by Casey, Ryan
Survive the Darkness
A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller
Ryan Casey
Contents
Bonus Content
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
GET A POST APOCALYPTIC NOVEL FOR FREE
To instantly receive an exclusive post apocalyptic novel totally free, sign up for Ryan Casey’s author newsletter at: ryancaseybooks.com/fanclub
Chapter One
Cameron Baker clutched onto the arms of his seat and prayed this flight would end as soon as bloody possible.
He hated flying. Hated everything about it. He hated the pressure in his skull as the plane hurtled through the sky. He hated the false pretence of kindness from the air hostesses, those big plastic smiles and unnaturally wide blue eyes staring down at him. And he hated the sound of the engine, whirring away in the background, that constant drone drowning out anything he was trying to listen to.
And the way people flicked through magazines and kids played on iPads like being thirty thousand feet in the air was the most normal situation to be in.
But more than anything, Cameron Baker hated flying because he was scared.
He didn’t like admitting it, this fear. He knew it was a pretty common phobia. One of the biggest phobias, apparently. But he didn’t like anything that tarnished his macho image. He worked in the building trade, which wasn’t exactly the most sensitive industry.
And it wasn’t like he really fit in as a builder in the first place, in all honesty. He wasn’t exactly the typical builder bloke. He was pretty long-limbed and gangly. Daz and Harry always called him Heroin Harry, even though he wasn’t called Harry at all, something a few of the other lads on site didn’t seem to realise. And he was quieter than the bulk of them, too. Didn’t like to chat about women or “birds” as they called them. Not interested in drinking heavily or partying, or doing drugs. Never the life for him.
He just wanted to go to work, get paid, and go back home to Melissa and Noah for a quiet life.
Sometimes, people told him he was an underachiever. Particularly his dad. He’d done pretty well at school and could have gone to university if he’d really wanted to. Become a doctor.
But instead, he just wanted to get earning young. Ironically, it was the pressure from the very same dad which pushed him in that direction. Get earning young, get some money in the bank, and get yourself on the housing ladder, boy.
He smiled when he thought of his old dad. His old dad, now living in sheltered housing, married three times and rinsed out of his finances every single time.
How did getting earning young and getting money in the bank work for you, Dad?
Bet you wish I’d become a doctor now, don’t you?
But even so, Cameron was happy with a quiet life. He was in his early thirties, and he’d been single for quite some time.
That’s until he met Melissa three years ago.
He liked being single. He enjoyed his alone time. Liked getting in from work, cooking himself a microwave meal, and sitting back on his PlayStation for a few hours. He was an introvert, so that life didn’t bother him. In fact, it suited him to a tee.
But when Melissa came along, everything changed.
Especially because Melissa had a little boy, Noah.
He looked at the seat beside him. Saw Noah sitting there, hands on his lap. Saw his brown hair and blue eyes. His Manchester United T-shirt with Rashford on the back. He could hear the whirring of the engine. Every little shift in its noises made him jump and look around to gauge the panic on the faces of the cabin crew. Every beep or buzz or seatbelt alarm had him convinced the end was nigh. He couldn’t help it. It was his fear. Everyone had fears.
“You okay, honey?”
He looked up past Noah, and he saw Melissa.
She had gorgeous, piercing blue eyes. Curly brown hair. And a smile to die for.
She was such a nice person. So good. So pure. Ever since meeting her at the Flash bar that night in November when he was out with his friends, he’d been drawn to her immediately. Always thought love at first sight was nonsense, but since meeting Melissa, yeah, he was a convert.
The first three months of dating had been a little on and off. Mostly due to his commitment issues. Didn’t help that the lads at work got wind of it and started trying to track down her Facebook to tell her how much “Horny Heroin Harry wants 2 do u”.
But three years ago, Melissa changed everything. And they were together, properly together. Together, engaged, and he was pretty much a dad to Noah.
“Noah or me?” Cameron asked.
Melissa rolled her eyes. “You.”
Cameron nodded. He didn’t want to let Noah think he was some kind of weakling in front of him. Not when he was supposed to be a provider. A caregiver. Noah’s biological father wasn’t worth jack shit and contributed nothing, so Cameron didn’t want this kid growing up thinking all men were just useless.
