Lost on the Road

By Trevor Lloyd

Adam Reeves is a reporter until he is shocked by a terrible sight, all the vehicles on the road behind him have dissappeared.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trevor Lloyd
• Release date: Apr 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533752758

Book preview

Lost on the Road

Dedicated to my wife Kay

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Abdul Aziz  Imam’s Assassin

Abu Abdullah  Laundry Crewman

Adam Reeves  Reporter

Annie Prentice  Widow of Tony Prentice

Anton Teller  Scientist

Bob Strand   Director General MI5 

Brian Green  Project Leader Australia

Charles Fontelle Home Secretary

Constable Evans Worcester Police

Grace Taylor  Clerical Assistant

Harry Lane  Missing Driver

Harry Poole  Chief Inspector

Ibrahim  Imam’s Servant

Imam Abu Lyad Iranian Cleric

James Wallace  Professor of Astro Physics

Jane Freemont  Waiter at GCHQ

Josiah Spence  Editor of the Worcester Messenger

Ken Stott  Depot Manager

Kenneth Cordy Missing Driver

Lorrie Robinson Line Manager MI5

Madeleine Lawson MI5 Agent

Makarem Shirazi Waiter spy

Marianne Lucard Scientist

Mark Rice  Commander MI5

Mohammed Shirazi  Restaurant Owner

Pamela Kelly  Hospitality Manager

Peter Finlay  Prime Minister

Peter Todd  Reprographic Technician

Phil Lacey  Capsule Commander

Rita Fletcher  Capsule Pilot

Robert Barrett  Missing Driver

Sharon Field  Sub Editor

Stuart Akers  Missing Driver

Stuart Plumber Government Scientist

Terry Briggs  Missing Driver

Lost on the Road

Prologue

SHARON I’VE COVERED the dog kennel show at Westcroft Middle school over in Droitwich Spa, said Adam Reeves over the hands free in-car mobile phone system by way of reporting in.

Got any good pics?

A few, the weather’s been iffy all day, he explained as the sun revealed itself from behind a curtain of cloud for the umteeph time that day.

"Okay then, let me have a look at them before they’re submitted to the compositor.

Righto I’m on my way.

The compositor of today bore no relation to past generations of old.  In bygone days the press was handled by a team of artisans whose skills for setting type mirror backwards and accurately was essential.  Now the whole process was tied into IT applications of Word processing and Photoshop that could be formatted by any competent teenager.

Adam believed that the work culture of the newspaper he worked for, The Worcester Messenger was similarly steeped in the cobwebs of the past.  As a junior reporter Adam Reeves had initially been taken on board as a reporter for the science desk where he hoped to bring stunning analyses to planetary sightings and the occasional passing comet marking a brilliant pyrotechnic display but instead he had been tasked with reporting on dog kennel and grooming shows.  It seemed to Adam that it was only during odd weather events such as the incidence of Saharan sand deposited on local car roofs or his onetime masterpiece, Raining Splats & Frogs, to explain anomalies in the weather that his expert opinion was ever called for.

Reluctantly he was playing ball, covering local news for a senior reporter of seven years standing, Ms Sharon Field, and was laughed at by the other hacks in the office.

At twenty three and a half he felt like an under achiever whereas at Worcester University his main achievements had been getting his assignments in on time and working on solutions with his classmate Grace.  But that was well behind him now; capitalising on a first in astro-physics his degree entry into the press world was losing its attraction.

The Worcester countryside was verdant and tall overhanging walls of brambles and leafy fronds closed in the sunken roads which twisted frantically in semi circles to transit the rural pastures and meadows along the journey.  August was warm and bountiful evidenced by the heavy boughs of fruit trees on embankments and the warm inviting pastures in the fields; apples, plums and pears vied with grains of corn, barley and hops for harvest.

