Welcome to the apocalypse

by Lee Kerr

  I shake my head, unable to speak and unsure of what any of this means now. I think of this woman and her obvious troubles but I don’t really feel anything for her; all I am really wondering is what this means to me, what has happened in Euston station and whether my shiny train will still be waiting for me in the abyss of a demolished and desolate skyline.

  A welcome noise echoes down the tunnel and this means that I don’t have to answer, don’t have to try to find words of comfort, which would only be lies anyway. Everyone hears it and we all stop shuffling for just a moment. I see some distant lights coming through the hole. At any other time I would be able to hear the train properly, would be able to feel the grinding of metal against metal as it approached. Normally, the mass of seasoned travellers on the platform would remain silent as the train enters. But not this time; this time the desperation in the air is overwhelming. People push along the platform, all thinking the same thing, all praying that it isn’t already full.

  It makes it halfway into the station when the first person falls onto the tracks. I look over and hear the screams of those who must have seen them fall, and of those who are about to witness a brutal death. No one leans down to help; everyone just pushes back against those behind them, desperate not to suffer the same fate. Some women scream, as do some men, while others look down silently. Perhaps they pushed them, perhaps they know them, but all I see is a hand reaching up from the track, then swiftly disappearing as whoever it was is swallowed up by the machine that cannot possibly stop now.

  I see at least three more people fall to the same fate. I imagine the driver shutting his ears to the terror of others and closing his eyes to the blood that has stained his window. Those who are lost are quickly forgotten as the two-thirds-full tube comes to a halt. The doors don’t open immediately. The announcements demand that we get on in an orderly fashion, and that this tube will be heading back down to Brixton. The automated announcement of ‘let passengers off the train first, please,’ echoes throughout the station but we all know that no one will be crazy enough to get off and there are more people squeezed down here than could ever fit on, even if the train was empty.

  I look up at the board to see that it is still blank, and I curse myself for not having lined up next to one of the doors. I start to count the huge numbers of people in front of me, and then I push my way left, towards the door at the end of one of the carriages. I can only hope that most people around me will have put their bets on the double doors.

  I look through the windows into the tube train, and see that the many people inside don’t look like they feel safe. They are all looking out, staring into the mass of frantic people who are about to bring their savagery into this travelling haven. I wonder if they know more than we do, if they know what has happened.

  ‘This station is closed, you must board this train,’ an announcement says. It comes from the tube staff who spoke earlier. I see that he has only managed to make it a few feet since I last saw him. While he states the obvious, he moves forward, slowly squeezing himself past everyone else, making it clear that he plans to board this train along with the rest of us.

  It forces me to move forward and as the doors open my shuffling turns into blatant pushing, as those behind me make their intentions quite clear. My eyes dart between the small entrance ahead of me and the windows, as I see how quickly this precious space is filling up. People are spilling into the tube train like water set free from a dam into a quiet river, quickly pushing further into the centre of the carriage. They must be happy to be one of the few to have made it on because once they have passed the threshold and found a place for themselves, they look out, suddenly thinking of the rest of us. A man looks at me, and seeing that I am still stuck on the other side, while his position now secured, his expression turns to something that looks like sorrow, but not sorry enough to help.

  As I reach my turn I realise how close I am and how far I still have to go. The carriage is full – my eyes tell me this and the voices of those lucky enough to be on board confirm it to me. In the fight for air, their manners get pushed away to some distant place, far from the reality of this long tunnel. I frantically look for a space, realising that I’m shouting out loud, telling everyone just how small I am, as those behind me are still pushing. They’re not trying to push me further in, but rather trying to get me out of the way so they can get a chance to shout, beg and sell desperate stories of their own.

  ‘Board this train now,’ the announcement says, which I think is a little pointless. ‘This is the last tube. Leave now… get on board now!’

  The doors bleep as they start to close and I make my attempt. I push against those who are blocking my way, determined that I will fit, whether I have to climb above them or crawl under them. I make it at least halfway onto the tube before the doors close. The one single door hits the right side of my body before pulling back, doing its duty to protect a human from harm. I realise that I am back onto the platform and hands are grabbing at every part of my body. I look over to see that beside every door are people who have pushed their luck and ultimately failed.

  I hear the bleep again and make the same move, this time with even more determination and just a little hope that my last push has cleared some space among the bodies of these ample strangers. I move through the door, my head passing the threshold first. I think I might just make it, as I push against the tide of disjointed limbs, until I’m met with the forceful hands of another. This woman looks down at me, her makeup smudged and her blouse half-ripped. ‘There is no more fucking room!’ she shouts, as she pushes me back.

  The door closes again, forcing me to stare at my attacker through the dirty, sweat-stained window. She stares back at me; she doesn’t even mouth that she is sorry or offer me a tear of pity. I shake my head, feeling unknown levels of anger at what she has done to me; this entire month-long saga now seeming to be all of her making, my fate now entirely her fault.

  Just as I start to imagine what I would do to her if the doors opened, they do as I had hoped and slide apart. I thank the makers for this automated safety, not able to leave someone trapped in between the doors. I look up at her; my anger has been replaced with hope, but I have also realised that I will not make it through the wall of bodies without help.

