The second sign was the hammering at the door in the early hours. With the power still dimmed, rationed between the buildings, I was the first to answer. I was the one to see the silver-haired guy rush to tell me to get the hell out of here. I was the first to hear him mumble the word evacuation as he moved away, running towards the centre of the circle before I had a chance to question.
2
After five minutes, I'd only managed to repeat the explanation twice. Toby and Amy, the couple in the closest room to the door, watched through hangover-fogged eyes as we bounced off each other and fought through their disbelief that it was just some elaborate trick.
Then to Leo and Daniel. Well, Daniel hid under the covers and I was sure I could hear him snore as I recounted the guy's strange words from moments earlier, trying my best to get across the urgent look in the guy's eyes.
It was Toby who came up with the offer to trudge with me to the centre of the circle and find out what the hell was going on. I could see in his eyes he had a mind to give the owner a stern talking to.
The cottage fell silent as we headed out in tracksuit bottoms and dressing gowns shrouding our shoulders as we trekked through the fresh morning dew. My own questioning of the situation was fully in bloom until we found the manager's house locked up, a paper notice written in heavy bold ink pinned to the door:
Evacuate. Head north.
A freephone number was scrawled below.
I turned to stare at Toby as he gawked in my direction. Both of us pivoted on our heels as we searched out the surrounding circle for any sign of someone about to jump from behind a tree with a phone pointed in our direction to capture our faces as the words sank in. We must have stood for over a minute before I fumbled in my pocket, reading the number aloud as I tapped the digits into my phone.
No Service was the message that came back. We ran the gravel path back to the house.
Breaking the quiet of the cottage, we flung doors wide to the protests of the occupants, shouting for everyone to get their arses into gear.
“The nuclear power station. Radiation,” I shouted, repeating.
Toby followed my lead. Neither of us stopped to answer questions. Instead, I headed to my room, pulling off Andrew's covers as I frantically dressed then stuffing what I could grab of my things into a small suitcase.
Within another ten minutes the cottage was alive with activity. Even the most sceptical, Zoe and Naomi, who thought it some elaborate scheme to scare them witless, were making moves to get their things together.
It was still half an hour before we were ready to leave. Half the group were not convinced, insisting on stuffing all of their belongings away and packing them into the three cars before they would let us start the engines.
Still my inner scepticism forced me to lock the place up, checking twice before pocketing the key instead of pushing it back through the manager's letter box like it said in the welcome pack.
Driving one of the three cars with Zoe and Naomi in the back, Andrew sat at my side, tuning the digital radio to each of the stations, flicking to the next as the No Signal message replied on the segmented display.
“Where are we going?” Zoe said.
“The way we came,” I replied, looking to Andrew for confirmation. His nod gave confidence to my words. The journey to the cottage had been made four days earlier, five hours from London via two motorways and a dual carriageway through Cornwall.
The same people were in the car now. Zoe I'd known for twenty years since graduating. We were close, about as close as you can get without being in a relationship. I took up tenancy in the friend zone a long time ago.
Naomi was Zoe's best friend, a new fixture since she'd moved from their childhood town to London last year. She was attractive, if you like the blonde knockout sort, but she made it abundantly clear to us all her interests lay elsewhere. Still, she'd melded with the established group seamlessly, even putting Andrew in his place early.
Zoe's voice broke into my drifting thoughts.
“Have you seen any other cars?” she said.
“Since when?” Naomi replied.
I didn't need to look to know everyone's gaze peeled around the road. We'd driven through two villages on the route to the A30 dual carriageway, but she was right; I couldn't remember seeing any other cars on the road.
At first I put it down to my sleep-deprived state and the effects of alcohol leaving my body. I think we all did. Now, paying attention properly, there wasn't a car to be seen.
“It's New Year's Day,” I heard Andrew say.
“But…” Zoe started, her words tailing off until I twisted in the seat, watching as she paused; her head fidgeted either side. “I haven't seen any cars. Not even parked.”
“Shit, look out,” came the urgent words from Andrew.
My head sprang back around to the sight of a figure standing in the road. I had no time to react before his head bulls-eyed the windscreen to an eruption of screams.
3
I won't ever forget the dull thump or the loud snap as a dark head spidered the glass. The body rolled up the car and slipped down again, crunching to the road as I slammed hard on the brakes.
With no time for what I'd seen to sink in, Toby's Merc slammed into our rear. The jolt went unfelt, my body numb, my concentration fixed on my foot wedged on the middle pedal.
I
