by Amy Cross
“We should go,” I say quietly, and I don't wait for an answer. I head out the door, and I hear Pierce following me.
“What was up with that guy in there?” I ask, not sure what to do or say.
“He's nuts,” Pierce says. “Thinks he hears voices from his phone, thinks he's online. He's not. He's a whack-job. Bet ya there's loads of them around these days”.
I turn to Pierce. “I want to go and look for some stuff,” I say firmly. “Alone. Okay?”
He stares at me. “You can't go off alone,” he says, dismayed. “Didn't you hear what I just said? It's totally not safe, anything could happen”.
“I'll be okay,” I say, figuring I can't be any worse off that I'd be if I hung around with Pierce, who seems to be cracking up. Sure, I could stay and try to help him, but I don't know him very well so maybe this is just how he's always been? Maybe my parents were right when they said he was weird and I should keep away from him? “I'll meet you back here at six, okay?” I say.
He shrugs. “How are you gonna tell the time?”
I sigh. “Fine,” I say. “I'll meet you back here at sunset”.
“Too dangerous,” he says, staring at me intently. “We need time to find somewhere to sleep tonight”. He looks around at the buildings nearby. “Fine,” he says eventually. “You go and do whatever you need to do, but be back here at sunset. By then I'll have found us somewhere to sleep”. He points at the door to a nearby building. “I'll try and get in there, okay?”
I nod, though I'm not sure whether I really will come back to him. “Seeya in a bit,” I say, walking away.
“Try to find some food!” he calls after me.
I keep walking. I don't really know where I'm going, but I'm damn sure I'll be safer without Pierce. The way he beat that guy up was just insane, and he seems really unpredictable. As I turn a corner and head off down a new street, I've pretty much decided that I'm going to ditch Pierce, find somewhere to sleep for the night, and then head off by myself tomorrow morning. Though where I'll go is another question entirely.
As I walk, I spot two women walking nearby, going the same way as me. When they see me, they stop and wave. Cautiously, I walk over to them.
“Are you going to the meeting?” one of them asks. She's middle-aged with wavy black hair and a friendly smile. “We're heading there now”.
“What meeting?” I ask as we walk along the street.
“The meeting about the people from New York,” the woman says. “And how we're going to kill them”.
Extract from the diary of Lydia Hoff
Forgive me, my mind is going. I'm not sure I'm even making sense any more.
The first time I met Emma was at a meeting in the center of Morristown, where we had all gathered a short time after the Great Disaster struck. We were eager to hear what the local official would say. Surely, we assumed, they had somehow been in contact with the government, and they would have instructions for us. Like dumb sheep, we all stood there and wait to be told how to save ourselves.
Well... We're still waiting!
That day, the local sheriff told us all to stay calm and that help would be along soon. He was, of course, bullshitting us completely. Looking back, I wonder if he knew we were never going to be saved, or if he was genuinely convinced that the government would somehow find a way to fix things. Either way, I never saw him again. I don't know what happened to him, but we didn't have a sheriff after that. People kept to themselves more, and most of them left when they head that the anarchists were coming.
Still, those of us who stayed that day were sure that the anarchists weren't real, that our town wasn't about to be overrun by killers.
We were wrong, and soon blood flowed through the streets of Morristown.
Chapter Eight
By the time we get to the steps of the library, where a small crowd has gathered for the meeting, I've become pretty chatty with the two women. The older one – the middle-aged one with black hair – is named Else, and the other one – who doesn't talk much – is named Sharon. They seem friendly enough, though I don't really learn much from talking to them. But it's clear when we reach the meeting that the mood is serious. I glance around, half expecting to find Pierce nearby, but to my relief there's no sign of him.
“Okay,” says a man's voice from the front of the crowd. “Settle down”. Climbing up onto the steps, he turns out to be a fairly short, balding man with gray hair and a gray jacket. He looks like a businessman, though he's a little less neat than you might usually expect. “I'm going to start,” he says, “but if anyone wants to kick in, that's fine by me”. He takes a deep breath. “You know why we're here, and I think most of you know me. My name is Charles and I think it's very important that we decide what we're going to do about the people from New York.”.
“Kill 'em,” says a voice from the other side of the crowd. I look over, trying to see who said that.
“It's not as simple as that,” says the man. “We can't just go about killing people”.
“Fucking can,” says the same voice. “Ain't nothing stopping us now. These folks threaten us, I say we teach 'em to die”.
There's a murmur of agreement throughout the crowd.
“Pathetic,” Else whispers into my ear.
“What's it all about?” I whisper back.
“You haven't heard?” she asks, seeming shocked. “Apparently there are people from New York. Sick people. And there's a danger that they might come here. There are already reports of people being seen massing on the horizon to the south, like they're planning to invade”.
“Do you know what happened to make things like this?” I ask. “I heard it was a solar flare, but -”
“It was,” Else says. “That's what I've heard, anyway”.
“Mummy, can we go home?” asks a voice. I look down and see a young girl has come over and is tugging on Else's arm.
“Not now, honey,” says Else. “Where's your dad?”
