IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  When the noise finally faded, he looked up. The whole corridor leading towards the hall had collapsed.

  The one Alice and Neeson had just disappeared in.

  Paul’s mouth opened, but the only sound that came out was a weak whimper.

  Oh, God please, please dear God…

  “I doubt your friends made it, Paul,” the Warden said.

  He felt the urge to scream, tell him to shut up. He was a liar and murderer and what he said wasn’t true, couldn’t be true. But he knew the Warden was right. They’d only had seconds before the collapse.

  “I hate to be the bearer of such awful news, Paul, but there’s more.”

  Paul ignored him. He lifted himself up, a new pain in his leg accompanying the one from the gunshot wound. A quick glance revealed that his leg was probably broken, given the odd angle it was twisted along. It didn’t matter. His hand went to his pocket and drew out the detonator. It was still there, intact.

  Outside, the sound of battle was all but gone, muffled by the mass of rock and stone. But there were voices, faint echoes of desperate men and women, calling for their leader. Listening to them, Paul knew that once this man was gone, they’d no longer have anyone to guide them. This war would come to an end, leaving a trail of blood and tears, but those who survived would live in a world in which, if nothing else, the destructive dreams of this madman would be banished.

  Behind him, the Warden continued. “There’s something you should know, Paul.”

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t care. You’re about to die.” He turned to face the other man. They lay at opposite ends of the vast hall, both wounded and likely dying.

  I have to detonate the bomb. He can’t get to launch the attack.

  For the first time, the Warden’s face distorted with fear. He looked at the object in Paul’s hands, and although he couldn’t know what it was, Paul’s words had been powerful enough for him to know he was telling the truth.

  The Warden turned towards the computer, only a handful of feet from him.

  As soon as he makes a move for it, I’m going to trigger the explosive. And he knows it.

  The Warden hesitated. Then, the expression on his face changed abruptly. The fear was gone.

  “Listen, Paul. I don’t have much time. I believe you don’t, either. Your friends are gone. I just have one thing to ask you…”

  Why am I wasting time? Why don’t I just blow us both up?

  But it wasn’t easy. He knew that he too would die, as soon as he pressed that button. And although the Warden was right—neither of them would likely live to see the morning—he hesitated, lacking the courage to simply go ahead and kill them both. A part of him also wanted to hear what the Warden had to say. He tried to resist the nagging curiosity, but failed. “What is it?” he asked coldly.

  “Please sit on the throne, Paul. Just for one minute. I won’t touch the computer, I give you my word. After that, you can do whatever you like, I won’t stand in your way.”

  Paul chuckled. He had no interest in sitting on that ungodly seat. There was a lure about it, he had to admit it. But, at the moment, it was the last thing on his mind.

  “Why would I?” he asked. “No, no. It’s our time ’Warden.’ Let’s be brave.” He raised the detonator.

  “Paul.”

  He’d expected him to beg, to become desperate, perhaps even to cry. But he didn’t. His voice was regretful, almost loving.

  Paul looked towards him. On the other end of the hall, the Warden bowed his head. It was as if a great weight bore down upon him. Before he spoke, Paul felt an icy tremor in his wrists.

  “It’s the boy. Adrian… he’s dead.”

  Chapter 27

  Atlantis

  Aubrey, with her soft green leaves. His chessboard. This room. Atlantis. The bodies scattered around the base, staring through blind eyes at the darkness of this underground fortress.

  And now, this young boy sitting beside him. Walscombe considered the unlikely trajectories their lives had taken, leading them to that small corner of America, in that precise instant. It was almost pleasant, to think how surprising life could be. The little that was left of it.

  On the monitor, the word ENGAGED obstinately refused to take its leave. Walscombe knew that once the mysterious man across the ocean gave the order, that word would be replaced by the data of the attack. Bare columns of numbers, representing missile IDs, trajectories, status updates, hours minutes and seconds to impact.

