Empty Planet

by Lynette Sloane

  Empty Planet

  By

  Lynette Sloane

  Empty Planet

  Published by Hálora Publishing

  Copyright © Lynette Sloane

  23/11/12

  All rights reserved

  Empty Planet

  Chapter 1

  Late August 2077

  The first time everyone disappeared I was pretty scared.

  Until then my six-year-old life had been relatively ordinary. I lived with Mum and Charlie, my elder brother, in a small town in rural Lancashire where I attended the local Junior School—nothing unusual there—but life was about to change. Forever.

  Mum had promised to take Charlie and me out all week. Saturday finally dawned and at last I was able to run free through Heaton Park in North Manchester, feeling the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.

  The three of us often visited the park on Saturday afternoons; Mum said it reminded her of happier times when Dad lived with us. He had left when I was a baby and Charlie was starting nursery.

  My brother and I played on the swings, roundabout and climbing frame for about an hour whilst Mum read her book, occasionally glancing up to check that we were safe. Children ran all around jumping and screaming in childish delight, each playing in their own fantasy world: ‘the Indians are coming’, ‘quick get to the space ship’, or ‘I can swing higher than you; I’m champion of the world’.

  Mum looked up and called to us, “Come on lads, let’s go for a little walk around.”

  Charlie let go of his climbing frame bar dropping into a puddle on the sandy floor, I jumped off my swing, and we raced over to Mum, excited, as she reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of chocolate biscuits saying, “You can have two each.”

  We ate them as we walked across the playground and up a narrow path leading through a wooded area. Charlie and I ran on a little way ahead crossing a small bridge over a stream. I picked up a stick and ran along the pathway tapping the metal handrail. This annoyed the large, miserable looking lady walking towards us. She glared at me, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t care. It was a hot summer’s day and I was happy.

  The stream tumbled over a small waterfall and followed the footpath downhill.

  Charlie ran on ahead picking up stones and throwing them into the water shouting, “Bombs away.”

  I was more interested in the grey squirrel I’d spotted under a nearby bush. It stood completely still, staring back at me from no more than two metres away, then, as I took a step towards it, it turned and darted away and in a few bounds was safely up a nearby sycamore tree. I followed it to the base of the tree straining my neck back to watch the squirrel darting across the topmost branches.

  Mum called, “Stevie come back on the path where I can see you.”

  “Ok,” I shouted, giving the squirrel one final glance and throwing my stick in its direction. I ducked under a small branch and scrambled back onto the pathway continuing in the direction I thought Mum and Charlie must have gone. I ran around the corner expecting to see them both, but they weren’t there. Panic welled up from the pit of my stomach.

  “Mum,” I yelled, “Charlie, where are you?”

  No one answered so I sprinted back down the hill and around the corner to the swings and climbing frame, my panic intensifying with each step. I quickly reached the play area. The swings gently swayed in the breeze and the roundabout slowly turned, but no one was here either, not Mum, Charlie or any of the many children who had filled the park only minutes before. My stomach tightened with a fear I’d never before experienced. I continued running until I reached the little roadway that ran throughout the park. I paused, looking up and down the road, but saw no one. Earlier, as I’d chatted to mum in my care-free childish manner, I’d seen families sitting on the grass enjoying picnics whilst children played; now there was no one in sight: footballs, bicycles, picnic baskets, and rugs lay abandoned.

  “Mum, Charlie…MUM!”

  I raced up the hill towards the ice-cream van thinking the ice-cream man might have seen Mum looking for me. Reaching the van within a couple of minutes and struggling to catch my breath, I stretched on tiptoes trying to look through the van window, but I was too small, so I climbed onto the nearby park bench and peered inside the van from my new vantage point. There was no one inside.

