Blackout (After the Storm Book 1)

by Ryan Casey

  There were other things, too. A trowel for digging cooking pits, makeshift toilets, and helping extinguish fires. A wool blanket, which I knew I’d have to wrap myself in on some stage of the journey. And I also had some wire and wire cutters, which I knew would come in handy for many reasons.

  I held my breath and reached down for the bag. I always tossed it in the car when I went away, but I wasn’t used to wearing it.

  When I pulled it over my shoulders, I felt myself collapse backwards a little. But soon I regained my composure, and I was standing upright and tall. It was going to be tiring. It was going to hurt the hell out of my shoulders at times.

  But just by having a bag like this, I was one—or one-hundred—steps ahead of the majority of the population.

  I knew I didn’t have infinite supplies. I knew the journey to Preston usually took around four hours by car, so realistically by foot I had a week’s walk ahead of me. If I could find a bike, maybe I could cut that down to two or three days, three more likely.

  But then there was Bouncer. He couldn’t exactly cycle.

  Damn. I had to figure something out.

  I adjusted the bag over my shoulder and resolved to head into the nearest village or town to hunt for a bicycle. I knew it was risky. It was going to be very dangerous. But I needed a bike, and I could do with some extra supplies—food for Bouncer, and the last of the fresh food for myself, too—before it rotted away forever.

  I took a deep breath and walked up to the door, the nerves tingling right through my body now. “Come on,” I said, stepping out of the log cabin, Bouncer by my side.

  I walked past my Range Rover and I felt my throat knotting. I knew I’d never see it again. And while I wasn’t the biggest petrolhead, it still represented a big part of who I, Will Stuartson, was.

  And I was walking away from it, leaving it behind.

  “You’ve been good,” I muttered to my car, putting my hand on the bonnet. “Even if your brakes are shitty.”

  I patted it, then I walked away, towards the slope, and from the log cabin.

  I was starting a journey that I knew might kill me.

  I just prayed society hadn’t been hit as badly as I feared, and if it had, it hadn't collapsed just as rapidly as the post-apocalyptic novels I wrote foreshadowed.

  I didn’t hold out much hope.

  Chapter Eleven

  Four hours walking and I hated to admit I was knackered already.

  The sun was melting. Literally melting. Trust the one frigging boiling, sunny day in Scotland of the year to be the day the world happened to go to the shitter. I kept on glancing down at my pocket, reaching for my phone. I could feel the need for connection kicking in, tightening its grip around my chest like a vice. I realised then that the whole world were junkies. We were addicted to communication, and not of the healthy form, either. We were addicted to the dopamine buzz of getting more than ten likes on Instagram. We were hooked to searching the #girl for a sneaky release, then scrolling blindly through, none of them quite creating a hit. We were addicted to speaking to people we didn’t even know other than their pixels on a screen, and making some kind of quasi-connection that was frighteningly digital.

  Because who were we to say those pixels on the screen even had a real person behind them at all?

  Were we addicted to connection, or were we addicted to our interpretation of words and how they were typed?

  Were we addicted to socialising online, or were we just addicted to consuming intentionally crafted quasi-lives by hundreds of other “friends” who were all just as terrified of being judged by their fake friends as everyone else?

  And how alone were we, really, when all that we’d got hooked on got snatched away?

  Very. I saw that now.

  We were very fucking alone.

  I glanced to the trees on the right of me. I was walking just at the side of a country lane. I didn’t want to walk on it, because I didn’t want to bump into anyone. At least, I wanted to get a good measure of them before they did me. I hadn’t seen many people around here before the event on my drive up here, so my hope was it remained just as secluded.

  But I couldn’t shake the paranoia I felt.

  The feeling like someone was watching me all the time.

  “Bouncer,” I whispered. He was getting a little too far ahead of me for comfort.

  He stopped just as quickly as I’d called him, and came to my side. I patted his head, then took a second to lean forward and give my back a rest. My pack was too heavy. Shit. I swore I’d got the weight measurements right. But then I guess my weight had fluctuated over the years since I’d packed it.

  I just told myself I’d never need it. That an event like this was just fiction—like the fiction I wrote.

  And now here I was, unfit, exhausted, and… dare I say it, lost.

  I looked up at the sun and squinted. It seemed to be drifting towards the west. I’d lost sense of where exactly I was, so I pulled out the map I got from a nearby village years ago when I’d first visited and tried to figure it out. I looked around for landmarks, for twists in the road that matched the map I had. I’d been noting down the turns in the road as I walked, trying to self-craft a route back to the cabin, with a rubbish, stubbed down pencil and old piece of paper. But I couldn’t find any match.

  Without a compass—stupid, I know—I remembered then a trick my dad taught me when I was younger. We were “lost” around Bolton. Although I know again it was one of my dad’s little fantastical “losts.” He wanted to scare me, so he could teach me.

  He pulled a needle out of his pocket, and a piece of wool from his jumper. Then he’d rubbed that needle against his jumper really hard before placing a leaf on top of a puddle of water, the needle on top. With no wind, the needle aligned with magnetic north, the side with the eye favouring the northern direction, mostly because the contact with the wool had caused an electrical charge.

