As Anna opened the door to her bedroom, she noticed her running shoes in the hallway by the front door. She ran two to three miles several times a week to strengthen her knee—a skill that could have possibly helped her outrun a zombie, at least for twenty minutes or so, but unfortunately this didn’t seem to be a zombie apocalypse.
However, it occurred to her that if the power wasn’t coming back, she’d definitely shed the few pounds that she’d been trying to lose for what felt like the better part of the last decade, and this time she wouldn’t be able to bin the diet just for the night and order herself a curry.
That’s if she survived long enough for the weight to fall off.
If an EMP or a solar flare had caused the power cut, most people wouldn’t last that long. The people who survived catastrophes of this magnitude usually possessed at least one valuable skill.
Anna didn’t think of herself as someone knowledgeable or smart. She worked in a call centre, listening to customers complain all day long. But if she was right and phones were a thing of the past, then all that job had taught her was how to deal with angry people.
Then again, perhaps that was useful after all, just like living on the top floor.
“What do you do in emergencies?” she asked Oreo as she stepped over his bed, but the dog had gone to sleep, stretching all four paws into the air. “No earthquakes, eh?”
The BBC and the government would attempt to use the radio to communicate with the nation, but Anna hadn’t owned a radio since she was a teenager.
Without the internet, she had no way of finding out what was happening outside.
All she’d ever know was that on a mild day at the end of June, Harlow had gone dark.
And most people had gone to bed thinking it was just a power cut.
Something that’d be fixed by the time they woke up.
It gave her a single night to prepare.
Teenagers might use this night to throw bricks and eggs at cars and windows, but they wouldn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. Only that the police hadn’t turned up.
The Tesco on Edinburgh Way was open twenty-four hours and if she filled a wheeled suitcase and as many of those giant blue IKEA bags as she could carry with supplies, she might just survive for a few weeks. The cash registers wouldn’t work, of course, and it would be pitch-black inside, but if she hurried, she might be able to sneak in through one of the exits at the back while the staff were busy trying to figure out what to do.
She needed to dig through her camping equipment in the loft, find her torch, and then she’d be ready to stock up on medicine, water, tinned food, multivitamins, pasta, dog food, candles and toilet paper.
And, if possible, a small analogue radio and batteries. She didn’t know if it would work, but it was worth a try.
And once back home, she’d lock the door and wait it out.
Or laugh at herself come morning.
Anna hoped for the latter.
2
Christine Hughes hated working on the till at Tesco at night. The squeaky chair was uncomfortable, and her back was already sore from her day shift at the hospital.
While stacking shelves was far worse for her poor back, it was at least peaceful, unlike the checkout where she had to deal with rowdy drunks making lewd comments about her uniform and fend off odd, lonely people who just wanted to chat.
Chris didn’t want to chat, especially not at 11pm—she wasn’t paid nearly enough for that. She just wanted to make enough money to feed her family and pay the bills.
Why did teenagers have to eat so much? And what was going on with their bodies growing like weeds? Tom was a good kid, but lately it seemed as though he needed new clothes every other month. And not just shirts and jeans. Every time he went up a size, he also needed a new set of clothes for both school and football.
Her husband was a kind man, but he’d been struggling with crippling depression for a few years, and it didn’t look as if he was going to win the fight any time soon. Lester had lost his job after a series of terrible performance reviews almost two months ago, and at first Chris had been upset with him. She’d tried not to show it, of course—she didn’t want to be quite that cruel.
Especially since he’d taken the battle against his invisible enemy seriously from the start. He diligently attended his therapy sessions, took his tablets like clockwork, and Chris knew it wasn’t his fault his serotonin levels were unstable. But as a nurse, she wasn’t making anywhere near enough to support a family, and now she was juggling shifts at Tesco on top of the ones at Princess Alexandra Hospital.
She couldn’t remember when she’d last slept for more than three hours at a time and had stopped looking in the mirror when getting ready for work. She didn’t need to see her sunken eyes and the dark circles under them to know she looked like a teenager going through a goth phase—only with grey strands peppering her hair and crow’s feet crinkling her eyes.
At least they only had the one son. They’d wanted more, but giving birth to Tom had almost killed her, and she’d decided right there and then, that it wouldn’t happen again and had her tubes tied.
The stench of alcohol wafted through the air, and Chris held her breath. A man with a scraggly beard staggered towards her, his loosely tied bathrobe revealing naked legs. She prayed that he was wearing underwear as he placed a bottle of vodka onto the conveyor belt.
Crumbs dotted his beard, his small, red-rimmed eyes unfocused and glassy. He reached for his wallet, then promptly dropped it. Bending down to retrieve it, he lost his balance and tumbled to the dirty floor where he sat, giggling to himself.
Chris pressed the button that alerted her manager before leaning over the belt to make sure the man on the floor was all right. The odds of Mike actually showing his bloated face were slim to none, but she wasn’t going to deal with a drunk by herself in the middle of the night.
She pressed the button again and considered waving over the security guard who was busy studying the magazines by the entrance.
Lately, Mike had spent his shifts flirting with Chris’ colleague, Lily, somewhere in the back instead of doing his job of managing the store.
