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“How’re you doing in there?” I hear my saviour shout from outside the tiny little utility room.
I step outside to meet him. Freshly shaven - I found an old razor in the bathroom - washed, dried and generally all spruced up. My new clothes, not exactly Saville Row, but not bad, consist of a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a hoodie. I’ve kept the worn-out shoes I was wearing, but only because there weren’t any other shoes to choose from.
“Almost handsome,” my saviour nods. I think he may even be smiling, but the mask he’s wearing still hides his mouth. “Right, I’ve got to go. And you need to find somewhere else to sleep before curfew.”
Curfew?
But before I can ask him about it, he’s turned his back and started walking away. I start after him but then immediately remember that I’ve left my rucksack in the little room, and panicking, I dive back in there to retrieve it, before hurrying after the ‘Tube Man.’
“Wait for me!” I shout. “And what’s your name?”
But he doesn’t wait, and I’m forced to run faster, chasing him down a long tunnel. I catch up with him just as the tunnel emerges into a large concourse, with several other tunnels leading off it and a set of exit barriers spread across one side.
My heart surges.
The gates are all open and the man walks through them towards the closed metal shutters on the other side which separate the tube station from the outside world.
I quickly follow him through and watch as he bends down to unlock one of the shutters and starts to roll it up.
Sunlight surges in from the outside, and I see a road outside. I’ve never been so happy to see a London street before. Ever. For a brief moment I feel the urge to throw myself on the ground outside and kiss the pavement.
“Whoa… don’t get too close!” I hear the man raising his voice as I move towards his side, towards the world outside.
“Sorry,” I apologize, wondering if I still stink, and quickly stepping away from him.
I think the man smiles at me underneath his mask. “It’s Giles. I’ve told you before, but you keep forgetting. You really need to stop drinking so much James. It’ll be the death of you, if ‘The ’18’ doesn’t get you first.”
I frown at his answer, thinking it’s a little strange, but worry more that this man thinks I’m an alcoholic and seems to know me well. What’s going on?
Before I say anything back to him, he reaches into his pocket, and puts something on the floor in front of me. He steps back from it, and waves for me to pick it up, saying, “Sorry, it’s all I’ve got on me at the moment. I don’t carry cash any more, really…”
I bend down, reach forward and retrieve it from the floor. A blue twenty Euro note. A new one, and it immediately strikes me that the design is different from the last time I saw one this morning in my wallet, wherever that now is.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, James, but I don’t want to see you again. I can’t keep letting you off like this. If I get caught, I’ll probably lose my job, and no one can afford to lose their job these days. Otherwise…”
“They’ll end up like me?” I interject.
The man is silent for a moment. I see him swallow hard. He blinks. I can see him struggle with some emotion. I feel a sudden warmth towards him, and I’m struck by the incredible decency that some human beings are prepared to offer others who are less fortunate than themselves. Giles is a good man. In the back of my mind, I suddenly remember the taxi-driver - John - who helped so much the first time I arrived in this world. It’s people like Giles and John who keep humanity going. Without them, we’d still be back in caves, eating each other. Or we’d all be Nazis, still living under the Third Reich.
“You have to go now James. I’m sorry…” Giles apologises.
I step out through the doorway into the sunlight beyond. Once on the other side, I hear Giles speak to me again and I turn to face him one more time.
“James, it’s five o’clock. Curfew’s in less than three hours. You’d better find somewhere soon, or you’ll be arrested.”
“Arrested? Curfew?” I ask, finding my voice.
Giles sees the confusion on my face. “Just find somewhere to sleep the night before it gets dark. Don’t let the police find you. And good luck.”
He smiles at me again, I think, then reaches forward and pulls down the metal shutters. I hear him locking it from the other side, then hurried footsteps leading away back into the bowels of the station.
Turning around, I look at the streets about me, and for the first time I notice something quite surprising.
In fact, very surprising, given that it’s rush hour near the centre of the world’s most famous city.
The streets are empty.
Not a single person, bicycle or bus is to be seen.
London is empty.
Once again, I am alone.
Chapter Seven
Robinson Crusoe in London
I start to walk away from the tube station, fervently scanning the street for any signs of other human beings.
I’ve never been to this part of London before apart from on the Underground, so I don’t recognise any of the landmarks. The street itself is wide and full of shops, cafes, sandwich bars… everything you would expect from a major street in London. But all the shops are closed. Most are boarded up or have metal shutters or bars across the windows. They look like they’ve been shut for quite some time, not just today.
Turning once to look back at the station, I read the name above the entrance - Lewisham North - just confirming what I already knew, then start walking as fast as I can down the road.
People. I need to find people.
No, that’s not what I’m after.
