The Night of the Mosquito (9 page)

Lights flickered and came on. The desktop fan hummed, rotated on its pedestal, and blasted mechanical breath over each man in turn.

Emerson grinned, jubilant. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

His joy was short-lived. A minute later, the supply cut out again.

Chapter 20

Five miles southwest of Clifton, Bristol. 10:40 a.m.

The sudden simultaneous breakdown of the escort cars and prisoner transport vehicle from Copse Hall had put the detail on high alert. Unable to communicate via radio or telephone, the guards got out and gathered by the roadside.

The men, all in their early thirties, began to speculate.

‘It’s sabotage,’ Soames said.

‘It can’t be.’ Davis, the bus driver replied, looking thoughtful. ‘How could anyone rig all three vehicles to fail at the same time? Bang, bang, bang. One after the other. No radio. No phone. Unless it was an inside job?’

The men looked at each other. Senior Prison Officer Styles shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘even if it was, why would anyone go that far to free a giant bloody cannibal? It doesn’t make sense. No, it’s got something to do with the bright light that flared up earlier. See the sky, those shimmering colours?’ The other men glanced up, fear and fascination mixed in their expressions. ‘Whatever caused it hasn’t finished yet.’

‘What do you reckon it is?’ Davis asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Styles said. ‘Anyone got any ideas?’ The question was met with blank stares, shaking heads and shrugs. ‘Come on, Soames, you’re always reading the
National Geographic
—’

‘Twice a year!’ the young guard exclaimed. ‘At the bloody dentist’s, and even then I just look at the pictures. I’ll tell you what, though. A few years ago I spent Christmas in Norway. One night, everyone rushed outside from the lounge to look at the sky. I only followed to see what all the fuss was about. What’s going on up there now looks similar to what I saw then.’

‘The Northern Lights? It can’t be that,’ Styles said dismissively. ‘Davis, you used to be a mechanic, didn’t you?’

The driver finished checking the connections under the bonnet of the crippled prison bus. ‘Completely dead. This is really weird,’ Davis said. ‘A vague smell of burning around the engine like the others, but I can’t see anything actually burnt.’ He reached up and pulled the bonnet lid down, allowing it to slam shut. ‘We can’t just sit here indefinitely.’

‘You’re right,’ Styles agreed. ‘You lot wait here. Soames, you come with me.’

An hour later, Styles stopped, and wiping his brow with his forearm, surveyed the surrounding countryside. ‘You don’t appreciate how far a few miles is until you’re walking them.’

The young guard chipped a large egg-shaped stone from the baked mud of the verge with the tip of his steel-capped boot and dribbled it onto the surface of the road. He crouched and balanced it with the pointed end skywards, lining it up like a rugby ball. He kicked it. The smooth piece of rock took off in a low arc. It came down in the centre of the road thirty yards away, bouncing several times before coming to rest at the crown of the hill they’d just climbed. Soames turned to face Styles. ‘Maybe they turned back?’

‘No,’ the older man said. ‘Even though it’s Sunday, I haven’t seen any other traffic since we broke down. They’re stranded, just like us.’

‘What are we doing? I mean, what does this achieve even if we find the bus?’

‘If we find it, apart from being stuck, we know everything’s fine. If we don’t—’

‘Wait a minute,’ Soames said. Approaching the stone, he stooped, positioning it for another kick. ‘We left at twenty-five past eight. They did too. It’s only forty miles. About three quarters of an hour taking the country route into account. Halve that because we were converging on each other—’

Styles cut in. ‘Stop fucking about with that stone. I did all that in my head ages ago.’

‘Not like this you didn’t, sir. I mean, work it out. That’s around twenty five minutes to our rendezvous point’

‘And we’d been driving less than twenty minutes.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Assuming they stuck to the route, it means we can only be six miles apart. We’ve walked for an hour and not passed them,’ Styles said. ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘No doubt about that,’ Soames said, ‘but to cover six miles we probably have to walk for another hour.’

Styles scowled. ‘Let’s get a bloody wiggle on then, shall we?’

‘Sir, I can see a pub down the road. I need a glass of water.’

The barmaid, blonde and in her forties, eyed the men as they entered the bar.

‘Morning,’ Styles said, peering into the dark corners. ‘You’ve got no lights on.’

