by Lauren James
Riz Stevens I silenced my alarm seven times this morning, and I’m not even sorry.
Maya Waverley That’s pure determination right there.
I like her. She’s funny.
It’s both overwhelming and incredible she lived so long ago but I can still read the posts she wrote: things that she probably didn’t intend for anyone to see except on the day she wrote them. It makes me wonder what will be left of me in eighty-five or even two thousand years. There’ll be no one around to discover any messages by then, of course – but the idea of leaving a record is still appealing.
Did people imagine their grandchildren and great-grandchildren one day reading the things they posted online? Back then they probably took it for granted that they would have grandchildren.
All that’s changed now. I’ve always assumed I won’t have kids. I mean, aside from the virus, who would I have them with? Everyone always jokes about how Shen and I will end up together, like some kind of Adam and Eve of the apocalypse. It’s partly because our parents want us to be happy, and for them, that means getting married and being together for ever, like they’ve done.
But that can’t happen. I absolutely won’t let it. If Shen and I date, then there’s a chance we’ll break up. I can’t risk that. He’s all I’ve got. It’s safer for us to stay as we are, as friends. There’s no chance I’ll lose him that way.
I don’t know what he thinks about it. I’ve never wanted to risk asking. But I’m sure he feels the same. He must do. He would have said something ages ago, if he didn’t.
CHAPTER 4
That night, after Shen and his parents have gone home, I can’t sleep. I lie in bed and try not to think about Alexei, while watching Mitch’s lights flash across the ceiling.
Mitch seems to have taken it upon himself to be our personal bodyguard. He followed me around all day, and he’s now standing guard in my room, leaning against the wall next to the growlery.
“At least do something useful if you’re going to stay,” I say, half joking, but Mitch must take me seriously because after a moment or two, I hear a noise. He’s started sorting through a bucket of rusting iron scraps.
Even though the clinking sound is kind of soothing, I still can’t sleep. In the end I decide to read some more of Maya’s posts instead, skimming through them in search of anything interesting. I come to one that pulls me up short.
Maya Waverley
21 February 2024
My mum has had a nosebleed for about two hours now. It’s awful, we can’t stop it. We’ve tried every tip online – ice, towel, standing up, etc. But it hasn’t stopped. Do we call an ambulance, or am I massively overreacting?
Ashley Samson Yes, call! That sounds really bad, Maya. Hope she’s OK xx
Maya Waverley
22 February 2024
It feels slightly futile to throw another post into the writhing sea of social media posts discussing this, but I’m going to do it anyway just because it’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep without processing this in some way.
Yesterday, my mum got a nosebleed. I called an ambulance, and it turned out that not only was the operator’s nose also bleeding, mine was too. I hung up and checked online, but there was nothing on the news.
It was only when I checked social media and saw everyone posting about it that I realised this was happening everywhere. It wasn’t just a local or national thing. All over the world, friends and family and strangers were posting about their noses bleeding.
I know everyone is saying this, but at that point I honestly thought I was going to die. I started planning what I wanted to do with the time we had left. I hugged my mum and told her I loved her. I did the same to the cat, who hissed at me and ran outside (thanks, Jeff). I tried to call my dad, but the call didn’t connect (probably because everyone in the country was doing the same thing).
At that point, my panic kind of transitioned into this horrible acceptance. Mum suggested we make cups of tea, and I agreed instantly. We sat in front of the TV and refreshed social media, waiting for the nosebleeds to make it on to the news. It took about twenty-five minutes.
By then, my feed was full of everyone online saying goodbye to each other. I’ve replied to everyone’s messages in private, but you should all know that quite a few of you made me cry. I was a mess: tears and blood and spilt tea all over the place. I thought I was going to die and it wasn’t even going to be dignified.
Dad came home, his shirt soaked through with the horrible blood. It was all sticky and matted in his beard too. I think that was worse than anything else.
