by Ryan Casey
What if the power didn’t come back?
What if there was no control?
Order would soon resume. The looters would be the powerful ones initially. Then the communities who managed to pull themselves together when the police and the military ran off to watch their own backs.
After that, it was the individuals who would prosper. Individuals with farms. Farms willing to barter, willing to trade.
In a world without power, the big society was dead.
Martin stared into the crackling fire. The room he was in was old-fashioned, with dark carpets and older leather sofas. There was a smell of mustiness in the air, like old people. Photographs in black and white all over the walls and the mantelpiece. It might be cosy in here, once upon a time.
But there was no cosiness right now.
Just uncertainty.
The fear that things could spiral out of control at any moment, even in a small village like this.
Ella sat at the other side of the room on a chair. She was still playing with her phone, even though hope had long ago drifted away from her. Martin sat on a sofa next to Mick. His wife, Evelyn, was a quiet, friendly woman, very hospitable. Reminded Martin of his old grandma back in the day. She didn’t seem concerned by any of this. It’ll sort itself out, she’d say, in a way that, for a moment, felt actually reassuring.
Martin hoped to God she was right.
“I just can’t believe my boy would do such a thing,” Mick said, staring into the glowing orange flames. “I mean, he’s never got into big trouble like this before. Truant from school a few times. Sometimes mixes with the wrong crowds from nearby villages. But Adrian... he’s just a normal nineteen-year-old lad. I dunno what would possess him to try and rob Omar’s store.”
Martin kept quiet. He had his own thoughts about Adrian’s robbery attempts. He didn’t want to vocalise them too much, though, because he didn’t want to normalise Adrian’s behaviour. He’d tried to rob a store. Held the shopkeeper at knifepoint.
But deep down, there was that niggling knowledge that in a way, Adrian was ahead of the curve. Because if the power outage really was a long term thing, supplies were going to dwindle fast. In a sense, that’s what made a village even more vulnerable—they didn’t have an abundance of large supermarkets or warehouses nearby or even many houses that could be raided.
Supplies were going to run out fast in a village like Eskdale Green.
And when they did, most of the villagers would already be too late to gather anything particularly meaningful from the supermarkets all those miles away from them.
“People do strange things when they’re under pressure,” Martin said. It was about the most neutral reassurance he could offer. Mick was pretty understanding, considering Martin cracked his lad over the head with a can of beans. In what world could you say that and get away with it?
Mick sighed. “I hope things don’t get much stranger. I mean, it’s strange enough that Calvin, our other lad, hasn’t turned up home tonight. He’s out walking with his girlfriend, Scarlett. Usually lets us know when he’s gonna be away for the night. But with no phones... I dunno. I figure I’m probably worrying myself about nothing. Can’t help it, you know?”
Evelyn smiled that reassuring smile. “He’s fine. He’s a sensible lad. Scarlett will keep him in check. You know how she is.”
Mick sighed. “I know you’re probably right. But then if this blackout stuff you say is true, I mean... the pressure’s growing. It’s only day one, and you can feel it already. People are growing tetchy. If it ain’t my Adrian, it’ll be someone else. People want answers. And if they can’t get answers, they want to survive. How’re we supposed to deal with that?”
Martin looked across the room, over at Ella. There were so many questions he had himself. What was he supposed to do with his daughter? Where was he supposed to take her? Just how much could he look after her?
“Whatever the case,” Mick said. “You did the right thing with my boy. Stopped him from doing something stupid. You’re clearly a damned good dad, I’ve got to say.”
Martin lowered his head. Looked away from Ella. Felt his cheeks flush. “Thanks.” It was all he could say.
Mick looked across the room. As much as Martin begged him to stop inside, he kept on going. “Look at her. The way she looks at you. She idolises you. Wish my kids were half as co-operative.”
Martin glanced up at Ella, then. He saw the way she looked at him. The way their eyes held for just a second. A vulnerability in her eyes. An urge to say something.
And then she broke his gaze just as he looked away, too.
“You can stay here, you know,” Mick said. “Until all this is over. We’ve got plenty of room. Could do with a safe pair of hands like you in town, too. What do you say?”
Martin wanted to accept. He wanted to tell Mick he’d stay here. He wanted to tell him that it was a good idea. And that it was good for Ella, too.
But on the other hand... he knew this wasn’t the end of the road.
He had to search for answers elsewhere.
He had to find somewhere else for Ella. Somewhere safer.
Even if that meant taking her home to her grandma, as complex a task as that may be.
He had to get her to safety.
He looked over at Ella. Half-smiled.
Then he looked back at Mick.
“Thanks,” he said. “But we’re gonna set off tomorrow morning. We’re gonna get moving.”
Mick half smiled back at him.
“Well, okay. But at least stay here for tonight. You and Ella can take Adrian’s room. If that’s okay with you both.”
Martin wanted to shake his head.
He wanted to say it wasn’t okay.
But in the end, he smiled, and he nodded.
“That sounds good,” he said.