The woman lifted the bar flap and met them on their approach. Dressed in a too-tight black dress and frilly white blouse, she was heavily made up, the gash of red lipstick creating a focal point for Soames as she spoke. ‘There’s a power cut, and before you ask, the phone’s not working either. I’m sorry, luvs, but we’re closed. I would’ve locked the door, but didn’t expect anyone.’

‘Just a glass of water, that’s all we want. We’re parched, been walking for miles,’ Soames said.

She frowned. ‘What are those uniforms?’

‘We’re private nurses,’ Styles said.

‘Look at the size of the pair of you.’ Her lips parted and she bit the tip of her tongue playfully. ‘I’ll bet you are. You can nurse me any time. All right,’ she said. ‘A glass of water it is.’ She turned and walked, hips swaying, back behind the bar, and taking two glasses from the shelf, went to the tap over the sink. ‘I don’t suppose you know how long this cut will go on for, do you?’

‘No,’ Styles said. ‘Has anyone else been in?’

‘I haven’t even seen the postman this morning,’ she said, turning the water on. ‘I think it was something to do that that big flash earlier. Did you see it?’ She finished pouring and brought the drinks over. ‘Two pounds, please.’

‘You couldn’t miss it.’ Soames turned to look over his shoulder, orienting himself. ‘The airport, that’s nearby, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, not ten miles away.’

‘Have you heard any planes at all? We’ve walked for over an hour and not seen hide nor hair of one.’

The barmaid frowned. ‘Now that you mention it, I haven’t heard an aeroplane for a couple of hours.’

‘Come on, Soames,’ Stiles said, draining his glass. ‘Finish your drink and pay the lady. We haven’t got all day.’

Three-quarters of an hour later, they crested the top of another hill. ‘Look,’ Soames said, pointing. ‘See there in the distance. That’s the bridge. Surely they’d have crossed it? They must be stuck by the roadside a little further on.’

Styles squinted at the vehicles strung out along the Victorian structure. ‘I can’t see anything resembling a prison bus.’

‘I’m not being funny, sir, but there won’t be. There’s a weight limit. They’d have had to come in something smaller.’

Styles lowered his gaze. Wisps of smoke curled from the gorge below. He could just about see people were out of their cars looking over the side of the bridge. ‘Shit,’ he said.

The two guards scrambled down through the wooded cliff, and sweating from their efforts, arrived at the base of the gorge. The smoking wreck, a scorched white minibus, looked as if it had driven over a landmine. A small crowd had encircled the vehicle, keeping at a safe distance.

‘Let us through,’ Soames cried.

Once people saw the men’s uniforms, they parted to allow them through.

‘When did this happen?’ Styles asked one of the onlookers.

‘Must have been over two hours ago now. Lucky it didn’t happen on the other side.’ The officers followed the man’s gaze to the line of traffic stuck on the road beneath the bridge. ‘If it had landed on top of the tunnel….’

Styles stared at the in-car fire extinguishers scattered close by.

‘The fire,’ a soot-faced man explained, his voice thick with emotion. ‘We got down here as quick as we could. We tried putting it out, but couldn’t get close.’

‘I should think the impact killed them, not the fire, mercifully,’ Styles said. ‘You should all go home; there’s nothing to be done here.’ He inched forwards, shielding his face behind his arm, the heat from the twisted metal of the burnt-out bus still intense enough to keep him at bay. ‘Look at that,’ he said, his voice hoarse from the fumes given off by seared plastic, rubber and charred flesh. ‘The impact burst the doors open at the back.’ He moved his head to get a better view of the inside, looking at the seats, denuded of their coverings, reduced to wire springs. Squinting through the dense plumes of smoke, he couldn’t make out any bodies.

‘They’re dead,’ Soames said. ‘All of them. Doesn’t take a genius to work that one out.’

Styles got as close as he could and circled the wreckage. His eyes drawn to two parallel furrows in the shale, he croaked, ‘Wait up.’

Soames rushed to his side. ‘What is it?’

‘Looks like someone got out. Two people.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Is it? Look,’ he pointed at the drag marks on the ground.

They exchanged glances, and began to follow the trail. Skirting a row of huge boulders, they reached the other side, out of sight of the bridge above.

‘Shit!’ Soames shouted, spotting the back of an unmoving figure slumped to one side in a wheelchair. ‘From the size of him, it has to be Wolfe.’

