by Ryan Casey
The room was stacked to the brim with all kinds of bird cages and aluminium wrapping. Some of the foil had been pulled away, and I could see electronics inside, like torches, walkie-talkies, portable radios, watches.
And the most remarkable thing about the items I could see?
Those watches were ticking.
They were working.
Stuart had prepared for the worst, and he’d been justified in his preparation.
I looked at Stuart, my mouth still dry and my body eager for water. He didn’t look anything remarkable, as he stood there in the darkness of this room, torch in hand. I could’ve passed him in the street and barely paid any attention to him, he was that inconspicuous. And yet…
I looked at the shotgun in his hand and I wondered just how many more people were out there in the world, like him.
“And I thought I was ready for the end,” I muttered.
Stuart snorted. He barely made eye contact with me, clearly something he wasn’t too comfortable with now I was out of my ties. “Should see the kitchen. Filled to the brim with food supplies, enough to last a good few months. In fact, you must be hungry, right?”
I nodded. I was, of course. But at the same time, I wanted to just stand in here and listen to what Stuart had to say about the items he had, and understand how he’d got to such a state.
He took me through to the kitchen and made me a big bowl of porridge over a portable stove he had. As I tucked into it, I felt myself salivating. I hadn’t realised just how starving I was until I’d started eating. The oats, the raisins… all of it was so delicious, even if it was a little clumpy.
“So how long have you been… well, prepping, I guess?”
Stuart looked over his shoulder as he stood by the kitchen door, shotgun still in his arms. He looked awfully twitchy for a man sitting on a castle of delights.
“Since my wife died. So… so four years, I guess.”
My stomach sank. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too. Love of my life, Mary was. Met her at work. Figured she was alright when she lent me 50p for the coffee machine and didn’t ask for it back. It just kind of went from there, really.”
I swallowed another mouthful of porridge. “What happened? If you… if you don’t mind me asking, of course.”
Stuart shrugged, like it was no big deal to him, even though it clearly was. “It was sudden. Brain aneurysm. In a way, that’s what made it worse. The fact that one day she was up and running and healthy as can be. The next…”
He closed his eyes and shuddered. I felt guilty for unearthing what must’ve been a horrible memory.
“But I’m still here,” he said, opening his eyes and taking a deep breath. “And I’ve done what I can to make sure I’m ready. I mean, I know it’s not ideal here. Location could be better. But I’ve done the best with what I’ve got. Hopefully that’s enough.”
I looked around this dark, dusty kitchen at the stacks of cans and suddenly I felt an immense wave of sympathy for Stuart. He wasn’t a super-organised guy who was prepping in the event of a disaster. Prepping was his life. A void had formed when his wife had died, and he’d filled that void with preparing for the end times, whether he really believed they would come or not.
It didn’t matter. They were here now. That was the important thing.
“And the television?” I asked.
Stuart’s eyes narrowed when I said those words. He was looking right into my eyes now.
I was half-expecting him not to tell me what the deal was with that television at all as he handed me a bottle of water.
But then he leaned back and stared into space as something smashed across the street outside and more drunken cheers filled the silence. “I picked up a signal,” he said.
I frowned. “A signal?”
“Not for long. I mean, I’ve been trying ever since, but nothing. Which is what you saw. But at first… I got a signal for long enough. Just long enough to understand what was happening anyway.”
“What was happening with what?”
Stuart looked deep into my eyes. “Everything.”
He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
“Breaking news. A massive solar event. Panic on the faces of the reporters. Whole recording going crackly. Didn’t last long. Blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing. But it was what they said last that stuck with me.”
“Do I want to know what they said last?”
Stuart was looking right at me now, his previous uncertainty clearly fading. “It depends on whether you like bad news or not.”
“I’d say I’m prepared for whatever bad news you’ve got.”
“Really? I’m not sure you’re prepared for this.”
I swallowed some more of that water. Then I put it down on the side, not wanting to use it all up. I braced myself, knowing full well I wasn’t leaving this room until I forced myself to ask the question. “What did you see on the television?” I asked.
Stuart rubbed his right hand across his sweaty face and he sighed. “It was just a split second thing.”
“I don’t care. What did you see?”
“I might’ve misheard.”
“I doubt that.”
He sighed and looked at the kitchen floor. Then he looked up at me. “Before the studio crackled and exploded. Before the stream went down completely. I heard the reporter say something.”
My heart picked up. My fists tensed. “What did they say?”
I saw Stuart’s Adam’s apple bob. “They said the solar event was unprecedented. Off the scale. And that it was going to affect the entire planet. And there was no resolution in sight.”
My head spun. My legs went weak. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t wondered just how widespread this blackout was. But an unprecedented global solar catastrophe?
