Project Heller

By Robert Clarke

This environmentally focused semi Sci-Fi thriller unfolds amid the beauties of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Moors in the UK, where the central character Simon Randall works as a geological engineer for a company involved in the disposal of nuclear waste. A secret underground toxic waste dump is in the process of being constructed, but the details are leaked to the press. Randall and his friend Mike Drayton swiftly find themselves the prime suspects, and while they are on the run the action is enlivened by intrigue, fatality and corruption. The beautifully observed country settings enhance the menace of the far from beautiful machinations of industry and government.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Clarke
• Release date: Apr 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301183746

Robert Clarke

Robert C. Clarke is Cannabis researcher and Projects Manager for the International Hemp Association in Amsterdam and the author of Marijuana Botany and Hashish! Mark D. Merlin is Botany Professor at University of Hawai’i at Manoa and author of On the Trail of the Ancient Opium Poppy.

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Project Heller

By

Robert Clarke

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Robert Clarke on Smashwords

Project Heller

Copyright © 2013 by Robert Clarke

All rights reserved

Cover art copyright of the author, © 2013

This environmentally focused semi Sci-Fi thriller unfolds amid the beauties of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Moors in the UK, where the central character Simon Randall works as a geological engineer for a company involved in the disposal of nuclear waste. A secret underground toxic waste dump is in the process of being constructed, but the details are leaked to the press. Randall and his friend Mike Drayton swiftly find themselves the prime suspects, and while they are on the run the action is enlivened by intrigue, fatality and corruption. The beautifully observed country settings enhance the menace of the far from beautiful machinations of industry and government.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Chapter 1 The Legacy

Shortly before ten o’clock, on a peaceful spring morning in the North of England, the tranquility of the city was violently disturbed, when without warning, and lasting less than a minute, the earthquake struck. Reaching 9.7 on the Richter scale, its impact overwhelmed the inhabitants. This was not an area used to such happenings and the human population with their senses dulled by centuries of city living, going about their daily business were now caught totally unaware.

Imperceptible at first, merely a faint rumbling in the air, the vibrations rose quickly, curtains moved, lights swayed, shelves and cupboards shed themselves of their contents, draws and doors opened as if by some unseen hand and eventually al were made aware of the motion taking place under their feet.

Deep underground, forces constrained for thousands of years were now rising, straining to be released. Buildings began swaying gently, like blades of grass on a cool summer night, but soon they were to be distorted, pulled forever out of shape and forced to accept their inevitable end; their structures, after being teased by such forces, began breaking up; concrete and steel, showers of glass from windows prised from their frames like a stone from an olive, sent hurtling earthward with such force as gravity could muster, tormenting the frail objects below. Flesh pierced, limbs severed, they were no match for such an onslaught, and soon the score was biased on the side of death. In underground car parks some sought shelter, but they too were killed with no hope of rescue, their bodies crushed and compacted into the foundations of some future structure.

A young woman clutched an infant tightly in her arms as she ran blindly in the vain hope of escape, only to be consumed by a large chasm that now appeared in front of her, the last sound a shrill scream of terror as she and the child plunged helplessly below, her voice soaked up by the noise of the ground moving up and sideways, looking to claim more victims. Vehicles trapped at junctions, unable to move, became coffins for those trapped inside. The devastation raged on and soon fires were blazing out of control. Human flesh burned, unable to withstand its fury; the things people once needed for modern life were now being used as weapons against them, attacking those with whom it came into contact. Even the sky now began to turn against the inhabitants of the once beautiful city. Dark clouds ranged freely overhead bringing with them high winds to fan the blazing fires. And finally the tallest buildings that man had produced as testimony to his achievements came crashing down around him. The cruel hand of death had passed over with vengeance, picking at random its evil choice, and now all around was the evidence of nature at its most malevolent, showing the puny inhabitants of this planet how intolerant it could be, and how easily she could change all that was put before her. Nature had proved many times before that she has a long memory, but man’s short life span and his overwhelming vanity prevented him from taking notice; and now up from the ground below, she spewed out products that were not of her making, as if finally rejecting them: containers of metal, concrete an plastic which had held protected for so long the harmful substances and waste products that man had long since buried carelessly away, but now so easily broken open by the forces at work, releasing them into the environment to impart their perfidious control. For out of sight was out of mind, those things that like children, had been tried then discarded carelessly without consideration, hoping never to see again, left to those that would come after when long since he’d turned to dust, his greed and folly for him a thing of the past – a nightmare for those of the future. This then, hidden and bequeathed anonymously, became their legacy.

CHAPTER 2 Discovery

His face tense, his fingers white at the knuckles; he sat motionless in the chair unable to move as the feeling took him over. It wasn't long before he was completely immersed in the light that was now surrounding him and he felt himself slipping away as if through time and space to a place where nothing existed...