Chris waited, sighed and rubbed her eyes before turning her attention back to the man on the floor. “Are you—”
The overhead lights flickered, and a high-pitched hissing sound filled the air. Her eardrums vibrated. It was as if a swarm of bees had found its way inside the supermarket, and Chris covered her ears with her hands.
The lights died. One after another like falling dominoes, plunging the shop into darkness.
“Great,” Chris muttered. “Just great.” A power cut at this hour meant that she’d be sent home early and probably wouldn’t get paid for her entire shift. She glanced at her smartwatch, silently calculating her pay for the night so far, but the clock face didn’t light up. She waved her hand—sometimes the watch didn’t pick up on the fact that she’d lifted her arm—but the screen remained dark.
She tapped it.
Pressed the button to activate the menu.
Nothing.
Dim moonlight came in through the front windows.
“Hey, who turned the lights off?” the man on the floor asked, his features indistinct in the dark, but Chris could hear the fear in his voice.
From her experience with drunk people at the hospital, she knew how quickly fear could turn into anger.
She fumbled for her phone and tapped the screen.
It didn’t turn on either. It was only six months old, and she distinctly remembered charging it at the hospital only two hours ago.
What was going on?
She pressed the button to alert her manager again but remembered it wouldn’t do anything during a power cut. Chris stood and scowled. She didn’t want to leave the till while the drunk man was nearby, but she had to find Mike.
The few customers who had been roaming the aisles had abandoned their shopping trolleys and were trying to find the exit. Chris couldn’t see t
hem—the moonlight didn’t reach the back of the shop—but she heard shuffling steps, people bumping into trolleys and shelves, and the security guard who’d stood by the door swearing at his walkie-talkie.
Something grabbed her ankle and a hand wrapped itself tightly around her leg. Chris shrieked, kicking with her other foot.
Still standing near the entrance, the security guard seemed to have remembered that he carried a torch. She heard him tap it a few times until a faint light flashed in streaks through the supermarket.
At her feet, the drunk man groaned, but his grip on her tightened. “Vodka?” He drew out the word like a toddler asking his mother for ice cream.
“Let me go,” Chris shouted, and when he didn’t, she kicked again, this time ramming her heel into his nose. The sickening crunch made her wince, but the kick had the desired effect. He let go, his hands clutching his face instead, and she ran before he could grab her again.
“Who’s manning the till?” Mike asked when she pushed the doors to the back open and was hit square in the face by the brunt of his torch light. She squinted, shielding her eyes with one hand.
“Do you mind?” She pushed on his hand to angle the torch towards the floor. “I had a drunk grab me. The button didn’t work.”
Mike huffed. “We’re in the middle of a power cut in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Are you sure it’s just a power cut?” Chris frowned and pulled out her phone. “Both my phone and my watch have died.”
“Well, you can’t charge them right now, can you?” A patronising smile appeared on his lips, his tone gently mocking as if talking to a child. Chris scowled. He appeared taller than usual, standing with his back straight, puffing out his chest as though he thought this was his moment. His time to shine.
“No, I mean—” Chris shook her head. “Never mind.” It wasn’t her problem if Mike didn’t want to listen.
He shoved a torch into her hand. “Take this and go back to the till. Wait there until you receive further instructions. The electrician will be here soon.”
Chris was about to tell him that she had no intention of staying, but something made her nod instead. She wasn’t paid enough to stick around and wait for people who, mere hours before, would have claimed to have been decent and law-abiding citizens, to ransack the supermarket. It would be easy for people to rush in and grab a few things with only Roland by the door.
And they would.
Especially in this part of town.
No. She was going home. To her family.
Mike grinned, probably happy to see her willing to obey his instructions like a good employee without objection, and she left him standing there without correcting him.
Chris grabbed her bag and car keys and snuck out through the back exit. She promptly collided with a young woman who was carrying several giant, blue IKEA bags and pulling a wheeled suitcase.
“I’m sorry,” the woman mumbled, rolling the suitcase over Chris’ foot in her attempt to reach the door before it closed. “I’m sorry.”
“Excuse me?” Chris said. “This door is only for—”
The woman dropped her suitcase and brushed strands of short hair from her eyes. Chris lifted her torch. The woman seemed upset, her pupils shrinking away from the light. Chris frowned, taking in the woman’s glistening, clammy skin. Behind her, only darkness loomed. All the streetlights were out. There was no light coming from inside any houses at all.
Darkness had crept in from all sides.
Chris blinked, goosebumps covering her arms.
“I’m trying to get supplies before everything is gone. Please?” Her voice was laced with the sort of despair Chris associated with homeless people begging at the shop entrance.
Chris tilted her head and pointed the torch at the ground, illuminating their feet. The woman wore pink trainers and hadn’t bothered to tie her shoelaces. They were brown and crusted with dirt where they’d been dragged along the ground. “What do you mean before everything is gone?”
“This isn’t just a power cut,” the woman whispered, her left eye twitching as though she was sharing a secret.