His senses heightened, Styles crept up cautiously from behind, noting the heavily blood-stained blue gown. Just inches away, he slipped in something wet, and grabbing the wheelchair to break his fall, knocked it off-balance, tipping it to the floor. The body spilled from the seat, tumbled to the ground and came to rest facing away from them.

‘Thank God, he’s unconscious,’ Soames yelled.

‘No, I think he’s dead,’ Styles said.

Soames approached the cadaver, dropped to his knees and rolled it over. ‘Christ,’ he yelped, ‘What’s happened to Wolfe’s face?’

‘It isn’t him,’ Styles said in horrified awe. ‘Wolfe – he did that. Fuck! There’s only one other man I know anywhere near his size who’d have been around here, and that’s Chisolm.’

‘But how did they survive the fall?’

Styles puffed out his cheeks. ‘Because of their size? How the fuck would I know? What I do know is a killer’s on the loose. We have to warn people.’

‘Sir,’ Soames examined the corpse, ‘These marks on Chisolm’s face . . . ?’

‘What about them?’

‘Wolfe chewed it off, didn’t he . . . ?’

‘Well of course he fucking did. He’s a cannibal, isn’t he? Get back to the bus,’ Styles said, wiping his mouth in disgust, ‘and tell the others, while I go on to the nearest police station to report this, and warn them the devil is at large.’

Chapter 21

Priestley police station. 10:45 a.m.

‘Traffic Officer Williams, I want you to gather everyone who made it into the station this morning for a meeting in the briefing room,’ Emerson said. ‘No, on second thoughts, make it the canteen. You as well, Jordan. Now.’

‘Right away, sir.’ Williams wanted to take his superior to task. He’d only applied for his new position to get away from Emerson’s oppressive regime, but he said nothing as he slid from the corner of the desk. ‘Feet are killing me,’ he quipped to Jordan. ‘Not used to all this walking.’

The inspector looked over the small group. Three constables, including female officer Croft. A sergeant, plus Williams and a prison officer. Emerson settled his eyes on Croft’s chest. ‘Who’s going to get the phone if it rings, Lara?’ he said, his voice edged with sarcasm.

Croft shifted uncomfortably.

‘I was joking, Lara,’ Emerson said. ‘Right, we can’t just sit on our hands waiting for the power to come back on. We need to think about what happens if it doesn’t.’

‘Are there contingency plans in place for a situation like this?’ Jordan asked, sauntering over to the drinks machine. ‘Don’t tell me this doesn’t work without electricity.’

‘That only keeps it cool,’ Croft said. ‘It should work.’

Jordan parted the slats at the window and looked out. ‘Have you seen how many people you’ve got queuing up outside?’ He pulled a plastic cup from the stack. ‘There’s been a lot of talk about cyber terrorist attacks lately, but no clear direction on how we’d cope if there were one. In a prison environment, we can still turn locks with keys. But what about the emergency services? How can they run?’ He filled the cup. ‘No answers? Okay, where’s the nearest army base?’

Emerson inwardly seethed at the lead taken by the prison officer. With no immediate answers, he diverted their attention to the foyer. ‘The electronic keep on reception won’t be working. Has anyone thought to physically lock the door with a key?’

A series of exchanged looks and shrugs followed, but no one answered.

‘Who was the last one in?’ Emerson scowled. ‘It was you, Williams, wasn’t it? Get down there and secure it. Otherwise we’re relying on good behaviour to keep that bloody crowd out, for Christ’s sake. Speaking of which.’ Emerson paused, listening intently. ‘It’s too quiet. I don’t like it. What are they up to?’

Williams leaned out into the corridor. ‘I can hear Professor Young talking,’ Williams said. ‘He must have their attention.’

‘I thought he left half an hour ago.’ Emerson’s brows knitted together. ‘What can he still be talking about? Let’s go and have a listen.’

The professor had hit his stride. He stood in the open doorway to the entrance ramp, in what had become an extended alfresco lecture theatre. ‘Some of you may have noticed the behaviour of birds earlier on this morning, wheeling in great flocks in the sky. I wondered if they were trying to realign themselves to the Earth’s magnetic field, en masse.’ He searched the sky. ‘Migratory birds mostly. None out there at the moment,’ he said. A dozen pairs of eyes switched their focus from looking up, fixing on the professor as he continued. ‘Think of it like synchronising watches. Insects too, I should imagine, especially bees, wasps and the like. It’s going to be a while yet, I suspect, before normality returns.’

