by Ryan Casey
But there was something that made Martin’s stomach sink.
There were four cars up ahead. All of them were just sitting there in the middle of the road. It was like they were just waiting to move. Only there was nobody in them. They were abandoned.
And the second car in the queue had smashed into the back of the first one.
Telegraph poles lay across the streets, wires dangling from them.
Signs that Martin’s worst fears were very much in action, after all.
The place looked like a derelict ghost town after a war zone. Not a quaint little Lake District village.
Ella looked at Martin. She didn’t say anything. Just glared at him with those wide, curious eyes. She knew already what he was thinking. If the cars had gone out here, Eskdale Green had been affected too. Much as he suspected, anyway. But seeing it like this, seeing it for real, it just brought it all home.
This wasn’t going to be a short term thing. It wasn’t going to be something that was resolved in a day.
It was a long-term problem that had affected a wide area.
He walked further down this quaint street, towards the centre of the village. A few of the power lines overhead had exploded and dangled down towards the road. Martin was wary of brushing against any of them, but he knew they were dead anyway. There was no power, so it wasn’t something he had to worry about.
The village was always quiet, but today felt even quieter. It must be strange living somewhere like this and ending up disconnected. Hard to imagine what was worse, really: being in a town or city, or a village.
In the villages, the people were usually more helpful and supportive of one another. In the theories he’d read, villages and rural places would be less likely to sink into disarray so quickly as towns and cities.
Towns and cities were more crowded. And as soon as money loses its intrinsic value, places like that soon descend into chaos. Looting. Fighting. And eventually, fires, the services too weakened to do anything about them.
Yeah. The villages might be cut off, but suddenly being in rural territory felt a whole lot more appealing to Martin. If you wanted to be anywhere when an EMP or CME struck—and it was serious—you wanted to be rural. You wanted to be in the wilderness. Somewhere like a farm, where you could eventually cultivate your own crops, tend your own herd of cows, sheep, that kind of thing. Also came in handy to be a skilled hunter. If you couldn’t hunt, you were doomed, especially when conventional food supplies would grow scarce within a few days of looting and disarray.
Self-sufficiency was once a dream of Martin’s. He loved watching Ben Fogle’s New Lives in the Wild, admiring the people who just got off their arses, out of the capitalist rat race and into a full-blown life of self-sustainability. Growing crops. Looking after animals. Surviving off one’s own produce.
It was a dream. But real life got in the way.
Looked right now like he might be pushed into it after all.
He reached the edge of the road and looked across the small hub of the village. There was a pub, The Red Lion. A little church beside it, which looked inviting. A local shop, which looked closed. A few people wandered around, looking at one another with suspicion, particularly outsiders like him and Ella.
“So if your whole plan was getting here,” Ella said, “what’re we gonna do next?”
Martin rubbed the back of his neck. Options filled his mind. If there were no answers in Eskdale Green, they needed to get somewhere larger. But then larger places came with their own risks—risks he’d already thought about.
And then there were the supplies they needed to gather. The things they’d need to ensure their survival for the next week. Obvious stuff like water bottles, sleeping blankets in case they had to sleep out and about, food supplies—preferably high protein and high fat. But other things most people forgot about, too. Baby wipes. Soap. Toothbrushes and toothpaste.
Just because you were out of the house didn’t mean the need to look after yourself just ended.
A bug out bag was handy. It was nigh on essential. Hell, he felt like an idiot for not having one in the first place, especially with his interest in all things post-apocalyptic.
But what if it went on longer than a week?
What if this was a long term thing?
And who was supposed to look after Ella?
Who was capable of looking after Ella?
He certainly wasn’t.
But he had to make sure she was looked after for as long as he had to.
And then he had to think about looking after himself, as soon as he was sure she’d found somewhere that could look after her enough.
He looked over to the left of the street, heart pounding, when he saw a man walking towards him.
He was a tall man. Greying hair. Thin. He had a smile on his face that Martin wasn’t sure reassured him or put him off.
He walked right over to Martin and Ella, and his smile widened even more.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
Martin cleared his throat. He wasn’t keen on small talk. “Staying up in the hills. Lost power in the early hours. Walked over this way. Thought we might find some answers here.”
The man sighed. “If it’s answers you’re looking for, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place, mate.” He held out a hand. “Mick.”
Martin took it, somewhat reluctantly. “Martin. Everything here blacked out?”
Mick nodded. “Cars. Freezers. Everything. Just like you say. First guess was some kind of power surge. But then how does a power surge take out my damned watch?”
Martin nodded. He wanted to speak to someone useful rather than someone who seemed to know less than him. But at the same time, he needed to arm people with knowledge, too. “It looks like a CME or an EMP,” he said. “And a strong one at that.”
“An EM-what?”