He needed a father figure in his life. A strong male influence to counteract the amazing mother alongside him on this journey.
But he found it hard not to be edgy right now.
Especially with the dreams he’d been having.
They were off on holiday. First time out of the country for Cameron since he was a kid, which he fully realised was a bit weird. Mostly due to his fear of flying. But it wasn’t unfounded. He’d perforated an eardrum in nasty turbulence on the way back from Spain when he was little. Remembered the agony to this day. Swore never to fly again.
But here he was. All in the name of family.
Truth be told, he was excited. Excited to get to Turkey and get away, especially after all the corona crap last year, and especially at New Year. Although they’d cocked up a little bit with the flights and were actually heading back just as the New Year broke in Dalaman.
As for corona… that bought him a bit of time and a few excuses not to go abroad, but everyone had been vaccinated now, and another strain hadn’t run rampant, so life was pretty much returning back to something like normal—with the odd exception of more regular mask-wearing and a few local lockdowns in spike areas.
But the world was pretty much back to normal. And that meant he couldn’t hide from his
sense of duty to his family. Melissa’s desire to take her seven-year-old boy abroad somewhere, for the first time.
He tried to bargain at first. Tried to persuade her to just go to France. They could get the ferry over, then drive down to Paris. Take Noah to Disneyland.
But Melissa told him she really wanted to go to a beach somewhere and someplace still warm over winter. And that flying was the best way.
And in the end, it became clear Cameron couldn’t hide behind his phobia much longer.
“You’ll be okay,” Melissa mouthed. They were an hour into the flight, and Cameron was pretty on edge. Not as nervous as before, admittedly, but still not entirely comfortable, either.
But he just kept taking deep breaths.
Just telling himself, repeatedly, that everything was going to be okay.
That they were an hour in and hadn’t had a problem so far.
Everything was going to be—
A bang.
The plane rattled.
He hovered off his seat, just for a second.
And for a moment, he swore he heard a scream and swore it was himself.
He looked around, heart racing.
Saw Noah staring up at him. Wide-eyed. Fearful.
And as terrified as Cameron was, he didn’t want to show Noah that was the case.
He didn’t want Noah to grow up fearful.
He wanted to be a father figure.
Wanted to protect him.
Melissa looked over at Cameron, a glimmer of concern on her face for the pair of them. Somewhere across the cabin, a woman screamed, which wasn’t helping with the mood here.
But Cameron just had to keep his cool.
Keep things calm.
Be a father.
“Hey,” he said.
Noah looked around. His big blue eyes were bloodshot and tearful. He stared at Noah with horror, with fear.
“It’s okay,” Cameron said. His own hands shaking but trying not to show that was the case. “It’s—it’s just turbulence. It happens all the time.”
“But I’m scared.”
“I know. I… I used to be scared of planes too, you know? But you know what always helps me?”
“What?”
“Count back from one hundred. See if you’re still worried when you get to one. Okay?”
Noah narrowed his eyes. Looked unsure.
“Go on,” Cameron said. “Give it a try and see how it works.”
Noah nodded. Then silently, he started to whisper the numbers, count his way down.
And as Cameron sat there, he realised Noah was holding his hand.
And he realised he was counting, too.
He realised he wasn’t afraid.
He looked over Noah at Melissa, who Noah sat between.
Saw the smile stretch across her face.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m so proud. I’m so—”
A bang.
All the lights went out.
Only this time, they didn’t come back on.
And this time, it wasn’t long before Cameron was screaming.
It would be the last sound he ever made.
But the last sound he ever heard?
Little Noah counting down from one hundred, as the plane hurtled towards the earth, in total darkness.
Chapter Two
New Year’s Eve
20:00
Four Hours Before the Event…
* * *
Max stared into the mirror and really, really wished he didn’t have to work tonight.
It was eight p.m., New Year’s Eve. He could already hear the fireworks starting in the distance outside. His home was peaceful. Well out of the way of any riff-raff. Only a couple of houses up here in the middle of nowhere, right on the edge of the Beacon Fell country park and nature reserve, and he didn’t really know much about his neighbours. Everyone up here preferred to keep themselves to themselves. Max liked it that way, too. Suited him perfectly. Far preferred the rural lifestyle. Trees. Fields. Nobody to worry about for miles.
