doors. Supermarket carrier bags have featured heavily. We are in what is known technically, I believe, as a Hot Zone. We should be relocating; “Crisis Relocating” as the Americans call it, but there is nowhere to relocate to. The power went off two days ago and the food in the freezer is spoiling rapidly. We have a supply of tinned food but what happens when it is exhausted? Without power there is no news via the TV and the batteries in the radio have failed. We have seen no one in our lane since the two Police Officers knocked on our door several days ago. Where are these people getting these things? Are they homemade? Are they being smuggled in from some rogue state? Why didn’t our Security Services give any warning?

After the Portsmouth Incident people were frightened, terrified, but they believed it to be a one off “Spectacular”, like Nine Eleven – although of course that was a pin prick by comparison. The plumes, carried by the prevailing wind, were moving away from the UK and, having survived the attack, people believed that the immediate danger had passed. All that changed with Bristol. Politians, by this time safely in their bunkers, appealed for calm. The Queen announced her intention of staying in Buckingham Palace. Nothing quelled the rising panic. As someone involved in Emergency Planning at a Local Government level I knew that population control, imposed by hard line Police units such as the Tactical Support Group, was only hours away. The Government could not risk the fleeing populace descending like locusts on rural areas and so a ring of steel would be placed around major towns and cities. The time to go was now. Without advising our respective employers Wendy and I packed our ageing but reliable diesel estate car. We do not have children or pets. What we do have is a holiday cottage in Scotland a few miles south of Inverness. As we set off from our London Borough of Hounslow semi-detached house in the early evening traffic was noticeably heavier, with many loaded vehicles evident. Wendy was plotting a route keeping us away from major urban areas but we were roughly level with Manchester when we saw a bright white light in the night sky and lost the car radio. Seconds later we heard the dreadful prolonged thunder. Because our old car has no computer or transistors the pulse that killed the radio did not affect our ignition system but many newer cars stalled immediately leaving their occupants stranded. I had to weave through groups of desperate people on the carriageway in order to keep moving. What could I do? To stop would mean death. The memory of those minutes will remain with me for whatever time I have left.

We bought our little cottage several years ago and have never regretted the purchase. We spend a lot of our spare time here, walking in the beautiful countryside. It nestles against the side of a hill at the end of a narrow lane off what passes for a main road round here and we rarely have visitors. Still shocked and somewhat ashamed by my response to the events on the motorway the previous night we were attempting to summon up an appetite for some form of breakfast when there was a peremptory hammering at the front door. I opened it to find two Police Officers on the doorstep. They were in the normal flat cap and blue sweater uniform but I noticed that they were both wearing sidearms. They were advising all residents that there was to be a meeting in the local village hall that evening and it was strongly suggested that we attend. Apparently a representative of the newly appointed Regional Commissioner was going address the gathering. Having delivered their message they climbed back into their Land Rover and departed. I knew that in times of emergency such as this the UK is divided into self-governing regions and a Regional Commissioner with, literally, the power of life and death is appointed. This Supreme Being is normally a Cabinet Minister but may be just a high ranking Local Government Officer. I wondered who it was in this case.

That evening, in order to conserve the fuel in the tank of the car, we walked to the meeting in the village hall. We were both nervous, wondering about our reception by the locals but everyone appeared friendly. Just before the appointed hour two Range Rovers roared onto the hall forecourt and several tough looking, sweatshirt and jeans clad young men piled out. They were all wearing olive drab tactical vests and carrying assault rifles. When they were certain that none of villagers posed a threat they formed a hollow V and ushered the “Representative”, a rather weedy looking individual in a dark suit, into the hall. I immediately pegged him as a bureaucrat puffed up with the importance of his new position. As Wendy and I stood at the back of the throng trying to be inconspicuous he took the stage and tapped the microphone, while the tough young men fanned out on either side of him and scanned the crowd. He wished us all a Good Evening in a voice that matched his appearance and launched into what was obviously a prepared speech. Emergency Powers had been invoked; movement was limited to essential journeys. Rationing was in force. Hoarding, and here some of the crowd shifted uneasily, would be punished harshly. There had been no attacks on Scottish soil and, given that the prevailing wind was from the north, the attacks in the north of England posed no immediate threat. People were advised to remain in doors and listen to their radios. Scotland had closed the border with England and no refugees were being accepted. My stomach dropped, I tensed and Wendy gripped my hand so hard that her nails dug into my skin. We both had visions of being put back across the border into the devastation we had so narrowly escaped. Those already here with residences were welcome. We sagged with relief and a few people gave us sympathetic glances. Then the last item. In order to minimise the chance of attack members of the ethnic groups believed responsible for the atrocities were being rounded up and put across the border into England by helicopter, being left at a convenient point. It was normally convenient to leave them in the Hot Zone just south of Newcastle. Those who resisted were being dealt with by other means. Some of the tough young men smiled. Two or three of the audience applauded. His speech completed he bade us Goodnight without asking for questions and swept out to his transport in a tide of tough young men. We stayed in the hall for a while, digesting and discussing the situation. Most people were in a state of shock brought about by the suddenness of events and were exhibiting a sort of Zombielike acceptance of everything the representative had said. Eventually Wendy and I started to make our way back to our cottage. It was a clear night but, as we reached the entrance to our lane, lightning flared from Inverness to the north and then the thunder rolled over us. The wind was still from the north.

The End