Invasion (36 page)

When Khan woke, the afternoon sun was
streaming through the bedroom window, its warm bars cutting across the duvet he was curled under. It took a few confused moments to work out where he was, and then the events of the previous day flooded his mind, like an inrushing tide.

He rubbed his eyes and snatched his watch from the bedside table; almost five in the afternoon. He sat up, kicking off the covers. The room was small but cosy – a large bed, tucked under the eaves of a sloping roof, heavy wooden furniture around the walls, a well-appointed en-suite bathroom. The TV was still out, but the radio channels were broadcasting, playing that endlessly looping emergency message.

Khan snapped the TV off and took a shower. As the lukewarm jets drummed his scalp, he wondered if the general population was heeding those warnings. They’d seen people outside, and just a few cars during their journey from London, but that was the suburbs. How would the inner cities react to being confined to their homes? Had they even heard the broadcast? And what would happen when they did? He thought back to the previous night when the battle had erupted on Kew Bridge. No doubt there’d be many more disturbances like that one.

He found clean clothes hanging outside his room
;
Rob’s, no doubt, and the yellow post-it note stuck to the cellophane confirmed it. He dressed quickly in white shirt and jeans, eager to keep moving, to stay ahead of the invaders. He stood by the window as he rolled up the sleeves, allowing the warm country air to swirl around the room. The farm itself was certainly everything that Alex had promised it would be.

When they’d arrived that morning, the small cluster of buildings had been impossible to see from the road, even from their elevated position in the Range Rover. The lane that ran past the property was narrow, with steep-sided banks of tall grass on either side. As they purred along, Alex had pointed to a wooden post leaning at a drunken angle at the side of the road. The sign read:
Meadow Farm
– Bed & Breakfast
. They’d turned onto a gravel track that meandered uphill for a short distance before cutting through a wild flower field. Khan spun around in his seat. From here, the ground was quite elevated and he saw the village of South Lockeridge some distance away. They’d done the right thing by circumnavigating the hamlet. There
was no point in announcing their arrival just yet.

The gravel track continued through a small copse and then the farm was in front of them. The Range Rover crunched to a stop, scattering a few protesting geese in the process. They climbed out and Khan’s keen eye surveyed his new surroundings. Clearly it wasn’t a real working farm, more like a smallholding in a
decent plot of land. There were three buildings in all, arranged
around a circular courtyard with a small island of grass at its centre, where the scattered geese had regrouped and eyed the newcomers with suspicion.

The main house stood before them, the solar panels arrayed
across its roof glinting in the morning sun. There was a converted barn at a right angle to the main house and Khan assumed that was the B&B accommodation. Directly opposite the main house was a large corrugated iron shed, under which was parked a Land Rover and a squat-looking quad bike. There were sacks of grain there too, plus tools and a tidy stack of firewood piled against the rust-streaked walls.

Behind the shed loomed a wind turbine, the large propeller blades spinning lazily in the morning breeze. Off to the side of the main house was a well-populated chicken pen, while the apple orchard beyond stretched towards a distant grey stone boundary wall. The whole place seemed quite remote and very secluded. Khan felt some of the tension leaking from his system.

Rob and Helen came outside to greet them, and Khan noted the physical resemblance between Alex and his clearly older brother. The looks on their faces, especially Rob’s wife, quickly turned from surprise to apprehension when they saw the weapons that both men unloaded from the Range Rover. Alex had been quick to placate them. He made the necessary introductions
and Rob ushered them all inside.

It was cool and dark in the farmhouse kitchen, the ceiling crossed with low beams, the floor covered with smooth stone slabs. A large oak dining table took up most of the room, backing onto a set of French doors and the garden beyond, where a line of washing rippled before a warm breeze. The smell of coffee and toast lingered on the air and Khan’s stomach rumbled
noisily.

Rob wanted the weapons placed out of sight and Alex agreed. Khan was more reluctant until Alex pointed towards the French doors. Beyond the patio, in the orchard behind the house, a small boy, legs dangling through a rubber tyre, swung from the branch of a tree, while an older girl pushed him back and forth. Khan handed over the weapon.

‘I’ve got a shotgun myself,’ Rob explained, watching Alex hang the rifles behind
the cellar door, ‘but those things are a bit frightening. I don’t want the kids upset.’

‘Fair enough,’ agreed Khan.

Helen introduced the two children who came running in from outside. Six-year-old Hugo and Daisy, eight, were overjoyed to see their uncle. Alex scooped them up in his arms and Khan noted Kirsty’s
approving gaze. The children squealed with delight until Helen shooed them back outside to play. She made a pot of tea and a hearty breakfast of fresh bacon, eggs and homemade
bread. Khan declined the bacon, but Alex and Kirsty wolfed down everything that was put in front of them. When they’d finished, the table was cleared and more tea poured.

‘So,’ Rob began, settling into a chair next to his wife, ‘why don’t you tell us what’s going on?’

For the next hour the three travellers relayed their experiences to an increasingly frightened Rob and Helen. When they’d
finished the couple remained silent, their hands clasped tightly together. Helen was the first to react. She let go of her husband’s hand and crossed to the French doors, wrapping her arms around her as if she were cold. Outside, the children played amongst the apple trees behind the house. She watched them for a moment and turned to Alex.

‘What will happen now?’

Alex shrugged. ‘Truth is we don’t know, right Dan?’

Khan nodded. ‘Look, I won’t bullshit either of you. In my opinion, things will get worse. The Arabians are here in force, and they mean to stay. This is an ideological struggle we’re talking about here. Muslim armies have invaded Europe dozens of times over the centuries. This
is just another attempt, only this time it may well succeed. And if they’ve got this far, then the rest of Europe must be suffering the same fate too. As far as we can tell, there’s been no response from our own armed forces and I doubt very much that anyone else is coming to our rescue. When we left London the power was still out-’

‘It’s out here too,’ Rob confirmed.

