Read Online Flash Flood by Chris Ryan - Free Book Online

phone with a poxy camera. It’s a kick-ass camera with eight megapixels and four times zoom. And anyway, it doesn’t matter if the quality’s a bit rubbish if the subject matter’s unique.’
    ‘Meena,’ said Mike, ‘air traffic control is out. We can’t go flying around wherever we please. We need to maintain our height and go back.’
    Meena wasn’t going to be put off. ‘There’s no one else out here. Who are we going to crash into?’
    If Mike answered, she didn’t hear it.
    ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Look at Westminster. Come on, don’t be a spoilsport. Just a bit closer.’
    As Mike took the plane down, Meena saw plenty to snap. Sinking vehicles collided with boats, allcoated with the muddy river water. Smoke curled out of buildings, sometimes accompanied by the orange glow of flames. There were people trying to get to dry land on whatever they could find. She saw three people on an orange raft and snapped that. Others remained in their buildings, looking out of the windows at the devastation and wondering what to do.
    The bridges down the Thames were just small humps, crowded with stranded people. The high-level railway bridge that led into Waterloo was a thin line with a train standing on top. People lined its length like birds on a telephone cable. At the water’s edge people were crawling out amidst dead bodies and rubbish.
    ‘Take us over Leicester Square,’ she said.
    Mike obliged and took the plane in a circle.
    Leicester Square was where Capital’s studios were. Neither of them had heard from the radio station for a good fifteen minutes now. Normally they had it playing softly in the background, and Meena listened in with one ear so that she was ready for her bulletins. Although she received cues from the producer throughan earpiece, it helped to listen to the show. It didn’t look good if there had been a running joke about getting up late, for instance, and the DJ brought it up and she didn’t get the reference. The listeners wanted them to be one big happy bunch of friends, sharing jokes.
    ‘What’s it like?’ said Mike. They were over Leicester Square now, but he was keeping his eyes on the controls.
    ‘It’s dark. Really dark. It’s not flooded but there seems to be debris everywhere. Umbrellas, bags, rubbish. As though there were loads of people there and they’ve run away. Probably all came out of the cinemas when the power failed. Imagine being in there when the lights went out.’
    ‘The lights are generally out in cinemas,’ said Mike.
    ‘You know what I mean,’ said Meena, and took a picture.
    ‘Bet no one’s in the office,’ said Mike.
    ‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Meena. ‘I bet Jimmy’s still in the newsroom. A good journalist doesn’t desert his post.’
    Mike made a disbelieving noise. ‘They’ll have gonejust like anyone else. Just like we should.’ He took the plane round in a big circle towards the east, back towards the airfield in Essex.
    As the plane banked Meena spotted the crowds walking up Shaftesbury Avenue. Everyone was heading away from the flood, trying to escape. Where were they going? That area of London was mainly offices or theatres or shops; nobody lived there. People were all deserting it, trying to get home.
    A voice came over the intercom from air traffic control. ‘ Hello, Flying Eye. Are you receiving? Sorry about the interruption. We had a power cut there. Are you OK? Over .’
    Mike answered, the relief in his voice obvious. ‘We’re receiving you loud and clear. Over.’
    Meena spoke into her mouthpiece. ‘Mike, ask them if they’ve heard anything from the guys at the studio.’
    Mike asked the question. While Meena waited for the reply, she leaned out again and took a picture as they passed over Tower Bridge. The roads around it had vanished and it looked like a forlorn remnant of London, stuck in the upright position, the twohalves of its road deck protruding into the air like a broken toy.
    ‘ No, nothing. There