Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “They do seem pretty annoyed,” Gladys returns looking over his shoulder as Barry turns back to face her, the chalky pastille crunches between his teeth.

  “What’ll we do if they break in?” White and chalky crumbs spray towards Gladys. “Sorry!” he exclaims at her look of disgust and wipes his hand across his lips.

  “Well ...,” she looks across the crowd and takes a deep breath. “What you asking me for? You’re the manager!”

  “Yes, but-”

  “You wanted to be in charge, Barry,” she says with a touch of spite and the flicker of a smile.

  “Sure, but-”

  “You’ll have to decide then won’t you,” she finishes and turns on her heels and makes her way to the cluster of staff that had turned up for duty this morning. He eyes the gaggle of women as Gladys reaches them. They turn, nod in his direction, and Eve, with her too-bleached blonde hair and terrible split ends, raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. A bead of cold sweat forms at Barry’s hairline. Damned women! He knew that taking the manager’s job would be tough, especially after Gladys had been in the running too, and obviously the clear favourite, and, if he’s honest, the more capable of them both, but was it his fault that senior management had chosen him above her. No! No, it wasn’t. He turns back to the windows. The crowd seems to have grown even in this short space of time. His bowels clench along with the urge to defecate. They’ll have to hold the fort whilst he pays the men’s room a visit.

  He pushes open the door to the stalls, unbuckles his belt, sighs as the too tight trousers release his flabby belly, and sits in the dark. Minutes later a sour stench fills the room. Without the light, he fumbles for the toilet roll and wipes himself clean. Stinks of fear! Man-up, Barry. He frowns as he stands and fastens his trousers, sucking in his belly to hook the clip, then tightens his belt to hold it all together. He turns to flush the toilet. The handle has no resistance. There’s no water in the cistern—nothing to flush away the offending turd! He sighs. Once the electrics are back on, then he’ll have to sneak back in and sort it out. That was the only plus to being the only man in today—at least he had the toilet to himself.

  “Barry?” a voice calls. “You in there ... Oh, sweet Jesus!”

  Barry remains silent.

  Gladys coughs.

  “Barry?” she repeats. “If that’s you then God help you! Stinks like you’ve got a rat stuck up your arse.”

  Trust Gladys to be crude! He doesn’t reply.

  “I know it’s you Barry! You need to come now. They’ve broken the glass and if we don’t do something they’ll be inside,” she says with a hint of urgency—just a hint mind you, that Gladys was a tough old bird.

  “Coming!” he replies with annoyance. As the door slams shut, and Gladys struts off down the corridor, Barry hears the sound of breaking glass.

  JESSIE GRIPS AT THE strap of her rucksack as she rounds the corner of the church. The bald man has disappeared across the pedestrianised area. The shops sit in darkness, unlit by the usual bright fluorescent lighting and their glass doors are firmly shut. The shoppers that would normally inhabit the high street are missing too.

  “This place is depressing!” Alex blurts as they walk up the street.

  “Hmm,” Jessie mumbles as she looks at the shops that line the street. Despite the garish colours displayed in the windows there was something downtrodden about the place. It didn’t help that many of the buildings were made of an ugly grey concrete and that the sky was overcast, but there were a multitude of charity shops interspersed with the pawn shops and takeaways; a typical northern town declining into poverty.

  “Where are all the people?”

  “Not here,” Alex replies, “and I can’t say I blame them.”

  “The shops are all closed, so there’s no point them being here, I guess,” Jessie suggests.

  As she continues walking she’s alert for any movement in the darkened shops. So far, no looting, but if the electricity doesn’t come back on soon, it won’t be long before the glass of the shop windows is scattered across the path’s grey concrete slabs. Her view clear to the junction at the top of the road, movement catches her eye. She stops and peers at it intently. “Alex. Up ahead. There are people,” she says pointing up the road. “A lot of people.”

  “Looks like a mob,” he replies.