‘But what does it all mean for us, professor?’ a young woman said, shifting her child higher in her arms.

‘Now, that’s hard to predict. Aurorae displaying in daylight? It’s unprecedented. It could be days or even weeks before we start getting back to where we were before.’

‘Why haven’t we been affected like the birds?’

‘We’re not wired up in the same way.’ He laughed. ‘Though the bushmen among us claim to feel it through the soles of their feet. Seriously, we’ve been around a long time, living under our closest star. Our atmosphere protects us, always has. And that’s the thing. Throughout the years, we’d have noticed bright skies, coloured lights and so on, but beyond that, we were largely unaffected.’ The sky darkened, lowering the light levels still further. A faint green glow ghosted the features of those present. A low murmur burbled among them. ‘See that,’ he pointed enthusiastically. ‘That shimmer of emerald light.’ His eyes shone. ‘Never heard of that in daytime, let alone seen it.’

‘This is like the end of the world.’ The Italian crossed himself.

‘Or the beginning of a new one,’ a voice cried.

‘It isn’t anything like that,’ the professor’s smooth baritone assured them. ‘In the past, we weren’t heavily reliant on technology; we had no communications to speak of. The last major flare before technology really got going was 1859. And at that time, it knocked out telegraphy. The strange thing was, because it overloaded circuits and wires caught fire, we discovered that some gadgets carried on working even after being unplugged, running on what became known as the celestial battery. That’s what we’re seeing out there. Geomagnetic waves.’

From the doorway, Emerson interrupted and addressed the crowd in a loud voice, ‘We appreciate your patience,’ he said. ‘As soon as we hear anything meaningful, we’ll let you know.’ He opened the door wider. ‘Professor, seeing as you’re still here, a word if I may?’

The old man nodded. He moved backwards, adding, for the benefit of the mass of people now gathered. ‘According to some, ancient aboriginal art seems to indicate they saw the skies lit up much as we have here today. In other words, it’s nothing new.’

Five minutes later, in the corridor by reception, Professor Young surveyed his meagre audience. ‘I was asked earlier, how it was that no one knew about this, event. Well, let me tell you,’ he said. ‘This storm
was
predicted. NASA calculated it would miss us, but the size of it was clearly far bigger than anything previously recorded.’

‘I didn’t hear any warnings—’ Emerson said.

‘They don’t generally filter through to the public. So many predicted events amount to nothing. There’s no point in causing needless widespread panic. If I can finish outlining the scenario we’re facing, we can then base our response on what we know so far.’

Williams shook his head, addressing Emerson. ‘I can’t believe that other than following routine emergency guidelines, nothing definite has been laid down.’

‘It’s fucking ridiculous when the officer in charge doesn’t know what to do.’ Sergeant Mike Adams, nearing retirement, wasn’t known for his tolerance.

‘Okay, Adams,’ Emerson said. ‘If I weren’t here, it would be down to you. So come on. What would you do, eh?’

Adams flushed, eyes blazing.

The professor’s smooth voice cut in. ‘I don’t think anyone took it seriously until a few years ago. Some countries strengthened their power grids. Others spoke of shutting down before the storm arrived to protect them, thus switching back on once the threat had passed. Scientists have long been able to predict a big storm beforehand. They spot a flare, followed by a coronary mass ejection. I heard about it yesterday, read about it on the Internet, and even before it arrived, I noticed birds and insects behaving strangely. Swarming. Aggressive even. Of course, I didn’t put two and two together at the time; never seen it before, not like that. I have to say, I don’t think anybody had pre-planned for a total wipe-out of communications.’

‘You were talking out front about us having them before?’ Williams said.

‘That’s right. The last big one, Quebec, in 1989, took a couple of days after it was first observed to reach Earth’s magnetic field. As I was saying to the people outside, our atmosphere protects us, but geomagnetic current transfers into the ground and overloads the grid. Anyway, from what we know, if it’s as bad as the one known as the Carrington event in 1859, then we can expect at least two days of disruption, followed by however long it takes to rebuild. The difference between now and then is we’ve created a vast infrastructure that is vulnerable. Fail-safe devices work within calculated parameters, but until tested by an actual event, they only work in theory.’