  We’d found our way home, no problem.

  I tried that now. I built a compass just like Dad had taught me, then I found a little stream of water. I watched it wobble around in the water, twirling from side to side. It didn’t seem to be working great.

  I looked up again. Idiot. I’d lost all sense of which way was north, and which was south. I knew I needed to be heading south-east, but I’d lost track, caught up by the disorientation of an admittedly disorienting world.

  I punched my fist into the water, ruining my makeshift compass. I wished I was back home. I prayed like I used to as a kid that God would just give me something—something that I was asking for, if I was really good and faithful.

  But he didn’t.

  I was still stuck here, with this shitty makeshift compass.

  I knew I could just wait and watch which direction the sun appeared to move in, but time was of the essence. The village or town I was heading to could’ve collapsed already, been taken over. I couldn’t sit around here messing about with a fake compass that wasn’t working. I had to face it. I wasn’t as prepared as I’d thought.

  So I decided to get up and walk.

  And just a few metres around the corner, I saw it.

  A sign. A place called Aberfeldy.

  I knew there was a Co-Operative store there. A place I could stock up on immediate essentials.

  And then I’d look for a bike shop.

  I patted Bouncer’s back as I stared into the distance at the silent town, which reassured me. “Just in and out,” I said. “Just in and out.”

  I set off walking.

  “Just in and out.”

  If only things were as simple as that in the new world.

  Chapter Twelve

  I walked towards the small town of Aberfeldy and I just knew things weren’t going to go as smoothly as I wanted them to.

  The afternoon sun had disappeared behind the clouds now, a welcome respite from the warmth of my journey down here. Although it was just typical, really. Typical that when I paused to take a breath, the sun went in. When
I wanted it to be cooler, less scorching, I just happened to be walking.

  But hey. The world worked in mysterious ways. I just had to deal with it.

  Aberfeldy was an interesting place. Like a stereotypical small town, really. It could’ve been in the Lake District, or the Welsh valleys. It just had that quaint little look about it. Narrow streets lined with grey-bricked houses. A few shops and a pub all congregated in one specific area.

  It seemed quiet, too. Very quiet. And I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or unnerved by that.

  Quiet was good, because it meant I could get inside the town and really get searching for some supplies, and for a bike. I didn’t want to have to steal one from anybody. The last thing I wanted was any unnecessary conflict. Plus, I knew we were all in the same boat, and I didn’t want to lower myself to the level of a scavenger.

  I had to find a shop. A place that sold them.

  And then I had to get some supplies.

  Then, I had to get out of here.

  I crouched down by the side of the hill and lifted my bug-out bag from my shoulders. I didn’t like being so disconnected from it. It actually made me shake a little, and taste a twinge of nausea creeping up my throat. But I couldn’t take it into that town with me, could I? I couldn’t risk losing everything I had in here.

  I decided instead to pull out the shovel and bury a few key essentials. That way, if the bag did get stolen, I’d still have some supplies of my own to come back to.

  But as I started digging, the tension about what I was actually doing started to grow.

  Did I really want to leave my bag behind?

  Did I really want to be so disconnected from it?

  “Shit. Forget it.” I pulled the bag over my shoulders. I was fully aware I could be making a big mistake. But it was one I had to take responsibility for.

  I wasn’t sticking around this town for long, anyway.

  I could be in and out before anyone noticed.

  I squinted down the street as I approached, taking the route down the hill with no houses either side. In the distance, I could see the faint outline of a Co-Op, and a few other local stores too, like hardware shops, places like that. Come to think of it, I could do with some binoculars.

  And… shit. Food. Food for Bouncer.

  Damn. Maybe I needed more than I’d first thought.

  “Won’t let you go hungry, lad. Don’t worry.”

  I walked further down the street, Bouncer by my side. The silence continued to freak me out. As I walked, I felt like eyes were on me, watching me, even though I knew they weren’t as that was just the classic psychological response to an uncomfortable, unfamiliar environment. I wondered if maybe something more sinister had happened than just an EMP strike. Maybe some kind of weapon had killed people, too. But then if it had, why was I alive?

  I was cut down right in the middle of my thoughts when I saw movement up ahead.

  I crouched down instinctively, gesturing Bouncer to stay by my side. We ran over to a Nissan Micra, and crouched behind it. People. It seemed so weird to actually see people again. I mean, I’d barely seen a soul while camping in the log cabin, so it was weird enough anyway.

  Now, though, it was even more peculiar. Even more daunting.

  I lifted my head slowly. I saw there were three people in the street. A woman and two men. They looked like they were arguing about something.

  I wanted to go over to them and ask them what was going on, whether they knew anything. But then of course they wouldn’t. Everyone was in the dark. Some more than others. I was fortunate I knew about EMPs. I knew the effect they had, so I was one step ahead.

  These people, still clutching on to their phones, shaking with nerves like junkies off the drugs, were still clinging on to the hope that they were going to get another electrical fix, soon. That the government was going to be back and order was going to be restored, soon.

  I hated to do this, but I had to take advantage of that situation.