  “I think we’d better take a side street,” Jessie suggests as growing concern makes her wary.

  They take a right onto another street. It is banked on either side by long rows of terraced housing. As she turns another corner, Jessie notices that the houses back onto yet another row of terraced housing. The gardens in between are tiny. The people here were completely dependent on the deliveries to the supermarkets and even if they wanted to be more self-sufficient it would be impossible given the size of the gardens—there was barely space to grow a tub of tomatoes never mind what a family would need to keep itself alive; every morsel of food they ate would have to be scavenged. She thinks to the safehouse and its acres of land. At least there, if it became essential, then she could help to grow the crops the family needed—perhaps even have enough to barter with. She looks at the concrete slabs that fill the back yard of the house they’re passing and then to the children playing at the corner. They’d have no chance of survival.

  Jessie takes a right to walk up the narrow road to the main street ahead where a straggle of people walks in the direction of the junction. Jessie peers out from the corner and along the road to the area where people are gathering. The crowd is noisy and boisterous.

  “What are they doing?”

  “I bet that’s a supermarket they’re outside,” Clare offers as she steps out onto the road and walks towards the crowd.

  Thud!

  “Hang on, Clare,” Jessie calls and runs to catch up. “It may not be safe.”

  “I have to see what they’re doing,” Clare explains. “Yes, it is a supermarket!”

  “Open up!” a voice shouts.

  “I guess it’s closed then,” Jessie says as another thud sounds above the shouts.

  Thud!

  “Are they trying to break in?”

  “I shouldn’t think so,” Alex adds. “Probably just really angry they can’t do their shopping.”

  On the corner of the junction sits a supermarket. Its red brick walls topped by a grey and corrugated roof. Beyond that is a petrol station. Opposite sits a towering church with ‘Nightclub’ emblazoned along its brickwork spire. People have gathered around the entrance to the supermarket and the crowd spills off the pavement and into the road. A few stand on the other side of the road watching in the shadow of the church. Jessie scans the crowd. Men and women of all ages are gathered and there are even a few children. One man stands at the back of the crowd, his child high on his shoulders. Jessie frowns and a protective urge waves over her; if she had a child, the last place she would want them to be was here.

  Jessie tightens her fingers around the strap of her rucksack as a roar sounds from the gathered crowd and it surges forward. Another thud sounds and a woman screams.

  “They’re breaking in!” Clare exclaims as a thud sounds followed by the unmistakable crunching of glass.

  Jessie grunts and watches in disbelief as an arm rises out of the crowd and bangs against the glass.

  “Must be toughened; it’s not breaking through.”

  “It will if they carry on like that,” Clare replies.

  Another arm rises and bangs again, this time at the glass of the closed double doors. Inside, Jessie can see a small group of women staring out, their eyes wide and terrified. Another thud and one of them steps back, knocks against the till and stumbles back then disappears from view. A figure catches Jessie’s eye and she turns to watch. Striding along the middle of the road, and walking towards the crowd, is a woman followed by a straggle of running children. Dressed in jeans and a puffed pink jacket, her blonde hair scraped back into a high pony-tail she doesn’t look out of place in the crowd, but Jessie
realises within a split second, from the determined gait of her walk and the long-handled hammer she holds across her chest, that she is intent on breaking the glass. Within thirty seconds she has reached the outer edges of the crowd.

  The children giggle as they stand behind her. “Wait here,” she barks at the children. “Excuse me!” she shouts, her voice loud and commanding. “Watch out!” She pushes her way through the crowd. “Out the way!” she shouts as she disappears into the throng. “Mam!” one of the children calls. Pushed back by a jostling arm as the crowd creates a semi-circle of space around the hammer-wielding woman the boy stumbles back into the road. Oblivious to her son’s distress, she stands in front of the supermarket’s glass doors.

