by Luis Samways
‘What if there isn’t a future?’ asks Donner
The group look at each other in contemplation.
‘Future or not, death isn’t in my plans. We need to make sure that the only danger to us is the flashing lights that go off when we are above ground, and not any army dudes playing Call Of Duty in the sewers,’ says David
Ray nods his head in agreement.
‘Man, I miss video games,’ says Ray, thinking out loud.
The group laugh for a few seconds. It’s a rare occasion when laughter is present. For a few moments the group feel happy, even if the happiness is going to be short lived.
‘So let’s do this. Ray, you get a rock or something. We need something heavy, anything that can break bones,’ says David
‘Why not our fists?’ asks Ray
‘Because chipping finger nails off the bone isn’t exactly easy without tools’
Eight
London, England
‘So what exactly happened Mr Grimshaw?’ Asks the Detective Inspector
Steven looks around the room and is a little alarmed to see so many of her Majesties Police constables.
‘You can speak English can’t you?’ asks the policeman.
‘Of course I can. It’s just I’m in shock that’s all,’ says Steven as he continues to look around the room in fear.
‘Why are you in shock?’ asks the stern faced detective
‘What, apart from the barber shop blowing up? Says Steven
‘Yes, apart from that,’ says the policeman
The room Steven finds himself in seems to be growing ever smaller. With every breath he takes, the room seems a little hotter. It’s safe to say that Steven is a little on edge.
‘You don’t really want to know what I saw,’ he says, biting his finger nails.
‘Oh, I think I do,’ says the policeman.
‘Well I don’t know if I want to tell you,’ he says
‘Look Mr Grimshaw. The quicker you tell us what happened, the faster you can leave, providing you didn’t have anything to do with the bombs that is,’ says the Policeman, growing a tad impatient with his witness.
‘The bombs?’ asks Steven, absolutely gobsmacked at the realisation that any sort of bomb was part of this inquiry.
‘Yeah, the bombs…What are you, a Parrot? Just answer the question,’ says the man who now finds himself bending over the table, his face pressed up near Steven’s.
Steven can feel the warm breath of the policeman as he stares down at him. He starts to feel even more nervous. All that’s missing from this situation is the good cop to warn him that his partner isn’t messing around and will slap him if need be. Steven laughs out loud at the cliché of the situation.
‘What’s so funny?’ asks the policeman, astounded by the abrupt laughter from his witness
‘Nothing, it’s just all the movies and TV shows really don’t prepare you for this,’ says Steven, still laughing, still looking business like and important in his suit, even if the suit does look a bit dirty.
‘What are you on about?’ asks the man, his patience wearing thin.
‘I told you what I saw,’ says Steven
‘Well I don’t believe you,’ says the policeman.
‘Too bad then. Carry on wasting your time, before you know it, it will be too late,’ says Steven
‘Too late for what?’
‘To survive,’ says Steven
Nine
Albany, NY State
Mrs Novik has been rummaging through the Albany city street full of cars for a few hours now. She hasn’t found anything of that much importance, but what she has managed to scavenge is small bits of supplies, like two bottles of water and a beef jerky. It’s not the Ritz exactly, but it will keep her body fuelled for the next couple of hours. The water is the find she is most happy about. There’s something about the apocalypse that makes one thirsty.
She’s finished with a people carrier SUV when she spots a small van up in front. She can’t really make out what type of van it is, but she is hoping that it at least houses some good supplies in the back. She decides that the van will be the last vehicle she goes through, she needs to get to some safety and hunker down for a while to get her baring’s together. She starts the minute long walk up the deserted city street. The static skyline is something she isn’t used to. Every time she found herself in a city before the apocalypse, it was teaming with lights and sounds of a busy cityscape. But today all the smells and sounds of the city are washed out and replaced with the constant smell of fear. Fear isn’t a new context for Mrs Novik. She knows it all too well. Many a night she would stay wide awake in fear for her safety, waiting for her husband to come back from work. It’s not her fault that the only housing they could afford at the time was in one of New Jersey’s less desirable areas. But as with all bad things, they become better. After years of living on the mean streets that she called home, she had grown a thicker skin. Her innocence was gone and she knows exactly what some men are capable of. Add that with the fact that she had recently been arrested and held in county for a long while, and you get a woman who doesn’t really give a shit.
That’s the sad fact, Mrs Angelina Novik isn’t a woman any more, she is a survivor. She doesn’t care for soap operas. She doesn’t care for the style network. She doesn’t want to bake bread or make cakes. Mrs Novik wants to survive, and if kicking someone’s teeth out of their mouth is the route to said survival, then she has no problem in doing some amateur dental work.
Mrs Novik has reached the stationary van in the middle of the city center main road. She looks around the intersection of Albany and spots many commercial buildings that could be ripe for the picking. She then spots a gun store that has had its window caved in. The city resembles something of an afterthought to a city wide riot. It’s no secret that when the shit hits the fan, people tend to only look out for themselves. Its human nature after all, and while Mrs Novik looks on at the former great city, she can be sure that human nature went through these streets and took whatever they fancied.