And sure. They’d built a little community estate at the foot of the hill a few years back, which housed some less than savoury types. But they didn’t bother him. As long as they kept out of his way, all was good.
He could hear the rain outside. Part of him hoped that meant tonight would be a quieter one, but who was he kidding? It was New Year’s Eve for a start, which was always a shitshow. And it was the first New Year’s Eve since the whole coronavirus pandemic crippled the globe. First real chance for a party, restriction-free.
Make no mistake about it, tonight was going to be an absolute blowout, and he hated the thought.
He stared into the mirror. Looked older and more miserable every time he caught his reflection. He was in his forties. Well built. Looked after himself pretty well. None of those designer gyms you see fancy pricks going to. He didn’t have time for that calorie-counting, protein-weighing bullshit. Just proper stuff. His own sets of weights. Lift until he was knackered, run the next day, and then back to the lifting the day after.
People were so obsessed with process these days. They forgot we all come from ancestors who didn’t have the luxury of MyFitness apps or whatever the hell these rip-off subscriptions were.
We came from a breed of people who got fit because they had to be fit. Not because they wanted to look good on a damned Tinder profile picture.
His beard looked a little long and needed a trim. He smirked a bit when he saw a grey hair there. Remembered Kathryn pointing out his first grey beard hair all those years ago. How he swore he’d find a grey hair on her head too to make up for it. Pretending he’d found one, even though he was blatantly lying.
“Haven’t done too bad on the greying front, eh?” he muttered.
Nobody responded.
As always, nobody responded.
His smile dropped a little as he looked at his dark hair. As he buttoned up his black shirt, a little too tight for his body. And as he grabbed his fleece and zipped it right up. He stood there. Took a few deep breaths. Really grounded himself in the moment.
Tonight was going to be a shitshow. Drunken people were the worst. Drunken people on New Year’s Eve were even worse. And drunken people on New Year’s Eve right at the end of a global pandemic were the absolute worst.
He hated people. Make no mistake about that. If he had it his way, he’d never have to deal with another single bloody person again in his life.
But at least on this job, he didn’t have to like people. He didn’t have to get on with people, not as a security guard. Sure, in the army, he’d had to cooperate with people. And in his years as a police officer, he’d had to get on with people, too. Can’t get away with being a dick all the time. You could try, of course. He knew a bloke called Detective Brian McDone once. He was pretty old school. What you see is what you get, for better or for worse.
But look what happened to him. He ended up buggering off to Spain on early retirement because he couldn’t hack it anymore.
Last Max heard, he’d broken his ankle in a jet ski accident.
He looked around at the double bed. One side slightly more sunken than the other, the side he always slept on. He looked at the room, dusty and dark. A few cobwebs hanging down from the wooden beams of the cottage above. Clothes scattered around the floor. A few coffee cups on the side of the bedside table, and a couple of half-emptied beer glasses, too.
It wasn’t too bad. Sure, Kathryn wouldn’t have liked it. She was always so house-proud. But he didn’t have anyone coming round here these days. Didn’t have any guests to worry about.
And he liked it that way.
So if he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, what was he worrying about, really?
He went to grab his phone off the bed when he heard something fall across the room.
He looked back, over towards the mirror he’d just been staring into, all murky and smudged.
Beside it, the photograph lying face down.
He felt
a knot in his stomach. He didn’t really want to go over there. Didn’t really want to see. Because it just brought it all back. Reminded him of what he’d had.
Of what he’d lost.
But he walked over. Slowly.
Heart racing.
And when he reached it, he stopped.
Took a few breaths.
Then he lifted it.
He saw the photograph right away, and he was back there again.
The beach. Greece, five years ago. Stiflingly hot summer. Really bloody warm.
Him.
Kathryn.
And little David, too.
He looked at the three of them in that photo, and he could hear the crashing of the waves, the kids’ laughter. He could smell the salt of the sea and the sun cream in the air. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin.
And he could feel happiness.
A feeling that didn’t seem to align with him anymore.
An item of clothing that didn’t fit.
That’d shrunk in the wash.
He swallowed a lump in his throat.
And he turned the photo around.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to look at it again when he got back tonight.
Wasn’t sure he wanted to see.
He stood there a few seconds as his heart started racing, beating, thumping.
The memory.
The shouts.
The screams.