Reeve’s easy going manner and athletic frame tended to open doors for his enquiries and his winning features of straw coloured hair and honest electric blue eyes were sure to engage females whenever he interviewed them for a hot story or lead.  Hardly stopping to grab a bread roll or a sandwich he lived a lifestyle of nervous energy, at Uni he regularly worked out at the gym but time and tide wait for no man not even the press and the pace of work left him totally bushed by nightfall.

Unexpectedly two formations of flying Vics approached from the north, he heard them before he could see them and by reflex action he grabbed his SLR digital camera and cycled through four shots, moving the lens across to get a better angle.  The Red Arrows aerobatic team registered for just an instant then they were gone.  Thankful that he had seen them he continued on; Reeves studied the speedometer in the firm’s cramped Toyota Aygo and realised that he had allowed his concentration to lapse, he noticed the snaking trail of traffic behind him in his rear view mirror.  Concentrating he pressed lightly on the accelerator pedal and placed his gearstick into fifth gear increasing his speed up to forty five miles per hour, which was well under the maximum of the fifty miles per hour speed limit for this stretch of road.  The sudden burst of acceleration increased the gap between the immediate vehicle to his rear and the snake of traffic further behind.  The road meandered around a sizable hillock and angled up by five degrees then it was clear and straight ahead so he allowed his speed to increase to the maximum of fifty miles per hour thereby allowing the following traffic room to stretch out and maintain safer breaking distances.

Glancing frequently in his mirror for the tail back traffic he felt almost apologetic for holding it up, Reeves had a pet hate of dawdlers who parted company with the mentality of the rest of the road users who drove with due care and attention for other drivers; driving at half the maximum speed and virtually dancing on their brakes at every slight twist and turn indicated that the driver had no ‘road sense,’ just as he had lapsed in his.

Another bête noire of his was of cars suddenly emerging from rural road junctions and misjudging the distance of oncoming traffic thus creating an instant obstruction forcing others to slow down.  Adam had in fact failed a driving test carrying out that very manoeuvre and he never forgot it, whenever he noticed that driving fault in others he invariably uttered, Failed, under his breath.

Taking another glimpse at the rear view mirror he noticed a dappled rippling in the sky. It seemed as if the elemental fabric of the atmosphere was shimmering, the ribbon of road behind him was hidden by a hummock on the roadside around which he had just travelled; and for some reason the disturbance alarmed him.

Seeing nothing behind him he carried on and slowed down into a thirty mile per hour zone adjacent to a school frontage and car park; he kept peeking into his rear view mirror and wing mirrors by reflex but nothing registered behind him, finally he expressed his amazement, Where have all the cars gone?

Turning into the empty car park he waited for a minute and turned off his engine.  His eyebrows knitted together wondering why the road was so quiet, Reeves knew the route quite well and he felt the dawning suspicion that something was wrong; there were no turnoffs, not even rough farm tracks into fields approachable from the road, so where were they?

Switching on the car radio for local and national news he sat for twelve minutes but heard nothing beyond banal radio jingles and songs old and new, DJ’s were still talking and the world turned on its axis, nothing was wrong on the radio-waves at least.

Reeves knew he should relent and drive back the extra mile and return to see what had happened but he felt a dreadful foreboding at retracing his tracks, it irritated him and made him feel ashamed, emasculated even; so he decided to continue on with his journey.  Turning his head around for a final look he could see that the highway remained completely empty which added to his feelings of helplessness and loss; shaking his head to clear his mind he drove on diligently checking both his rear view mirror and wing mirrors regularly almost obsessively for the traffic that wasn’t there anymore then, for no reason he could properly define at that point, Adam thought of Grace.

CHAPTER 1

ADAM YOU LOOK AS WHITE as a sheet.

It’s nothing Sharon.  I’ve got the photographs and my notes; would you like to see them?

She looked unconvinced and beckoned him over to her desk, Sure, let’s have a look at them.

