10: Rising Tide

I woke, freezing cold and shivering under my thin blanket. The floor of the land rover was hard and uncomfortable, yet I snuggled up, hugging my knees to my chest. I didn’t want to move.

I’d been dreaming of that Christmas, everyone together, everyone happy. I didn’t want to let it go.

“Are you awake yet?”

The last threads of the dream vanished at the sound of Gracie’s voice. I threw back my blanket and sat up.

The back doors of the land rover were wide open – no wonder I had felt so cold – and Gracie was outside, sitting on a log, map laid out in front of her.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“You bet.” I scrambled forwards, pulled on my boots without bothering to lace them up, and joined her. She held out a couple of packets of crisps.

“Where did you get these?” I asked, taking one and ripping it open.

“They were in the back of the land rover. There’s some tins and biscuits.”

“Good, we’ll take some food with us, just in case.”

“Look what else I found.” She lifted her jumper to show me a hunting knife strapped to her belt. I smiled. Very sensible. Who knew what was waiting for us in the city?

“How far to go?” I asked, shovelling crisps into my mouth as fast as I could.

Gracie waved her hand towards the fields beyond our little copse.

“I think we’re close, but I still can’t make much sense of this map thing.”

I leaned forwards for a closer look. “I think we ought to leave the land rover here and go the rest of the way by foot.”

Gracie stopped eating and stared at me.

I laughed. “Don’t look so horrified. It’s the safer option.”

“Safe? But what about scavvers?”

“They’d hear us coming. And they’d be after our diesel. We’d never get this thing out of the city.”

Gracie’s mouth drooped slightly at the corners.

I folded up my empty crisp packet and looked her straight in the eye. “You really don’t have to come, you know.”

She crunched her crisp packet into a ball and threw it at me. “I’m not even going to answer that.”

We moved the land rover into a thicket and screened it with branches and scrub until it was completely hidden from view. By the time we had finished, my arms were aching and I was covered in bramble scratches. But unless you knew it was there, the land rover might as well not have existed.

“Follow me,” I said. “And move as quietly as you can.”

I led the way out of the copse, keeping to the edges of the fields. The land here was very flat, without many hedges. Quite different from the countryside where I had lived, which was all rolling hills and patchwork fields. I felt really exposed, but managed to steer us towards whatever cover there was.

A lot of the time we followed the drainage ditches, looking for places to cross. The ditches were full after all the rain. The ground was boggy and, before long, meadows gave way to marsh and the wet started to seep in through my boots.

I looked up, and ahead there were buildings rising out of the reeds.

“Cambridge.” I whispered and Gracie nodded. My skin tingled.

Soon we were skirting round the back of houses. Most were deserted and boarded up. Weeds had forced their way through the patios, driveways and gardens in a tangle of growth. The roofs were green with moss, the eaves dripping with damp.

At the front of the houses was a road. Gracie crouched behind a feral privet hedge whilst I peered out, checking that the coast was clear. Derelict cars were still parked where they had been left by their owners years ago. Rust bubbled up under the paintwork and their windows were smashed. Some had the wheels removed and were propped up on bricks.

“It looks clear,” I said.

I led the way, crouching low, using the cars as cover, and darted across into another set of gardens. A broken statue stared out with empty eyes as we passed. The figure was carrying an urn that looked like it had once formed part of a water feature. We clambered through broken fences and over crumbling stone walls. More deserted roads, more overgrown gardens.

After a time, the streets grew narrow and the houses formed terraces. We lost the cover of the gardens and were forced to take to the streets.

Away from the gardens we were more exposed, and our progress slowed as we crept from one piece of cover to the next. The tarmac had given way to mud, thick and glutinous, and when I looked back, our tracks were plain for all to see.

I glanced at Gracie. She’d noticed it, too.

“Tide’s out,” I said. “When it comes in it’ll wash our footprints away, but we’ll either have to find a boat or take shelter.”

“Is it far?” asked Gracie.

I swallowed back my fear.

“No, not really. We’re quite near the centre of town.”

Gracie moved closer for a better look at the map.

Something murmured between the walls.

“Shh,” I whispered. I hardly dared breathe, every nerve on edge, senses heightened, listening. First, there was a whisper. Now there were voices.

I crouched as low as I could behind the rusting hulk of a van; Gracie pressed close beside me.

The voices were closer. I didn’t want to think the word, but I couldn’t help it. Scavvers.

Our footprints were there, bold and clear in the mud. Two sets of tracks all leading to our hiding place. They would see them. They would find us.

Gracie tipped her head towards an alleyway between the houses behind us.

I nodded.

We stooped as low as we could as we squelched between the high brick walls, wincing with every noise we made.

The alleyway stank of seaweed and urine. I gagged and held my breath.

Behind us someone gave a shout. They’d found our footprints.

“Quick – follow me.” I started to run, the mud pulling at the soles of my feet like greedy hands.

The alleyway opened up into a forecourt, littered with the scattered remains of forklift trucks, their lower halves encrusted with slimy green weed and barnacles.

We darted between the vehicles. Voices sounded in the alleyway behind us.

Then I saw the stream.

“There,” I said, hope giving me a burst of speed. I started to run towards it – a stream of water flowing through the mud. It didn’t occur to me that it was flowing uphill, tiny wavelets lapping at the mud, extending its width. All I could think was that it would hide our footprints.

I waded into it, trying not to splash. The water was ice cold and trickled over the tops of my boots, soaking my socks, but it led out of the forecourt and into another area of housing.

Gracie was close behind me, splashing more than she needed.

I started to run, but the water was getting deeper. The stream divided into two.

“Take the left,” Gracie called. I didn’t hesitate. I plunged forwards. Then the ground dropped away from underneath me and I gasped. I was standing in freezing water up to my waist.

Even as I stood, I could feel it creeping higher around me and when I looked around it had spread. The whole area of mudflats between the buildings was now a watercourse.

“The tide’s running,” said Gracie.

She started to wade towards the nearest building. It was old and stone-faced and I could see from the stain on the walls how high the water would reach.

These buildings would be cut off from one another. They would become islands and we would be trapped.

I waded after her. Then there were steps under my feet and I staggered upwards, out of the icy brine towards a door that hung broken from a single hinge.

I pushed it aside and slipped in.

Gracie followed me up the stairs, her shoes making a weird squelching noise. I was shivering, my teeth chattering and the more I tried to calm the shaking, the worse it got.

We stopped on the second floor. Another broken door led into a large room. Shattered windows down one side looked out over the city. The remains of desks and smashed computers littered the floor. This had been an office once, but a very long time ago. It had been pretty thoroughly picked over by now and it stank.

I moved over to the window and looked out. The city was just the tops of buildings sticking out of a rippling sea: all the roads, all the cars now covered. The sea was reclaiming it. Before long, the buildings would crumble and the city would be gone.

“I think that’s where we’re going,” I said, pointing towards a tall set of spires. Gracie joined me, staring out across the flooded city. Water dripped from our jeans to form a puddle by our feet.

“So, that’s the college where Lucy says she hid the thesis.” Then she lowered her voice. “If it’s still there.” I don’t think she wanted me to hear, but I did.

For a moment, we stood watching the water rise.

Then something rustled behind us.

“Who are you?” snarled an angry voice from the shadows.