He looked into the fire, and he felt fear creep through his body as the thought of spending the night in the same room as his daughter for the first time in years filled his system...
Chapter Eighteen
Martin lay on the floor of Adrian’s bedroom and stared up to the ceiling.
He didn’t know how long he’d been lying here. It had to be hours. At least that’s what it felt like. Adrian’s room was pretty much typical of a nineteen-year-old lad’s—pictures of women on the walls, a slight smell of weed hanging in the air, DVDs and used tissues scattered all over the place, which Martin was keen not to touch.
But it wasn’t that which kept him awake. It wasn’t even the springy, painful mattress that dug right into his back that did it.
It was the sound of Ella shuffling about on the single bed right beside him.
She hadn’t said anything, but Martin could tell she was awake. And as long as she was awake, there was a threat she might speak. That she might try to talk about something.
And that’s what Martin had to resist.
That’s why he had to keep his eyes closed.
That’s why—
“Are you awake?”
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He wanted to keep his eyes shut. She should be getting some sleep, and so should he.
But in the end, he found he couldn’t lie to his daughter.
He opened his eyes and saw her leaning her head over the side of the bed.
“Yeah,” he said.
She smirked at him. “I knew it. Mum always said you snored like mad. Haven’t heard you snore once.”
“Hey,” Martin said. “That’s not true.”
“Snore or grind your teeth. She said you used to do that, too. And you know what? I remember it. I remember hearing you in the night. Screeching right through the house. Mum shouting at you, telling you to shut up, and you always telling her you didn’t grind your teeth. That she was imagining things. It used to keep me awake. But it was funny. Made me laugh.”
Martin smiled as he lay there on this mattress on the dusty floor, feeling more and more uncomfortable in the dead of night. “There’s things you
remember that I don’t even recall.”
Ella leaned back onto her back. Disappeared from Martin’s view. “In the last couple of years... Mum was different. She never used to say good things about you. Barely spoke about you at all. But as she got worse... well. When I started living with Grandma, when I spoke to her, she’d always say things about you. Always tell me stories. And it made me remember things, too.”
Martin closed his eyes. He wanted to scream out. To beg: why did you did it, Sarah? Why did you not reach out and talk to me? To anyone?
And then he heard Ella say something else.
Something that made his body turn to jelly.
“You were a good dad,” she said. “I wish you’d never gone away.”
He turned over. Squeezed his eyes tight shut. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say.
He just lay there. Heart racing. Chest tight. Mind spinning.
“Night, Ella,” he said. It was the only thing he could manage.
A few seconds passed. Then a few minutes.
And eventually, she replied.
“Night.”
She went quiet.
Martin lay there. Tears building. Memories of the past flooding back.
Tomorrow, he’d head off towards Ella’s grandparents.
Or if that weren’t feasible... tomorrow, he’d get her to safety. Wherever that was. Whatever that meant.
No matter what it took.
Chapter Nineteen
Martin opened his eyes and felt anxiety tighten its grip on his stomach right away.
It was light. He could hear birdsong. A few mutters of conversation outside. For a moment, he thought he heard a bell. And he wondered whether it was electronic. He found himself straining for the sound of a plane flying over, or a tannoy system, or engine noises, or the hum of a fridge, or... well, just anything.
He didn’t hear anything.
He stood up. Looked at Adrian’s bed. Ella lay in there, flat out. Eyes closed. A little snore. Bare arms on show, cuts down them.
He swallowed a nauseous lump in his throat as he remembered what she’d said to him last night.
You were a good dad. I wish you’d never gone away.
“You going to stand there staring at me forever?”
She spoke and opened her eyes very suddenly. Martin rubbed at the back of his neck. Half-smiled. “Morning.”
She stretched out, yawned. “I’m guessing your alarm didn’t go off?”
Martin reached for his phone. No sign of power. He saw the clocks in here were still stopped, too. He wasn’t sure whether they’d start ticking again if the power suddenly came back, or if everything was fried. But it didn’t look good. “Not looking great,” he said.
He looked out the window. He saw people in the streets. Standing there, arms covering their bodies. Cyclists stopping by, asking what was happening. The Village Store with its closed sign still dangling from its front.
And then he saw the smashed window.
“Shit,” Martin said.
The Village Store had been broken in to. No doubt Adrian gave someone an idea, and they’d gone in there in the night. He knew it wouldn’t take long for things like that to spiral out of control. And with a threadbare police presence here in a village—a presence that seemed limited to one—it was likely that disorder would only spread.
Martin had been torn about the Village Store. On the one hand, he knew he could grab a few things there. But on the other, and perhaps against his better judgement, he’d feel guilty raiding it of its essentials. This village was a close-knit community. Good people lived here. He didn’t want to strip them of all their assets.
He’d find somewhere else if that’s what it came to.
“We need to get out of this place,” Martin said.
Ella frowned. “I’m hungry. Can’t we grab some breakfast?”
“We’ll grab something on the road,” Martin said. “We need to head south towards Ambleside. We need to figure out if there’s any groups in control of this situation. Army. People like that. Even though the towns are gonna be in a mess, we’re more likely to run into someone who can help there. And failing that... we need to get you back home. Come on.”