She looks down at her wrist again and notices the red light is still idle. She decides that she needs to look for something sharp. She’s quite interested in finding out what is inside her wrist, even if it means cutting it open and having a look. She swings one of the white van’s doors open and is met with a blanket of darkness. She can’t really see very well, as the sun in the sky is setting in front of her and disappearing behind the city’s skyline. She’s just about to reach for her lighter when a woman’s face emerges from the blanket of black in the trailer. The woman is holding a gun and its pointing straight at Mrs Novik’s head.
‘Freeze sister,’ she says, wielding the heavy looking pistol.
Ten
New Jersey, East Rutherford, Met Life Stadium
Sammy Banes is sitting down on the stairwell leading above ground. It’s marked with a “B”, followed by the words “exit”. He sits there contemplating his role in this new world he finds himself in. Before all this happened he was a successful quarterback for the New York Jets, and now he finds himself a successful executioner in the Apocalypse. He didn’t want to be the leader of a group of survivors under the stadium, but someone had to. He keeps trying to convince himself that maybe it was the right thing shooting and killing the men that came down to attack them. He’s still quite perplexed as to why the attack happened. For all he knew, the only dangers in this world he found himself in were the flashing beacons in his wrist, and every other person in the group. But what he didn’t know was the fact that there were people out there who wanted other people dead. Sure he knew that the world has its fair share of murderers, but he didn’t know that an army of men would make themselves known and kill off half of his men and women. The army didn’t discriminate. They killed women and children. No bullet was too good for any life, and now he finds himself sitting on a staircase that once was used for the underground rail system. He feels responsible for the massacre of his group and that make
s him feel angry.
The main thing that ticks Sammy off is the fact that the group seem to blame him. He didn’t elect himself leader to throw his weight around, he made himself leader to step up and protect the herd so to speak. He’s been mulling over his thoughts alone now for a few hours. Not one person has come and checked on him. It doesn’t bother Sammy too much, but a little courtesy wouldn’t go a miss.
Sammy decides to stretch his legs and gets up from his seated position. He makes his arms wide and yawns in a sleepy manor. He realises that he hasn’t slept for a good while. He also realises that the many vending machines and dispensaries in the stadium will run dry soon if he doesn’t ration the food. He decides not to wallow in pity. He picks himself up and wonders on through to the section of the underground where the group are housed. He walks into the makeshift camp which in its usual use was a generator room. The sound of electrical buzzing and the smell of seared wires are drowned out by the odour of freshly spilt blood. He realises that the bodies are going to need to be disposed of. He looks around at the mass of humanity in front of him, some of them dead, some of them grieving. He knows that if he asks everyone to pitch in, then moving the dead bodies will take less time. But he also realises that the group are probably fed up of hearing him give orders. He decides to go ahead and move the bodies himself.
He goes towards the nearest one and spots it’s a woman. He bends down and grabs the corpse by the legs. He starts to drag the bullet ridden body away. A small group of people watch him as he does so in silence. After a few minutes of him moving the bodies off towards the furthest corner and returning for another, a few survivors chip in and start to help. Before Sammy knows it, nearly all of the men and women of the group are moving the dead off to be burned. Not one word is spoken between the 100 plus survivors. Sometimes words just don’t cut it.
Eleven
‘Any news on the National Guard?’ asks the President as he takes a sip of his coffee, deep and dark, steaming up into the Oval office air.
‘They lay about six clicks north. It shouldn’t be too long until they get to the Hill,’ says one of the advisors.
‘How about the nuke?’ asks the President
The office’s atmosphere changes immediately. A few murmurs here and there pepper the air, but the majority of the room full of officials is quiet as they contemplate their responses to such a bold move.
‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea,’ says one of the men
The president remains seated behind his desk as he continues to sip on his smouldering hot coffee.
‘I don’t really care what you think James. I want the place nuked,’ says the President
The man called James drops his head in embarrassment but still manages to look confident.
‘What about the fallout?’ asks another advisor
‘Shit happens,’ says the President
The room is in awe at the complete viciousness of the President. Everyone knows of how serious the situation is, but nuking a national instillation to get rid of some terrorists seems rather aggressive, even for the severity of the situation.
‘We nuke the base, and then we clean up with ground units,’ says the President
‘But…’ says James
‘No but’s, get it done. We need to move fast on this, or we could have missiles heading towards Washington before we know it,’ He says
The room quickly empties as a dozen men and women start making the right calls. The last man leaves the Oval office and quietly shuts the door behind him. President Harriet is left sipping the last mouthfuls of his coffee while working out a plan of action in his head.
‘Nuke em’, he says to himself as he slams the empty coffee mug down onto his desk, cracking the ceramic handle.