***

The speedometer showed contempt for the law as he glanced towards the 'Rolex' on his wrist. Should get there in time, he thought as the BMW confirmed his speed, forcing him into the edge of his seat while the car clung tenaciously to the corner he was now travelling round. Ignoring the now changing traffic light, he placed his hand on the gear lever and went smoothly from second to third gear, then pressed the accelerator pedal down hard. The engine growled as it sucked in more fuel and as if in agreement with his decision, and he made his way quickly out of the city.

Soon grimy buildings and crowded streets gave way to green fields and open spaces. The narrow winding country roads, bordered with lush green hedges and trees that opened up occasionally to reveal a wooden gate or a small lay-by, rushed by as if to enhance the image of the fast- moving vehicle. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he looked to see if anyone was behind him. He noticed then that his hair was sticking out slightly on one side: it had been blown about by the wind coming in from his open window. His usually neat, black, well-cut and styled hair had been hurried this morning and so, wetting his fingers with his tongue, he tried to flatten it down again. The tidy but casual clothes he wore belied the journey he was on. Glancing down, he brushed with his left hand at some mark that had appeared on his brown slacks, then gave a tug at the collar of the red open-necked chequered shirt he'd put on that morning to straighten it.

A rich blue sky overhead beckoned him on as he made his way to his friend's house. The cottage lay in the hills outside Burnley, Lancashire. How peaceful it is up here, he thought and instinctively reached over to turn off the music he had playing, as if to savor the silence that permeated the surrounds like a blanket. He had always enjoyed the drive up here; it was a pleasant change from where he lived by himself in his small flat in Manchester. Only a little less than an hour's drive, it seemed like another part of the world. As he neared the top of the hill he slowed down and pulled off the road. Stopping the car he climbed out and walked round to the nearside. He leaned against the bonnet as he lit up a cigarette and while he smoked he took in the view. The morning was still quite cool and the sun wasn't all the way out as a wind started to blow his hair about again. Ignoring the temptation to press it back, he placed his hand to the collar of his unbuttoned shirt and held it together against the slight chill he felt. Taking a deep breath and drawing in the smoke from his cigarette, he coughed. I must try and give these damn things up; he thought as he looked at what was left of the thin white stick that rested between his fingers. He took one more deep lungful of the smoke and deftly flicked what was left out over the stone wall in front of him, its ashes sparking red as it hit the edge and bounced away. He could see Rochdale in the distance and the M62 motorway running before him, and over there to the right was Bury and to the west the hills of the Pennine Chain, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other with the sun forcing itself over the low cloud surrounding it. As the fresh wind blew again across his face, his nose began to run and he reached for the handkerchief in his pocket. He had found it difficult to get up that morning, especially as both he and Simon had been drinking until late and Sunday was usually his day for stopping in bed if he had the chance. He wasn't even sure if Simon had gotten home all right last night, but he was a careful driver and there was never much traffic on the roads up here. He began to regret going all the way back into town last night and wished now he'd gone back with Simon instead. In the cold light of day and without the influence of alcohol, it hardly seemed worth the effort that he'd made to give the two girls they'd met in the pub a lift back. Looking at his watch again he climbed back into his car and pulled off again onto the road. He sped off and soon arrived at the turning to his friend's house. Dropping down into third gear, he raced round the corner, the car pulling easily up the steep hill that led up to the cottage. Apart from a farm at the bottom there was only Simon's house at the top with two others on the other side of the road a little way up, and all were surrounded by open fields.

He drove the cherry red BMW quickly into the gravel driveway of his friend's house, the tyres spitting as they bounced and fought for grip amongst the loose stones. His friend had often chastised him for this activity but had since given up.

Parking by the garage, he switched off the engine and glanced quickly over his shoulder at the two objects lying across the back seat. This would be the first time he'd had the opportunity to use them this year. He had been so busy with the demands at work that he had been unable to get away. Moving his hand to the handle, he quickly opened the door and got out. He shoved the door behind him as he moved away and with a smooth-sounding clunk it engaged the lock. Making his way the short distance across the yard to the front door, he knocked a few times on the door. There was no answer, so stepping back away from the house he called out as he looked up to the bedroom window in case his friend might still be in bed.

Are you in there, Simon? he shouted. Is anyone home? He looked at his watch: it was now 9.48 a.m. and he wondered where his friend could be. He knocked on the door once more before reaching for the latch and lifting it to see if it was unlocked. It was, and so pushing against the door he slowly opened it. He placed his head around the other side, calling out once more before entering. But still no reply was forthcoming. Once inside and with a slight creaking sound from the old hinges he closed the door, making his way down the hall. He opened the door leading to the front room and looked inside. There, sat in a chair by the fireplace, was his friend Simon, motionless. The chair was at an angle facing slightly away from the door and Mike could only see the back of Simon's head.

Have you been sitting there all night, Simon? He asked. I knocked at the front door but you didn't answer. At first his friend sat there as if he hadn't heard. Then, making a sound like someone waking up turned his head slowly and spoke.

