Keelan, his heavily tattooed hands and arms showing beneath his rolled-up sleeves, was very much a killer. The hulking fanatical bodybuilder was obsessed with lifting weights, pushing his body harder and harder, often seen showing off his bulging biceps. His first taste of prison had been at the age of seventeen. Used as a courier, he would move drugs for the older drug dealers. He quickly earned their trust, and was soon active in actually selling drugs on the street himself. Caught with a large stash of methamphetamine, also known as ice or crystal, and related drug money when he crashed a stolen car, he was put away for three years. Released after one and a half years, he was soon back inside for grievous bodily harm, after beating to a pulp a man who looked at him the wrong way in a pub. He found himself back behind bars for four more years.

  Back out again, and after a major fallout with his girlfriend, he literally crushed her windpipe with his bare hands, choking her to death. What happened next horrified even the most hardened of policemen: Keelan then went into the bedrooms of the woman’s three daughters, Nicola, Bridget and Samantha, throttling the two youngest, one after the other, before moving to Samantha’s room where he raped the nine-year-old before strangling her too. Keelan then laid his girlfriend on the bed and propped her three daughters up against the headboard with their feet resting on her body. He received a life sentence. Then, after stabbing a prisoner, he ended up in HMP Wakefield’s Close Supervision Centre in F-Wing.

  Salt’s background was not dissimilar from Keelan’s, although he was much smarter than the big man. His immature fifteen-year-old girlfriend Lorraine also came from a dysfunctional family. Salt was twenty-one at the time, Right from the start, they both lived in a world where science fiction and fantasy movies became their lifeblood. They were both infatuated with each other, planning their future together — where they were going to live; the type of home they would have; even the number of children: three boys and a girl. A virgin when they met, Lorraine thought he was the only one for her. On becoming pregnant, and after a huge row with her parents who in the heat of the moment threw her out, she spent the next two nights sleeping rough in Salt’s car. During that time, they plotted the murder of her parents. Sneaking back into the house — she was still in possession of her own key — they crept up the stairs, Salt carrying an eight-inch cook’s knife. They hovered outside the main bedroom where Lorraine’s mother and father were sound asleep. Knowing that her mother was on tranquillisers and her father’s penchant for half a dozen whiskeys before he went to bed, she told Salt that they would be dead to world. That state was soon to turn into reality.

  On easing the door open, Salt hovered over the sleeping parents of Lorraine and then stabbed the couple repeatedly. At least thirty wounds were inflicted on the two bodies, with severe knife wounds to the hands and face as they tried desperately to defend themselves. The father, in a state of stupor due to the alcohol in his blood, was the first to go, an early knife wound to his jugular. He surrendered to his fate almost silently and was unconscious in a matter of minutes, dead soon after. The mother though screamed relentlessly, forcing Salt to focus his hate, via the stabbing knife, on her until she too passed into unconsciousness and eventually death. The next-door neighbours heard the screams, but it was nothing new, so they turned over and attempted to recapture their sleep, assuming it was just another row between the mother and her dysfunctional daughter.

  Lorraine and Salt left the house, Salt covered in the blood of the two he had just killed. They headed for Salt’s car. A lone policeman came across the couple and, initially thinking the blood soaked man had been injured, went to assist him. The cook’s knife struck again and again, and the police constable, too shocked to fight back, unable to call for help, fell to the ground where Lorraine joined in with Salt. Having picked up a large stone nearby, she helped to beat the policeman until he blacked out. He later died of his wounds, and the couple were caught, curled up asleep in Salt’s car, when a second policeman on patrol casually shone his torch through the window. The two lovers didn’t stir and, seeing the blood on Salt’s clothes, he called for backup before he woke them up. Arrested and tried, Salt received a prison sentence of twenty-five years and, after stabbing a fellow prisoner, ended up in a cell next to Keelan. His girlfriend Lorraine received a more lenient sentence of ten years, the courts believing her to have been under Salt’s influence.

