At first he frowned at the 72-point headline that said: PM URGES: STAY CALM.
Then he began to laugh.
And he laughed so much that tears flooded his eyes, and they were tears of mirth and bitterness, neither emotion giving way to the other.
And his shoulders jerked with the effort.
One leg stamping at the footwell.
Making the car judder.
Causing something in the back seat to stir.
Fairbank was the first to slip through the opening leading down onto the store's shopfloor. Mounds of debris, a hazardous mixture of masonry, powdered concrete and glass, had all but covered the wide display windows and swingdoors, but the three men had clambered up towards the dark opening heedless of the danger. Fairbank's enthusiasm to taste once again the confectionery delights denied to them among the shelter's plentiful but unexciting rations, to don a clean shirt, put on fresh underwear, was too keen for him to be discouraged by his two more cautious companions. And Culver himself had to admit the prospect appealed after their weeks of austere confinement.
He warned, however, that everything could be spoiled by now, and that clothing and other items might well have been ruined by fire.
'Just one way to find out, Culver,' the engineer had replied, grinning, the earlier emotional shock apparently overcome for the moment. Culver surmised that the man was either completely insensitive or a natural survivor, his durability perhaps a strong quality in such times. He had followed Fairbank's scampering figure up the incline.
At the top, Culver turned to McEwen. We'll need the geiger counter in here; the place could be full of radiation.'
Somewhat reluctantly, the ROC officer climbed the slope.
They watched Fairbank slither down the other, much steeper side, using their torches to guide him.
He settled at the bottom, waving his own torch around. 'Christ,' he exclaimed, 'the stink in here!'
We can smell it from here,' Culver told him before sliding into the gap. McEwen quickly followed and all three squatted in the disturbed dust, peering into the gloom, their lights penetrating the darkest corners.
'Ceiling's caved in at the far end,' McEwen observed.
'Everything looks safe otherwise,' said Fairbank. His voice took on a lighter tone. 'Hey, d'you see what I see?' His beam had caught multi-colour wrappers in its glare. He was up and at the sweets counter before the other two had a chance to rise.
'Don't scoff them all, Bunter, you'll make yourself sick,' Culver advised, unable to stop himself from smiling.
'Crunchie bars, Fruit and Nut, Walnut Whips - Christ, I'm dead and this is Heaven.' They heard him chuckle and began to laugh themselves.
'Bournville Plain, Dairy Milk, Pacers, Glacier Min—' his voice broke off.
By then, Culver and McEwen had joined him and they, too, were examining the array of bright wrappers that a fine layer of dust only faintly subdued. They soon discovered what had brought his exaltation to a sudden halt.
'Someone else has been at 'em,' McEwen commented.
'Someone or something.' Culver picked up a loose wrapper, a vision of black-furred creatures snuffling their way through the chocolate bars and sweets sending a prickly coolness along his spine.
'Rats?' Fairbank regarded him with wide eyes.
'Maybe.' Culver popped open the small restraining strap of the shoulder holster.
They'd have done more damage, made a bigger mess,' said McEwen.
'He's right,' Fairbank agreed, but there was still a nervousness to him. 'Let's grab as much as we can carry and get out.'
Thought you wanted a new shirt?'
'I can live without it.' He began to stuff chocolate bars into his overall pockets.
Wait a minute.' Culver stayed Fairbank's hand midway between counter and trouser pocket. 'If it's not vermin it may be something more important.'
'People?'
Culver shone his torch along the litter-filled aisles. The store's interior stretched a long way back, opening out halfway down in an 'L' shape. No light came through the collapsed ceiling in the far corner, off to his left. The smell that assailed them had become all too familiar over the past hour or so, and Culver had no real desire to investigate further. Unfortunately, conscience told him he had to. Maybe a morbid curiosity added its weight, too.
His footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in the store that had now become a vast cavern.
Fairbank shrugged and went after him, still snatching goodies from the counter as he passed and squeezing them into his already full pockets. He spied a set of shelves containing handbags, holdalls and -
even better - suitcases, and made a mental note to grab one on their way back.
McEwen found the idea of being left alone in the shadowy consumer grotto unacceptable and swiftly caught up with the other two.
Culver in the lead, they drew near the corner where the store widened. An electrical department came into view, plastic-coated wires hanging loosely from their spools like oversized cotton thread, light sockets, switches and lamps lying scattered as if swept from their displays by angry hands. Beyond that, the record and hi-fi department looked as if the choices had not been appreciated: album sleeves littered the floor, stereo equipment lay scattered. Bodies, some still moving, lolled in the mess.
Damp fingers, disembodied by the darkness, curled around Culver's wrist.
He recoiled by instinct, the others intentionally, for they had seen the hideous figure just before it had touched him.
Culver wrenched his arm free and staggered back against a nearby counter, but the figure went with him, unbalanced, claw-like hands clutching at Culver's clothes. The man fell to his knees, preventing himself from sinking further by hanging weakly on to the pilot's leather jacket.
The man's voice was a thin, rasping sound. 'Help ... us...'
Culver stared down at the emaciated face with its wide, staring death-camp eyes, the torn lips, cracks filled with dry blood, gums exposed and teeth decayed brown. A few sparse tufts of hair clung to the man's scalp. His skin was puckered with fresh sores and there was a thin line of dried blood trickling from both ears. Fright gave little room for pity in Culver.
The man groaned, although it was more of a throat-singed croak. He seemed to shrivel before them.
Overcoming his revulsion, Culver caught the collapsing figure, and gently lowered him to the floor. The man's clothes were torn and bedraggled; they smelled of excrement.
'Please ...' The voice was weaker this time, as though the effort of seizing Culver's wrist had taken most of his remaining strength.'... help ... us.'
'How many are left alive here?' Culver said, his mouth close to the dying man's ear.
'I... don't...' His head lolled to one side. 'Don't...'
Culver looked up at his two companions. 'Radiation sickness,' he said unnecessarily. 'He won't last much longer. Try the geiger, see how bad it is in here.'
McEwen switched on the machine and they jumped when its amplifier discharged urgent, burring clicks. The needle jumped wildly before settling just beneath the quarter-way mark.
Too many rems,' McEwen told them hastily. 'It's dangerous, we've got to leave immediately.'
'I'm on my way,' Fairbank said, beginning to turn.
Wait!' Culver snapped. Take a look at the others. See if we can save any of them.'
‘You gotta be kidding - oh shit, look...'
They followed Fairbank's gaze and saw the shuffling shapes emerging from the shadows, most of them