“EMP,” Martin said. “Electromagnetic pulse. Or coronal mass ejection, which I figure looks slightly more likely right now. It affects everything. Mains powered. Battery-powered, in extreme cases. Water supplies, because they’re powered somewhere. Unless you’ve got something wrapped up in a Faraday cage... the whole lot’s gonna be fried.”
Mick just glared at Martin like he was speaking another language. He supposed he was, in a way. Probably should’ve kept Faraday Cages out of it. Faraday Cages were designed to block electromagnetic fields. Pretty simple to make really: just wrap your electronics in some kind of conductive material and hope for the best. Of course, they didn’t guarantee perfect results. They were hit and miss. But if you’re lucky... you might just be able to salvage a torch or a walkie talkie or two.
Which of course would be more than valuable in a world without power.
Martin swore Mick turned a shade paler with all this blackout talk. “But what... If you’re right, what happens next?”
Martin felt the eyes of Mick and a few other villagers on him. He felt the eyes of his daughter on him. He looked around at them all, not liking this weight of responsibility, not liking being the one who was even moderately in the know, and he took a deep breath. “Just... just make sure there’s plenty of food and water for the village. Until this mess gets sorted out.”
“When will it get sorted out?” Mick asked.
Martin opened his mouth. He wanted to give a solid date. He wanted to give some kind of hope.
But as much as he wanted to maintain some kind of control of this situation, he knew he was just as lost as everyone else.
“I don’t know. But—”
He stopped talking.
Everyone looked around at the shop.
Because there was a sound from there.
A sound that sent shivers up Martin’s arms.
A shout.
Chapter Sixteen
Martin heard the shout from inside the local store, and he knew right away he couldn’t just stand here and do nothing.
He looked at Mick standing opposite. His pale face went a shade whiter. His eye
s widened. He looked stunned, like a damned shout was the most terrifying thing he’d ever heard in all his years living in Eskdale Green. Village life, Martin guessed.
He looked over Mick’s shoulder. Looked past the stationary cars. Saw a few people in the street, all of them glancing nervously at the doorway to the Village Store. A woman pushing a pram, a baby screaming inside it. An old man sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper, something which seemed strangely irrelevant an activity now.
But Martin’s only focus was on that Village Store. Grey-bricked like everywhere else in this village. Homely and welcoming, with discounted teddy bears in the window.
He looked at Mick and then at Ella.
“Wait here,” he said.
He walked forward, fists tensed, instincts kicking in.
He felt a hand grab his arm.
When he turned around, he saw Ella staring at him.
There was something about the way she looked at him. Those wide eyes. That look of fear and uncertainty on her face. Her lips moved like she was desperate to say something. But too much time passed. And that passed time made it all the more awkward. All the more difficult.
So Martin lowered his head. Cleared his throat. “I’ll be okay. And so will you. Just stay here with Mick for a moment while I check this out.”
Martin looked up. He was half-expecting Mick to protest; to say he’d follow Martin and see what was going on. Or some nonsense about this being his village, so it was his problem to deal with.
But he didn’t.
He let Martin turn around.
He let him run towards the front of that store.
Just as another cry echoed from inside.
Martin stopped in front of the store. People stood around him, muttering. The sign on the doorway read “CLOSED”.
But there was someone in there.
He could hear the struggling.
The shouting.
The protesting.
Things tumbling onto the floor.
“Nothing happens like this here,” a voice to his left said. He turned. Saw a short woman standing there. Grey hair tied back, dangling down the length of her spine. Her face was old and leathery. She looked at Martin with searching eyes. “This is a good village. We don’t ever get any trouble.”
Martin turned away from the woman and to the door of the store. “Yeah, well. I think there’s gonna be a lot of things changing these next few days.”
“What was that?” she asked.
But Martin didn’t answer her.
He didn’t have time for this now.
He took a deep breath.
Then he climbed the steps to the Village Store.
He pushed the door open gently. These places always had damned bells that rang when you entered. He liked the sound. Something warm about it. Something homely.
But he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself right now.
He eased the door open gently. Heard the bell start to ring, then let the door close behind him. Adrenaline surged through his body now he stood in this shop. Sweat trickled down his forehead. What the hell are you doing in here? You’ve got a daughter out there you damned idiot. You could get yourself killed when you need to be there for her.
He took another breath.
Then he crept down the aisle on the right, towards the counter, which, mercifully, was at the rear of the store.
He kept low as he crept down this aisle. Walked past all kinds of canned items, things he could do with stocking up on for the road if that’s where he was going to head. He could hear some kind of struggle over by the counter. A man shouting out at the storekeeper—at least that’s what it sounded like. The storekeeper shouting back.
Martin crept over some fallen cans of beans, being careful not to make any noise. His heart raced. His fists tightened.
He reached the end of the aisle, and then he poked his head around.
There were two men at the counter. The shopkeeper was a bald Asian guy with thick glasses. He was bleeding from his head.
Another man, hooded, face covered, had him propped up against the counter.