  They had tried to figure out where the nukes were headed, based on the coordinates Jeremy had given them, but it had proven difficult. Parts of Europe, Asia, even North America, and who knew where else. He hoped that disarming the Russian arsenal would give humanity at least half a chance of surviving. Of surviving again.

  He looked at Redpill. If some part of humanity did survive, it would be thanks to him. And Ivan, of course. The kid didn’t seem aware of it, at the moment. His eyes were filled with the fear and sadness only the young are brave enough, foolish enough, to feel.

  Right then, Walscombe felt Atlantis had grown too small. Too empty. Would the world live another day? Another month? That, he didn’t know. But, he thought, reaching out to stroke Aubrey’s stalk, what I do know is that I don’t want to witness the end of the world from this place. Not again.

  Under Sean’s confused gaze, Walscombe stood up. He stretched, and it felt like he hadn’t done it for years, bones popping all over his back. It felt good. He adjusted his hair, tucked in his shirt, then reached out for the little plant. His hand hesitated, as it hovered above the chessboard. After some thought, he left it where it was. It was fitting, somehow.

  “What do you say, Sean? Shall we get out of this hell?” He smiled. “I think I’ve had enough of it.”

  Chapter 28

  The Throne

  It’s the boy, Paul. Adrian… he’s dead.

  Those words had somehow replaced his heartbeat, thumping in his chest, again and again.

  Another blast rocked the castle. Somewhere, more stone cracked, came loose and fell. The hall held. But everything inside Paul was crumbling.

  The Warden’s voice was low, respectful. “My medics informed me earlier, just before the speech. I didn’t tell Alice. I wanted to spare her the suffering.”

  This is it. The valley of the shadow of death.

  “Sit on the throne, Paul,” whispered the Warden.

  Not knowing how it happened, Paul found himself staggering towards it. One painful step after the other, his right foot shaking, the left dragging.

  Three steps, Pablo. That’s all it takes. Claudio’s voice was filled with concern.

  “I’m afraid I’ve lost my way, Claudio,” Paul whispered.

  He walked past the Warden, who looked up at Paul with something resembling adoration. Helping himself with hands and knees, Paul climbed the throne, its porous surface leaving small scratches on his skin.

  He finally turned around and sat. For an instant, it felt like sitting on the top of the universe’s highest mountain. It was uncomfortable, just bare rock. At the same time, there was no denying how grand it felt. A throne fit for the end of the world.

  Below him, the Warden began to wriggle along the floor. His arm reached out and grabbed hold of the laptop. Paul considered moving, doing something to prevent him from launching the attack. But he was worn out. Besides, he liked the idea of sitting here for a little while longer.

  To his surprise, the Warden struggled to his feet. His whole torso was covered in a darker shade of black—blood. He’d lost lots of it, thought Paul. Too much for anyone to survive. With a painful groan, the Warden reached up and handed the computer to him. Paul accepted it.

  So he sat there, the detonator in one hand. In the other, the power to launch a global nuclear strike, if the Warden’s words were true.

  You know they are.

  A sharp pain tore through his chest, but it wasn’t the gunshot wound. It was loss and longing and regret.

  The War
den’s voice came soft and earnest. “The end of this pain, Paul. That’s all I was fighting for.” He gave him one last smile, then collapsed. There was silence, in the great hall. Paul believed he was dead.

  And what about him? Was he truly alive any more? He sat there, a one-eyed man whose calling was exhausted, whose skin was torn and scarred enough to make him closer to a ’wraith than a healthy man. Surely, living was more than mere existing. More than this.

  I want the pain to end, too. He thought of Alice, buried under the rubble, with brave Neeson. Adrian, he too lost. His friends, now he knew it, could never survive the night. The battle outside was too fierce, too devastating. It was foolish to think they’d make it. Just as foolish as it was to believe the fairytale happiness of the Southern League.

  His fingers lingered on the two buttons. If he pressed the detonator alone, he would die along with the Warden. If he pressed the other button, he’d likely die too. But when? How long does it take for nuclear weapons to strike?