“The end times are here, friend,” Stuart said, taking the emptied bowl of porridge from my side. “Are you prepared?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I lay in bed, stared up at the ceiling, and I felt guilty for doing so.
It was late. Probably early hours. I hadn’t got a wink of sleep. I knew it was mad—I needed all the energy and recharging I could get, especially with the journey ahead. And I was exhausted, no doubt about that.
But being away from my family, knowing Sarah and Bobby were on their own—or at least, away from me—every single second was a struggle.
I heard the rain patter against the window. I could just about see through the crack in the curtains. I’d asked Stuart why he hadn’t boarded the windows up or something, especially with all the items he had stashed here. He said that’d just draw more attention to this place, and to him. I could see his point. But it still felt like a dangerous game to be playing. I would’ve preferred more in the way of security. But I guess it wasn’t my house to judge.
And besides. I wouldn’t be staying here beyond morning anyway.
I reached for my jeans beside the bed and into the pocket. I pulled out the photograph of Beth’s daughter, smiling away, and then of the business card behind it. I felt a twinge of sadness. I’d seen the kindness of how people had been towards me. Stuart, for one. He didn’t have to let me into his home. He could’ve kept me locked away in his cellar to rot. But he hadn’t. Something deep down had prompted him to let me free. And before I knew it, I was eating with him, and he was telling me stories about the final broadcast he’d witnessed, and I was kipping in the spare bedroom.
I thought about what he’d told me. The entire world was affected. Every single corner of the earth, losing its collective mind as the old power structures came tumbling down. I couldn’t account for everywhere, but I knew one thing for certain: even if the power were restored, the world would never be the same. Pandora’s box had already been opened. Once people got a taste for something, that was it. Kind of like when illegal music downloading burst onto the scene. The big companies and labels tried to do all they could to stave its progression, but
really their efforts were fruitless. People had found a way. They weren’t going to go back to paying, not with any real sense of ease. So alternatives, like streaming, had to be introduced.
This was kind of like a high-stakes version of that. I blamed Riley Jameson, the music editor, for always blabbering on about music streaming at work. I wondered how he was doing now. Probably dead already. Always did walk around work like a damned zombie, anyway.
I heard something smash across the road and I flinched. It sounded like glass against the road, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d heard a lot of noises since getting into bed, and none of them made me flinch any less. I was appalled, in all truth. I always imagined humanity would find a way to stick together. Or at least I’d assumed that it’d take some time before people’s worse nature kicked in. But no. We were barely a day into the end and already the thugs were taking control.
But my horror made me realise something else, too. And that was that I was determined. Determined not to fall into the same traps as everyone else. Determined not to be driven by selfishness and individualism, but actually looking out for other people, just like they had looked out for me. Because even though the thugs were the ones making the loudest noises right now, they weren’t the majority. The good people of the world were the silent majority. And they were the ones who had to come together and be strong because that was what the world needed.
I took a deep breath, put the photograph of Beth’s daughter back in my jeans pocket and closed my eyes.
“I will find you,” I whispered. “I promise.”
I was on the verge of finally—finally—drifting to sleep when I heard another smash.
Only this one wasn’t outside.
It was downstairs.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I heard the smashing noise downstairs and my entire body froze.
The darkness grew more intense. The wind outside picked up, whooshing against the side of the house. I could barely see a thing in this room, but a feeling of dread was growing deep inside me; a feeling that there was someone in here with me already, watching my every move.
I knew I had two choices. Lay low, or get up and investigate—or at least prompt Stuart into investigating. But really, it was no choice at all. I couldn’t just sit back when I’d heard a smash. Not after everything Stuart had done for me, and not with all the supplies he had downstairs.
No.
I had to get up.
I had to help Stuart out.
To hell with whether it put me in any greater danger or not.
I climbed out of the bed and threw on my jeans. I walked as slowly as I could across the floorboards, some of which I knew were creaky underfoot. My heart raced and my head spun. I didn’t know whether it would be better for whoever was downstairs—if there was anyone down there at all—to hear me, or for me to take it stealthily.
Whatever the case, I had to get to Stuart and I had to make sure he knew about the smash.
Because it had come from downstairs. Of that I had absolutely no doubt.
I stepped out of the bedroom and into the landing area. The intensity of the darkness increased out here, making my stomach turn even more. I listened downstairs for a sound; some evidence that somebody was trespassing. But it was hard to judge. My senses were so heightened as it was.
I looked over at Stuart’s bedroom door. I wanted to go over there, bang on it, alert him to what was going on.
And then I heard the footsteps.
You know when you’re watching a horror movie and you suddenly hear something creaking around your house? Well this was kind of like that, only the difference was you knew damn well that the creaking belonged to something real. And this monster could be anyone. You had no way of knowing until you faced it, head on.
Hearing those footsteps, I knew I couldn’t afford to wait around.