  The bottle of whisky now down to a quarter, Milo piped up, “Where do we go from here, Stan? We need to get some more supplies and somewhere decent to hold up.”

  “Yeah,” whinged Todd. “There’s no comfort here and no bloody entertainment. We need to get some woman to play with.” A sly grin spread across his face.

  Salt looked at Keelan, and both raised their eyebrows.

  “You’ll just do as you’re fucking told, Todd,” snapped Keelan. “We need to head south, towards the Smoke,” he added, turning his gaze towards Salt and Milo.

  “The Home Counties, Stan,” suggested Salt. “The city will have been pulverised if what we’ve seen so far is anything to go by.”

  “Yeah, but we can dip into the city to stock up. Bound to be some skirt there.”

  “How many people are left, do you reckon?” asked Milo.

  “God knows,” responded Salt. “It must have been pretty bad judging by the number of people we’ve come across.”

  “Radiation sickness?” suggested Keelan.

  “Probably,” Salt answered. “And major burns, I would have thought.”

  “Wouldn’t people have hidden in bunkers and cellars?” blurted Todd.

  “What bunkers?” challenged Keelan.

  “We weren’t prepared for anything like this,” added Salt as he threw another piece of wood on the fire, the sparks jumping out causing Keelan to curse.

  “Fucking watch it Doug, you’ll set fire to us.”

  “Sorry Stan. Anyway, the Cold War was supposed to be over.”

  “You’re too smart for your own good, mate.”

  “Yeah, and what I ain’t got here,” Salt flexed his bicep, nowhere near as powerful as Keelan’s but still quite pronounced, “I make up in here.” He pointed to his head.

  “Sorry, I meant to say smart arse,” laughed Keelan. He accepted the bottle that was handed to him and finished off the last mouthful. Rubbing sleepy eyes, he lowered his head to the pillow at the end of his mattress. “I need some kip. We can worry about tomorrow in the morning. Chuck some more wood on the fire, Milo mate. But no bloody sparks.”

  Milo obeyed, placing two bits of wood carefully, which had been picked up from the grounds of the two cottages, spitting a few sparks, onto the red glowing fire.

  “Yeah, I’m busted as well.” Salt kicked off his trainers, tucked his stocking feet beneath a blanket, and also settled down on the double mattress dragged down from an upstairs bedroom.

  “Sounds good to me,” assented Milo. “I need a piss first.”

  “Go round the back of the house,” asserted Keelan. “Toilets don’t work, and the last thing we want is the prison stink in the house.”

  Milo got up to go out. Todd just rolled onto his side on his single mattress and was, like Keelan and Salt, snoring in a contented sleep within a matter of minutes. On his return, Milo took a swig of water from one of the canteens and stepped over Todd to get to his own bed space. Like the other three, he was asleep in moments.

  CHAPTER 11

  PURGATORY | GROUND ZERO +23 DAYS

  LECHLADE-ON-THAMES, GLOUCESTERSHIRE

  Tom shot up in bed, his wife quickly following. He checked his watch: it was two fifty in the morning.

  “What is it, Tom?”

  “It’s Sam. Something has disturbed him.”

  She too could now hear the deep growl coming from the throat of their collie downstairs. Tom threw his legs out of bed and hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans, followed by a sweatshirt dragged over his head and shoulders. His wife was also in the process of getting dressed, recognising the potential threat and needing to be ready for whatever might occur.

  Tom picked up his shotgun that lay on the floor next to the bed, checked that the two shells were in their respective chambers, and closed the side-by-side double barrels with a soft clunk, applying the safety immediately. He headed out of the bedroom and was met by Andrew on the long landing. He too was armed and ready. The candle on the landing, always left alight, flickered as Tom moved past it.

  “You heard it too then?”

  “Yes,” responded Tom. “We live on a farm, and it’s not like Sam to get spooked easily.”

  Sam’s growl picked up and his snarl grew stronger as they made their way down the curving stairs. Tom looked over the rail to the right and down into the hall below. The dog was not visible.

  “You take the front of the house, Andy. I’ll take the back.”