  Led by a man in a light mauve shirt, the gaggle of women inside disperses. His belly wobbles beneath the tight shirt as he runs to the back of the shop. The blonde’s head dips for a moment and Jessie watches as she swings the hammer high and arcs it through the air. It smashes against the doors. The hammer leaves a dent, but the window doesn’t break. She raises the hammer again and again until the glass breaks into shards and gives way. Encouraged, she swings at the glass until the frame is clear. Another roar sounds from the crowd as the last of the staff disappear. The blonde steps through and Jessie watches as the crowd surges and pushes her aside.

  “Jess, what the heck is going on? The electric went off last night, not last week. I don’t get it! Why are they breaking into the supermarket?”

  “These people,” Alex says by way of explanation, “have no backbone.”

  “It’s not as though they’re going to starve! The electric will come on in a few hours, I bet.”

  “They’re like animals,” Alex says with contempt.

  Jessie remains quiet and watches in disbelief through the wide panes of glass as they grab food and throw it into baskets; a hoard of middle-aged and flabby locusts stripping the shelves. Clare was right; it had only been a few hours. Most of them probably didn’t realise that the electricity had been off until they’d woken up this morning, yet here they were ransacking the local supermarket because it wouldn’t open its doors to them.

  A woman dressed in the supermarket chain’s uniform appears at the doorway. She looks flustered though determined as she blocks the door with her ample body and stretches her arms across the broken doorway. Her jowls wobble over her blue collar. An older man, stooped and balding, one of the last in the crowd, steps up to the entrance.

  “You can’t come in,” she says with determination.

  “But they have! If I don’t get some milk now it’ll all be gone.”

  “No!”

  The man takes another step forward and she bears down on him. He raises a frail fist, then steps back and turns and walks back into the road.

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Why didn’t they just open the supermarket—it’s full of food.”

  “The tills won’t work without electricity and the staff won’t serve you if the tills won’t work.”

  “Yeah, that happened to me—the till was off-line so the cashier told me to go to another till.”

  “Should we go in and get some food too? I’m starving.”

  “No,” Jessie replies. “I’m not stealing. It just wouldn’t feel right.”

  “Then what are we going to do about lunch?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out,” she replies as she watches the old man move away. As he passes she turns her attention back to the shop. The man with the child on his shoulders steps up to the till and takes handfuls of packets from the racks there. He passes one to the child and drops the others in the full bag rested on the conveyor belt. If panic like this was setting in after just a few hours then what would it be like tomorrow if the electricity still hadn’t come back on?

  A small group of teenagers has gathered at the crossroads and stares towards them. As the old man walks down the road, a young man approaches. Jessie watches him closely. As he puts his hands on the old man’s shoulders, she takes a step forward. Is he threatening him? No, they’re just talking. She steps back as the old man gesticulates over his shoulder. The boy looks up and gestures to his friends to follow him. They move as one to the supermarket.

  The man with the child on his shoulders appears behind the officious woman barring the door. She snatches at the heavy bags gripped at his sides.

  “Geroff!”

  “It’s stealing!” the woman reprimands and yanks at them again.

  The child lurches forward and a wail sounds as he drops the sweets half-stuffed into his mouth.

  “Don’t you hurt my boy!” he snarls turning on her.

  “I know who you are Sidney Rington!” she shouts after him as he pushes past, yanking her hand away.

  “Your word against mine, Gladys,” he spits. “There’s no CCTV to prove it.”

  “It’s shoplifting nevertheless!”

  “You should have opened up then! How am I supposed to make beans on toast without any bread? I’m not having my bairn starving to death.”

  “How you gonna cook it without an oven? You plank,” the woman snaps back.

  “Barbecue—that’s how.”

  The woman huffs then grunts as another ‘shopper’ makes her exit, pushing the woman aside.

  The youths step into the direct path of Sidney Rington and show no signs of moving over for him. Jessie shifts and tightens the rucksack around her waist as they stride closer. The child drops the empty packet.

  “Joshie!” he reprimands as the packet catches his attention on its way to the ground. “Don’t litter.”