Martin couldn’t make out the other man. He wore a thick black hoodie and black trackie bottoms, with white Nike trainers underneath. He had his hood right over his face and a balaclava wrapped around his mouth.
He held a knife to the throat of the shopkeeper.
“I don’t give a shit whether you’re closed,” the man shouted. “I need some food, okay? I’m all out, and I need some. I can’t get out of town ’cause my car’s screwed. So you’re gonna hand it over. Okay?”
The shopkeeper looked terrified. But he kept on shaking his head. “This isn’t who we are,” he said. “We’re a village. We work together.”
“I don’t give a shit whether we’re supposed to work together or not,” the bloke shouted, his voice raspy. “I’ve heard what happens when the power goes out. I’ve seen what happens when the shit hits the fan. Seen enough TV shows to know. So you hand this place over right now. Or… or you’re a dead man. I swear.”
The shopkeeper shook his head. A tear rolled down his cheek. “Please. I have family upstairs. They—”
“Hand over the keys!” the man shouted.
Martin saw the urgency of the situation, right then. He knew he needed to do something—and fast.
But he had to be careful.
He crouched down. Crept slowly towards the two men. He had to approach him from behind. Neutralise him. He knew a few methods from his time in the RAF. But knowing them and actually putting them to practice in a combat situation were different games completely.
Yeah. He was a little rusty.
He sneaked closer to the back of the man with the knife. He knew he needed to grab him. He needed to act. Fast.
But then he saw it.
The way the shopkeeper turned to look at him.
The way his eyes widened.
And the way the lad holding him looked around, right at Martin.
Vulnerability swept over Martin. He had to act—and he had to act fast.
He had to improvise.
“Who the hell are you?” the lad shouted. He kept his knife to the shopkeeper’s neck, which worried Martin. Who knew what he might do under pressure?
Martin held out a hand, trying his best to keep his cool. “Nobody needs to get hurt here. Okay?”
“Bullshit,” the lad said, yanking the knife away from the shopkeeper’s neck and waving it at Martin. “You back the hell off, okay? You aren’t even from around here. You don’t know shit about this place.”
“I know ‘shit’ about what’s happening, though. And I know if you do this, you’ll regret it.”
The lad stood there. His body shook. He looked… scared.
“Come on,” Martin said. “Lower the knife, and we can walk out of here.”
But the lad stood his ground. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
He swung the knife back to the shopkeeper’s neck.
Held it there.
Martin saw the fear in his eyes once more.
And then he saw something else.
Movement.
Movement behind the counter.
Two figures emerging.
The shopkeeper’s wife and daughter.
Eyes wide and tearful.
The lad looked around at them.
Lowered the knife, just for a second.
Martin knew he had to take his opportunity.
A method that wasn’t strictly military-grade.
He dragged that fallen tin of beans from the floor.
Raced over towards the lad.
And then he cracked him as hard over the head as he could.
The lad fell back with surprise. He swung his knife at Martin a few times. But his strokes were only half-hearted.
Martin held him down there. Restrained his arms. Pressed down on his legs. Right on cue, he heard footsteps at the front of the shop. A man dressed in police uniform raced in. Mick and Ella were c
lose behind him.
Martin looked down at the lad, and he saw something in his tearful, bloodshot eyes.
Fear.
He pulled the hood from his head.
And right on cue, he heard the surprise in Mick’s voice.
“Adrian?” Mick said.
Martin turned around. Saw Mick looking even damned more terrified than before. “You know this scrote?”
The man in the police uniform—short, chubby, curly-haired—scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. About Adrian. He’s Mick’s son.”
Martin looked down at Adrian as he shook his head and cried.
“I’m just scared, Dad,” he spluttered. “I’m just scared about what’s gonna happen next.”
Martin stood back. He watched the officer drag Adrian to his feet. Watched Mick speak with him, shout at him.
And he watched Adrian leave the store, cuffed wrists.
He cracked his tense knuckles as his heartbeat steadied.
But as he stood there in the store, all Martin could think about were Adrian’s desperate words.
“I’m just scared about what’s gonna happen next.”
He supposed when someone just got neutralised by a can of Heinz beans life was growing pretty unpredictable.
Chapter Seventeen
Martin sat in front of an open fire in Mick’s living room and felt the reality of the situation growing by the hour.
It was dark. A whole day without power. Without news of what was happening. A whole village community, stranded, like so many others.
He dreaded to think what state the bigger towns and cities would be in at this point. He knew there would be an illusion that things were under control for a short while. Police and army presence would probably be enough to sustain an illusion of order, at least for a time. But people were so addicted to their smartphones and the ease of information these days that they would be tetchy. On edge.
Currency would be rendered irrelevant almost immediately. Actual goods and supplies were suddenly the only way of bartering. That was the reality. But the police and the armed forces—at least those who stuck around—had to maintain that illusion of order and control for as long as they could.
Even though everyone would have that nagging sense, deep down, of what if?