Free Nuclear Midnight by Robert Cole

tentative, for no one knew what the conditions were really like; they were only formulated as a guide, to be changed as circumstances might direct.
     
    On the fourth day after their arrival, they were ready to set out. The Wanes came to the front door to bid farewell to their visitors. Alex had managed to squeeze into a pair of old walking boots of Tim’s, and Tina too had a new pair of boots belonging to Margaret, who wasn't completely satisfied until they were both covered from head to foot in thick woollen clothes. Tim had also given Alex an old cloth daypack, a compass, maps and enough food for five days. In return Alex had handed over his rifle and ammunition. He insisted that they take it, saying that it would only attract attention to themselves. The gift was gratefully accepted.
    Leaving the village, they steered a course roughly northwards, skirting, with the aid of the map, the major roads or settlements where they might meet other, more desperate survivors. The weather was showing a slight improvement; the snow had stopped and the murk had receded enough for them to distinguish the shapes of houses in the distance. Travelling was still very difficult, however, as the recently fallen snow remained soft and powdery, reaching above Tina's thighs at times in snowdrifts.
    By mid-afternoon they had descended into a large fog bank further down the valley. Alex had only very dim memories of the fogs of London. How delightful his boyhood memories seemed in retrospect, when he had played with Jason, dancing between the wisps of mist that drifted under the street lamps! But this fog was nothing like that; it felt wrong, dirty, grey, defiled in some way. The air seemed almost liquid, a liquid that scalded the throat and burned the lungs. It reminded Alex of the old pea-souper smogs he had read about that used to choke London before they banned coal fires. And it was so unbearably cold. Soon ice started crystallising on his clothing and across his eyelashes and eyebrows. His hair became stiff and brittle, where his breath froze on it. The world had become a grey, pitiless place.
    The visibility quickly dropped to less than ten metres, forcing Alex to switch on his torch. Sounds, also, were distorted in some way, so that noises that may have been hundreds of metres away were amplified and misdirected until they seemed to be coming from many directions at once. Before they had entered the fog Alex had noted a river about two hundred metres on his right. The noise from the river now seemed closer, and mixed in with it were definite sounds of people trudging through the snow. It was as though they had unwittingly stumbled across some major thoroughfare. Occasionally they could hear voices, too, raised in anger and laced with violence and fear. They quickened their pace, stumbling in their anxiety as they tried to steer a course away from the voices closing in all round them.
    After nearly an hour, tired from their own exertions, they heard several shots very close by; but again the direction eluded them. Only minutes later they came across two bodies, still shedding their blood into the snow. The faces of both were bloody stumps from shotgun blasts; the clothes all but stripped from them. Two sets of footprints led off in the direction from where they had just come. The murderers must have passed within a stone's throw without knowing it. The shock of this discovery sent a fresh wave of panic through Alex and Tina. They began to imagine pairs of hands coming at them through the mist, crazed faces suddenly appearing around every hollow, every crevice.
    Alex’s plan had been to follow the direction of the valley northwards, but the thought of spending a night in this treacherous fog almost sent him crazy. After some discussion, they decided to abandon the valley and head eastward, hoping to strike higher ground and rise above the fog. Over the next hour they scrambled and clawed their way up the slopes, their fear overriding their