  The child remains silent and wipes his chocolate-covered hand against the man’s shoulder. Oblivious to the brown smear on his red t-shirt the man shuffles the child into a more comfortable position. The tallest of the boys blocks Sidney’s path whilst the others form a ring around him. Sidney stops and frowns. “Erm ... ‘scuse me!”

  The girls snicker. Jessie steps forward.

  Sidney attempts to move sideways and the boy steps with him. The child tilts as his father moves. Jessie takes a purposeful stride towards the group as Sidney attempts to move in the other direction. The boy follows him again.

  “Out of my way!” Sidney says as he realises the boy won’t let him pass.

  “Give me the bags.”

  “No!” Sidney retaliates taking a step backwards. The two boys at his side keep his pace.

  “Daddy!” the child wails as he’s thrown back with the jerk of his father’s step.

  “It’s OK, Joshie. Just sit still. Hold tight.”

  In the next second the boy lunges forward and grabs the bag held tight in Sidney’s hand. The child lurches and yelps as his father stumbles. Jessie powers forward.

  “Jessie!”

  The child’s hands slip down across his father’s eyes and blinded, Sidney staggers. He’s going to fall! The child loses his grip and screams. Jessie pounces forward and grabs the child as he falls. She pulls his small body to her chest as she lands on the tarmac with a thud. The child’s feet kick into her thighs, his back thumps hard her belly. She’s winded and her head throbs.

  “Jessie!” Clare calls again. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes,” she replies as she gasps for breath. For a second the child is quiet with shock and then begins to squirm and shout. “It’s OK, Joshie,” she soothes between breaths. “Go to Clare whilst I help your Daddy,” she says as she sits forward. She sets the child down and stands. “Clare, take him, please.”

  As Clare scoops up the child and steps away from the chaos, Jessie turns back to the tangle of people. The boy’s father kneels on the floor, his fingers still clutched through the handles of the now ripped plastic bags. Packets of biscuits and tins of soup roll across the tarmac and one of the youths stoops down to grab a loaf of bread. Jessie lunges forwards and chops at his arm with the side of her stiffened hand. He flinches and drops the bread. His friend straightens and lunges at Jessie. She turns to the side and kicks out at his
chest and he stumbles back shocked by the force. He grimaces in pain. A hand grabs Jessie’s shoulder - the leader of the group - and she twists, raises her leg and kicks at the boy’s torso. He grunts then falls back.

  A flicker in her periphery and then Alex is at her side. His arm jabs out and the third boy is on the ground. He falls with a hard thud and lays sprawled and unmoving as the leader stumbles back. Jessie steps forward to follow him, determined to make him realise he can’t take Sidney’s food. He takes another step then turns and runs down the street. The two girls stare at Jessie with jaws hanging, look at each other with wide eyes, then follow the boy down the street.

  “Thanks,” Sidney says from behind.

  “I couldn’t let them hurt the boy,” she replies as she turns to him.

  He looks so normal—tall in his faded denims, checked shirt and sandy-coloured hair, but his eyes are red-rimmed, there’s stubble on his chin, and it looks as though he hasn’t brushed his hair this morning. She wants to ask him why he broke into the supermarket and stole the food, why he was so desperate to do that when only a few hours have passed since the blackout began, but the other boy is motionless on the ground.

  “Thank you anyway ... for fighting them off and ... saving my food,” he says as she steps beyond him to the boy on the floor.

  “Your stolen food,” she says under her breath.

  She bends to the unconscious boy. He’s breathing and there’s no sign of any blood. She opens his eyes with her fingers. His pupils contract.

  “Looks like he’s just knocked out,” she says to Alex as Clare walks back across the road with the child.

  “Good,” he says crouching next to her.

  The boy groans and his eyes flicker. Jessie kneels next to him and waits. In her periphery people move in and out of the supermarket. Gladys seems to have given up trying to stop them.

  “Can you hear me?” she asks as the boy’s eyes open.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s your name?”