Reeves placed the digital camera upon her desk and handed her his notebook; she scanned his notes keeping Rudyard Kipling reporter’s aphorism in mind:

I keep six honest serving men

They taught me all they knew

Their names are what and why and when

And how and where and who.

Hm I’d be a little more descriptive with your ‘what’ the event was and be more explanative with ‘why’ it was held and that should make good copy Adam.

Then she perused the digital camera memory and said, I like pictures 1, 4 and 7 and those surprising shots of the Red Arrows are fine, select frames 2 and 3 and we are good to go.

Adam did as she asked and uploaded the relevant photographs into Sharon’s computer hard drive and completed his report on the dedicated word processor.  He paid particular attention to what the day was about and why the event was set up in the first place in a historical as well as a community aspect.

Within half an hour they had merged with the text and studied the article anew.  Satisfied with the result it was sent to Editorial for inclusion in the newspaper and a copy was forwarded to the compositors to await the final go signal from the Editor, Josiah Spence.

Reeves would be paid a bonus for the photographs especially for the action flying shots of the Red Arrows.

Up to then Adam had accumulated a computer file of his best camera work and he added the Red Arrow shots automatically.  When he had started reporting he had been proud of his portfolio but of late he felt that he was just going through the motions for old time’s sake.

With that he waited for the Editor’s all clear and left the office for an early night.

Taking the bus as he had no further business with the firm’s car, Adam swiped his card across the reader and chose an empty seat by a window.  Letting the sway of the bus lull him into a light reverie he leaned his head against the bus window pane and his head gently moved, synchronised to the rocking vehicle frame and once more the memory of the event on the road surged into his mind and for a moment a light was shed upon the whole episode, there must have been a road diversion of some kind then the errant thought dissipated.

A sudden rain squall hit the window turning the glassy surface cold and wet with condensation.  He awoke with a start and immediately examined the passengers with a sweep of his eyes, who rocked to and fro similarly enslaved to the motor vehicle’s passage through the streets.  Reeves experienced light-headedness and sensed the simple desire of being bereft of further decisive thought which gave way to basic hunger pangs that gnawed at his stomach.

Alighting at his bus stop he entered a fish and chip shop and ordered a cone of chips and ate them on his return to his corner flat in a leafy street.  He let himself into his flat and disposed of his empty cone in the kitchen bin.

I must empty that, he thought and did so, depositing his bag of kitchen refuse into the upright and underused dustbin which was standing outside the front garden ready to be collected the next morning.

In next to no time he was feeling full, experiencing the all-in onset of exhaustion as he undressed and went through the ritual of brushing his teeth; he put on an old tee shirt and pyjama bottoms before climbing into his welcoming but lonely bed for a restful sleep.

Reeves slipped gently into a deep slumber recuperating from his agitation of the road journey earlier that day, and as daybreak eventually heralded in the new morning the brilliant sunlight warmed his eyelids and they fluttered in contrast to his inner state. 

For the final moments before waking up, microseconds of REM sleep embroidered his subconscious and were examined in drifting dreamscapes then discarded across an open neuron or two; the running dog events slowly faded from his mind and he awoke refreshed and surprisingly ready for a new day.  Shaving and showering he dried himself and applied underarm deodorant before making his bed and laying out his trousers and shirt upon it; dressing quickly he fed the toaster and boiled a kettle for a cup of instant coffee.  He always made time to eat breakfast he surmised you don’t know when you’ll have time to eat your next meal in this job.  Washing up he made sure he dried the crocks with a handy tea towel before heading back to the bathroom to brush his teeth again.  Moving into the bedroom he knotted a tie under his collar and put on his jacket, adding a dab or two of aftershave before grabbing his keys and leaving to wait for the bus.

Within five minutes the single decker bus arrived and he climbed in and offered his travel card against the reader plate and stepped into the isle.  There were several empty places and he sat next to a window looking at nothing in particular for his usual morning journey to the Worcester Messenger.

Making his way into the office he noticed that Sharon was already there and she asked Adam to go to two venues; one was to a hot air balloon carnival and the other was to help promote local produce.

