The Faslane Files: Volume Three: The Faslane Files, #3

By Harry Dayle

As the Faslane community of end-of-the-world survivors enters its third month, thoughts and hopes turn towards the return of the questing fleet. But the base-dwellers' trials are not over yet. A new enemy emerges from within, threatening to destroy everything they have worked for.

After tackling the evils of Level Four, and overcoming a major energy crisis, the underground outpost's citizens have hit their stride in their bid to build a viable society. But the challenges along the way have taken their toll on the production schedule. Jake Noah and his voyagers are expected back soon, so efforts must be redoubled.

Not everyone is riding high on a wave of optimism. Hidden away from the others, Captain Wickham Grey awaits news that could change their destiny. And one among them is about to turn against the community. Faslane is about to meet its biggest challenge yet.

The Faslane Files: Volume Three concludes the exciting trilogy set in the world of Noah's Ark.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry Dayle
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224795925

Book preview

One

Try as he might, Captain Wickham Grey could not avert his gaze from the telephone. Its shiny red handle, polished and re-polished, reflected back his tired eyes. For a week he had been waiting for the thing to ring again. Waiting and wondering who, if anyone, was on the other end. Wondering if Royce had been mistaken. Was it possible it had never sounded at all? The archivist had been adamant, and the rest of his story held up. The strange computers that filled the room had come on all by themselves, too. Nobody had been able to get those working before, despite a number of attempts, yet now their bright screens filled the otherwise dark room with blue-white light. The computers lent more than enough credence to Royce’s story about the phone.

Grey had tried using some of the computers. It was a way of filling the time while he waited for that damned telephone to ring again. His own ID and password had been refused, his seniority apparently not quite senior enough to grant him access to whatever secrets the machines harboured. That, Grey thought, was the story of his life. Or at least his career.

Never quite senior enough.

His eyes glazed over, and the receiver blurred into a montage of memories. Regrets, mostly.

Overlooked again, Wickers! He could almost hear his friends’ favourite refrain, carted out gleefully on every occasion that Grey failed to secure a captaincy. Never mind, chum. Next time, perhaps, would be the inevitable follow up. Grey felt the snigger behind the words even if he didn’t hear it.

His parents had been more supportive, especially his father and particularly for his last promotion. The encouragement they provided made for less uncomfortable memories.

XO! Well done, son.

I was going for captain.

And if I’m not mistaken, XO is a vital stepping stone on the road to that post, is it not?

Stepping stone, yes. Vital? Not so much.

The submarine service requires the very best of the best. You cannot expect to leapfrog positions. They’re prepping you for the top job. You can see that, can’t you?

Perhaps.

Then why the long face?

He hadn’t been able to articulate it at the time, but he felt sure that XO would be the summit of his progression in the Royal Navy. He was to serve under Gibson Coote, and everyone knew that sailors on Coote’s boat stayed put on Coote’s boat. Ordinarily it would be an honour to be placed in such esteemed company, but Grey knew it was the MOD’s way of signalling he had got as far as he was going.

The memory stung, and he pushed it aside, refocussing on the phone. How much longer was he going to wait? And what would it mean if it did start ringing? If there was someone alive in Whitehall, what would they want from Faslane? It hardly mattered, he decided. Whitehall might as well be another planet for all the help it could be. So why, he wondered, was he so desperate for the call? Was it just to know that there was life beyond the bunker, or was there more to it?

Grey avoided his own question. Wrestling his gaze from the telephone, he stood and stretched. He rummaged through a desk drawer filled with empty food wrappers. There was nothing left to eat. The clock on the wall suggested that Georgie would be serving lunch about now. He contemplated the long walk up three flights of stairs to the canteen on level one and decided he wasn’t that hungry after all. Maybe if Elis hadn’t been working on the damn lift again, it would have been worth the effort. Show his face. Let the people know he was still there, still in charge. Because, he reminded himself as he sat back down, he was in charge. He was no longer XO, he was Captain Grey. Not the captain of a submarine, granted, but a leader of men and women. And children. Must not forget the children.

In many ways it was an even more important and responsible job than that which he had longed for. Their Scottish outpost represented, to the best of their knowledge, a significant proportion of the entire population of the planet. His title might have been chosen to continue maritime tradition, but he was much more than a captain. He was a mayor, a governor.

Governor. Grey liked the sound of that. He flipped open a notebook and etched the word in biro. If the fleet ever came back, he would propose to the committee that his title be changed. And if they never came back, he would change it himself.

He glanced over the other notes scrawled on the beige page. Half-formed ideas about a reorganisation of the teams, menu suggestions for Georgie, and guesses at passwords for the computers that glared at him from around the room. It didn’t matter that the notes weren’t complete. He wasn’t ready to put them into practice yet. Leaving the deep level-three office for any length of time was out of the question as long as the phone had not rung. It would never do to have someone other than himself, supreme leader of Faslane, governor, answer to Whitehall should they ever call.