  He considered ignoring the computer, and triggering the detonator. But the man at his feet was right, there had been too much agony. Shouldn’t he free everyone else from it too? It was time to make a decision.

  Out of nowhere, the words of the twenty-third psalm sang in his mind. It was his favourite, back when he was a young priest, and everything had seemed so simple.

  He remembered a time when he really did lie in green pastures. When his cup truly did run over.

  From his place upon the throne, there seemed to be utter and perfect silence, now. He raised his head to the skies, and was surprised to see that the ceiling above him was gone. So were the clouds. All he could see was the infinite stretch of still black night, bright stars scattered across it like a miracle.

  “Lord, my Lord,” he said, his eyes fixed on those stars he knew could not be there, not really. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. But I have also suffered. Please, no more suffering, no more pain. Your world, oh Mighty, has lived long enough.”

  Paul cried and laughed and welcomed the end.

  Chapter 29

  The End

  The night was ablaze.

  Explosions, gunshots, fire. Cathy and the others stood huddled together at the meeting point, desperately eyeing the chaos. Hope of seeing Paul, Neeson and Alice was fading fast. Death was everywhere, striding through the streets of Bately and claiming lives at every step. It seemed impossible that anyone could possibly escape it.

  Ana stepped forward, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh my god…”

  Cathy followed her gaze, hoping against hope that she’d spot their friends. “Is it them? Have you seen them?”

  Ana shook her head. “No, no, it’s… look at her.” She pointed a finger towards the raging heart of the battle, along Castle Street. “The ’Wraith Queen.”

  It didn’t take long for Cathy to locate her, despite the havoc. A truck was racing along at insane speed, considering how cramped and crowded the street was. It trampled everyone and everything in its way, regardless of whether they were the Pack’s or the Warden’s people. Some sort of turret had been welded to it, raising from the rear of the vehicle. It teetered dangerously from side to side, as the driver plunged into the crowd. Squinting, Cathy spotted an elderly woman inside it. She was wielding a large machine gun, lips of flame erupting from it non-stop, as she fired it carelessly into the mass of people. The woman, the ’Wraith Queen as Ana had put it, was laughing insanely, as each shot lit up her face with demonic flickering light.

  Cathy had never seen anything like it. And nothing like that disturbing image signalled to her that Bately was no longer her home. This was a battlefield for nightmares. A place where all the world’s insanity seemed to run wild, howling at the sky with blood-stained fangs.

  Cathy tore away from the crazy slaughter to concentrate on Mathew’s wound. It was an inconvenience, more than anything. Especially to Mathew—he longed to get up and help them rescue the children. But his life was not at risk.

  As she knelt, she heard Lucy let out an excited shriek.

  “There they are!”

  Someone was approaching them, moving behind the thickets. Cathy held her breath. Yes, one seemed to be Neeson, but she’d only caught a glimpse of him, before he disappeared behind a tangle of branches.

  Seconds later, he emerged, carrying Alice on his shoulders.

  “It’s them!” Edward called out. His voice was full of joy, but his enthusiasm quickly died down.

  Neeson was limping and covered in blood, and Paul was nowhere to be seen.

  They ran towards him and slipped arms around his torso, supporting him along the last few steps. Neeson leaned over and gently laid down the girl in a soft spot in the grass. As he did so, his mouth twisted in a grimace. Then, he dropped himself beside her and buried his face in his hands.

  Cathy had so many questions, and was about to start talking when a small voice whispered, “Hello, Cathy.” It was Alice.

  “Hello, Alice,” Cathy said, running her fingers through the girl’s thick dark hair. “It’s wonderful to see you.” She couldn’t help but smile, despite it all.

  “She’s alive. Shocked, but alive,” Neeson said. “She needs rest.”

  “So do you, by the looks of it,” said Cathy. She lifted his clothes to examine him, while the others set a makeshift pillow of bundled clothes under Alice’s head. Neeson let her do it, saying, “Just a few cuts and bruises. A couple of them will need stitching.”

  “More than a couple, Neeson.” Cathy frowned. “What happened?”