Around this time, all our phones beeped. An emergency alert had been sent out warning people to stay in their homes in quarantine. I’d heard of phone alerts in hurricane zones, but I had no idea that the government could do that in the UK too. That ranks up there amongst the most horrifying moments of my life.
The bleeding had slowed down by then, so we all showered and watched the news for a bit. That made it about a hundred times worse: you could tell that no one had any idea what was going on. Everyone was just speculating in increasingly horrifying and imaginative ways. We collectively agreed to turn off the TV. I’m going to be honest here and say that when it became clear, after several painful hours, that there was nothing we could do except wait for news, we all decided to go and have a nap.
I lay in bed trying not to refresh my feed. Eventually Jeff joined me and I might have (definitely did) cry into his fur for a while. I tried to read, but I remembered I was reading a book about an apocalypse and actually threw my eReader at the wall in horror. I must have fallen asleep, because when Dad woke me up, it was dark. There’d been another alert: the virus wasn’t life threatening but the quarantine was still in place.
I don’t remember feeling relieved at that. I was still kind of keyed up. My parents must have been too, because we all directed our panic in another direction. We checked the cupboards and tried to work out how much food we had, and how long it might last if the quarantine continued.
Dad was furious for a bit, because he had nearly gone to Costco a few days before, and we could have been overflowing with bulk goods. The process was delayed by a hysterical screaming match about this from all parties (none of us had shouted when we thought we were going to die, so we must have all been feeling a bit better, even if it didn’t feel like it at the time).
There was a siren outside, and we all ran out to see what was going on. An ambulance was going past. It didn’t stop.
Dad suggested at that point that we go to Costco, but I refused to start scavenging for supplies five hours into the end of the world – so we made jacket potatoes and watched a film instead. And then we went to bed, like it was a normal day, because what can you do at that point except give up?
That was my first day of our new normal. Nothing will ever make this easy, but I think writing this out did help a bit. I’m so sorry this was so long and I apologize if you felt you had to read it all. I just needed to say something, even if it’s the same as what everyone else is saying. This is something we’re all going through, and I think it does help that we can go through it together. I can’t imagine how hard this would have been without social media.
Maya Waverley
24 February 2024
So much for feeling calmer! Today I can’t stop showering and showering, trying to get the virus off me. I know that’s not how it works, but it helps somehow to turn the water up as hot as I can, until my skin turns pink. I ignore the pain and scrub at my face until it feels tender, gargle mouthfuls of soap and spit it out in the drain. I still feel infected, like the virus is all over me. I don’t know what to do.
I read the entries in a state of shock. There are so many things Maya mentions that I didn’t know about. I had no idea that people had nosebleeds when they caught the virus, or how panicked everyone was when they caught it and didn’t know what was happening. I can just imagine the endless, sticky blood. It makes me feel sick.
I’m going t
o have to tell Shen about it tomorrow. I can’t believe our parents never mentioned it, when they told us about the virus. They probably thought that it was a bit too nasty for kids to hear about.
I skim through more of the posts, looking for anything else interesting. There’s one from two days before Maya caught the virus that makes me smile.
Maya Waverley
19 February 2024
Whenever I watch Loch & Ness, I’m hit
by the continuous realisation that I want
to date BOTH Lyra Loch and Jayden Ness,
and I can’t, in fact, date either of them. Frankly, it’s ruining my life.
Does that mean Maya was bisexual, like me? I guess it does.
Something lights up inside my chest. There’s no one my own age I can talk to about this stuff, and just seeing Maya living her life and posting about boys and girls makes me feel less alone. There are other gay people around, of course, but they’re all older couples, who’ve been together for decades. Shen understands, or at least tries his best to be supportive, but it’s not really the same as having someone who can actually relate.
I’m so glad I found her account. It’s made me feel calm enough to finally be able to sleep.
“Good night,” I call to Mitch.
He flashes a serene sky blue at me.