‘Nuke the bastards,’ he says
Twelve
Deshaun has pulled up in his SUV to the alleged safe house of the missing Mayor of New York. It’s a county residential area that looks much like a farm or a ranch. It seems out of place in the New York State area, and is miles apart from the daily grind of the city that Deshaun is used to, be it New York or Washington. The tree’s canvas the area in greens and oranges as the weather of fall time engrosses the freshness of the leaves, making them glide down to the ground in a sea of blossom and pollen, the air is saturated in all manors of flowery smells, the sound of sticks and brambles crunch under the heavy shoes of Deshaun as he exits his car. He shuts the door and takes in the sounds of the birds in the trees. He looks around and sees another car run up the driveway of the peaceful safe house. The photo reflective images of the sky shine off the dark black tinted windows of the approaching car. Deshaun watches as the car stops and Peter Foster steps out. His tall and slender but bulky build dwarfs the sunlight as it hits his back. Deshaun gives Peter an uneasy smile.
‘So this is the supposed hideout of the Mayor?’ asks Deshaun
Peter smiles as he reaches the dark and handsome Washington agent.
‘Yeah, my people say the Mayor comes down here to get away from the city when things get tough. It’s my estimation that the current state the city is in is tougher than it ever has been, hence us being down here,’ says Peter, still smiling as he crackles through the floor caked in leaves and twigs.
‘Well he better be here,’ says Deshaun
‘He will,’ says Peter
Both men stand still for a few seconds and take in the scenery.
‘It’s mighty beautiful down here, don’t you think?’ asks Peter
Deshaun tries to humour the burly security man.
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ says Deshaun, feeling a bit surprised at the sensitivity of the rough looking guard that had been appointed to him.
‘I like coming out to places like this, it helps me think,’ says Peter
‘I didn’t think you would be into such things, considering most men in your profession are into motor bikes and bars, you know, the fast life’
Peter laughs
‘Well I’ll be dammed, I think we have a stereotypist in our midst,’ says Peter
‘Stereotype or not, I don’t think this is the time to talk about what you like to do on your days off,’ says Deshaun
‘Who says that you can’t have fun on the clock as well?’
Deshaun doesn’t respond, he just looks around his surroundings once more and decides to move towards the big oak house up the driveway. The sound of gravel shifting under his feet bounces off the trees and makes their footsteps sound louder than most highways at rush hour.
‘Jeez, wouldn’t be able to sneak up on this place very easily,’ says Deshaun
‘That’s how the Mayor likes it. He likes to know who is approaching his driveway,’ says Peter who is looking down at his smart black shoes turning white as he walks through the gravel path.
They continue to crunch up the driveway until they reach the patio leading to the front door. Small flower pots sit side by side up the patio width. All sorts of flowers burst out of the pots, each one a different colour, some even translucent. None of the flowers look unkempt; in fact the whole garden looks like it needs at least three full time gardeners’ to maintain.
‘Taxpayer money sure buys nice things,’ says Deshaun as he approaches the big oak door.
‘Money is money, some people have it, and some people don’t. Some people spend it on crack, and some like flowers. Who can fault somebody on either of those choices?’ asks Peter
‘Um, crack and flowers are two totally different things,’ says Deshaun
‘I’m just saying; would you prefer the Mayor to be spending his money on drugs or flowers?’
‘That’s a stupid question. Besides, I bet his actual house has plenty of questionable stuff in it. You did say after all that this was his GET AWAY house. To me this looks good enough to live in,’ says DeShaun
Peter smiles as he leans in to knock on the door.
‘Nope, I said this is the safe house,’ he says, knocking on the hard oak door, his reflection shining in
the glossy finish.
‘Why would he need a safe house?’ asks Deshaun
‘To keep him safe,’ says Peter bluntly
‘From what?’
‘People who want to kill him’
Thirteen
David grabs the militia man’s right hand and moves the pliers he is holding closer to the screaming man’s thumb.
‘No, don’t!’ says the prisoner as he cries for help.
The makeshift camp under New York is looking empty as David and the captured man are the only two people present. David had sent the others off to scavenge food from the underground railway network, hoping that they come across some sort of platform with a couple of vending machines. David has provided them with some hammers he had brought down to the sewer, while he kept the pliers for the work he is about to do on the prisoner.
‘You forced me to do this,’ says David as he edges the pliers closer to the man’s thumb, and opens the pincer
‘Don’t! I’ll tell you…’ before the man can say anything David had fastened the pincer onto his thumbnail and pulled. The force of the sharp pincer had managed to pull his thumb’s nail completely off, revealing the fleshy pink skin under the man’s nail. Small botches of blood start to outwash the pink, soon dripping off the man’s thumb.
‘Ahhhhhhhhhhh, fuck, fuck, my fucking thumb you stupid bastard! I told you I’d tell you whatever you wanted to know,’ screams the man whose still in his army styled fatigues, but looking incredibly dirty.
‘I will listen to you when I please, not when you say. I have given you ample chances, and yet I still don’t know your name! You haven’t told me anything, that is why I’m going to pull all your fingernails off until you do,’ says David, bending down on one knee.
‘My name’s….’ again, David pulls another nail, this time on the index finger.
The man lets out another scream, this one louder than the one before.
‘Fucking stop it you prick!’ says the man, struggling for breath