Grey settled back into his chair, closed his eyes, and waited some more.

Mandy rubbed her hand automatically over her visor, but the scene before her gained nothing in clarity. If anything, the vista softened and blurred even more as her glove smeared a thin, greasy sheen across the plastic.

Elis glanced at her and chuckled.

She thumped his arm. Shut up.

The colour had drained out of the world three months ago, but those months seemed positively brilliant in comparison to today’s view. The rugged terrain where the line between the highlands and lowlands of Scotland became hazy, had been rendered monochrome by thick grey and black smoke which hung low, hugging the ground. Only a single horizontal sliver of bright green-orange added any vibrancy to the view. The raging fire was just a few hundred metres away and was the source of the smoke that obscured the rest of the world. It was the fifth burning operation Mandy had witnessed, and she still hadn’t got used to the sight.

I think we should get closer, Elis said. He began walking towards the line of flame, which was advancing away from them at an impressive speed.

Mandy followed reluctantly. She did not share Elis’ confidence in the team’s ability to control the burning. The ash had proved unpredictable and deadly since it had fallen to Earth; she saw no reason to believe it would be tamed so easily. Burning the stuff away might be a quick way to clear the ground around the base, but as far as she was concerned it was a disaster in waiting.

She increased her pace, trying to keep up with Elis. The scorched earth felt strange beneath her feet. Soft and spongy. Pleasant after the harsh tiled floors inside and reassuring after the toxic ash.

Somewhere behind them, in the distance, the agriculture and food production team were working this recently cleared area, turning it with their hand tools, burying the burnt topsoil and covering it with — hopefully — fertile dirt.

Elis turned back and beckoned her to hurry up. She knew he was right. The danger that was holding her back was the very reason she was there at all. If anything went wrong, she was the medical front line.

Front line, backup, and reserve all in one, she reminded herself.

Up ahead, six members of Elis’ utilities team tended the fire, corralling it and steering it precisely where they wanted it to go. In theory they were in complete control. The ash only ignited when it came into contact with diesel oil. To burn the desired areas, the team members sprayed a fine oil mist across the dust.

Fifty metres from the front line they came to a halt. Elis stood with his hands clasping his hips, his pleasure at the progress of the operation and his pride in having come up with the plan both on display through his body language. Another hour and this one will be done. The boys are doing good.

Yeah. I suppose.

He turned to look at her, though his eyes were hidden behind his visor. I don’t get why you have so much trouble with this. It’s not as if you have a problem with fire.

Normal fire. This fire’s…weird. It’s green. Alien. Toxic.

You’re wearing a biosuit. I wouldn’t worry about the toxicity.

A biosuit won’t protect my insides when I have to eat veggies or cereal grown in this field, Mandy said indignantly. How do we know we’re not poisoning the land?

We don’t. That’s why we’re running trial fields. Anyway, even if the ground can’t support a crop, you have to admit it’s a lot nicer not having this shit outside our front door. Bloody ash. I’d hate the stuff, if it hadn’t proved itself so useful. Listen, this is far enough. You can wait here. I’m going to go and check in with Malc. I’ll be back shortly.

Mandy nodded and settled down on the ground. She watched Elis march over to his men for an update on their progress. Down low, her head was out of the drifting smoke. The clearer air brought more positive thoughts. She recalled her parting conversation with Captain Noah. He had told her he was looking forward to a drink on the terrace when the Spirit of Arcadia returned to Faslane. It had been a joke, of course, but now it looked like a terrace could be a real possibility. Even the drink was on the cards, assuming Ganjit didn’t pilfer the lot. She wondered how he managed to come by so many bottles of alcohol. He had brought some with him, but that could not have accounted for his impressive consumption. There were stocks in the stores — much to everyone’s surprise — but access to level four was via the lift only. Since Elis had reinstated a lock system, preventing access to the lowest level without a key, there was surely no way the wheelchair-bound ex-GP could get down there. An accomplice? That seemed unlikely; Ganjit was not a sociable man.

Penny for your thoughts.

Mandy looked up to see Elis’ tall figure looming over her. I’d be overcharging. Nothing interesting.

Strictly speaking, Elis sat down next to her, I wouldn’t be paying at all. A penny is pretty much worthless now, isn’t it? Does that mean we’re all broke? His words drifted off.

That or we’re all millionaires. Malc happy with the burn?

Over the moon. Bloody loving it. Poor lad is going to be rather disappointed when there’s nothing left to set fire to.

You’re joking. We’ll never see that day.

Maybe. Maybe not. Depends where we decide to stop. Listen, I wanted to ask you. Well, the boys wanted to know. How’s Tam doing? I know you said we can’t visit yet, but, you know…

Mandy sighed.