‘Right. No gas either, and water supplies have been shut off. In my view, that’s where the immediate danger lies. If the situation remains the same for much longer things will become desperate. People in the cities will begin to starve and many will scatter into the surrounding countryside. There’ll be vandalism, looting, certainly violence. And you can forget about the police.’

‘We don’t know that,’ Alex argued, glancing at his brother. ‘In fact, we don’t know anything right now.’

Khan could see that he was just trying to soften the blow, to protect his family from the realities of the crisis. He saw Helen’s face, a pale face, etched with fear. Beyond the window the children still played, oblivious to the dangers that loomed over the horizon. If the tables were turned, Khan would want to know every detail, every potential danger his family faced, whether real or imagined. And plan for them.

‘What about Kew Bridge?’ he countered. ‘C’mon Alex, you’ve seen it for yourself. You know what people are capable of in desperate times.’ He turned back to Rob. ‘Look, I’ve had some exposure to this kind of thing during my time with the Security Services. I’ve been involved in a few briefings, taken part in a couple of exercises. I’m talking about highly restricted
stuff, national emergencies, major public disorder scenarios, threats to public health. And the one thing the analysts and the planners are sure of is this; civilised society exists only because a vast majority of the general population have neither the need
nor the compulsion to break the laws of the land, the same laws that encourage most of us to go to work, pay our bills and treat our fellow citizens with a degree of civility. Now, if those conditions didn’t exist, if the legal constraints were removed and people were faced with the prospect of a lawless society, then their behaviour would change accordingly. The lack of food and water is the ultimate motivator and society will revert to the survival of the fittest. Whatever plans the Arabians have for us, I think we’ll start to see a general breakdown in law and order as the days go by, replaced by some sort of martial law. Towns and cities will be first. People will try to escape the chaos, head for the countryside. And they’ll need food and water. Farms have both. Farms like this one.’

A gentle breeze blew through the open doors, lifting the curtains. The room filled with the sounds of the farm, the children’s squeals of laughter, the industrious murmur of chickens, the
songbirds
that nested in the orchard trees. It was peaceful, idyllic
,
yet it offered no comfort to any of them. The world had suddenly changed, the air itself tainted with fear.

‘I’m sorry,’ Khan said, ‘but you need to know what you’re facing.’

‘I appreciate the honesty,’ a sober-faced Rob replied, getting to his feet. ‘I think you’re right, about the potential dangers. The village needs to be told.’ He plucked a set of keys from his pocket and headed towards the door. ‘I’m going to take a run down there now, speak to someone from the Parish Council.’

Helen reached for his hand, her chair scraping across the stone tiles. ‘Wait, Rob. It might not be safe.’

‘We’re okay for now, right Dan? Besides, the rest of the village has a right to know.’

Khan pushed his chair back. ‘Don’t worry, Helen. I’ll go with him.’

‘Good idea,’ Rob said. ‘I might have trouble convincing them.’ Helen reluctantly dropped her hand. ‘Don’t be long,’ she ordered.

Outside, Rob
started up
the
Land Rover
and Khan hopped into the passenger seat. He felt naked without the gun, but right now the chance of any contact with Arabian soldiers or screaming mobs seemed pretty remote. And there was more; he needed to keep moving, and if he got Rob and the villagers on side he might be able to scrounge a few supplies off them before making the journey to the coast. If he waited, if the noose tightened and people began to panic, there was every possibility he could become a target himself. So, the sooner he helped out, the better his chances.

Rob crunched the vehicle into gear and sped off, scattering the geese once again.

Khan tucked the shirt into his jeans, checked the rifle hidden beneath the bed, and headed downstairs. It had been a long day but the night ahead would be a long one, too. Thankfully the Parish Council, or the few members that Rob had managed to muster earlier that morning, had taken the news of the invasion
as well as could be expected. Khan wasn’t surprised. Isolated communities
often felt little or no connection with the wider world and that could work in the village’s favour. Khan had told them so, encouraging them to remain that way, for their own safety. The advice had earned him a jerry can of fuel. What he had planned for the meeting tonight should earn him the remainder of the supplies he needed to get to the coast.

Outside the geese had settled down for the day, gathered together on their grass island, grooming their feathers and watching the younger chicks
as they pecked at the ground. Khan wandered over to the shed where the Range Rover had been parked. With the aid of a plastic funnel, he emptied the jerry can of fuel into the tank. The vehicle was unlocked, the key still in the ignition, and Khan climbed in, powering up the electronics and paying careful attention to the fuel state.

Even after topping up with the jerry can, the needle still hovered
just below the half mark. According to the computer, the estimated fuel range was seventy-nine miles. The
Satnav
mapped the distance to the coast at sixty-six miles. Factoring in unscheduled detours and emergencies, he’d need a lot more fuel. On the floor behind the driver’s seat was a road map of Britain and Khan spread it on the hood of the vehicle. He was plotting alternative routes south when he heard the crunch of feet on gravel behind him. He turned to see Alex and Kirsty approaching.

‘Afternoon,
folks,’ he smiled, noting their entwined fingers. Well, if they weren’t a couple before last night they certainly were now.

‘Sleep well?’ Alex asked.

‘Like a log. You?’ He saw the stolen glance, noted the reticent smiles. ‘Don’t answer that,’ he chuckled. Kirsty blushed and Khan quickly changed the subject.

‘Well, you were right about this place, Alex. Almost perfect.’

‘I walked the boundary earlier. The field at the back of the house runs up to a small wood. From up there the ground drops away and you can see right out to the edge of Salisbury Plain. This place would be pretty hard to find unless you knew where it was.’