  “What about us?” asked Tom’s wife.

  Tom looked back up the stairs to see the dark shadow of his wife, backlit by the candle, with Andrew’s wife, the broader shape of Madeline, looking over her shoulder.

  “Arm yourselves. Then wait at the top of the stairs. You know what to do.”

  They had planned for a possible intrusion, knowing that there was a good chance that someone would want what they had. The two wives, Lucy and Madeline, knew what was expected of them. Tom and Andrew continued their way down the stairs. Once at the bottom, Andrew headed for the front door which was visible before they hit the bottom step, and Tom headed for the kitchen and the back door. Keeping the beam low, Tom flashed the torch across the door to the kitchen, which was half open. As he made his way through the gap, Sam ran over to him, and a quick stroke revealed the dog’s hackles were stiff. Tom crouched down next to the dog, stroking his coat, calming him down, listening. The collie licked his lips, and then peeled his mouth back over his teeth as something brushed against the outside of the back door.

  “Steady, lad, steady,” Tom whispered, straining his own ears to pick out any identifiable sounds coming from outside.

  He turned around sharply as a head torch flashed around the room, and his friend crouched down next to him. “There’s movement outside the front door.”

  “Same here. You’d best get back.”

  Andrew returned to his position at the front of the house, and Tom moved round the large kitchen table, avoiding the chairs, sidling along the still warm Aga until he was crouched at the base of the back door of the kitchen. He reassured Sam with a gentle pat on his coat to stem the grumble that slowly rose in the dog’s throat again. A thump next to the solitary kitchen window caught his attention. Glassless, but boarded up for security, it was still a weak point in the farmhouse’s defences. Tom stood up, moved and waited silently next to the window, but it went quiet again. He then heard a scuffle next to the door and changed position, moving to the door, placing his ear up against the thick oak, straining to pick out individual sounds. Whispers could be heard outside and another strange noise he couldn’t quite make out. He was sure he had heard the sound of water splashing. Someone must have knocked over a bucket.

  He reflected for a moment, and then turned to his dog. “Stay, boy, stay.”

  Sam wagged his tail, and then sat, tongue flicking as he went to lick his master’s hand. Tom left his dog and, keeping his torch low, moved as quickly as possible to the front door where he found Andrew with his ear up against the door, and dropped down next to him.

  Andy turned towards him. “Clumsy bastards, whoever they are, just knocked over a container of water. Did we have some stocks outside?”

  Tom jumped up. “Get Lucy and Madeline down here now. Get all the supplies you can gather and start moving it to the side room.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure. I need to do one last check. Now go, Andy.”

  Tom sped back to the rear door of the house to find Sam still growling and sniffing at the door. He placed his ear up against the wood again: there was a slight thump on the door and the sound of dripping water. The dog stopped sniffing and suddenly scooted backwards, wrinkling his nose as another splash of liquid hit the door, followed by a similar sound up against the boarded up window. Tom checked the window, then moved back to the door, sniffing around the gaps at the edges. Now it was his nostrils that wrinkled: a distinctive smell burnt into the receptors of his nose.

  “Petrol,” he hissed to himself. Or something similar, he thought. His mind raced. The bastards are going to burn us out!

  “Stay, boy.”

  The dog sat down obediently, and Tom raced out of the kitchen and across the main hall to the front door just as his wife came downstairs.

  “Get the children to the snug now. And move the supplies for a quick exit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just do it, Lucy, please.”

  She ran back upstairs, meeting Madeline halfway. “Grab Patrick. We need to get the kids to the back room now.”

  “What’s happening?”

  Lucy couldn’t see the fear in Madeline’s eyes, the head torch her friend was wearing blinding her slightly. But she could sense it in her friend’s voice.

  “I don’t know, but Tom’s instructions were explicit. We need to move the emergency supplies to the room as well.”

  “Oh, Lucy, are we running?” Madeline, the weaker of the two women, whimpered.

  “Perhaps. Just get Patrick, and we’ll find out when we get down there.”

