As the World Falls Down

by Katy Nicholas

  I growled. Why was this so hard?

  Shaking off my apprehension, I headed down the hall and into the kitchen. Nate had done an impressive amount of cleaning while I’d slumbered. The place was tidy and smelled strongly of bleach, and the sitting area carpet had been purged of all traces of vomit. All the windows and doors were wide open, and a strong breeze blew through, puffing up the curtains and causing them to billow out wildly.

  Wandering out onto the deck, I lifted my hands to shield my eyes from the last remnants of the sun as it began to disappear into the ocean.

  The view was incredibly breath-taking.

  The tree line gave way to a few grassy sand dunes, and further out the golden beach stretched alongside a choppy, blue ocean. The cliffs beyond wrapped around the little bay from end to end as if capturing it in a protective embrace.

  I leaned over the wooden rail and breathed in the salty air, the sound of the sea in my ears, a light rain spattering on my skin.

  My thoughts turned to Nate and what he’d said about it not being enough.

  Paradise was a lonely place with no one to share it with.

  “Hey.”

  My heart leaped out of my chest when he appeared beside me.

  “Christ,” I puffed, hand on heart. “You—”

  I went to tell him that he’d scared the living daylights out of me, but my train of thought suddenly derailed at the sight of his bare chest. He was athletically built, and the contours of his torso muscles were easily discernible under his smooth skin, especially when he moved. I told myself to stop staring, but it was hard not to, being the first male I’d laid eyes on in years. Well, a living one, at least.

  Quickly forcing my gaze onto his freshly shaven face, I smiled awkwardly. He looked more like the young man in the photo now, just a little older and sadder.

  Nate’s mouth twitched into a brief, sheepish grin. “I thought I’d let you sleep awhile.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Food?”

  “Please.”

  I’d learned to ignore the pangs of hunger while on my travels, living off packets of dried soups and pasta, often only eating once a day before settling down for the night. No wonder I looked so awful. Expired, processed crap wasn’t exactly nutrient-dense.

  “I’ll cook us something,” he replied and went back inside.

  Curious, I followed him.

  The cupboards in the kitchen were jam-packed, filled with jars and tins—more or less the same essentials my aunt stored in her garage back home. The cooking area wasn’t spacious enough for two people, and not wanting to get in the way, I found somewhere else to sit where I could still watch him, fascinated by the sight of another human being carrying out such a mundane task.

  A little oak bookcase sat in the corner of the room by the kitchen. I kneeled next to it on the carpet and observed his actions until he caught me staring. I quickly turned my attention to the contents of the bookcase, glancing over the various titles, my interest piqued. It seemed we shared similar reading tastes, and I was impressed to see my favorite fantasy authors among his collection. There were also a half-dozen books on growing food and several medical-type journals.

  I slid one of the books out to examine it; a thick, weighty hardback with a detailed drawing of a human heart on the front cover. My fingers flipped over a few well-read pages before slotting it back onto the shelf.

  “What did you do for a living, before the virus?”

  Nate looked up briefly from his culinary creation. “Junior doctor.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Something useful then?”

  He shrugged, taking a moment to reply. “Not these days it isn’t.”

  “You don’t look old enough to be a doctor.”

  He paused, staring at the pot of bubbling water on the hob. “I was thirty when the virus hit.”

  His jaw tightened, and his knuckles whitened around the saucepan handle. It was almost like he was holding back the urge to punch something.

  I understood because I was angry too.

  He took a deep breath and re-focused on his task. I had no idea what he was cooking up, but I was too hungry to care.

  “What about you?” he asked after a while.

  “Nothing useful,” I replied.

  He put a t-shirt on before serving up dinner, which consisted of noodles with various vegetables in sauce. Simple, yet it tasted divine. It was an effort to stop myself from wolfing it down too fast.

  A long noodle wriggled up into my pursed lips. “This is so good.”

  His shoulders twitched in response, saying nothing.

  With the art of conversation now apparently lost to him, I did most of the talking while we ate, wittering on nervously and at great length. It took a while, but he eventually began to respond more animatedly.

  “Your aunt survived the virus as well?” he asked when I paused briefly to slurp up another noodle.

  “She never caught it.”

  “That’s…do you know how lucky that is?” His tone was a jumble of disbelief and envy.

  My head bowed as a pang of guilt twisted my gut.

  He frowned, noting my discomfort. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…lucky is the wrong word,” he stammered. “I—It’s good you weren’t alone.”

  Feeling a little awkward, I resumed my nervous chattering, purposefully steering the talk away from the virus and all things apocalyptic. Nate appeared keen to hear about Rebecca’s cottage situated just outside of Liskeard in south Cornwall, and he asked about our life there, all the while wearing an expression on his face indicating he was just as fascinated about me as I was about him. He was also curious about what fruit and vegetables we’d managed to grow there, being slightly more sub-tropical than Dorset.

  Eventually, the end of the world reared its ugly head once more as I explained about my need to search for other survivors and how I’d followed the coast with plans on heading to Bristol.

