The Shaking

Chapter Twenty Two

The A223 near Bexley. 12.34.

For the third time in a mile Ryan Buckland was forced to stop. The bandage he'd stuck over the developing blister on his left heel didn't seem to be helping at all. Sitting on a grassy roadside verge he unlaced his shoe and rolled his sock down: The bandage came off with it, exposing the reddened, tender skin beneath.

Ryan thought his shoes and socks were comfortable; after all he wore them all day long while constantly getting in and out of his van as he made his deliveries, but the first twinges of discomfort had begun to make themselves felt some five miles into his journey. Despite covering the raw patch with a self-adhesive pad the problem worsened until he realised just periodically pulling up his socks wasn't doing any good; he'd need to stop and sort it out before it became more of an issue.

Reaching for his first aid pouch stored in his pack's top pocket where it could easily be reached, Buckland re-dressed his wound; this time using a padded square of an absorbent pad and making sure it stayed in place with several strips of the tenaciously sticky medical tape he'd substituted for the all but useless roll originally supplied with the kit.

That done he carefully slid his sock back on. Fortunately his skin hadn't broken; if it had and the blister weeped fluid into the sock's material, stiffening it, the injury would only be exacerbated as he walked on.

The problem deferred for the moment, Buckland replaced the first aid kit and gingerly slipped his shoe back on; taking particular care in re-lacing both of them. He decided to rest here for a while, eat one of his energy bars and drink some water before setting off again.

Near Canada Square. The Docklands. 12.48.

Advancing as if they are infantry soldiers under fire in an urban environment, Kelly and Ethan move forward in rushes; using the buildings themselves as cover. So far none of the hi-viz tabard wearing safety marshals cowering in the imagined safety of foyers and entrances have attempted to stop them; they either not caring to act, or being preoccupied dealing with their own charges. Or it may be the fluoro yellow Connect24 bibs with their prominent NEWS lettering the pair are wearing permit them to get away with things the general public wouldn't be allowed to do.

Ethan leads gallantly in front of Kelly, which is just fine as far as she's concerned as it gives her the opportunity to admire his rather shapely bottom and glossy, collar length, tightly braided strings of dreadlocks. Perhaps its a side effect of the chaos and destruction unfolding around her, the proximity of disaster inspiring her procreational instincts, but Kelly is beginning to feel herself getting horny over him with the sort of intensity which has her wondering how he's fixed up at the moment and how easy it would be to tell her current boyfriend Justin with his on and off relationship, struggling artist persona, as well as - she suspects - a secret but developing cocaine habit, that it's over.

"Hey Kelly; how's it going? Dominic's voice, faint and scratchy, sounds through her earpiece. Thorpe can just imagine him impatiently sat eagerly at the master console, tugging at his ginger ponytail or twirling his goatee beard as he does when under pressure; almost salivating at the thought of a new stream of juicy copy.

"We're getting closer; we've reached Cabot Place!"

"Can you do a live update?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Stand by. You're on in thirty!"

"Is this a good idea?" asks Ethan looking around. "This doesn't feel too safe to me."

"No, I don't think it is." replies Kelly, wishing they'd thought to bring with them the kevlar helmets and body armour they usually wear in war zones. The sense of imminent peril looming above them poised to come crashing down at any moment is almost palpable. Her instincts are screaming to get the hell out of there. "Studio, cancel that; we're moving somewhere less exposed."