Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

normalized. England is not a member of the European Common Market.”

“So you’re saying that to find a ship, I need to get to England.”

“Yes, there is definitely a better chance. You can try to go to England, but with this terror thing the planes are grounded, the ferries are stuck in port, and even the Chunnel trains are not running. Did you see the news about the insulin?”

“No, what was that?”

“The transport is bottled up so tight they are worried that diabetes patients in England and Scotland may run out of insulin.”

“So, any suggestions on how I can get to England? I am desperate to get there, to find a ship. I can pay in gold coin. Genuine or.”

The harbormaster cocked his head.

“Gold coins? Really?”

“Yes, really. I have an old twenty-franc gold Rooster coin-le coq gaulois-that’s about one-fifth of an ounce in gold. I’ll trade that coin to anyone who can get me into England with no fuss.”

“Hmmm. . . . My wife has a cousin, Joseph, who is the captain of a fishing boat near Boulogne-sur-Mer. Give me a moment and I will make another inquiry.”

Twenty hours later, Andy and his bicycle had been deposited at the fishing docks of Boulogne-sur-Mer. His trip there, expedited by Paquet, was in a truck that smelled of fish. The road traffic was very light.

En route, the truck had made several stops to drop off and pick up cargo. One odd sight was when they made an intermediate stop at the Gare de Boulogne-sur-Mer to drop off some cargo. A Train a Grande Vitesse (TGV) high-speed train was sitting on a siding. Normally seen at speeds of up to two hundred kilometers per hour or at just very brief stops, the idle train looked odd.

Andy arrived at the Quai Gambetta with his bike and trailer in the late afternoon. The dock had mainly fishing boats and yachts tied up, but nested among them was a small two-masted sailing ship called La Recouvrance. Andy wondered if it was an historic ship or just a replica.

Joseph Lejeune didn’t speak much English. His fishing boat, named Beau Temps, was smaller than Laine had expected. The captain was also younger than Laine had expected, perhaps in his early thirties. The boat had a crew of just three.

Lejeune met him on the dock. They exchanged names and shook hands. “I seek, passage . . . uh . . . en Angleterre?”

“Yes, I am taking you now. You have with you the gold?”

Andy obligingly showed him the coin.

Lejeune smiled. “Bon, bon! Allons-y!”

There was no delay. As the sun was setting, Andy’s bike and trailer were carried on board and covered with a tarpaulin and lashed down. The mooring lines were cast off and Beau Temps pulled away from the dock with a roar. They quickly motored between the Jetee Nord-est and Jetee Sud-ouest and out to sea. A small lighthouse marked the end of the north jetty. The wind was chilly, but the skies were nearly clear.

Andy soon joined Lejeune in the wheelhouse. As a transistor radio blared French rap music, Joseph Lejeune offered him a cup of strong black coffee in an extra-thick mug. As Laine sipped the coffee, Lejeune said haltingly: “We sail for the village of Rye. The tide is good, and our draft, it is shallow. This Rye is a small town of fishes. No questions will be asked. You are in safety in Angleterre in just a few hours.”

Ahead of them, the sky was darkening over fairly calm waters. The boat had a faint smell of diesel fuel and fish. Andy reckoned that that they would arrive after midnight.

He sat in the back of the wheelhouse, feeling the vibration of the engine and the gentle chop striking the boat’s bow. Lejeune regularly checked the GPS receiver. The radio played on, with one rap song after another, interrupted by annoying commercials. The station ID declared that it was “Delta FM 100.7” from Boulogne. The two crewmen popped in for cups of coffee and to rip huge hunks of bread from baguettes. They hardly spoke a word. One of them spent most of his time below, tending the engine.

As they approached the British coastline, Andy was surprised to see one long stretch to the south of them that was completely blacked out. He pointed this out to the captain. “Wow! It’s just dark. It must be another power failure.”

Lejeune wagged his chin in disgust and muttered, “La fin du monde tel que nous le connaissons.”

Laine cocked his head and queried: “Excusez-moi. My French is very poor. What was that you said? Something about ‘the end of the land’?”

“My meaning, Monsieur Andy, was: ‘the end of the world as we’ve known it.’”

Andy retorted, “Oh. Yes, it does seem to be the end.”

The fishing boat quietly pulled up the slough into Rye harbor. It was nearly two a.m. when they pulled up to the dock. Since the water was almost dead calm, the captain didn’t bother to tie up the boat. The tide was high, so Andy was able to simply step off it right onto the dock. The two crewmen handed his bike and then the trailer down to Andy.

Andy handed Joseph Lejeune the twenty-franc coin and said, “Merci beaucoup.”

Pocketing the coin and nodding, he replied, “Que dieu soit avec vous,” and gave Andy a wave.

The throaty growl of the engine increased in tempo as the boat reversed far enough to make a safe turn and head back out to the English Channel.

Laine pedaled down the deserted dock under the yellowish light of sodium vapor lamps. Turning onto Rye’s main street gave him a huge sense of relief. From here on, it was unlikely that he would be stopped and asked for identification.

Getting used to riding on the left side of the road was a quick transition, but it would have seemed more natural if there had been traffic on the road. Other than hearing some trucks in the distance, there was no evidence of vehicles moving. Andy didn’t have a map, and the night was overcast, so he couldn’t tell the direction he was heading. He just had the vague idea of turning right and heading up the coast. After leaving the town of Rye on Folkestone Road, Andy stopped and consulted his compass. He noted that he was headed northeast. That seemed correct and he knew that Folkestone was up the coast from Rye, so that seemed affirmative. He pressed on. The roadway was very quiet. Only two bakery trucks passed him in the first two hours of riding.

A half hour after dawn, Andy passed through the village of Brenzett, and he saw an elderly man with a walking stick who was walking his terrier on a leash. Andy stopped his bike and asked, “I’m sorry, but I’m without a map. Will this road take me up to the White Cliffs of Dover?”

The dog started yapping, and the man hissed, “Hush, you!” Then he looked up and answered Laine, “Yes, indeed it will, but you have to make a few turns to get to Dover. Come with me and I’ll fetch you a map.” Turning on his heel, the man said, “That’s me house, just three down.” Andy dismounted and walked his bike across the street. He walked alongside the man and the dog, talking as they walked. Andy said, “I appreciate your help, sir.”

“Don’t you mention it,” the old man answered. He noticed the man had a bit of a wheeze to his breathing as he walked.

The man turned in a gate, and said over his shoulder: “Wait here, young Yank!” He emerged a minute later carrying a Kent Coastal Cities Ordnance Survey map. “This will show all the smallish roads you’ll need to get to Dover on a bike. You can keep that map-I have a newer one. Safe home!” Andy thanked him and the old man soon popped back in his door. Setting the kickstand, Andy spent a few minutes consulting the map, picking out the roads that would get him to a succession of harbors as he made his way up the coast.

That afternoon, he passed through Folkestone. As the terminus city for the Chunnel, Folkestone had some rough characters, who eyed his bike and trailer with hungry eyes. Andy gave them stern looks in response. To one ruffian who started walking toward him, he shouted “Back off!”

Once he got away from the city on the New Dover Road, Andy felt the most at ease since he had left Vilseck. The economy was a wreck, and there were very few cars and trucks on the road. But at least here he found more shops open than in France, and some friendly faces.

Bicycling through England in the winter wasn’t much different than on the Continent. The weather was just