“Over there,” the little girl says, pointing vaguely into the crowd.
Else looks over, trying to spot her husband. She notices that I'm watching her. “This is my daughter,” she says, presenting the girl to me. “Lydia, this is Emma. Emma, Lydia”.
“Hi Lydia,” I say, reaching out and shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you”.
Lydia frowns at me, then goes around behind her mother. After a moment, she peers back around at me, and immediately retracts as soon as she realizes that I'm still watching her.
Turning my attention back to the crowd, I realize that the impromptu meeting has started to break up. People are discussing things amongst themselves, but there seems to be no sense of direction, and there seem to be no leaders.
“Everyone listen to me!” shouts a voice from somewhere in the crowd. “Everyone! This is important!”
The crowd starts to focus on the man who climbs up onto the steps. He's a middle-aged guy with longish curly black hair and the look of a slightly mad, slightly English librarian, though he speaks with a distinctly local New Jersey accent. “Er... okay, everyone. I have two important things to say”. He pauses, seemingly a little nervous. He doesn't strike me as the kind of person who normally speaks in front of big crowds. “Has anyone here heard anything from outside Morristown? Has anyone heard from New York or from anywhere else in the country?”
There's a general murmur, but no-one comes forward.
“Okay,” says the man, “then we have to assume that we're alone. And we have to assume that even if help is coming, it's not coming soon. We have to organize and -”
He stops speaking as a gunshot goes off at the back of the crowd. We all turn as a second shot fires, then a third. Finally the crowd parts a little and a man starts walking toward the steps. He's a big man, tall and stern-looking, carrying a rifle. He walks right past me, and I notice that his clothes seem ragged and damaged, and he smells of... I'm not sure, I think it might be gasoline. As he reaches the front of the crowd, he ushers the other guy down from
the steps and takes his place.
“Sorry to scare you like that,” he says, “but I need your attention. My name is John Sharpe. I came from New York and there's a problem that you all need to be aware of”.
The crowd murmurs again.
“There are people coming,” Sharpe says. “From New York. They're coming this way and they're only a half day behind me. They're dangerous and you need to protect yourselves”.
The crowd has fallen silent now, waiting to find out the extent of the threat that they face.
“It's chaos,” Sharpe continues. “People who are reveling in the collapse of society. They're taking out all their base animal urges on everyone they meet. Killing, raping, torturing, everything... No-one's safe. I've seen them torturing children, burning people to death. They're coming here, and you people have to be ready”.
“Bullshit!” shouts a voice from the crowd, a woman's voice.
“I've seen them,” says Sharpe.
“No,” the woman shouts, “this is bullshit! If the government can't get here, how come these other folk can?”
“Mommy,” says Lydia, holding on tight to Else's leg.
“It's okay,” says Else, stroking the top of her head.
“You can't just ignore this threat and hope nothing happens,” Sharpe says. “I came here to warn you, and tonight I'm riding on to warn other towns. These anarchists have to be fought and you can do it, but you need to be prepared”.
There's a disturbance off to one side, and a man starts shouting. “I'm getting out of here,” he announces to the rest of the crowd. “I ain't fighting. I'm going west, right now. There's nothing here to fight for. I was leaving anyway”.
There's a general murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“You can't just abandon your town,” Sharpe says.
“Can't we?” shouts a voice. I notice people already starting to hurry away, probably going to grab their families and leave town.
“We can just wait 'til they're gone and come back,” I hear someone say.
“Mommy,” Lydia says, sounding distressed. She clings to Else's leg.
“It's okay, honey,” Else says. “Jesus'll protect us”.
Lydia looks up at me. “Will Jesus protect you too?”
I stare at her, not sure what to say. “Sure,” I tell her, though I'm not sure I believe it.
“That's good,” says the girl, grinning.
“We have to go,” says Else, shepherding Lydia away. I watch them head off, and I realize that I probably won't ever see them again. That's one of the problems with this lack of electricity: you can't get someone's phone number, or their email address. Once they walk away and go around the corner, you probably won't be seeing them again. Everyone's alone now.
I have to go back for Pierce.
Extract from the diary of Lydia Hoff
I still remember how my mother led me away from the town square that day, after I had met Emma for the first time. As we moved through the crowd, I kept looking back over my shoulder to see if I could see Emma anywhere. Eventually we got too far away and she was lost, but I couldn't stop thinking about her. I can't help wondering if somehow I sensed what was going to happen. Did I know, intuitively, that I would end up seeing Emma again, that she would become so important? I'm not one of those people who believes in psychic powers, never have been; but I seemed to latch onto Emma straight away, as if I sensed something about her.
Of course, my mother took me home and we immediately started to pack. My father came too, and I heard him telling my mother that we would go to stay with his brother. It seemed like that's all people were talking about in those days: going to stay with family. It's as if they believed there was safety in numbers. I saw it time and again, as disintegrated families banded back together in order to face the challenging new world in unison. I suppose that was one of the very few good things to come out of the whole damn mess.