Normality. That’s what I want. Must find.
Normality.
Except nothing I’m seeing is normal.
The streets are empty. There are no cars. Parked or moving.
No buses. Late, on time, or anywhere.
No people.
No tourists.
No beggars. No homeless people - apart from me, I realise with a sudden pang of concern.
And no Londoners.
There are no humans.
At all.
And then it hits me… is it ‘the curfew’ that’s causing this? Is everyone hiding?
“Find somewhere!” Was that not what Giles had told me to do?
My heart is beating very fast now. I’m getting scared again. None of this makes sense.
My mind wanders to another set of disturbing questions… “How come I’m a tramp? Where are my real clothes? How long was I down in the tube tunnels for?” I made the jump through the portal at about eight o’clock at night. It’s now just gone five. Have I been unconscious the rest of the time, lying on the tube station platform?
I turn a corner and see a street sign pointing to my left, promising a route to where I’ll find the centre of London. A vision of the River Thames, The Embankment, and Trafalgar Square fills my mind, and I start to jog.
The new street I’m on is much the same. Empty shops. Empty parking spaces. Empty everything!
“Where the hell is everyone?” I ask myself aloud. Quite loudly. Then another thing strikes me.
As soon as the sound of my voice has gone, there is nothing else. No sound. At all.
London… is quiet.
?
Is it dead?
Has everyone died?
As if in answer, the word ‘curfew’ pops back into my mind, and I realise that London can’t be dead. It must have to do with the curfew. But a curfew is an order to prevent people going out after a certain time, so there must be people somewhere. People who have to obey this bloody curfew!
Then I remember that the curfew only applies when it gets dark.
So where are all the people now?
My heart is thumping hard. How much longer can my cardiovascular system take this before I have a heart attack!??
I start moving again, but soon find myself running. Full of adrenaline. Fuelled by my fear.
I run from one street to another, all empty.
One street turns into two, then five, then ten. And soon I’m doing a mini-marathon, running as fast as I can towards the river, following all the signs I see.
As I pass Southwark Tube station, I come to a stop and shout at the top of my voice.
“Hello?”
“HELLLLLOOOOOO!!!!!!!”
Then, “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU ALL?”
I wait for a moment for a reply, but am hit by another wall of nothingness.
Silence.
Emptiness.
London … has been abandoned!
Starting to run again, I am now recognising the streets I pass through. I know where I am. At least, I know where I think I should be. I’ve walked these streets a million times.
Normally surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousands of others.
“WHERE IS EVERYONE!” I shout to myself, as I run down the Blackfriars Road, now beginning to feel tired.
Then suddenly, I am there, at the end of Blackfriars Bridge.
I pause for a moment, considering where to go next. A moment later I am hurrying down the steps beside the bridge, where I emerge onto the side of the River Thames, and from there I hurry along the Queen’s Walk path that runs along the edge of the river. I run and run, until I come to one of my favourite spots on the river where a small old pier juts out into the Thames.
I hurry onto the pier, exhausted, scared, and … alone.
I stand at the end of the pier, dropping my rucksack from my back onto the ground, and lean against the edge, twenty metres out from the bank, and five metres above the fast, flowing river.
I look around me.
The River Thames is empty.
There are no boats. No cruisers. No ships. Nothing.
I hear a seagull above me. I look upwards. I see it fly over my head, swoop down and come to rest on the water below.
Apart from Giles, it’s the first living thing I’ve seen since I left the tube station.
Scanning along the river bank on both sides, I search for any signs of life. But find none.
Holding onto the edge of the wooden rail, I lean forward and shout at the top of my voice.
“HEEEEEEEEEELLLP!”
The river swallows my plea for sanity and gives nothing in return.
I collapse to my knees. Close my eyes. And begin to cry.
A grown man, alone, desperate, and afraid.
And surely, now insane.
.
Chapter Eight
Trafalgar Square 4 pm
Tears are always a good thing. They cleanse and allow a much needed expulsion of tension and emotion, which otherwise just builds up and can lead to dangerous medical conditions. Like a heart attack or a stroke. Or madness.
I prefer the tears, even though the general perception of men is that they should never cry. Those who do are weak. Pansies. Not really men.
There is one truth to that idea: it’s rubbish.
I’m happy to cry - almost a paradox in itself - and I’m relieved when I do.
My breakdown lasts a minute, then stops. And immediately I feel better. I realize that it’s probably caused less by the bizarre situation I now find myself in, and more by the sheer, overwhelming disappointment that I now clearly feel about having not made the jump back to Sarah, Keira and Nicole.
What went wrong?
As I look up, I notice that the sun is now lower in the sky. It’s probably about an hour before sunset. With an impending curfew coming up, I need to find shelter soon.
