Afterlight by Alex Scarrow Read Free Book Online Page A

three of these other key producers out of the loop we’re looking at a shortfall of fifty-five to sixty-five per cent of the world’s oil production capacity right there. ’
    ‘Now that sounds quite serious,’ said the anchor with a thoughtful frown spreading across his tanned face. ‘Presumably we can expect some sort of impact on us here in the UK. Are we going to be looking at queues at the pumps?’
    The expert stared back at him, not studio-savvy enough to dial-back the look of utter dismay on his face. ‘ Uh . . . no, you . . . you’re missing the point. It’s a lot more serious than that. In the oil markets, we call this type of . . . of scenario, well there are a number of what are called Perfect Storm Scenarios—’
    A cocked eyebrow from the anchor. ‘Perfect Storm?’
    The expert nodded silently.
    Dead-air time. The anchor prodded him gently. ‘Which means what exactly?’
    ‘Enough wild-card events occurring synchronously to completely shut down oil processing and distribution—’
    ‘ Affecting, of course, the price per barrel; presumably a major blip on the price of other commodities. So, this kind of an interruption of oil availability . . . how long before we can expect to feel the impact of this on our wallets? How long before we—’
    ‘You really don’t get it, do you?’
    The anchor stared at his studio guest, his mouth hanging open.
    ‘It’s a Perfect Storm . . . there’s no contingency for it. We’re screwed.’
    Adam glanced at the men in his unit, silent now, boots shuffling uncomfortably beneath the tables.
    ‘We . . . we’re a net importer,’ the expert continued, ‘a net importer of oil and gas. More importantly, we’re a big importer of everything else . . .’
    The anchor nodded, an expression of practised gravitas easing onto his face, as if he’d known exactly how serious things were all along.
    ‘. . . Food, for example,’ continued the expert. ‘Food,’ he said with added emphasis. ‘There’s very little storage and warehousing in the UK because it’s a drain on profit. What we have instead are “just-in-time” distribution systems; warehouses that need only store and refrigerate twenty-four hours’ worth of food instead of two weeks’ worth. As long as haulage trucks and freight ships keep moving, it works just fine. But, no oil, ’ the expert shook his head, ‘ no food.’
    The anchor’s eyes widened. ‘No food?’
    ‘We could well be looking at a severe rationing programme, perhaps even some form of martial law to enforce that.’
    ‘Martial law? Oh, surely that’s—’
    ‘A Perfect Storm . . . we’re into uncharted territory this morning.’ The expert’s voice was beginning to waver nervously. ‘There’s no way of knowing how serious this could get . . . or . . . or how quickly. Believe me, there are industry doom-sayers who’ve long been pointing to this kind of event as a . . . as a global paradigm shift.’
    ‘A global . . . a what?’
    ‘Paradigm shift. A . . . well, a complete global shutdown.’
    Adam turned to look at his men. Silent and still. The last time he’d seen the lads like this was when an unexpected third six-month extension on their rotation to Afghanistan was announced to them last year.
    A moment later the first mobile phone began to trill.

Chapter 8
    10 years AC
    Bracton Harbour, Norfolk
     
     
     
    T hey all heard it and froze. It was unmistakable and instantly recognisable, an after-echo peeling off the myriad warehouse walls, across the open quayside and slowly petering out.
    ‘That was a gun,’ said Walter.
    Like it needed saying.
    Jacob lowered a sack full of boxes and plastic bottles of pills through the storage hatch into the boat’s fore cabin and stood up straight, squinting as he scanned the buildings overlooking the quayside. ‘It sounded pretty close to me.’
    ‘Maybe we should leave,’ said Bill. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced anxiously out of the cockpit.