Interrupted Journey

Chapter 9 - Homeward

When Andrew woke - much later than normal - Elizabeth told him that the people up on the embankment had moved off towards the bridge in the early afternoon.

Andrew risked a cautious trip up towards the still-smouldering fire. There were obvious signs of a fight with bloodstains and broken equipment and clothes just lying around. There was even a good quality waterproof jacket to replace the one that David had torn when he fell.

Their trolley was still there but its main axle had been snapped and it was useless. He was able to retrieve their tarp, though, and was astonished to find a carrier bag full of vegetables that looked as if it had been just dumped rather than forgotten. Wondering whether there were really people roaming about who didn't realise you could eat the slightly rotten, mud-covered lumps in the bag, he scrambled back down the embankment to their own camp.

Elizabeth had woken David and was having a look at his ankle. Though it was not as bad as they had feared, they decided it would be best to rest for another day.

Covered, as they were, by the smell of smoke from the embankment, they decided to risk a small cooking fire. While Elizabeth stewed up the contents of the bag, he scouted ahead to investigate a non-residential building that was marked on their map, about half a mile away. It turned out to be an open-sided barn almost full of large, round bales of hay. There was a small gap between the bales and the roof - a perfect little nest for them.

They spent that night and the next day in the barn resting and giving David's ankle a chance to heal. With the high resolution maps they had taken from their unfortunate young visitor, they could plot out a route that kept them on the smallest of country roads and tracks. Critically, the route would keep them away from villages and even avoided farmhouses.

As evening approached on the second day, they strapped up David's ankle, dosed him with Ibuprofen and set off on what they hoped would be the last leg of their journey.

The ankle was very stiff at first but, strangely, the exercise seemed to help it and after a couple of hours he could move as fast as the others.

Thanks to the maps, they made rapid progress and, as dawn approached, they found themselves on a small hilltop overlooking a stretch of motorway. The footbridge they were hoping to use to cross it was about a mile further west but, when they saw movement on the road below, they decided that it was time to stop for the day. The farm track they were following ran very close to the motorway and they would be seen.

They scrambled down a low bank into a small wood and, after some searching, found a reasonably dry clearing where they set up camp.

Once the shelter was up, Andrew climbed back up towards the top of the bank and kept watch while Elizabeth prepared a cold meal. Nobody even suggested lighting a fire. As the sky became lighter, he could see that there were groups of people moving past along the motorway.

Martin appeared, bringing a small bowl of cold stew and, as Andrew ate, they lay together watching the seemingly endless procession of ragtag carts and people trying to carry the world on their backs.

"Where are they going?" Martin asked at last in the now customary low voice.

"I don't think they're going to," Andrew answered. "They're going from. They know they can't survive for long in the cities so they have to get out. I don't think many of them really know where they're going."

There was a commotion away to the right and, straining his ears, Andrew could hear one group demanding some sort of toll from another.

"How much?" the father figure asked with weary resignation.

"Five tins."

"We can't give you that! The kids will starve."

"We'll take your daughter instead!" he offered, leering at a girl who looked about thirteen.

"Give them the tins!" the mother said hurriedly.

The next night was uneventful though they had a uncomfortable few minutes when they crossed the motorway at the footbridge. Though they couldn't see anybody by the light of a sliver of moon, they felt sure they were being watched by people hidden amongst the cars and lorries below.

After another few hours, shortly before dawn, they crossed a small river at a simple plank bridge and found themselves in Yorkshire. They were nearly home.

+++

The last damp smudge of dusk had sunk into the fells ahead of them as they staggered up to the familiar road towards Lintondale. As the sign post marking the turn came into sight, Martin murmured, "We made it. We actually made it!" but it barely registered with Andrew as, with nothing but an effort of will, he forced one foot in front of the other.

It had taken them eight more days to make it back to the valley. Unfortunately, they had only had food for three so, by mutual, unspoken agreement, Elizabeth and Andrew starved themselves to allow their children a little more to eat.

As they stepped onto the bridge, a voice rang out of the darkness. "Halt! Who goes there? Stop or we'll shoot"

"The name's Andrew Moore," he said, putting a hand out to steady himself on the bridge parapet. "My parents, Tom and Alice live in the top farm."

"Advance and be recognised. Keep those weapons over your shoulders... and no sudden movements, please."

"Believe me, unless somebody falls over, there is absolutely no danger of sudden movement," Andrew said with a weary smile as he began to stumble across the bridge. "We're all completely exhausted!"

As they reached the other side, a soldier emerged from a concealed firing position just to their left. He hurried towards them and they all staggered under the impact of an enormous hug. If he had not been supported by the hug, Andrew would have collapsed.

"James, would you help Mum and Dad, please," David said. "They're pretty much done in."

The figure of his nephew slowly swam into focus but somehow he looked different. When they'd last met, at Christmas, he'd just been a kid; now, just a couple of months later, he was an adult and, by the look of things, a soldier.

Andrew felt his pack being eased off his shoulders - though by now it weighed next to nothing - and a powerful, wiry arm wrapped round his waist as James helped his Aunt and Uncle up the lane towards the farmhouse.