But we never got to my father's brother's house. By the time we were ready to go, all the roads had been blocked as anarchists flooded into the town. It was a hopeless situation. I watched my father, my mother, and our neighbors getting slaughtered. How I survived is something of a miracle. For many years, I thought it was impossible to explain why they let me live. But now I think I understand...
Chapter Nine
“Pierce!” I shout.
Nothing. My voice echoes through the empty building.
“Pierce!” I call out again.
Damn it. Maybe he's gone. Sure, he said he'd wait for me here, but maybe he realized I had no intention of coming back. Maybe he decided to just give up and set off by himself. I wouldn't blame him; after all, I kind of did the same thing to him.
As I wander around the building, looking for signs that Pierce was ever even here, I realize how alone I am. My parents were in California when the disaster struck, and I have no idea if I'll ever see them again. Even if they manage to travel so far to get back to New Jersey, how will they know where to find me? Suddenly, having a friend – any friend – seems way more important than it did before. Even if that friend has to be someone as annoying as Pierce.
“Hey,” says a voice from behind me.
I turn and at first I can't work out who spoke. But then I spot him: Pierce is sitting in the corner, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up, and he's shivering. As I get closer, I see that he's also sweating, and he looks pale and clammy.
“What happened to you?” I ask, kneeling next to him.
“Nothing,” he says, barely able to look at me. He swallows hard, and coughs. “I might be in withdrawal,” he mutters.
“Withdrawal?” I say. I stare at him. “From what?”
“Stuff,” he says slowly. “I have... drugs for certain issues. Mental issues. And I'm all out”.
I grab his wrist and feel his pulse: it's racing. “What kind of issues?” I ask. “What's going to happen to you?”
He winces in pain for a moment. “Sort of... like... slightly... schizophrenic. That's what they say, anyway. I don't know... I think they over-prescribe, personally, but... I don't know. That's what they say”. He looks at me with wide, puppy-dog, lost eyes. “Sorry I didn't tell you earlier”.
“It's okay,” I say. “Listen, we have to get out of here. There are people coming. People we don't want to meet. Can you walk?”
He shakes his head. “Leave me here,” he says. “I can't go anywhere. I just need to wait it out”.
“You have to come with me,” I say. “If I leave you here, you'll die. These people that are coming, they're dangerous”. I try to grab him, to pull him to his feet, but he resists. It's as if he just wants to sit here and wait for the end of the world.
“You don't understand,” he says softly, speaking so quietly it's hard to hear him. He looks up at me, genuine fear in his eyes. “I don't want to... I don't want to be alive like this. Can you just get a brick and smash my head in?” He laughs, and a blob of spit comes from his mouth. “Fuck it,” he says finally, before hanging his head as if he's passed out.
Somewhere outside, far away but close enough to hear, someone screams. A woman. It's a horrible sound, made worse by the fact that it's cut off suddenly, as if something interrupted her. And then there's the sound of breaking glass. It's far away still, but it's a warning. We have to get out of here.
“I'm not leaving you here,” I say to Pierce. “If you stay, I stay. And then we'll both die, do you understand? Both of us. They're anarchists”.
“Oh no!” says Pierce, suddenly finding his voice and seeming angrier than ever. “Not anarchists! The bogeymen! Fucking hell, you've been totally suckered, haven't you? Anarchy is the natural human state”.
“They're coming,” I say firmly.
He snorts with contempt. “Wanna fuck before they kill us?” he asks.
“Fuck you,” I say.
“That's the idea,” he replies, looking up at me, his head wobbling on his shoulders as he struggles to stay conscious. He stares at his feet for a m
oment. “Okay. Fuck it. Let's go”. And with that, suddenly, he gets to his feet and takes a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, breathing deep again. “I just figure we might as well die fighting, right? And screaming?” He looks me up and down. “Are you sure you don't want to fuck me?”
“Let's go,” I say firmly.
“Can I see your tits?”
I grab his arm and pull him along. We haven't got long. We have to get out of here before the anarchists get here.
“Wait,” says Pierce. “Let me get something straight. Are we setting out on some grand mission to save humanity and defeat the evil anarchists? Or are we just trying to save our own skins?”
I turn to him. “Save our own skins,” I say. “Got a problem with that?”
“Nah,” he says. “I never wanted to be a hero anyway”.
Once we get out of the building, it's clear that things are going badly. There's smoke rising into the sky from somewhere not too far away. A couple of people run past, and one – a young guy, late teens – stops, with panic in his eyes.
“They're right behind us,” he blurts out with a heavy Scottish accent. “Come on!”
He runs off, leaving Pierce and me watching him go.
“The world's falling apart again,” Pierce says. “Which way do you wanna go? Left or right?”
A few hours later, it's getting dark as we head to the center of town, but of course there's no-one about. Everyone has hidden themselves away, determined to try to wait out the trouble. It's not a bad strategy, but I don't have too much confidence that it'll work.
“Hey!” shouts a voice in the distance.
At first, I can't see who's calling us, but then I spot a guy on the steps of a building on the other side of the town square. He's waving at us. When Pierce and I get over to him, I recognize him as the Scottish guy who ran past us earlier.