No change?

That would be a good thing.

You mean he’s getting worse?

She nodded.

Still breathing on his own though, yeah? That’s a good thing. It means the operation was a success.

Yeah, the operation was a success. Which is why it’s all the more confusing as to why he is not up and about, but is instead drifting in and out of consciousness.

Elis scraped at the ground with the heel of his biosuit-covered foot, dragging a line in front of him. A cloud of greasy ash and diesel smoke wafted silently by. Could it have been the anaesthetic? My Aunty June knew someone who had her tonsils out and never woke up after the operation. That’s what Mum always told us, anyway. Now I come to think of it, I wonder if that was the truth of it. June’s friend was a bit of a rascal to be honest with you. Wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out she’d been banged up and the whole thing was a cover story.

That does happen, Mandy agreed. Not waking up. Rare, but it happens. I don’t think it’s the anaesthetic though, because he does have periods where he’s wide awake. And you know what, Elis? Those are the worst times. That’s when he screams. He screams longer and louder than someone who has thirty percent of their lungs missing has any right to do. And it’s non-stop. From the moment he wakes to the moment he passes out again. It’s a relief when he loses consciousness. I shouldn’t say that. As a nurse, I shouldn’t wish that on my patient.

You don’t want to see him in pain. I can understand that, it’s normal.

It’s not normal that I can’t do anything for him. I have literally no idea what to do next. His body twists and contorts. Lumps appear overnight and I don’t know what to do about them. I fret about it, panic, lose sleep worrying about it, and then in the morning the lumps are gone. What’s that all about?

Could it be an infection? His immune system is fighting it off. That can account for swelling, can’t it?

Yeah, it can. It’s not only the lumps though. There are rashes, hair loss, shaking fits, it’s just an endless string of symptoms. And all the time I’m powerless to help. I’m worried I’m going to lose him, Elis. After all we went through, I’m scared he’s not going to survive.

Elis shuffled sideways, closer to Mandy. He put an arm around her. Listen, nobody will think badly of you if he doesn’t pull through. And you shouldn’t think badly of yourself either. You’re not trained for this kind of thing.

He’s my patient and I’m failing him.

Ganjit is failing him. Ganjit’s the doctor. You’re just— Elis stopped himself too late.

Just a nurse. Yeah, I know.

Mandy, I didn’t mean—

Yeah, you did. And it’s fine. You’re right. I’m just a nurse. But I’m also the only working medical professional in the base. Tam’s my responsibility and I’m failing him. I only hope the ship comes back sooner than expected and I can call on Vardy’s help, or Grau Lister’s. She stared in the direction of the loch. How long, she wondered, before they saw the gleaming white hull of the cruise ship re-enter those waters? Her mood darkened. A desire for the fleet’s return was an admission that they had failed. The Faslane community had made great strides in its bid to become autonomous. Clear fields surrounded them. The first experimental crop of maize was almost ready to harvest. A growing chicken farm was producing eggs, and meat would soon follow. The wind turbine supplemented the energy from the generator which itself was being fed by generous supplies of diesel that could keep them in power for years to come. In all quarters but one, Faslane was a success. Only Mandy’s medical team was letting the side down, and she hated herself for it.

The lift shuddered to a halt and the doors eased open with an asthmatic groan. Georgie hopped out, eager to escape the confines of the box. A lot had happened between those four tiny walls, not much of it good. Elis and his team had done a sterling job fixing up the lift car, and it even had a proper floor now, but he couldn’t do anything about the injury and death that were now an indelible part of its history. Georgie wasn’t superstitious, but even she got bad vibes travelling between floors. If it hadn’t been for the fully laden tray held steady in both hands, she would have taken the stairs.

She proceeded down the corridor, marvelling at how level three looked so much like level one, and thinking how similar it was to some of the cabin decks on the cruise ship aboard which she had spent most of her working life. Aside from the huge figure painted on the wall, announcing the floor number to anyone arriving, only minor details gave away the fact she was substantially deeper. The prefixes on the door numbers weren’t the same and some of the blocks were configured a little differently. Just enough to make it easy to get lost if one didn’t keep their wits about them.

There was no danger of Georgie getting lost though. This was a trip she had made at least twice a day for a week.

With the toe of her boot, she tapped three times on a door that looked just like all the others.

Who is it? The voice inside sounded tired.

Georgie. I brought you some dinner.

Come.

Captain Grey was slumped in his chair behind the only desk without a computer on it. His jacket hung behind him, his tie was lose, and his shirt was ruffled.

I, erm— he began.