So I picked up a heavy clock from the little cabinet beside the door and I climbed down the stairs slowly but surely.
The further I got down the stairs, the more the madness of what I was doing began to build up. What was I going to do? Bludgeon whoever it was with a clock? No. That wasn’t feasible. But still, I felt that duty to Stuart to at least try and do something to solve the problem here. After all he’d done for me, it really was the least I could do to repay him.
I got to the bottom stair and I heard a creak.
And I heard something else, too.
Footsteps.
Only those footsteps were behind me.
They were making their way down the stairs towards me.
Every hair on my body stood on end. I wanted to turn around and fight, but I was frozen on the spot.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I swung around, clock in hand.
“Whoa.”
When I heard the voice, my body immediately untensed. It was just Stuart. Just Stuart, following me down the stairs.
In the darkness, I saw him lift a finger over his lip.
Then he reached back down for the shotgun, which he had wrapped tightly in his other hand.
I moved slowly to the ground floor. I edged along the hallway—, clock still in hand. I knew the intruder could be anywhere in here, just waiting to jump out.
I peeked around the doorway into the living room where Stuart kept the bulk of his equipment.
I saw nothing but darkness.
But there was something amiss in there.
The window. It had been smashed. I could tell because the curtains were moving in the wind.
I gritted my teeth and squinted around that living room but it just seemed way too dark. If there was a smashed window, whoever had come in here could already have got out of it.
I was about to turn and tell Stuart about his window when I saw him pointing straight ahead.
He was looking at the kitchen. And I didn’t realise what he was looking at initially.
Not until I saw the figure shuffling around, desperately trying to throw cans into a bag.
Stuart stepped further towards the figure, shotgun raised. I followed closely behind. Part of me understood if Stuart just gunned this person down right here, but deep down I was against that. It could be anyone. Sure, they were trying to steal from him, but wasn’t everyone trying to steal from somebody now?
I wished I could express my thoughts.
I wished I could express my concerns.
But then something interesting happened.
Stuart lowered his shotgun. He turned it around, then he looked at me and nodded.
I understood what he wanted me to do. He wasn’t going to shoot this intruder—yet. We were going to tackle them to the ground, both of us. Probably throw them in the cellar where I’d been to mull over their crimes for a day or two.
We edged closer to the intruder as they continued to rustle around, grabbing everything they could, unaware of the silent force just inches away.
Stuart looked at me.
I looked back at him. Heart racing. Body crouched. Ready to tackle.
I saw Stuart lift a hand.
Three.
Two.
One.
And right on one, the pair of us threw ourselves at the intruder.
The intruder fell forward, smacking his chin against the units. He called out in pain as we pulled his hooded body to the floor, but Stuart was quick to put a hand over his mouth.
I grabbed the shotgun now and I pointed it right at the man’s neck.
But as Stuart shone a torch right into his eyes, I realised something.
This wasn’t a man.
It wasn’t a man at all.
It was a teenage boy.
But none of that seemed to deter Stuart.
“You have approximately five seconds to tell us what the hell you think you’re doing before my friend here blows your brains out. Understand?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It wasn’t long before the lad—Ben—was in the same position I’d been in just a matter of hours ago.
It was the thick of night and the only light in this cellar came from Stuart’s torch, which he had protected using a Faraday cage. Outside, I could hear the storm picking up, the thunder and the rain intense. The cellar smelled of sweat, much of which I was well aware was my own. The humidity was so intense that I could pretty much taste it.
I could taste something else too.
The fear of this lad.
Stuart crouched opposite the boy. He held onto his shotgun, pointed it directly at the guy’s head. The lad was so scared that I could as good as feel his pulse reverberating against the ground, and I had to admit I wasn’t sure how it made me feel. Guilty, somewhat, even though this guy had come in this house and had tried to steal from Stuart.
But I could see from the fear in his blue eyes that he hadn’t intended for things to go as south as they had.
“When we were upstairs,” Stuart said, his voice gruffer than I remembered hearing it. “Do you remember what I said to you?”
“Please. I—I—”
“I told you that I wanted to know what led you here. And I told you what would happen if you didn’t tell you the truth. Remember that?”
The boy was shaking, crying. “I didn’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Stuart looked at me as if we wanted to get a second opinion. I couldn’t help but feel more sympathetic towards the boy. After all, this was a harsh world. For all we knew, he could’ve been out there on his own, family dead, no idea what to do, how to progress.
I looked at him and I realised it was my time to speak. “What we’re trying to ask is… how did you know about this place?”
“I don’t know a thing about this place,” the boy snivelled. “I mean I just… sure, I saw other people breaking into houses, coming out with loads of stuff. And I figured I… I’ve been on my own out there. I need some stuff of my own.”
He took a deep, sharp breath and he stared down at his feet, eyes wide, completely lost and shaking.