Martin got dressed quickly, as too did Ella. He felt grubby. Needed a wash. His throat was dry, crying out for water.
But his urgency to get out of this village and get moving over-rode every other instinct.
He headed down Mick’s creaky stairs. Walked past the doorway to his cosy lounge. He glanced in there, half-expecting Mick not to be up yet.
And he saw something.
Mick and Evelyn held on to one another. Both of them were crying. Inconsolable.
He stopped by the door. Part of him wanted to leave. But he couldn’t just leave them like this. He had to know they were okay.
“Mick?” he said.
Mick looked up at him. His eyes were red. Tears covered his cheeks.
“Martin,” he said, trying to sound jovial, trying his damnedest to appear hospitable. “I—I—”
“What’s happened?” Martin asked.
It was Evelyn who spoke.
“It’s our other son,” she moaned. “Calvin. He... he was out walking with his girlfriend. And Mick... Mick found them this morning. He found them both. He found our boy.”
Martin didn’t understand. “Found him where?”
Mick turned around and said a word that sent a shiver down Martin’s spine. “Dead.”
Martin frowned. The temperature of the room felt like it’d plummeted. Options filled his mind. Could he have been hit by plane or helicopter debris? Falling power lines? “I... I’m so sorry—”
“Someone did this,” Mick shouted.
Martin’s frown extended. He found himself holding his daughter’s hand tighter, instinctively. “What do you mean someone did this?”
“It’s—it’s not the EMP or whatever,” Mick said. “The way I found them both. Their bodies. They... they’d been stabbed. Someone... someone did this to them!”
Martin felt a void open inside as the couple cried before him.
He felt an emptiness swallow him up.
And he felt fear within.
He didn’t know what to say.
But if what Mick was saying was true... there was somebody dangerous out there.
Somebody close by.
He walked into the room. He put a hand on each of their backs. Tried to be pragmatic. Tried to remember how he was taught to deal with situations like this. A level of loss he hadn’t seen since he was overseas, in the RAF. And even then, situations like this were limited.
He said the only words anyone could in a situation like this.
“I’m so sorry for your losses,” he said. “But we... we have to go now. We have to go.”
Mick didn’t say anything. Neither did Evelyn.
Both of them just held one another and cried.
“Thank you,” he said. “For everything. I’m sorry.”
He tightened his grip on their shoulders.
And then he took a deep breath, and he turned away.
He looked at Ella. Swallowed a lump in his throat. Nodded, as Mick and Evelyn continued to cry behind him.
“Come on,” he whispered. “It’s time we left.”
But as he opened Mick’s front door and stepped out into this dangerous new world, he couldn’t shake the fear that someone was out there.
Someone was watching.
Chapter Twenty
Garrett walked through the woods and smiled.
The morning air was so fresh and beautiful. It smelled even better now that he knew the power still hadn’t returned. Now that he knew that there was absolutely no way anyone was on his trail.
And since he’d had his craving for blood satiated.
The sun peeked down through the clouds. He felt a warmth on his face. It felt so different now he was free. Inside, sure, you could experience the sun peeking through your barred window. But you could n
ever really savour it. You could never truly enjoy it.
He felt like he could savour every single moment right now.
He licked his lips and looked down the long country road. Cars had been abandoned, ground to a halt. Some of them still had people sitting there inside. And as Garrett walked past them, he looked into the windows at these people. Businessmen in suits rubbing their heads in their hands. Women lying across the back seats, their children in their arms, sleeping until they got further news.
And it gave him a sense of power knowing he could just walk past them without them even turning their head.
Hell. If he wanted to, he could satiate his dark cravings even more.
But enough was enough.
The two walkers near Eskdale Green were enough to satisfy him.
For now.
He thought about the looks on their faces as he’d approached them. The way their curiosity turned to fear. That wide-eyed look of terror, that’s what he’d been missing all this time, all these years. The buzz that look of horror gave him.
And the release taking their lives, one by one, gave him too.
He took a breath of the cool autumn air. Tasted the floral fragrances in the air. Listened to the leaves crunching beneath his feet. After a kill, his senses felt heightened. Elevated. For a time, he felt satisfied, like a lion who had just feasted on its prey. He wouldn’t need to satiate that hunger for a while.
But that time would arrive again.
That urge wouldn’t just go away.
He’d lived with it for too many years and knew it far too well to know that there was nothing he could do to hold back his base instincts.
He thought about the day he’d been locked up in prison. At first, he’d felt so scared. So afraid. But not because of the fears of the hierarchical prison structure. Not because of his fears that someone might try to hurt him.
His biggest fear was that his urges might not be able to be satisfied for a long, long time.
And he feared that might just tear him apart.
He looked in through a car window. Saw his pale ginger reflection in there, as other people stood by their cars, talking to one another, barely even noticing him passing by. It helped that he’d changed into the man’s walking gear, of course. Made him blend in more.