The marketing campaign was running concurrently with weekly articles on, From Pasture to Cream, From Grain to Tankard and From Vine to Glass.

He was glad to accept the assignments; they took him out of the office and he got a sense of freedom from it.

As he made his arrival Reeves heard the roar of gas jets before he saw the balloons being inflated across the field.  Parking in the allotted area he grabbed a pair of wellingtons from the car boot and took his time changing his footwear before finding out the organisation’s name and story.

The varicoloured pattern of the hot air balloons, checks, fluted lines and logos sat on the field like giant deflated condoms that had been carelessly discarded after use but gradually they began to take form, requiring more gas jet hits to heat the air inside the envelopes.  This next feat was vital to ensure that the gas bags remained vertical as therms of heat were shot almost continuously into each hot air balloon.  The best was yet to come as each individual balloon started tugging on their anchor ropes and began fighting to get aloft and defy gravity as the Montgolfier brothers had intended to do when the first successful human free ascent from Earth took place on 21st November 1783.

Having read through the events guide earlier with the promotional manager Paul Oldes, Adam was more than happy to watch in companionable silence as each balloon majestically surged aloft and invaded the blue backdrop of the sky.  Taking unhurried pictures with the newspaper’s digital camera Adam bagged quite a range of shots safe in the knowledge that each print would be enhanced for its marketing aspect back at the ranch as he sometimes referred to the Worcester Messenger.  After sharing a drink with Oldes he shook hands and said goodbye then changed his footwear before making his way to his second promotional venue of the day, a farm produce outlet.   Reeves was quite supportive of such ventures, he found it exciting that farmers were able to diversify and be proud of their products at the same time.  Jars, packets and sacks contained plentiful bounty with labels and printed descriptions of the produce clearly marked.  By day’s end he decided he had taken enough pictures and eventually met with Sharon Fields at the Messenger office where she went over his work.

The newspaper was being retained by a local consortium of farm producers to promote their seasonal work and he was happy to submit it.

These are nice Adam but they will have to go to the experts in reprographics for the final article.  Take the camera and get them to make each balloon logo razor sharp.

I see.

Good, yes I like these, she referred to the farm produce, get them to refine these products on the jars too.  She handed Adam a device, Ask them to transfer the polished photos onto this memory stick.

Fine.

Adam entered the reprographics office and met Paul Todd who was voluble about his work and took the time to access the camera’s memory revealing the photographs to be improved.

Within moments Reeves stood mesmerised as Todd used Photoshop to tease out colour, contrast and clarity to highlight balloon captions and jar labels; as the process unfolded, too rapid to take in, he witnessed the final result.

There you are, he said proudly, would you like anything else done to the images?

Satisfied, Adam was praising, That’s remarkable, you have a real gift Paul.

Todd replied self deprecatingly, It’s not me but these magnificent applications that are the real magicians, and it’s a pleasure to operate them.

Handing back the memory stick to Reeves he sensed that Paul was happy to talk about reprographics until day’s end so Adam nodded his thanks and left him to his IT artist pallet.

Proffering the memory stick to Sharon she plugged it in and re-examined the photographs then pronounced them fit to go.  Once she was satisfied with his news reports they were routed to the editor and compositor for joint decisions before press.

Adam felt much happier with his work than previously; he was dismissed and walked out of the door with ‘a job well done’ feeling.

Getting home before five pm had been a rarity for Reeves and he took it as a good sign that his work was improving.

Swapping his clothes for shorts, trainers and tee shirt he Velcro pocketed his front door key into his shorts and stretched his limbs before beginning his jog towards the park.  Taking up his natural rhythm he crossed several roads before he entered the green confines of the park itself.  Inhaling deeply he chose a circular route, keeping his pace steady especially on inclines and downward slopes.  The springy feel of the manicured turf was comfortable and the natural smells of windbreak pines