  Feeling scared and not knowing what to do, I leapt off the bench back onto the grass, my eyes brimming with tears. There was no one in sight anywhere, not on the extensive lawns, by the stable buildings, or even on the driveway leading to Heaton Hall—the eighteenth century, stately home that had been built in the park grounds. Tears ran down my cheeks and my view of the world hazed over. I sat on the grass with my knees hunched up to my chest, terrified and feeling hopeless.

  “Stevie… what you doing here?”

  It was Charlie. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. Mum was running up the hill towards me. I stood up, and ran into her arms, sobbing.

  __________

  As the days became months and then years I pushed the experience into the back of my mind. I couldn’t explain it and choose not to think about it. I was a happy, lively child with a Mum who loved me and an older brother I admired, even though I sometimes teased him and hid his toys.

  Although I lacked a father figure, Mum, Charlie and I were a happy family unit and I loved spending time with them. As I grew older I enjoyed riding my bike in the park, playing out with friends, and kicking a football around with them on the town square outside the library. Sometimes we climbed on the flat supermarket roof and lay down so no one could see us.

  Aggie Thomas—a very overweight, middle-aged lady—used to moan at us for riding our bikes through the town square. She would waddle through town, puffing and panting as she carried heavy bags of shopping to the bus stop. Once I offered to help carry her bags, but she swore at me saying that she wasn’t going to let some kid steal her shopping. Shocked to hear an old lady being be so rude, I decided I wouldn’t try to help any adults again, except, of course, for my Mum.

  Several times after that, we spotted Aggie from the supermarket roof and called out, “Aggie, Aggie,” each time ducking down out of sight when she turned to see who had shouted her name.

  We lay flat on our stomachs, giggling, as we heard her getting really flustered, and shouting, “I’m going to get the police on you boys.”

  It was fair to say that I had a very good, well-balanced upbringing and I enjoyed life. I even liked my new high school, except for History lessons with Mr. Jeffery.

  Although I had a brilliant Mum who did her best for Charlie and me, and even paid for singing lessons when she discovered I had a good voice, I was still grieved by my father’s absence, especially when I saw my friends with their Dads. My best friend, Mark, didn’t live with his Dad but at least he saw him at weekends. I didn’t have that privilege and often found myself staring at the photo of Dad and Mum on the mantelshelf in the living room. This was all I had to fill the void left by my father’s absence; the void only a father could fill. I couldn’t remember Dad at all. Mum told me that she had no idea he was going to leave. He kissed her goodbye one morning, left for work, and never contacted her again. He didn’t contact anyone. He didn’t arrive at work, Nan and Granddad hadn’t seen him, and although there was a nationwide missing person’s hunt, he was never found. Dad seemed to have left the planet.

  __________

  One day there was a knock on the front door. Mum was struggling downstairs with her arms full of washing so called to Charlie to open the door and see who was there.

  He didn’t recognise the man so called out, “Mum it’s for you,” then went back to his computer game. Mum went to the door, the sight of the person standing before her causing her to gasp and drop the was
hing.

  She managed to say, “John?” her voice trembling. Charlie and I came to see what was going on. We wondered who the tall, lean stranger was and why he could have such a profound affect on our Mum. She looked at him carefully, asking, “What’s happened to you? Where’ve you been? … You look so much older.”

  At first the stranger was so full of emotion that it was hard for him to speak.

  He coughed, cleared his throat and said awkwardly, “Maisie, please forgive me for leaving you all. I can explain everything; I have a great deal to tell you.” He paused, then speaking in little more than a whisper and appearing even more uneasy added, “I’m back if you will have me.”

  Her shock quickly turning to anger, Mum stepped forward and slapped him hard across his face.

  “You think you can just walk back in here after all the hurt you caused us?” she challenged him, glaring. “Where’ve you been? I thought I knew you. I thought we were good together.”

  Charlie realised who it was but I still had no idea. He spoke enquiringly, “Dad?”

