“Thank god for Pentex,” Julia said.

Her husband, Patrick, put his arms around her waist, and she leant back, soothed by the warmth of his body. A wave of gratitude rushed over her. If it hadn’t been for Pentex, then she and Patrick would probably be dead, or homeless, or trapped in London without running water or electricity.

Julia had started working for Pentex six months previously. The American giant had suspended all its UK operations three years ago, after a spate of terrorist attacks, but had decided to try and re-start the UK division. They had a head office in Reading, and then a couple of subsidiary companies had set up offices, with one factory being planned for Norfolk. Julia had been working as the marketing manager for a small toy company who’s main product was ‘Bashy the Balloon Baby’ – a baby that could take any damage small children could throw at it – and it had been taken over by Pentex.

Nothing had changed, immediately. There were no lay offs, and the company offices didn’t even move from Battersea, although there was more travel down the M4 all of a sudden. Julia got health insurance as part of her job, and in December one of the company doctors had come in to give them all their winter flu jabs.

Then, shortly after Christmas, a memo had come through asking all staff if they would like to sign up to the Pentex Crisis Plan. Patrick had laughed when Julia had told him about the Crisis Plan.

“What is this?” he had said. “The Cold War? Do they have nuclear bunkers, too?”

Julia had wrinkled her nose at him.

“Probably,” she said. “And I think it’s quite sensible. Basically, you pay your insurance premiums and you get house and contents insurance on top of the company health insurance, and as well as that you can sign up for emergency housing if there is another disaster in London, like the flooding, plus possible evacuation. It’s not cheap, but do you remember the Great Flood? Better to be safe than sorry!”

So, Julia had signed up. The premiums were surprisingly reasonable, so she had upgraded to the ‘family’ plan, and Patrick had come in for his flu shots as well.

Then, one week ago, there had been an explosion at Victoria Station. Julia had been in work at the time. That afternoon had been a nightmare. She’d been terrified – scared for Patrick, scared for their cats. The mobile network was down and she couldn’t get through to him. Thankfully, no one attacked their office.

Then, at 8 pm, three men in combat armour had jogged into the office.

Julia had nearly fallen off her chair in surprise. The lead one – a short man with a nasty scar coming off one eye – had introduced himself with an American accent. Apparently he was Captain Damian Wormwood, of the Pentex First Team Security Division. He was there to protect all Pentex employees and escort them to safety. Julia could have hugged him. Furthermore, he wanted details on everyone’s family. He was unsure if they could collect everyone, but they were fairly sure they could get a phone call out, by using their own antenna to hijack the moribund mobile networks. Anyone who could get to the Vauxhall office would be evacuated from London.

Patrick had picked up his phone as soon as it rang. He was alive, and at home, although there had been surging crowds outside. He managed to pack a small suitcase, load the cat into a cat basket, and set out towards the Vauxhall Office.

He lost the car at some red lights, when a man with a gun forced him out. He lost the suitcase around them – grabbed by a mugger – but managed to hold on to the cat basket. He was assaulted by a mob less than 20 feet from the office, but Captain Wormwood and his two men went out and dispatched his attackers with shotguns.

Julia could still remember the sick feeling in her stomach that she had felt all afternoon, and that overwhelming rush of relief when Patrick had stumbled into the office.

The entire staff plus their families had been evacuated by helicopter that afternoon, to a small compound in the Berkshire countryside. All Pentex staff were there, most of them living underground. It was odd, but she and Patrick had a small suite of their own – bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. It was rather institutional in character, but it was warm and safe. The cat was even welcomed.

Furthermore, Pentex had offered them more medical treatment. Apparently there were worries that biological weapons may have been unleashed in London and so all staff were being put on a full dose of all possible antidotes and inoculations. They were doing some quite remarkable things. Patrick and Julia both agreed they had never felt so strong or so healthy.

Patrick nuzzled at his wife affectionately.

“Thank god for Pentex, indeed,” he said. “What’s for dinner?”

“Pork,” Julia said. “It’s all the supply store had today. But it tastes delicious.”

“Thank you,” he said. And he smiled at Julia, with his sharp white teeth.

From:

adze.livejournal.com

I like this. It's kinda quiet, and feels fairly realistic. I think I'm actually enjoying the stories about ordinary people more than the ones about PCs...