I drift off to sleep to the sound of metal scraps quietly clinking together.
CHAPTER 5
Mitch is still hanging around my bedroom the next morning. I’d been wondering if he would get bored and leave during the night, but I wake up to find him stretched out on the floor next to a pile of perfectly organised metal. He even follows me down to breakfast.
The butler bot, Fitz, beeps at him disapprovingly. Mitch flashes some lights at him, trying to communicate the only way he can. Fitz clearly doesn’t understand, because he beeps at Mitch again. There’s a brief standoff, then Mitch gives in and backs out into the hallway, out of Fitz’s territory.
I help myself to muesli with honey and raspberries from the buffet table. All the food is made by the bots and kept carefully warm under silver domes. Then I sit across the table from Mum. The mahogany breakfast table is laid out with gold cutlery, antique porcelain, and crystal glasses, which I was finally given permission to use last year after a decade of begging. They make orange juice taste extra sophisticated.
Dad is dozing in his chair by the window, a plate of eggs slowly sliding down his chest with each snore. Albert is waiting at his feet, practically open-mouthed in anticipation of falling food.
“Where are you going?” I ask Mum, eyeing her khaki trousers and gilet. She’s not wearing her usual silk blouse and tweed skirt.
“I’m going out to the crash site to see if we can work out how it happened,” Mum says, pouring coffee.
“With Mrs Maxwell?”
Mum nods.
Mum and Mrs Maxwell are sort of our unofficial investigators. Not that there’s ever much to investigate. Usually, they just organise pot-lucks for the community meetings and act as the designated drivers for parties. I think Mrs Maxwell used to be a police officer, back when there was still a need for the police, so people tend to go to her if they need any help.
“Has there been any news about Alexei?” I ask, selecting an apple from the fruit bowl. It came from orchards in the grounds which have been there for at least a hundred years, but still grow the sweetest apples.
“Not yet. He’s still unconscious.”
I grimace. Poor Alexei. “What are you hoping to find at the site?”
Mum shrugs. “I don’t know, to be honest. The fire probably destroyed most of it, but Mrs Maxwell likes to be thorough.” There’s a slight edge to her voice and I can’t work out why. Then I remember what Shen said yesterday about the crash maybe not being an accident. Is she worried about that too?
I take a bite of my apple, then say, “Can Shen and I come? Please? It’ll be educational.”
“I can’t wait for you to get Shen out of bed.” She frowns at her plate, and I realise with a shock that she’s really worked up about this. She almost looks nervous. I’m all the more curious to go to the crash site, to see what could have got her in such a state. Has the collapse destroyed the whole of the Palace of Westminster, or something?
After a long pause, she sighs and says, “I suppose you can meet us there, if you want. We’ll be there all morning. Bring some of your tools, in case Mrs Maxwell doesn’t have everything we need.”
“We’ll ride the horses over. Thanks, Mum! You’re the best!”
She smiles, carefully buttering a crust of bread and feeding it to Victoria, who props the toast between her paws and licks off the butter.
I call Shen, knowing that he won’t answer. He’ll still be deeply asleep, but he usually wakes up if I call enough times. He’s a night owl, which I find completely confounding.
The call rings and rings. After a minute or two, I hang up and try again. I reach for a croissant, eating it while I wait.
“Shen!” I shout around a mouthful of pastry, when he finally answers. “Get out of bed right now! We’re going to the crash site!”
“Make sure you tell him to wear lots of layers,” Mum says as she leaves the room. “It’s chilly today.”
I roll my eyes but pass on the message.
Shen yawns loudly in my ear, mumbles something and hangs up.
“Don’t go back to sleep!” I shout, but it’s too late – he’s already gone.
Dad wakes with a snort and catches the plate of scrambled eggs just before it tips into Albert’s expectant mouth. “You look nice, Lowrie,” he says, yawning.
Albert gives up all hope of eggs, and goes to eat the well-licked toast that Victoria has abandoned instead.