  My eyes were glued to the stranger. Was this man my father? The photo in the living room showed Dad and Mum to be around the same age, but this man was several years older than Mum, and unlike Dad, he had a nasty scar on his forehead, his salt and pepper hair was white at the sides and he had lines under his eyes. I wanted to know the truth. If he really was my Dad where had he been all this time, and why was he here now?

  “Maisie please let me explain. I have so much to tell you. Can I come in?” the stranger continued.

  Mum paused and took a deep breath, and then regaining her composure she quietly replied, “You have five minutes.” We watched in silence as the man followed her into the dining room leaving Charlie and me in the hallway.

  Mum hastily took a few pounds out of her pocket and told us both to go to the shop for bread and milk. Knowing that she wanted us out of the way for a while, we took the money and walked down the driveway, deep in thought.

  I noticed a tall, fair-haired man leaning with his back against our wall at the bottom of the driveway. Charlie paused to ask him if he was with our visitor. The man said he was.

  “Is he our Dad?” Charlie continued, asking the question I had wanted to ask but had felt too shy to voice.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask your Mum who he is when you get back,” the man answered. Something about the way he looked at us made us both feel uncomfortable, so we quickly left and ran up the street.

  When we returned home the visitor had already left. Mum explained to us that the man was our Dad and would come to see us at the weekend if we were comfortable with that. I was keen but Charlie was a little apprehensive. I supposed this was because at fifteen he was older and might have remembered Dad leaving. Charlie was of a more serious disposition than me and always thought deeply about everything.

  With Mum’s approval we met Dad a few times and he started taking us out for picnics. Once he took us to see Manchester United play Liverpool at home. It was a draw, which was just as well: Charlie and I supported Manchester United and Dad supported Liverpool.

  “However did I manage to have two sons who support United?” Dad joked on the drive home.

  “Because you weren’t around for us,” Charlie snapped, staring straight ahead, defiantly avoiding looking at Dad. Charlie was still upset by Dad’s long absence from our lives. I could see my brother’s retort hurt Dad very much but he didn’t say anything.

  __________

  I awoke on my twelfth birthday feeling very excited. Dad was taking Charlie and me to Blackpool to visit the Sandcastle Swimming Pool. We loved going there; there were loads of water slides and a wave machine. I glanced at my alarm clock: it was already ten to nine—we had overslept— Mum had said she was going to wake us at seven-thirty. Dad would be here any minute. I leapt out of bed and ran downstairs in my boxer shorts calling out to her. There was no answer; she wasn’t in the house and nor was Charlie. I grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the ironing pile, and opened the front door.

  It was very quiet outside. There was no one in sight and the traffic was at a standstill, some of the cars stood abandoned in the middle of the road. I wondered down the driveway in my bare feet. From here I could see that several vehicles had crashed into each other further up the street. I sprinted over and looked inside each of them in turn. They were all empty!

  “No! Not again!” I shouted. Memories of my terrifying experience in Heaton Park flooded back and panic welled up from the pit of my stomach. I tried to control my thoughts and reasoned. The nightmare only lasted a few minutes in the park; everyone will be back soon. I ran back into the house and tried to phone Dad but the phone line was dead, so I pushed the ‘on’ button on the television hoping to catch a news channel that might shed some light on the situation. It remained silent. I checked the room lights; they wouldn’t come on either. Evidentially, there was a power-cut; nothing electrical worked.

  I pulled on a sweater, slipped on my trainers and ran back outside. My pushbike was leaning against the hedge so I jumped on the bike and peddled into the town centre. I hoped so hard I would see someone shopping or walking their dog, but it was the same everywhere. I wouldn’t even have minded seeing smelly old Aggie, but there was no one in sight, no vehicles were moving and it was deadly quiet.

  On a normal day the sounds of traffic, children’s shouts, and the buzz of shoppers usually faded into the background, unnoticed, but today the contrasting silence was almost audible, only interrupted by occasional birdsong. I rode around the streets, the local park, and all the way to the next town, wondering if I was going mad.