  She shakes her head. ‘You can see there is no room so what the fuck should we do?’

  I’m unable to answer her. I see the closing door sign start flashing again. I’m about to give up, to fall back into the crowd and let someone else take over this fight, but just as the bleeping starts again a hand stretches out from within the carriage. As it takes hold of me I hear someone declare that there is room. I can’t see who said it but he sounds young. Instead of trying to pick him out from the tightly packed crowd I instead look at the hand that has taken hold of me. As I’m pulled into the mass of bodies I look only at his outstretched forearm. He seems very different in appearance from my last saviour: I follow a scattering of dark hairs up a pale forearm. I gently take hold of it, feeling the warmth and hoping that our connection will be strong enough to get me on. But if it isn’t, if I’m cut off by the brutal woman and the power of the door, I will forever remember holding what I have wanted for so long. I imagine myself being held in these exact arms, as I explore each and every fine hair while he slowly makes love to me all night.

  When I’m snapped back to reality I find that my head is buried in the cleavage of the woman who hates me, and I immediately realise that I’ve made it on board. The door tries to close again and I see that someone else has made it on with me. It’s another young woman who has managed to piggy-back on my success, but she is only half in, as I was before, and has fallen victim to the same tuts and pushes that I received from my fellow humans. I try to pull her further in but there really is no room.

  ‘Please help me!’ she screams frantically. Her eyes are on me but her plea is directed to all of those around us. She is begging for an answer from anyone; for someone to move back, just a lit
tle.

  I feel a shuffling behind me as I realise that my saviour still has hold of me, but this time he is gripping my arm. ‘I won’t let go,’ he shouts through the wall of bodies. His face is still unknown to me but his voice is so entirely welcome.

  ‘This tube is leaving, whether the doors are shut or not,’ the driver shouts with such determination in his voice. ‘I repeat, all the safeties are off and we are leaving now.’

  ‘Oh, God, please help me!’ the young woman shouts, as the train starts to move. It accelerates slowly at first, struggling to pick up pace with so many extra souls on board.

  She pulls at me, somehow managing to drag me further towards the door rather than getting herself any closer to safety. ‘I’m only half-way in,’ she yells. ‘Oh, please, it’s moving now! You have to let me in!’

  I pull. I pull with everything I have, but the space is too compact and no one has enough room to manoeuvre. I realise that he is pulling too, still shouting that he won’t let go of me. But it’s not enough; I realise that not everyone agrees with our plan: some are refusing to move and some seem incapable of understanding the consequences of our group inaction.

  ‘Let go, it’s too full!’ the angry woman shouts and spits towards her new target.

  ‘We have to get her on,’ I shout, still pulling, still begging. I realise that we’re getting closer to each other, but it’s not because she is fully in, but rather because my hands are making their way up her arm. My levels of effort are not in question, but my ability to save her is limited. My eyes meet hers. I know how desperate she is, but I don’t see a choice or a way out of this. ‘You have to let go.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Please,’ she says, her begging face telling me that she clearly sees this train as her final chance to escape this hell we are in.

  ‘We’re nearly out of the platform,’ I shout, starting to push her towards the door. I want her to realise that it’s for her own good. ‘You have to let go!’

  She doesn't listen to me, doesn't see the danger and so a long scream signals her departure from our train. I close my eyes as she is dragged away into the dark tunnel. I shut off all my other senses and focus only on the screams of the unlucky; those who never quite made it. And with every door that passes the concrete entrance to the tunnel, a new scream travels into my head, horrible sounds caused by our obvious failure.

  Once the unanswered cries stop, all we are able to hear is the calm of the tunnel, and I finally open my eyes. Everyone is silent, as I look at the people around me, each of us covered in the blood of the unlucky. The bitch pushes me, just a little, into the small space that the woman just occupied, so that she can clean herself and remove the bits of guts from her white blouse. I see a bit of flesh fall into her cleavage. Her hands dig down deep, following the trail of blood, trying to remove every memory of the one we just lost.

  Someone else vomits and I start to cry. Peoples’ faces show wrenching emotions, horrified by what has happened to those we just lost. I can’t see straight anymore, or get control of myself. My vision fades. My legs start to quiver as I realise that I am going to faint while standing up. It’s most likely that I will awake in the same position, in this same nightmare of strangers.

  I feel those around me shuffle; for a moment I think someone is trying to help me, but then I realise that they are tutting at something behind them. I keep hearing ‘excuse me,’ as the owner of that familiar, heavenly voice makes its way towards me.

  I keep myself awake somehow, determined to stay with him as I realise that I’m slowly being turned around. My stomach touches his, the space between us nothing but intimate, as I feel a hand on each of my arms. ‘Thank you,’ he says, as I sense him looking around but he gets nothing back.

  I take my time to study him, to feel him holding me. I slowly let my eyes follow his tight shirt upwards; he has no tie on and I look at his neckline – one button undone, an untrimmed rug of experience on show. Just the right amount, I think.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, sounding friendly and genuine. It’s almost as if he is smiling as he speaks.