  “A section of the castle collapsed on us. Had we been even a second too late, we’d be dead.”

  Silence. Cathy mustered all her courage, and asked the question that was looming in the air, but no one dared ask.

  “… Paul?”

  Neeson turned towards Alice and looked at her with a tenderness that was rare, in the soldier’s eyes. The little girl was drifting in and out of sleep, comforted by Ana and the others.

  When he looked at Cathy again, his eyes were damp.

  A quivering sob escaped Cathy’s lips. She felt Edward’s arm envelop her, drawing her head in the soft nook between his neck and shoulder.

  For a while, they were like a group of desperate children, gathered in silence and crying over the loss of their friend.

  I can’t do this, thought Cathy. If I don’t stop crying, I’ll lose my mind. She caught a glimpse of the morning light beyond the hills to the east. The sun was rising slowly, as if fearful of shedding light on the massacre of the battle.

  Adrian.

  “I’m going to get Adrian,” she said, pulling away from Edward’s embrace a little more hastily than she’d have liked.

  Lucy looked at her with concern. “You’ll have to be quick, if we want to make it to the boat.”

  Cathy slapped dirt off her trousers. “You go ahead. If we’re not back in time, leave without us.”

  “We can’t do that!” Moore protested. “We can’t abandon you here, with the–”

  “If we don’t turn up, chances are we’ll be dead,” Cathy said matter-of-factly. Noticing Edward’s pain at her words, she softened her voice. “You know it’s true, Edward.” He lowered his gaze and nodded quietly. Then, with a swift movement, he held her tight.

  “Let me come with you, Cathy,” he whispered.

  She squeezed him in her arms. This might be the last time I get to touch him. “You have to stay with your son, Edward. You know that, too.”

  She felt him grind his teeth, struggling to make the decision. It was one she didn’t want him to make. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. She did it slowly, trying to savour every note, fix it in her memory. Somewhere nearby, this man’s former wife and son were likely looking at them. It didn’t matter, not now.

  He was about to protest, when she pressed a finger against his lips.

  “I love you, Edward Moore,” she whispered. “Remember that.”

  He began to tighten his hold around her
, incapable of letting her go. Resisting the temptation to give in to that hold, she gently pushed him away.

  When she crossed Lucy’s gaze, Edward’s ex-wife was smiling. It was a warm smile that said, no hard feelings on my side. A silent gratitude filled Cathy, and she returned it as best she could.

  “You all go, now,” she said. “If the boat does turn up, try and get them to wait a little, but don’t hang about for ages.”

  Neeson stood, getting ready to join her. Again, Cathy noticed how his face twisted when he moved. He was in pain. She laid a hand on his chest. “Neeson, you can’t. You’re wounded, you’d just slow us down. Also, they need help carrying Mathew and Alice.”

  Neeson considered her words. Then, he took his rifle and handed it to her. “Take this, at least. I found a few rounds on the way here. Not as many as I’d like, but it’s something.”

  “Thank you, Neeson,” Cathy said, accepting the weapon.

  He raised his chin and set his lips. To Cathy’s surprise, she realised he was holding back tears.

  “Goodbye, Cathy,” he said simply. It was the brief send-off of a stiff-upper-lip sort of man, all the more touching for what it left unsaid.

  Everyone began moving towards her, but Cathy couldn’t face hugging them all one by one. It would have felt too much like a final farewell. “See you at the beach,” she said quickly, and spun round to leave.

  She ran, her feet beating hard against the soil, trying to shake off the fear and the sadness. She had something to do, and she wanted to focus her whole mind on it: saving Adrian. She kept running until she was out of breath, until she knew that her friends could no longer see her, that there was no risk of turning back and spotting Edward.

  Quickly enough, the deafening clangour of battle cleared her mind from other thoughts. Cathy paused to catch her breath, ducking behind a wall. From here, she could see the castle on her left, the medical tents far to her right. The aim was to try to reach Adrian without getting caught up in the fighting. It wouldn’t be easy.