Free Nuclear Midnight by Robert Cole Page B

the government?’ Alex asked.
    The man gave a short sarcastic laugh. ‘I've got news for you, guv. We're all on the run from the government. If they catch you stealing food, they'll shoot you if you don't stop.’ He paused, rubbing his bristly chin. ‘Come to think of it, they'll shoot you even if you do stop sometimes. Who knows what happens to the poor bastards they take away with them?’
    ‘So you have had contact with the government then?’ Alex asked.
    ‘Oh, I've had contact with them all right. Six of our group were shot in a village yesterday by the military.’ He nodded toward the fire. ‘Take a good look at them. Six days ago, forty sick and homeless people started off from Bristol because they had no food and the government wouldn't give them any supplies. Since then, some have died from the sickness, some have been arrested and some shot. There's only sixteen of us left now. We've lost our families, our homes, and now the government's trying to take our lives.’ He took a deep breath and seemed to become calmer. ‘You've been lucky, you've managed to keep out of their clutches, it seems. But watch your step from now on. And mind what I say, every man in uniform that you meet is your enemy.’
    They listened to him in silence, glancing at each other.
    ‘Come on,’ he said, walking towards the fire. ‘I’ve found some cows tied up in a barn a little way back. They were half starved, but at least they're not contaminated. In spite of your fancy clothing, you're probably as hungry as the rest of us.’
    Without further comment he strode off down the slope. After some hesitation, Alex and Tina followed.
    The group at the fire eyed them with a mixture of suspicious looks and envious stares. By its light, they became fully aware of the contrast they represented to this company. Very few appeared to have escaped injury. Severely burnt arms and faces, broken limbs and festering wounds were abundant. All wore tattered or burnt clothing, often ill fitting, probably because the garments had been picked up along the way. Many had badly singed hair, or were in the process of losing it through radiation sickness. A glazed look of shock still lingered on many faces as though intelligent thought had been simultaneously burnt away with the holocaust.
    ‘Not a pretty lot, are we? And we're the fit ones; those who were really bad we had to leave on the way,’ the man commented aloud.
    ‘Where are you all going?’ asked Tina, hoping to change the subject.
    ‘Cornwall, probably. Anywhere there might be food and no military,’ the man replied, throwing the last of his wood onto the fire. ‘You're welcome to join us if you like. The more able bodied people there are, the better our chances of survival, as I see it.’
    ‘We were thinking of trying to reach Wales,’ Tina replied.
    ‘Wales?’ The man's face became thoughtful. ‘Yes, North Wales is a possibility. Harder to get to than Cornwall, though, isn't it?’
    ‘Yes, but it's even less inhabited, so we thought it's not so likely to have been a target,’ Alex answered.
    ‘True enough, but also less likely to have food, and the Welsh mightn't take too kindly to intruders. Still, it's as good a plan as any, I suppose.’
    By this time the rest of the group had all but forgotten the strangers, being more intent on the progress of the cooking. When the food was declared ready, it was charred on the outside and almost raw on the inside, but it tasted wonderful! Alex and Tina tore into it eagerly. So did the others, although Alex noticed that after a few mouthfuls most of them seemed to lose their appetites.
    Afterwards the man introduced himself as Cliff Benfield, a carpenter from Bristol. He hadn’t been in Bristol when the bomb detonated, but returned later to find his family had been killed by the blast. 
    ‘There was no warning, you see,’ he continued. ‘I just happened to be out of town on a job. That close to the detonation, most of the electrical