  He gave a slow nod. “And that’s how you ended up here.” It was more of a statement than a question. His expression turned pensive. Whatever was on his mind, it held his attention more than I did, so we ate the rest of the meal in silence. It had almost grown uncomfortable, but when our bowls were empty, he suddenly asked me if I wanted to see the garden.

  “I’d love to.”

  In the phase between twilight and night, I wondered how I’d be able to see much, but an array of solar lamps now shone brightly, lighting the way. As he led me around to the back of the cabin, he explained that his parents had installed the solar panels and the water tank to be as ecologically conscious and self-reliant as possible. They’d also designed a vegetable garden for all seasons and grew more than enough food to sustain them. Surplus edibles were sold off at the local farmer’s market or donated to the nearest food bank. His admiration and love for his parents was evident in the way his expression brightened when he spoke about them.

  The garden was an extended, narrow area that weaved in and out of the tree line. It began behind the cabin and spanned down to the other caravans I’d seen earlier. Its position and the way it merged with the woodland around it had made it impossible to see from the clifftop. From down here, though, it was impressive in its organization and beauty.

  There were two brick outbuildings directly behind the cabin with a lean-to greenhouse connected to one of them and a chicken coup attached to the other. A variety of wooden planters, of different shapes and sizes, had been placed strategically to either catch the sun or use the shade from a nearby tree. Anything not visually pleasing—like the water tank—was hidden away behind trellises of wisteria or feathery ferns.

  “After I recovered from the virus, I came home,” Nate said. “I’d hoped they’d still be here. Alive, I mean. But I was a few days too late.”

  A little way off into the woodland, two wooden crosses had been stuck into the ground, each grave outline marked by a ring of pebbles. It must’ve been utterly harrowing for him to have to bury his parents.

&n
bsp; He moved the conversation on swiftly. “I had no idea about growing food or how to keep chickens. The first couple of years were a bit of a disaster, but I got the hang of it eventually.”

  I smiled. “It’s wonderful.”

  His mouth twitched with the slightest of grins, but it soon fell. “I planned for more people, though. I really thought they would come.”

  Finding the right words to offer him comfort proved impossible. His experiences during the last four and a half years didn’t compare to my own. Although I could empathize with his pain, I doubted I’d ever truly comprehend the depths of his desperation. I certainly hadn’t been able to with my mother.

  We left the garden, but rather than go back inside the cabin, we walked along the beach.

  The sky was a beautiful shade of indigo, but not yet dark enough or clear enough to see the stars. A slither of moonlight was peeking out from behind a looming storm cloud, and out across the sea, lightning flashed and forked.

  In the ever-dimming light, I found myself watching Nate. I studied his face, now able to make out the faint dimples on his cheeks and the slight indent on his chin, previously hidden beneath his beard.

  When we reached the center of the bay, we stopped to watch the impressive display engendered by the storm, although my eyes flickered back to him frequently.

  It was so strange to stand next to another human being after all this time—one that wasn’t my aunt, at least. I felt drawn to him in a way I couldn’t quite explain, although it was probably because he was the only person of the opposite sex I’d seen in a very long time.

  Unintentionally, my hand brushed up against his, and the hairs on my arm bristled in response, feeling a brief pop of static once again. It had to be caused by the storm. It’d been raging on and off for most of the day, leaving an oppressive heaviness in the air.

  He turned to me. “Beautiful and terrifying at the same time, isn’t it?”

  His question caught me off guard. “Huh?”

  “The lightning,” he clarified.

  The flashes reflected in his eyes as he spoke, and I quickly became lost in them.

  “It’s getting closer,” I pointed out.

  He continued to look at me, instead of the storm. When our fingertips brushed together again, he took hold of my hand and gripped it tightly.

  “Are you real, Halley?”

  My breath caught in my chest because I’d been about to ask him the same thing. Nothing felt real.

  “Yes.”

  It was all I could say.

  ****

  Before…

  Lizzie Stone had been my best friend since our first awkward day of high school.

  Neither of us had known anyone else and had clung to each other, bound by shared feelings of bewilderment and fear.

  We now attended the same college as well, although we’d chosen to study different subjects. It unfortunately meant we could only meet up at lunchtime, but we made the most of it, chatting about Lizzie’s colorful social life and her plans to travel after college. My plans were less ambitious; I only wanted to be free of Andrew.

  A few weeks from my eighteenth birthday, Lizzie suggested we skive the afternoon off and go to the pub so she could introduce me to her new love interest and his friend.

  As he’d driven me to college that morning, my stepfather had told me that he’d be going into work a few hours early—again—and wouldn’t be around to pick me up like he usually did. They were making people redundant at the insurance company where he worked, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him genuinely worried about something. He’d started drinking more, chasing his whiskey down with a few shots of vodka as soon as he returned homework.

  As a result, I saw even less of Andrew—a blessing since his mood had taken a significant downturn. I made sure I did nothing to aggravate him and stayed out of his way, biding my time until I could leave home and never have to see him again. As I turned eighteen, I’d be able to move out and rent somewhere. I’d already been scouring the internet for student rooms in the local area, as well as jobs I could work around college. Rebecca had also offered me a room at her cottage in Cornwall. For the first time ever, I had options.