  When I got to Mark’s house I got off my bike, threw it against the garden hedge, and knocked on his front door, which had been left ajar. There was no answer so I pushed it open and walked inside.

  “Mark,” I called, waiting for a moment before calling out again, “Mark, don’t mess about.” Mark didn’t answer. I checked his room. He wasn’t there; the house was abandoned. I decided to go home and wait for Mum and Charlie. Surely the nightmare would soon be over and everyone would come back.

  I waited at home for the rest of the day trying to dispel the growing fear that niggled in the back of my mind. What if they never come back?

  I had to do something to take my mind off the possibility that I could be alone forever, but I wasn’t sure what I could do. I didn’t want to sweep the drive or tidy my room, and I couldn’t use the computer, so by late afternoon I was quite bored. I was starving too, so I raided the fridge. The ham seemed to have gone off and the bread had little patches of green mould growing on the crusts. Everything in the freezer had defrosted, including Charlie’s ice cream, so I rode back down the street to the bakery and helped myself to a donut. I took a bite; it was stale so I placed it back on the display shelf. Instead, I helped myself to a family size packet of cheese and onion crisps. As no one was around I placed a pound coin on the counter. Mum had always taught me to be honest so taking the crisps without paying didn’t feel right.

  I biked home. By eight-thirty it was getting dark, I was really bored and beginning to get a little scared, so I lay on the sofa and dozed off.

  I don’t think I’d been asleep long when I became aware of a hand gently shaking my shoulder.

  I heard Mum saying, “Happy birthday Stevie, time to get up, it’s seven-thirty.” I awoke with a start. Had it been a dream?

  Mum was looking down at me asking, “What are you doing down here sleeping on the sofa, and where did those crisps come from?”

  I was feeling a little sick and had a slight headache so I told her, “I wasn’t feeling very well so I came downstairs.”

  An hour or so later Dad arrived in his car to pick Charlie and me up for my birthday treat. We had a great time in Blackpool: swimming, playing ‘footie’ on the beach, eating candyfloss and hotdogs, and playing the slot machines—although Dad said I looked a little tired. It was no wonder; including the hours of my empty pl
anet adventure, I’d been awake for two daytimes with only a short nap in-between.

  A few weeks later Dad moved back in with us. It was great having him home; it made me feel much more secure, and I thought that having him around meant I would never go though another day when everyone disappeared.

  Chapter 2

  A wave of excitement rushed through me as I awoke on the nineteenth of December remembering there were only two days of school left before the Christmas holidays. Through the gap in my curtains I could see large, falling snowflakes illuminated against the dark sky by the streetlights. I leapt out of bed and ran to my window eagerly surveying the scene from the comfort of my warm bedroom. The snow must have started falling sometime during the night, as the front lawn, flowerbeds and the driveway were already covered. Better still, it had begun to stick to the road, which meant our school might be closed. The thought of a day off playing in the snow further excited and energised me. I ran downstairs and mentioned it to Mum, but she said that I had to go to school anyway, adding that the teachers would send me home if the snow got too deep.

  Charlie and I left the house earlier than usual so we could mess about on the way to school. The falling snowflakes became larger, appearing light grey against the white sky. Charlie pointed to a group of girls walking further up the road. Three of them were in my class and the other two, a year younger, were still in the Junior School.

  “Let’s snowball ’em,” he grinned at me.

  “Yea, brill,” I agreed.

  We ran towards the girls shouting and pelting them all with snow hastily grabbed off windowsills and garden walls. The girls responded in like manner, frantically grabbing snow and throwing it at us. We won as I managed to shove some snow down the tallest girl’s neck.

  She swore at me adding, “You’ll be in trouble when you get to school. My big brother’ll get you.”

  “Bog off or we’ll get him as well,” Charlie shouted back at her. We laughed at the moody girls and ran the rest of the way to school, only stopping once to throw snow through someone’s open window. Well, I thought, what sort of idiot has their kitchen window open on a day like this?