Don’t worry about it. She saved him the embarrassment of having to explain why he had so obviously been sleeping face down on the desk. The red strip across his cheek even gave away the exact position in which he had been dozing. Lasagne, a little bread, and a dessert. I didn’t know if you had anything left to drink down here, so I brought you a bottle of orange juice, too.

Thank you. What is the dessert? He prodded at the contents of the smaller plate with the tip of a spoon, making it wobble.

Not sure it’s got a name and you probably don’t want to know what it’s made from. Tastes nice though.

He frowned.

Okay, call it Georgie’s Surprise. She glanced at the red phone. Still nothing?

Sadly not.

I know it’s none of my business, but I was wondering. Couldn’t we ring Whitehall, instead of waiting for them to call us?

Grey slapped his forehead. My God! The girl is a genius, give her a reward. Why did we not think of picking up the telephone and making the call ourselves? We must be mad. The bleeding obvious has passed us by.

Georgie sighed. Sorry, it was just an idea. No need to be sarcastic about it.

He frowned deeper and glared at her. She had the impression he wasn’t used to people answering back. That, or he was well used to it which annoyed him even more.

Well, I’ll leave you to your meal, Captain Grey. Would you like me to bring you breakfast in the morning?

If you mean am I going to be leaving this office tomorrow, the answer is no. You can pass that on to all those gossiping upstairs. As governor it is my duty to be here when the higher-ups make contact. I cannot and will not deputise the task to someone of lower rank.

Right. I’ll bring breakfast down to you, Georgie said. She did not add, I thought you were captain, not governor. And we’re not ranked in Faslane, pal. Instead she smiled, retrieved the empty tray which had transported that morning’s breakfast rations, backed out of the room, and closed the door quietly behind her.

Twenty minutes later she recounted the short episode while she undressed. Governor? She smirked. Who does he think he is? And does he really think nobody in this base is capable of answering a phone and taking a message, or asking the caller to hold while they fetch the captain?

Grey’s big on protocol, Elis said. He pulled his socks off one by one, sniffed them, and threw them into the corner of the room. Men like him often are. It’s a surrogate for leadership skills. If in doubt, do everything by the book. What makes men like Coote such brilliant captains is their ability to step outside protocol.

You want him to become an anarchist? I don’t think that would be much better.

It’s all about using judgement, Georgie. Knowing when to stick to the rules, when to bend them, and when to ignore them altogether. It takes confidence to do that. Even a little bit of arrogance. Elis threw back the cover and lay down on his side.

Georgie smiled at him as she slipped out of her t-shirt, then into a different one that served as nightwear. The two of them embraced. She gave a contented sigh, and rolled on top of her man.

Later, when drifting off to sleep, she heard him reach for his gas mask and strap it over his head. Not that again, she mumbled.

His reply was muffled by the filter. I’m not taking any chances, and neither should you.

I’ll count on you to wake me up if someone drugs us all again. Goodnight.

Night, sweetheart. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

Two

For three days and three nights Tam’s condition worsened. Mandy pleaded with Ganjit to come and have a look at the patient, but his relationship with alcohol was now so deep that he could barely communicate through the fug that swirled in his head. She went through the doctor’s small room and rooted out every bottle of spirits she could find — he was powerless to stop her, such was his state — and then proceeded to pour their contents down a sink. Only later did she wonder if the drink would upset the waste treatment systems. She made a mental note to ask Elis how those systems worked, and if excessive alcohol might pose a problem, though she was undecided as to whether or not to confess her actions.

The plan made no difference to Ganjit. He slept for two days, and by the time his bloodstream had begun to return to something approaching normal, he had mysteriously acquired more drink. Mandy considered taking that as well, but in the end she figured that he must be stealing it from somewhere in the base, and that removing it just meant he would steal more, which in turn meant the base would be down on supplies. Mandy wasn’t convinced that Irish whiskey was essential to their continued existence, in fact she was quite sure that they would be better off without booze of any kind. But waiting until the inebriated doctor drank his way through whatever secret stash he had found was not going to get Tam fixed.

So instead of chasing the absent GP, Mandy tried her best to make Tam comfortable. When he was awake, his screaming fits had changed into grunting periods. He thrashed about on his bed, eyes half open, emitting loud gurgling noises that gave way to animalistic howling. Her treatment for these waking hours was simple: she tried to get him back to sleep as quickly as possible. At first she had used fentanyl patches, but now they were having virtually no effect, even at the maximum dose. Aware that stocks of the anaesthetic were limited, and that once they were gone, they were gone, she tried to come up with an alternative. The answer, when she landed upon it, had been staring her in the face.

The solution may have been obvious, but she wasn’t able to implement it single-handedly. Which was why, at six o’clock in the morning after a sleepless night tending to her patient who had been sweating what appeared to be blood, she found herself tapping on Elis’ door.

On the third knock it opened. A figure clad in only a t-shirt stood in the almost total darkness.