  They didn’t have to go far. The two children, Mary, seven, and Patrick, thirteen, were outside their respective bedroom doors, the shuffling and disturbance outside waking them both.

  “Mum,” moaned Mary sleepily. “Why are you up?”

  “You need to get dressed now. You too, Patrick.”

  “But, Mum, I’m tired.”

  “Me too,” piped up Patrick.

  “Just do it. Get dressed now. Quickly!” snapped Lucy. “Madeline, you see to the kids and I’ll start on the provisions.”

  Her friend just stared at her, holding her dressing gown close to her chest for comfort.

  “Maddie, now!”

  Madeline snapped out of it and turned to follow the two children to ensure they dressed quickly, and then she too would need to get her own clothes sorted. Lucy, who had dressed earlier, ran back down the stairs and headed for the room next to the lounge, a room they referred to as the snug. She met her husband again on her way through the hall. Tom’s torch flashed in her eyes.

  “What’s happening, Tom?”

  “They’re dousing the house with fuel.”

  “Oh Tom, what do we do?”

  “Get out of here, that’s what.”

  Andrew joined them. “I can smell it by the front door as well. They’re not hiding the fact now. They’re slopping it on.”

  “We’ll watch the two doors while you and Maddie get everything ready. Some of the emergency bags are in the snug, as you know, but we need to shift as much food and water as we can carry. The kids will have to load up as well.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know, honey. The doors are oak, but once the fire takes hold we’ll be choking on smoke in a matter of minutes.”

  “It’ll be an inferno with the amount of fuel they’re sloshing on the doors,” added Andrew.

  They heard a thump on the front door.

  “Move now,” commanded Tom.

  While Andrew ran to the front door, Lucy headed for the snug, and Tom ran back towards the kitchen and the rear door. He got a whiff of burnt fuel as soon as he entered the kitchen. A thin film of smoke was filtering beneath the edge of the door, a tinge of burning fuel added to the mix. Sam began barking.

  “Shush, lad. Shush.”

  Tom shone his torch around the edges of the door. The trickle of smoke was steadily increasing in volume as the petrol-fuelled fire caught hold. The crackle of flames could be heard eating into the solid wooden door. Tom was confident the door would hold for at least ten minutes. But the boarded up windows were another matter. He turned left, the beam of light tracking his movement, confirming that the window frame and chipboard that had replaced the shattered windowpane were also alight. White wisps of smoke, visible in the beam, filtered through any gap it could find. Tom moved closer to the window, placing the palm of his hand parallel to the board. He could feel the heat. Soon it would burn through and smoke wouldn’t be their only enemy. The crackling of flames grew louder, and Sam began growling again. Tom patted the dog between his ears. “Come on, boy, let’s go.”

  Tom weaved around the table, the dog close at his heels, and both entered the hallway, his torch lighting up the bulky form of his friend crouched next to the front door. “It’s started,” he called.

  “Here as well, Tom. How long do you reckon we have?”

  “Ten minutes tops. Probably nearer five for the windows.”

  Andrew coughed slightly, a layer of smoke starting to weave its way around his legs, gaining height as the heated tendrils made their way towards the ceiling.

  “Wait here.” Tom ran back into the kitchen, the dog sticking to him like glue. Flames were licking around the edge of the window frame now, and there was a glowing blackened hole forming in the centre of the door. He yanked open the drawer in the side of the large kitchen table, and grabbed six tea towels.

  Returning to the hall, picking up a plastic container of water on the way, he handed a tea towel to Andrew. “Douse this with water and wrap it around your face and neck. It’s not much, but it’ll help a little.”

  “Thanks.”

  Andrew dropped his tea towel on the floor, Tom doing the same. The container of water was opened, and Andrew soaked both pieces of cloth which they then quickly wrapped around their mouths and noses, tying the ends into a knot at the back of their heads.

  “The window in the kitchen will burn through any time soon. We need to make our way out. Go and chase Lucy, Maddie and the kids. I’ll wait here and cover. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

 

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