Free Flare by Paul Grzegorzek Page A

government paid for it to stay that way.
    We’d been on the road for about twenty minutes, passing the occasional house and the odd farm, but other than that we could have been alone in the world.  The shotgun was an uncomfo rtable weight in my lap, and I’d begun to develop a nervous habit of making sure the safety lever behind the barrels was engaged, my thumb rubbing it every few seconds.
    “Where is it that we’re going, exactly?”   I asked a s Ralph slowed a little to take a blind bend.
    “Place called Milford, just southeast of Guildford.  It’s a fair sized village, and a lot of the area’s built up now, so I’m taking the back roads.  Don’t want to bump into trouble if we can help it, just want to find Emily and get home safe”.
    I couldn’t argue with that sentiment, and despite my fear of the man the night before I found myself warming to Ralph.  He was a simple, uncomplicated man who seemed to know his place in the world and was happy with it, with his family coming before everything else.  It was a view I appreciated, and I genuinely hoped that we would find his daughter as easily as he seemed to think we would.
    The sun w as climbing high in the sky now and the heat in the car was oppressive.  I’d opened my window and Ralph had done the same, but the wind coming into the car seemed as hot as that already inside, bringing with it the smell of dry grass and too-hot engine.
    “Does it seem hotter to you than usual?”  I asked, thinking back to what Jerry had said that morning.
    “The whole month has been hotter than usual, but now that you mention it I do think it’s gone up a few degrees today.  Bugger”.
    I looked up as he pressed hard on the brakes, bringing the car to a shuddering halt.  A silver 4x4 pickup had been abandoned square in the middle of the road, leaving a narrow gap on one side that Ralph aimed for, scraping the passenger side against the steep, stony bank and probably taking some paint off.
    Ralph muttered something too low to hear and picked up speed again, leaving the 4x4 behind in moments.  He didn’t drive quite as fast as before, however, and after another twenty minutes we reached a crossroads with a sign showing that Milford was only two miles away.
    Not long after he took the turn we began to see houses, just one or two at first, but then more and more until we were driving along a street, semi-detached properties overlooking the road with large front gardens and driveways.
    Most of the gardens had people in them.  Some just milled about, but not a few had barbecues going, presumably to use up the last of the meat from the fridge or freezer before it spoiled.
    Each and every one, however, turned to stare as we drove past, some pressing against their fences to get a better look while others waved at us to stop.
    “Should we stop?”  I asked Ralph uncertainly.  While none of them had the fevered, desperate look from the airport or the air of violence the youths in Redhill had had, I still wasn’t comfortable being in the position of having the only working car for miles around.  Despite the shotguns, it would be far too easy for someone to just take what they wanted, and I gripped the weapon tight as my stomach began to churn.
    “No”, Ralph said, looking back in the mirror, “I don’t reckon they can tell us anything we don’t know already”.
    We drove on in watchful silence, Ralph taking a snaking route through the village as the houses went from semi-detached to terraced, then got smaller and smaller until they seemed to crowd in on each other.  I didn’t need Ralph’s warning to know that we were entering a much less salubrious area.
    “Emily lives here?”  I asked, keeping a careful eye on a small group of lads who had jumped to their feet at the sound of our engine and were now watching us in turn, their faces unreadable.
    “A few streets over.  This is the quickest way”.
    I pointed to half a dozen men sitting in garden chairs in