Yesterday the answer would be simple. I would just go home. To Jane. To my house in Surbiton. But today, all that has changed. This morning I left home for good. I left a note for Jane to read explaining why I was leaving her, and I took my clothes and documents. There is now nothing there for me. My instinct tells me that even though I have somehow lost all my possessions, the last person Jane wants to see right now is me.
So where do I go?
The answer is obvious. My mum’s. I’ll go ‘home’.
As I stand up and put my rucksack on my back, I vividly remember how my mum’s house ended up being the sanctuary I headed to when I first arrived in this world. Back then, when I first stepped through the portal and made the jump to this world, my mum’s home ended up being the only place that was a constant from my old world to this one. Physically, it was almost the same as I had ever remembered it. I smile as I remember this, because I know that this time, I can probably count on it being the same too.
So, with a sense of purpose, and hope, I start out towards Waterloo Station. I remember that even during the Second World War the trains kept moving, so even though there’s something really weird going on in Central London, unless the world has mysteriously ended, I’m almost guaranteed to be able to get a train, sometime, back to Surbiton.
It takes me ten minutes to walk back to Waterloo. En route I see nobody. I do, however, see many foxes. They seem to be everywhere. As I trudge along the South Bank beside the river, they run around about me, lifting their heads and sniffing the air. Some come towards me. They seem to show no fear. It’s almost as if they have reclaimed the city for themselves. In the absence of man.
Or have they eaten them all?
I shudder at the thought, and pick up a stone and throw it at the next fox that comes too close.
As I approach the station I become anxious. What if there’s no one there? What if there are no trains? What if the station is closed?
I laugh.
Waterloo closed?
Don’t be an idiot.
But when I get there, I find that it is.
The entrance is covered with metal gates. The lights are off. There is no sign of any movement at all.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” I shout aloud, throwing my rucksack on the ground and waving my hands in the air.
When, ever, has the main railway station in London ever been closed before? Ever? The answer is never!
I look around, desperately, for clues of what is happening. There is nothing.
No newspaper sellers. No one trying to force a ‘Big Issue’ on me. No free Metros or Evening Standard newspapers anywhere to be seen.
I look up at the sky. From where I’m standing I can’t see the sun, but from the colours in the sky, I reckon I’ve got about thirty minutes before dark.
What the hell do I do now? I can’t walk to Surbiton. Can I? There’re no taxis. No buses. And if what Giles has said is true, I need to find somewhere to hide until tomorrow.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. I’m now facing the main door to Waterloo, but as I spin rapidly on the spot towards the road, I see an Ambulance rushing past me, blue lights flashing, but no sound. At all.
I can’t even hear the sound of an engine. It just seems to glide past at great speed.
Even though there’s no hope of it seeing me, I rush into the road and start running after it, waving my hands in the air and screaming, “Stop! Help!”
The sight of the ambulance both depresses me and gives me hope.
There are other people. The city is not completely dead!
But the sight of the blue-lighted ambulance hurrying somewhere urgently adds an edge to my new reality. A sense of danger. Anxiety.
For a moment I just stand there in the middle of the road, empty, barren of thought.
Then a vision pops into my mind, and I turn and start walking to the one place I’ve always associated with being the centre of London, and at the heart of England.
Trafalgar Square.
It takes me ten minutes, and en route I cross the river across the bridge I have always known as the Millennium Bridge, but which in this world has a different name that I can’t recall.
In the centre of the bridge I take a moment to gaze out across the River Thames at the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. For the first time since I woke up in the
underground station, I see the time. Seven forty-eight. Almost eight o’clock.
Lights are now coming on all around me in the buildings and skyscrapers, which I find reassuring. Perhaps there are people inside the buildings. Maybe even staring out at the bridge, watching me.
I wave several times in the air at my unseen voyeurs, but stop when I realize how pathetically pointless it is.
Once again, there are no boats on the river. I also realize that there are no aeroplanes. Nothing has passed overhead since I left the Underground station, and as I look upwards, I notice that the sky is clear and empty, with no visible vapour trails catching the dying moments of the sun.
I hurry across the bridge, down the steps, and up past a couple of closed theatres towards Trafalgar Square.
I arrive there a few minutes later, just as the sun seems to setting. But before the world goes black and the sun dies, there is still enough light to notice one thing.
Trafalgar Square is almost empty.
Not completely empty.
Although there is not a single human soul to be seen, I see about five foxes chasing the pigeons, which are everywhere.
Dinner on wings, if you can catch one.
I walk into the centre of the Square and sit down. Staring up at the statue of Admiral Nelson, who, I can almost swear, looks back down at me at winks, I begin to laugh.
Am I Dead? Page 4