  “One drink,” Lizzie begged me, pulling me into the pub, which stank of stale beer and chip fat.

  “Fine.”

  We sat at a table and waited for Lizzie’s new friends to turn up. The man behind the bar eyed us suspiciously while buffing pint glasses, but didn’t ask for I.D. Finally, the boys arrived and joined us at the table.

  “What’s your poison?” the tallest one asked. He was Lizzie’s new boyfriend—Sean. They’d met last month at a nightclub when Lizzie was out celebrating her birthday. He was twenty-one and worked as a bouncer.

  Lizzie swooned at him. “Vodka and coke.”

  “Just coke,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Lizzie did most of the talking but brought me into the conversation as often as she could. I managed to make enough of a contribution to not appear socially inept.

  At half-past four, my mobile rang. Glaring down at the screen, I realized I had eight missed calls from Andrew. With all the noise in the pub, I hadn’t heard it ring.

  Immediately panicked, I hurried outside to answer it.

  “Where are you?” My stepfather’s voice sounded stern and angry.

  My heart thumped. “Still at college.”

  “Don’t lie!” came his sharp response. “I waited for you! When you didn’t show up, I went into the office. They said you hadn’t signed in this afternoon.”

  There was no point in denying it. “Sorry, Andrew,” I said. “I went out with Lizzie.”

  “You could’ve just told me that!” he snapped. “I’ll come and pick you up. Where are you?”

  There was no way I could tell him I’d been to a pub. “The cinema.”

  It wasn’t far away, and I could make it there before he could.

  After saying a very quick goodbye to Lizzie, I sprinted to the main high-street and then down to the end of town where the cinema was. I made it there a full five minutes before Andrew’s car screeched up onto the curb.

  We drove home in silence, but I could tell by the way he erratically steered the car and by the smell of alcohol on his breath that he’d already been drinking heavily. I didn’t need to ask him why he was home early either—he’d been laid off.

  Once the car was stationary on the drive outside the flat, I opened the passenger door. Andrew suddenly leaned across me and quickly shut it again.

  “Lizzie is a bad influence,” he said. “You need to stay away from her.”

  With no intention of indulging him in an argument, I nodded and did my best to look sorry.

  “You don’t want to end up like your mother at eighteen, do you?”

  Alone with a new-born baby, was what he meant.

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead. “No, Andrew.”

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard this lecture before from him. Once, a few months after my mother’s funeral, Andrew had seen Lizzie’s older brother hug me at the school gates. As soon as we’d gotten home, he’d called me a ‘slag’ and punched me in the ribs.

  “I’m all you have now, Halley,” he continued, “I’ll always look after you.”

  “Thank you,” I said flatly.

  As he placed a hand on my thigh and squeezed it gently, my heart stopped beating, and my blood turned to ice. All I wanted to do now was get out of the car and as far from him as possible.

  I tried to open the car door again, but he dug his fingernails into the flesh just above my knee. I hissed, and he released his grip. But then his hand went under my skirt and around to my inner thigh.

  Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this.

  It was as though I’d suddenly turned to stone and detached from my body. I couldn’t move, or speak, or scream.

  Don’t let him do this. Run. Don’t let him do this.

  He used his free hand to grab my face,
forcing me to look at him as he leaned forward and laid a sloppy kiss on my lips.

  His stale breath filled my nostrils. “See? We can be friends.”

  As he went in for another kiss, his hand slid further up my thigh until his fingers made contact with my underwear. With his dry lips pressed forcefully against mine, he moved his hand up and down slowly between my legs.

  Run. Don’t let him do this. Run.

  My limbs felt as though they didn’t belong to me, and all I could do was sit there, paralyzed by my fear.

  Suddenly, Andrew broke away from me. “Let’s go inside.”

  He climbed awkwardly out of the car and stumbled across the driveway, while I remained in the car, desperately willing my body to move. My head began to clear a little as I thought of my mother. How could she have left me with someone like him? Had she known what he was capable of? What else had Andrew done to her?

  Somehow, my fear switched to anger, and I could move again.

  My hands were shaking so violently it took me a few moments to pull the handle, but finally, I scrambled out of the car and onto the driveway.

  Andrew had reached the communal entrance but was fumbling through his pockets for his keys. With his attention diverted, I ran.

  I ran, and I didn’t look back. I ran until I couldn’t breathe, and my chest burned. I ran until I eventually found an alley to hide in, where I vomited until my stomach was empty and my head thundered so loudly that I couldn’t think straight.

  Lizzie.

  I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and dialed her number, praying she would hear my call.

  Thankfully, she answered quickly. “What’s up?” From the noise in the background, she was still in the pub.

  “Lizzie,” I stammered. “Please, come and get me.”

  I didn’t need to see her face to know she’d started to panic. Her voice became urgent and demanding. “What happened? Where are you?”

  Wherever I’d ended up, I didn’t recognize the area, so I gave her the name of the nearest street. “Hurry Lizzie, before he finds me.”