Err, what...? He looked up from the chair to see who was addressing him. He seemed in a daze. Mike repeated the question once again and added, I also called out but you didn't reply. He could see now his friend was not his usual self and so made his way across the room to the chair in which Simon was sitting, but before he reached it Simon grasped the arm of the chair and swiveled round, looking as if he had just woken up from a sleep.I didn't hear you come in. I must have been asleep. What time is it?

Getting on for ten, Mike answered. Have you been sitting here all night?

Ten! Simon shouted. Hell, I should be at work by now! Picking himself up quickly, he was halfway up from the chair when he suddenly asked, Anyway, what are you doing here? His expression was one of puzzlement and amazement as he questioned his friend.

Take it easy, Simon, replied Mike, moving fully round the other side of the chair and placing his hand on Simon's shoulder to steady him as he offered assistance to raise him out of the chair. It's Sunday, you fool. We're supposed to be going fishing this morning- don't you remember?

Simon paused for a moment and placed his left hand against his forehead as he struggled to come to grips with this lapse in memory.

Fishing! Hold it; hold it a minute, just back up there Mike. I don't remember any of this.

Of course you do. Last thing we agreed before I took those two girls home was you said be here in the morning early and we'll go fishing. It was your idea. His friend staggered back against the chair. Luckily Mike was there to hold him. Sit down again. You're not very steady on the old pins this morning.

Fishing? Drinking? Simon repeated. But I was on my way to work..! Then hesitating for a moment he looked at Mike and asked, Anyway, who wants to go fishing in this weather?

Mike at first thought better than to take any notice of this question, believing his friend to be suffering from the after affects of last night’s reveling but then couldn't resist asking.

Where did you get your report from Simon? The weather outside is great. I said you would drink yourself silly last night, ha, ha! Mike laughed, finding it all very amusing.

Did we go drinking then last night?

Mike tutted to himself, as he gave Simon a look of disgust and shook his head from side to side. Look Simon, I'll go and make us both a cup of coffee, to wake me up, and to sober up you.

Yes, yes alright, Simon said. But I don't feel like I've been drinking.

Well, take it from me you supped some ale last night, Mike replied as he turned and went off to the kitchen. He couldn't help feeling that there was something different about his friend this morning. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

When he came back into the room with the drinks he had prepared he found Simon climbing out of his chair and making his way over to the window. He took a cup from the tray to give to Simon.

My god! Simon suddenly shouted out, and then stood absolutely still staring into the yard, his expression frozen.

What's wrong, Simon? You nearly made me spill this! Mike exclaimed as he attempted to put down the drinks

Look, look! Simon said, pointing to the yard. Mike moved quickly over to the window to see what was wrong. He placed his arm on Simon's right shoulder and joined him in scanning the yard outside but could see nothing amiss.

Whatever's the matter outside?

The snow, the snow's all gone!

What snow, you idiot? Mike shouted back thinking that his friend was delusional now.

The snow, it was there, last night!

Mike stared at Simon, but didn't know what to say but then added, I think you'd better drink that coffee quick.

Am I losing my mind, Mike, or what? I could sure use a drink of something stronger.

"I think you had enough last night. Come on back to the chair and let's get you straight.

But that's just it, said Simon as he folded himself back into the seat, I don't remember last night, only setting out for work in the snow.

I think you've been dreaming. I must have woken you up in the middle.

Oh, yes, you're probably right; I must have had a dream, but it seemed so real. I could have sworn it was the middle of winter.

Look, sit down and drink your coffee. Do you want to tell me about this dream? It might help.

Simon didn't answer; he placed his hands tightly around his cup and sipped slowly at it. Neither of them spoke for quite a while. Then Simon looked up from his cup and said in a low quiet voice, You know, Mike, it seemed as if it really happened.

Well, go on then, tell me about it; so long as it doesn't take all day- you know I would like to do some fishing sometime.

Simon sipped at his drink again until it had almost gone, then tilted his head back to drain the last drop of it. He placed his cup gently down on the table beside him, and then went on to recount what had happened in the dream.

I remember the day started like any other, except I felt somehow uneasy or unsure about something. I suppose that anyone else would have ignored the feeling that was lurking inside my stomach, or put it down to something that they might have eaten or drunk the night before.

Ha ha! That's probably what it was, laughed Mike, but when he looked at Simon's eyes, he could see that his friend didn't share his humor. Simon carried on undisturbed by his friend's interjection.

"I remember waking that morning, it must have been early, the room was very cold and the windows were etched in ice, the heating hadn't come on yet. Rubbing my eyes I persuaded myself to get up out of bed and went to the bathroom and took a shower hoping that the hot water would rid my head of the strange feeling I had. Getting dressed, I went downstairs; it must have been around 6.00 a.m. as now the heating had started to come on. I made myself some breakfast and sat down at the table. I couldn't bring myself to eat and pushed the plate aside. I moved over to the stove to get myself a cup of coffee. As I poured the liquid into my cup I looked out of the window into the black winter sky outside. I tried to think what might have made me so jumpy that morning, but could think of nothing unusual. I threw back the hot coffee; it felt good as it ran down my throat, warm and comforting. As I waited for the caffeine to kick in, I looked at