Chris frowned, narrowing her eyes. Why did the weird ones always come out at night? And how did they always find her? Chris wondered, not for the first time, if she was some sort of magnet for the odd and lonely. In the dim light of the torch, Chris saw the woman had dark blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She didn’t look like the usual suspects eager to spread conspiracy theories. Her hands weren’t trembling, and her eyes were focused, albeit filled with fear.
Obviously nonplussed by Chris’ frown, the woman took a step closer. “Your phone is dead, isn’t it?”
Chris nodded, remembering her watch, and a wave of nausea rolled through her belly. She swallowed, tasting acid. What if this woman was right and this wasn’t a power cut? Wasn’t that what she’d just tried to tell Mike?
“Mine is dead as well. As are all the cars. I walked here from Fifth Avenue. Not a single one is working. This is far more than a simple power cut, and I’m not prepared. Are you prepared?” The woman’s eyes flicked from Chris’ face to her small bag and back to her face. “I just want to stock up on supplies before the rest of this town wakes up and realises something big has happened. Please?”
Chris traced her brow with a finger and considered the stranger’s words. She always had enough food at home for at least a couple of weeks, but if this woman was right, she’d need more than food. “And then? What are you going to do once you have your supplies?”
“I’ll go home and wait this out. Let everyone fight over what’s left.”
“But the government—”
“If this was—” the woman stopped, narrowing her eyes. “Believe me, I know how this must sound to you. But if this was an EMP or a cyber-attack, the government won’t be able to do a thing. It’ll take months to restore the power, and we’ll all be starving by then.”
“EMP?” Chris had heard the term before but didn’t know what it meant.
“It’s some form of magnetic pulse. It fries all electronics, and that’s basically everything these days.”
“Wouldn’t the EU…wouldn’t someone send help? Surely, they have plans for this sort of thing?”
“Maybe…if it’s just Harlow or Essex…but what if it’s not? Look, as far as I’m concerned, we have a choice. We can assume it’s just a power cut, go home and go to sleep and listen to what the government has to say tomorrow. We can trust that they’ll take care of us, and that we’ll be receiving help. Or we can prepare for the worst and if it all falls apart, we’ll have food. If it doesn’t, we’ll have a funny story to tell our friends.”
Chris couldn’t argue with the woman’s logic. “And you’re sure all of the cars have broken down?”
“Listen.” The woman pressed her index finger against her lips. “Can you hear that?”
Chris squinted, then shook her head.
“Exactly. No traffic. Nothing. But if you don’t believe me, why don’t you go and check if your car starts? Mine didn’t.”
Chris shook her head. Odd or not, the woman appeared sober and coherent. Besides, being prepared wasn’t the worst idea in the world. At least Lester would have something to laugh about if this turned out to be nothing more than a power cut after all.
“I believe you.” Chris opened the door and gestured for the woman to follow her. “My name’s Chris. What do you think we’ll need? Just food?”
The smell of alcohol and rotten teeth assaulted her senses. Greasy hands wrapped themselves around her neck and squeezed. Chris tried to use the torch as a weapon, but the drunk man grabbed her wrist and the torch clattered to the floor.
“Where’s my vodka?” he asked, as his fat fingers yanked her towards him.
Her vision swam, the edges darkening.
“I want my vodka.”
3
“My name’s An—” Before Anna could finish her sentence, the stench of alcohol invaded her nose and she froze. She knew this smel
l, knew it only too well from her childhood.
Thick fingers had gripped Chris’ throat and were squeezing the life out of her. The small woman tried to hit her attacker with her torch, but he had already grabbed her slender wrist and she dropped the tool. A streak of light projected towards the ceiling as it clattered to the ground.
Anna watched, helpless, as the glass shattered, but before they were enveloped by darkness, she saw that the fingers belonged to a plump man wearing a fluffy bathrobe and pink bunny slippers. Oily brown hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his nose and mouth smeared with fresh blood.
“Where’s my vodka?”
The man’s breath reeked of rotting gums. Fear paralysed her. Even the way he slurred his words sounded like her father when he was drunk. A flood of memories overwhelmed her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as though that could somehow stop them—even though it never did.
Her heart pounded as she watched her father’s broad frame approach with his hand raised and ready to—as he used to say—smack some sense into her. You don’t seem to have a lot of sense, Anna, he’d say. Hopefully, I can change that before it’s too late.
Anna instinctively brought both hands up to protect her head from her father’s blows when a gurgling sound brought her back to the present. Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed her fear back down.
This wasn’t her father, and Chris needed her help.
Anna’s hands shook as she reached out, fumbling for Chris and her attacker in the darkness. She found oily hair and pulled on it. The man groaned, and Anna heard a sharp intake of breath come from her left as he let go of Chris, immediately followed by an angry cry. Moments later, bones crunched, and the man doubled over in pain. Anna released the fistful of hair she was still clutching as he crumbled, hitting the floor with a loud thud.
She grabbed Chris by the elbow, dragging her suitcase with her other hand and pulled the dazed woman towards the entrance where a security guard stood, brandishing his torch as though it were a weapon.
Darkness Ahead of Us | Book 1 | Darkness Within Page 2