The Shaking

Chapter Thirty Six

Sandbeach CaravanPark. 07.01.

Liam Welch eased his nippy little hybrid car through the park's open gates. Reaching what must be the main complex set just inside, the local government officer pulled up there and parked.

Welch had been redeployed from his usual role in the local authority's Planning Services Department to go round commandeering any spare accommodation there was to be had in the area in order to house people made homeless by the earthquake. The caravan park was an obvious target.

But it was clear from the untidy state of the lawn around the Social Club that the place hadn't been unaffected by the disaster: Muddied cars and caravans had been drawn up closer to the building than would usually have been the case to make the most of the available hard standing. He noted a stilled micro-digger standing watch over a trench it had excavated and partially backfilled on a nearby green; and he heard the monotonous idling of a petrol generator running, it sounded as if it came from the rear of the social club building, which itself showed evidence of hurried minor repairs

Yes, they had no doubt suffered to some extent as much as the rest of the region had; nethertheless he had his job to do, no matter how unpalatable it may be. Seeing the glass fronted reception area of the site office was unoccupied, Welch walked to the social club entrance.

As he pushed the doors aside Liam sensed a subdued atmosphere; a bank of fruit machines and video games along one wall had their mesmerising displays switched off; while only a few of the ceiling lights were lit, giving the room a gloomy air. The bar/restaurant's large screen TV was a dark mirror. Upon sight of him what muted conversations there were faded to an uneasy silence. Seeing no-one who looked to be in charge, he walked purposely up to the bar.

"Can I help you?" asked a bleach blonde middle-aged woman behind it.

"I'm looking for..." Welch consulted the notes on his tablet screen "Mr Lawrence Bicknall. Where might I find him?"

"He's round the back refilling the generator. I'll get him." the barmaid replied in an abrasive South London accent. She disappeared for a moment and returned leading someone who was presumably Lawrence Bicknall behind her.

Bicknall looked a worn down, rangy man in his late fifties. He wore a dark green polo shirt embroidered with the park's logo, grease stained jeans, and heavy work boots. A tweed flat cap was jammed on his head.

"Mr Bicknall?" asked Welch.

"Yeah, that's me. Whaddayawant?" Bicknall replied in a surly tone of voice.

"Mr Bicknall. I am Liam Welch representing the Regional Resillience Authority. Under the State of Emergency decree I am hearby requisitioning this site for emergency-"

"What the fuck?" Bicknall exploded in anger. "Have you looked around here? Do you know what we've been through?"

"Mr Bicknall I really-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN!" the site owner roared. Liam could see the man was literally shaking with rage. Bicknall looked the sort who would be quick to resort to using his clenched fists so Welch held his peace and let him continue.

"I'll tell you what we've been through." Lawrence said in a menacing estuary snarl. "We were struck by a tidal wave which wiped out two-thirds of the site. When we tried calling the emergency services all we got was message telling us they were busy at the moment and we should call back later, or if there was no immediate danger to life to call the non-emergency number!"

"You see that trench out there?" Bicknall pointed through the large plate glass window to the ditch Liam had spotted earlier. "That's where six people are buried for the moment. When we finally got through to the police after pressing option one, option five, then option four, that's what we were told to do with their bodies for the time being! Wrap them in plastic if possible and bury them!" Tears began to well in his eyes.