  I held my breath, Bouncer by my side, and I crept inside the Co-Op.

  Just before I stepped inside, I noticed a sign on the door.

  One meal per person ONLY until we find out what’s going on. Paul. x

  I looked up at the Co-Op. Inside, I saw three, four people. All of them had their heads down, keeping themselves to themselves. They were browsing through the food aisles, one woman holding a baby in her arms, trying to find something that could last her the day.

  I saw the nerves amidst the calm. The tension, but at the same time, that prevailing sense that something was desperately wrong.

  I saw it, and I knew I had a chance to make my move.

  I headed first to the canned food aisle, and then I grabbed some oil. If there was another thing my apocalyptic knowledge had taught me, it was that by gut reaction, people generally went for the worst possible options when planning their post-apocalyptic nutrition. They went for the short term fixes. They didn’t think ahead about things like oil to cook with, or that canned meat lasted months. Cheese, too. People didn’t think about picking up cheese. It was all about grabbing the right kind of cheese. Anything encased in wax, like parmesan, didn’t grow mould because of the wax, so can last a hell of a long time without refrigeration. And cheese was an amazing source of protein.

  Although I had a few snacks in my rucksack, enough to get me by for a few days, I knew there were some things people wouldn’t be so keen to get hold of.

  Like parmesan.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when I turned a corner, almost banging into a woman with short hair.

  “Sorry,” she said. She glanced up into my eyes, then back down to her hands. We shimmied either side to pass one another before laughing in the usual way and going our separate ways.

  So early into the crisis and yet there was still an air of good old-fashioned British decency about the exchange.

  But that sense of decency was being pulled at both sides already.

  I grabbed some crackers, which were perfect to combine with the canned meat I had. Meat was the crucial part, of course. As much as I’d been cutting back on the stuff, it provides people with about ninety percent of the sustenance needed to survive. And ninety percent of plants are deadly to humans. The end of the world, not a great time to go vegan.

  Then I turned the corner and grabbed a big bag of dried dog biscuits, which Bouncer recognised immediately, and went sniffing around all the extra bags, on his very first big shopping trip.

  “That’s enough, boy,” I said, my heart starting to pick up. I was growing uneasy being in here. I didn’t want to stick around any longer. I could tell from the way that woman looked at me that she knew I was an outsider. The way she’d glanced at my bag… she knew I was more prepared than her.

  I went to turn the corner and leave the shop when I saw a group of six guys, all of them in their late teens, all of them wearing hoodies and tracksuits, standing at the door.

  They were all looking at me.

  “Hand your stuff over,” one of them, with a skinhead, said, in a strong Scottish accent. “And don’t make us ask again.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Don’t make us ask you again, prick. Give us your stuff. Now.”

  I thought about feigning ignorance, as I stood opposite the six hooded youths, Bouncer by my side. Their accents were decidedly Scottish. Maybe I could just pretend I was a typical ignorant Englander, and be on my way. Or perhaps I could attempt my best Scottish accent, convince them I was Wee Jonny’s uncle or something.

  “Are you even listenin’, pal?”

  “Yeah,” I said, immediately ruining both of my plans and giving myself away as both aware of what they were saying, and decidedly un-Scottish. “Yeah. I just—”

  “Then drop your bag and slide it over here before we make you.”

  I could hear specks of rain falling against the glass of the Co-Op now. Pathetic fallacy, I think it was called, where the weather matched the general mood of what was happening. I knew
it was bullshit. Just the kind of thing film students and English graduates read way too much into.

  But it felt decidedly topical right now.

  “Is he deaf, Cal?” another guy, taller and skinnier, asked.

  The main guy, who must be called Cal, rubbed his bald head then turned back to me, his impatience clearly building. “Look. You look like you’ve travelled a long way to get here.”

  “I was camping,” I said, my voice breaking. “Up in Tay Forest Park.”

  “Oh you were, were you? Then what’s in the bag?”

  “Just… just stuff.”

  “What kinda stuff?”

  “Stuff I need. To survive. I’m just trying to get back to my family. There’s no need for confrontation here.”

  I saw a few of the guys look at one another and snigger. I was hoping to reach any inner sense of humanity they might have, but I could tell right away that it’d fallen on deaf ears. “Trying to reach your family, eh?”

  “Yeah. My wife. My daughter. They’re down in—”

  “See, we don’t give a flying shit whether you’re trying to reach your family. We don’t even give a shit if your family is dying a death right now, and you only have a few hours to find ’em. We just want what’s in that bag. And hey. We’ll let you keep the dog food. Even give you another bag if you fancy.”

  I stood there, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Bouncer was by my side, growling. I knew it was all a front from him. If one of these boys patted his back and said hello, they’d be friends for life. He was a loyal dog, but I wished he was a little more loyal at times.

  “Look,” I said, no intention of giving my bag away, but wishing to hell I’d left it in the surrounding area while I’d had the chance. “I… I need this bag. You’ve got a whole shop worth of stuff here. A whole town worth, even. What I’ve got in here can’t possibly add up to anything more than everything you’ve got in this town.”