Tony Littlejohns - The Hoffmann Plague

They were both tired and aching from the week’s work, so decided to take the morning off and drive out to the farm near Hooe that used to supply the previous owners with logs. They weren’t desperate by any means, but would need more logs in the near future and this seemed like a good opportunity to go while the weather was bad. They both agreed that it would also be nice to get out of Bexhill for a few hours to the countryside.

Jane took Max out for a short walk to do his business before they left, while Jamie got a few things ready in a bag for them. He packed a water bottle and some snacks, including some jerky, along with a pair of binoculars, a few tools and the bolt-cutters. When Jane returned with Max they put the Smith and Wesson revolver with extra rounds in the Land Rover’s glove-box. They also took a sawn-off and an over/under shotgun, with the cartridges they’d got from the Toyota and another box of larger shot, in case they had the opportunity to bag some pheasants or rabbits.

It was still drizzling when they left and Max sat between them on the seat, looking excitedly out of the windscreen. They’d checked the location on the map beforehand, and Jane had an Ordnance Survey map open on her lap for when they got closer. They drove up Peartree Lane and then left at the crossroads into Whydown Road towards Hooe. It was a narrow, twisty country road and they weren’t going fast as there was no rush. As they approached a sweeping right-hand bend Jane raised her hand suddenly and said ‘Stop! Pheasant!’ Jamie came to a smart stop and Jane grabbed the shotgun and got out. Sitting on the left, she had been able to see round the bend and spotted a pheasant in the road sixty yards ahead. Jamie could see it now, too; a plump male bird in the middle of the road.

Jane knelt down by the front bumper and raised the shotgun to her shoulder. She tucked it in tight as Jamie had told her, took aim, slid off the safety with her thumb and fired. The pheasant went down in a clean kill; Jamie clapped his hands and Max barked, too.

‘Wooh-hooh! Bloody good shooting, Jane!’

She gave him a big grin then called Max down from the cab as she wanted to test him. Max climbed down onto the road and she pointed and said ‘Fetch, Max! Fetch!’ He set off at a slow trot, picked up the bird then came back and stood in front of her. She took the pheasant and patted him, saying ‘Good boy, Max! Good boy,’ then gave him a couple of treats from her pocket. She put the pheasant in the load area then climbed back in after Max.

They carried on and after nearly two miles there was a track on the right; a hand-written sign said “Logs.” There was a makeshift barrier across the entrance, with another sign that said “PLAGUE – KEEP AWAY!” Jamie got out and moved the barrier aside, then got back in and drove onto the track. It was roughly-made, with many pot-holes, and went on for about three hundred yards before coming to a large concreted yard. A right fork went up a slight incline to another yard and they could see outbuildings up there.

They went forward into the main yard and stopped. On their left by a line of trees an old, rusting Renault Master van was parked. Before them was a huge modern barn with two full-height roller-shutters and a central door that was open. On the right corner of the barn, set back slightly, was a large farmhouse with a single-storey annexe on the side, and an old mobile-home ten yards to the right of that with a small lawn in front. They got out, leaving Max inside the cab, and listened; there was no sound apart from birds.

‘Seems quiet enough,’ said Jane. ‘Let’s have a look in the barn.’

Jamie took a torch from his pocket and they walked up to the barn and in through the central door. A rich smell of sawdust and resin hit them. It was completely dark inside apart from the area by the door, and he shone the torch around. They saw huge piles of sawn logs stacked up high and ready-packed logs in different-sized bags. On the left-hand side were various machines for cutting wood. Everything was neatly arranged by size and it obviously had once been an efficiently-operated business.

‘Well,’ said Jamie, ‘we wanted logs and it looks like we came to the right place!’ Jane smiled.

They’d been inside less than a minute when Max started barking loudly. It wasn’t his usual excited bark, but one of warning. They moved back to the door and stepped out into the light. To their left stood a large man with a thick beard, pointing a shotgun at them. Jamie cursed himself for leaving the guns in the truck.

‘Stay where you are,’ said the man. ‘Who are you and what are you doing on my property?’ Max was still barking angrily from the cab and trying to get through the half-open window.

‘I’m really sorry,’ Jamie replied, ‘we thought the place was deserted or that everyone was dead. We don’t want to cause you any trouble.’

Behind the man a girl poked her head out of the front door to the house. ‘Who is it, Daddy?’ The man spoke over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on them. ‘Go back inside, sweetie, and stay with your mum.’ The girl went back in and closed the door.

‘We’ve come out from Bexhill. I’m Jane Roberts and this is Jamie Parker. We needed seasoned logs for our ranges and stoves and found your details in an old Yellow Pages advert, so we thought we’d drive out here. We weren’t expecting to find anyone alive, to be honest. We’ve seen almost no other survivors in the last two months in Bexhill.

Of course,’ she added with an ironic smile, ‘normally we would have rung first, but my mobile doesn’t appear to have a signal. Damn things; you can never rely on them!’

That broke the ice and the man suddenly smiled and chuckled, lowering his shotgun. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. I’m Bill; Bill Anderson.’ He held his hand out and they both shook it. ‘Sorry about the frosty welcome, but you can’t be too careful these days. We had an incident about six weeks ago when a couple of blokes tried to steal some of our chickens. My daughter surprised them and they threatened her with a knife. They ran off when they saw me coming with my gun and I shot one of them in the arse. Only caught him with a few pellets, but I haven’t seen them since.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Jamie, ‘we understand completely. We’ve had our own share of nasty run-ins. Three blokes attacked Jane just over a week ago, but luckily I was able to step in and help. That was how we met. They won’t be bothering anyone again.’

Bill shook his head. ‘Aargh! Bad times; but good for you! Will you come in for a drink and a snack and meet the family? I’d be interested to hear your news and stories.’

They both agreed and said that would be nice. Max had stopped barking now but was still whining. Jamie went back to the truck to let him out, picked up his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. He left the guns in the cab as there seemed no need for them and he didn’t want to alarm Bill or make him wary. Max trotted up to Bill, who knelt down and offered his hand for Max to smell and then stroked him. Satisfied, Max went back and stood by Jane. Bill looked back at the house and waved; the girl came outside and ran up to him. She was around twelve with long, dark brown hair and a little shy of the strangers. She pulled her dad’s arm, so he bent down while she whispered in his ear. He stood up, smiling.

‘This is my youngest, Sally. She wants to know if she can stroke your dog.’

‘Hello, Sally. Of course you can,’ Jane replied. ‘His name’s Max and he’s very friendly.’

The girl bent down and stroked Max, who wagged his tail in response. They walked into the house and Bill introduced them to his wife, Emma, and their son, Peter. Emma was well-built, curvy and in her mid-forties, with thick auburn hair and rosy cheeks from the cooking she’d been doing. Peter looked around seventeen and was tall and lean, with reddish hair and glasses. Bill invited them to sit at the big table in the kitchen while Emma made tea for everyone.