“I curled my hair,” I say, pleased that the effort was noticed.
“You used to be such an ugly baby,” he says, sighing nostalgically. “I don’t know how you ended up so beautiful.”
“Thanks. I think,” I say, squinting at him with suspicion. I’m pretty sure he just insulted me.
Dad notices Mitch, standing in the doorway, and perks up. “Hello, little fella,” he says surprised. He turns to me, questioningly.
“He followed me home from the foreshore yesterday,” I explain. “He saved Shen and me from the explosion.”
Dad nods, impressed. “Is that some xanthoparmelia thalli on your head?” he asks Mitch. “Come over here and let’s have a look.”
Mitch reluctantly slinks over and lets Dad pick through the different lichens covering his metal head.
I watch, captivated, and realise I’ve absent-mindedly eaten another croissant.
“Mum’s showing Shen and me the crash site this morning,” I tell Dad, as he scrapes off a sample of lichen with an antique, ivory butter knife.
“You are an old one, aren’t you?” he says to Mitch, then takes in what I said. He looks surprised. “She is? Oh. Well, I suppose your mother knows what she’s doing. Make sure you’re back for class. Whose turn is it this afternoon?”
“Yours,” I say, sliding my socked soles over the smooth carved wooden feet of the chair.
He groans, staring longingly into the empty cafétière. He always forgets which day he’s teaching, and usually prepares a hasty lesson plan at the last minute.
Shen and I are tutored by our parents. Dad teaches us life skills – sometimes that’s everyday things, like cooking, sewing and DIY, but other times it’s more serious subjects, like farming methods and basic mechanics. Mum teaches politics and English; Jia teaches history and medicine; and Feng teaches science and maths. Whatever we’re learning, Shen loves it. He soaks up information like a sponge, and goes off and researches everything in his spare time. He asks a lot of questions too, whereas I’d rather be out digging up fossils. I can’t see the point of learning any of it, except for what Dad teaches us.
He tells us things we might need to know one day, decades from now, when there might not even be bots to help us. He gives us survival
skills to prepare us for a time when we may be the only people alive in an empty world.
I understand the point of those lessons. Worryingly.
Though I’d much rather not have to study at all.
“We can skip school today,” I say, hopefully, as he tips out the dregs of cold coffee into his cup and drinks from it, wincing. I think that secretly he hates being a teacher even more than I hate being a student. Not that he’ll admit it.
“On your bike,” he says, affable as always, and gives his eggs to an ecstatic Albert.
I give him up as a lost cause and go upstairs to get ready.
Lowrie MBW [9.46]:
Are you on your way? I’ve eaten every single croissant on the buffet table. I need you to save me from myself.
Lowrie MBW [10.14]: We’re going to run out of time before class if you don’t hurry.
张申 [10.33]: 10 min.
Lowrie MBW [10.34]: You went back to sleep, didn’t you?
Lowrie MBW [10.46]: Why do you do this to me every single day?
Why am I always surprised?
Lowrie MBW [10.48]: Good morning, by the way
张申 [10.49]: no morning is ever good.
Lowrie MBW [10.51]: This is exactly how I feel when you send me sixteen messages at 4 a.m.
张申 [11.03]: xixixi. nearly up.
I go to the growlery to pack some tools while I wait for Shen. I’ve learnt to always be over-prepared after we found a sealed wooden chest by the river but didn’t have any tools to open it. By the time we had fetched some and gone back, the tide had washed it away.
I fill my utility belt with the essentials – a penknife, screwdriver, chisel and spanner. Then, as I’m still waiting for Shen, I rub beeswax into the pale-oak handles of my tools, and use a whetstone to make the edges of the blades as thin and sharp as possible, buffing the metal with a chammy cloth until they gleam. When I’m done, I catch sight of Mitch’s dirty back as he pokes through my drawers. He definitely needs a polish too, even if Dad likes the lichen.