  I realise that I haven’t yet dared to look at his face and so I nod and take a deep breath, then look at his chin, which is perfectly shaved. I wonder if he intended to go to work today, or if he just planned to look this immaculate when meeting his doom. I stop for a moment, entirely forgetting where I am, but sure that the eyes will make this moment. I keep looking and then smile at finding these bright blue rings set against thick, dark hair. I look at him, feeling nothing but safety. Then I suddenly feel angry; I’m angry that I have only found him here and now, on what could be one of my last days on earth.

  I don’t hear what he is saying to me now, even when the man next to us, who can’t help being a part of our moment, offers a smile as he waits for our next move. I realise that I need to start being a glass-half-full kind of girl and thank the stars that I have finally found someone who could tick all the boxes that matter. These thoughts only lead me back to my endless misery and so I quickly thank him, squeezing up closer and feeling his firm stomach tense with my touch. I feel somehow liberated, distanced from the crowd and the horror of the moment. I am no longer afraid of making my move. I'd normally be paralysed with fear before going up to a guy, let alone openly touching him.

  ‘I’m Scott,’ he says, leaning closer to me, trying to create some privacy for us.

  I laugh again, still shaking; I’m nervous, but aroused and curious. ‘I’m Emma and I owe you so much for what you just did.’

  He looks at me and then turns to the bitch who has managed to stay just behind me. He has a big smile stretched across his face and his gaze quickly returns to me. ‘Well, some of us still remember our manners.’

  I feel the woman try to move, most likely getting ready to defend herself and her actions. I’m thankful to see him put up a hand; none of us seem willing to hear her excuses. They’re all pointless now and I know it will be a long time before we all process what has happened here, let alone get to judge, to properly remember or truly understand.

  He quickly turns his attention back to me, offering a small smile and tilting his head as he seems to take me all in. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ he says, taking hold of both of my hands.

  ‘You have?’ I ask, knowing that I have never seen him before, sure that he is someone I would remember. Even if I saw him sitting with his girlfriend, or after a drunken night out, or in the supermarket – back when shopping used to be normal – I would remember him for all eternity.

  He calmly nods, still smiling down at me. ‘You always get on the second carriage from the front and I always get on the third carriage, one stop before you.’

  I lean backwards, as far back as I can, until I hit the person behind me. ‘You’ve seen me that often?’ I shake my head, not believing it, not able to imagine someone has ever noticed me in the haystack of daily travellers.

  He nods again. ‘You’re quite the creature of habit. You always get on the tube at just after seven and you always get into the same seat, writing in the same journal and generally looking down at that same floor.’ He looks below me, to the carriage floor. ‘I was starting to wonder what you’d found down there.’

  I look up at him, finding one of my hands tracing up his shirt, my fingers soon teasing their way along his cheek. ‘I never found you.’

  He laughs, loud enough for all to hear but he doesn’t seem to care. ‘That’s so cheesy. You’re clearly practiced at this.’

  I look around, soon finding my way back to him; back to the person I already never want to leave. ‘I’m never good at this and today isn’t the day I thought I would start.’

  He nods, his eyes making their own journey around our small space before coming back to me. ‘Well, if it makes you feel any better, I had been planning to move into your carriage. That was until all of this started and everyone’s lives got a bit screwed up and I didn’t see you as much. But I’m kind of glad I got on this tube today.’

&nb
sp; I nod and smile, not believing this is real. I’m about to answer him and to ask more questions, all in order to confirm to myself that this really is happening to me. Before I can speak, the desperate voice of the driver spills through the speakers: ‘We will not be stopping at the next station, or at any other one, for that matter. We are going all the way back to Brixton and you should all hold on real fucking tight.’

  I feel the train speed up as I take a firmer hold of Scott and he wraps his arms around me, this level of intimacy not intentional but necessary. The tube jolts forward as people gasp and whimper. None of this normal and all of it is difficult to process. We seem to speed up but then we suddenly stop, all of us packed in so tight that I don't know who I’m touching, other than Scott. Everyone looks around, trying to get a glimpse through the window, all waiting to see what will await us when we get out of the tunnel. I expect to see hundreds of people all banging on the glass, desperate to get on, happy in some way just to touch what could have been their freedom. I think of how this must be happening all over the city, in many different these stations and about how many people must be trapped in these desperate places.

  The driver knows more, he must do. What he doesn't say out loud he reveals in his tone. We all look at each other and I think we are trying to somehow convince ourselves that we will be okay, but deep down we must all know that this simply isn't the case. Something bad is happening, something far worse than a person jumping in front of a train or a multiple signal failure. This is a whole new level of bad and I don’t think it is something those in charge ever planned for.

  The train edges forward again, as I keep looking between the black tunnel outside and Scott’s crystal-blue eyes. He spends all of this precious time looking only at me; the world of caverns and other people don’t seem to be of any consequence to him. It makes me smile and even though it’s only a reflex born of years of waiting, it still makes me feel good, if only for a second. The train judders again and I let out a whimper, as all those around us take deep breaths. I think the air might be running out and I wonder how long we would be able to survive in a place like this.