‘And they didn’t work,’ Emerson said. ‘That’s obvious. From where I’m standing, that means we’re fucked. If we don’t get the power up by tonight, there’s going to be anarchy in the streets and there isn’t a thing we can do about it.’

Adams, taut-faced, slow-clapped his hands.

‘Don’t, Mike. He’s doing his best,’ Croft said.

‘That’s right. I don’t know what it is with you two, but let’s keep personal scores out of it,’ Jordan said. ‘When I came from the bridge on the back of a motorbike, there were already queues forming outside food shops. Fights breaking out between the owners and people trying to pay with plastic. All the main roads are jammed—’

‘How can we be sure our partners are safe while we’re here? My missus was going to the shops,’ another officer said.

‘My little girl,’ Croft said. ‘I’ve left her with a babysitter. If things aren’t back to normal by lunchtime, I’m going home.’

The agitation spread beyond the confines of the corridor. In the foyer, fear and anxiety grew. The men at the head of the queue listened, their ears pressed against the doors, relaying what was being said. Dissent soared. ‘What’s going on in there? Open up. We’ve a right to know what’s going on!’

Someone hammered on the door. Unsecured as it was, the repeated blows swung it an inch into the corridor.

‘For Christ’s sake Williams, didn’t you lock it?’ Emerson yelled.

The crowd surged forward. Adams reached for his truncheon.

The professor held Adams’ forearm down. His voice had natural calming qualities. A Welshman, he’d sung in choirs throughout his youth. Until he’d given it up a few years before, he’d been well known on the local karaoke circuit, often winning prizes; he had the respect of the community.

‘Simmer down. All of you.’ He shot Adams a glance and released him. ‘Don’t worry. Together we’ll get through; no falling apart now. The strong must look out for the weak. The officers here will do their best. Nothing like this has happened to us before, so it’s all new, see?’

‘What if it goes on for days – won’t we run out of food?’ a young woman with a small child said.

‘Look, so far as I know, Powergen or whoever it is responsible has a mountain of transformer spares stockpiled for just such an event. Could be the engineers are working even as we speak—’

‘A few minutes ago, the lights flickered and then went out again,’ Emerson said.

The professor sighed. ‘There you are. It isn’t all doom and gloom. Someone’s onto it already.’ He scanned the faces around him; they looked less anxious. He continued, ‘The army has older vehicles at their disposal which should work. Any equipment that wasn’t turned on should function once the power’s restored. Only certain components are vulnerable, so not all modern cars are useless, but mobile phones need satellites to work. Worst case scenario, we could be looking at a day or two for the storm to die down enough to get signals again. Radios, similar – though some wavelengths could still work.’ He turned to Emerson. ‘Where are your spare radios?’

‘On charge from last night.’

‘They could be okay. We’ll scroll the frequencies, establish a connection. If not, we can try CB. Thinking about it; that should work. Once we’re in contact with each other, we can make inroads. Are we all clear?’ Noting most heads nodding, he continued. ‘The roads. We must get out to other police stations. We can do this. Can we count on you lot cooperating?’

A walking stick waggled in the air at the back. ‘I’m with you,’ an elderly man shouted.

Zimmer-frame woman added her voice. ‘And me.’ This was followed by a reluctant grunt from the youth.

‘Include me in,’ the Italian yelled.

The professor smiled. It seemed all agreed.

The inspector picked up an officer’s cap. ‘You’d better put this on, professor,’ he said. ‘You didn’t say how you know all this stuff.’

‘No, I didn’t. I graduated in physics at Cardiff University, and then later became a lecturer at Cambridge University.’ He grinned. ‘You’d be surprised what us academic folk talk about.’

‘Right,’ said Emerson. ‘Let’s get all our radios together and see if any are working. Then we get ourselves out there, reassuring people on the streets. We’ve got bicycles. What we need are some older cars. Use our emergency powers to commandeer them. Do we know anyone with an older car?’

‘I have one,’ the professor said. ‘But I suspect you’ll be better off getting around through the snarl-ups on a motorcycle. I have two of those: a Norton 500 and a Triumph Bonneville 250. They still run. My grandson looks after them for me. I’m going to use the Norton. Nick will be livid, but if pushed, you can take the Bonneville.’