“Thank you – for earlier,” she said, later that evening, after they’d both forced some cold food down.
“No thanks needed. I’m just glad we got out OK,” he replied, glancing up from the ration count he was undertaking.
“What happened?” asked Lucy, drawing the blanket in closer around her as she perched on the bar stool.
“Some guys robbed a local bank. They didn’t use detonators or anything, so I’m guessing they weren’t professionals. But they had automatic weapons, so they weren’t angels either. Just opportunists. I think they figured out the cameras weren’t working so took their chance. Simple as that.”
“What about the shooting? Was anyone hurt?”
Dan leaned in to examine an item on his list.
“Dan?” persisted Lucy.
“Yes,” he answered, not looking up.
“Oh,” said Lucy, quietly, blushing, her eyes falling on the floor.
Dan continued rummaging and scribbling for a few more minutes, then stood up straight.
“Done,” he declared, tossing the biro onto the table. “We’re good for four weeks. I’ve laid everything out in groups, so we can keep track of what we’re using. I think we should leave it on the side. It’s good to see how much food we’ve got left – we don’t ever wanna risk getting caught out.”
“OK,” said Lucy, with a nod. She shivered as a cocktail of gratitude, fear, and guilt washed over her. Unlike the rest of the population, they were ready.
THREE
Cassie
_____________________________
30 HOURS EARLIER. MIDDAY, FRIDAY.
“Hey Myles,” said Lucy, cornering her boss as he stood by the water cooler wearing another awful black turtleneck, “about that design for the Colchester firm.”
“Mmm – not now,” he waved, staring past her at the TV.
Lucy turned and followed his gaze to the far wall of the staff lounge.
“What’s going on?” she asked, acutely aware of the five p.m. deadline her clients had set.
“Everyone aboard the ISS is dead,” said Myles, his eyes still glued to the screen.
“The ISS? As in the Int–”
“The International Space Station, yes,” he snapped, his arms resolutely folded as he stared intently through his hipster glasses.
Lucy stopped scanning the room for other colleagues she needed to talk to, and started paying attention to the images on the TV.
A helicopter circled above a small black-brown capsule, which floated precariously atop the swell of the ocean. A naval rib, staffed with seamen in orange rescue suits, approached the floating cone-shaped object. As they drew level, the rescuers attempted to secure rope lines around the object.
They eventually succeeded and, once securely moored against the capsule, began to drill into its hull. They made swift progress. The helicopter camera zoomed in as the rescuers prized the hatch open. The opening was tiny, and its contents completely obscured from view by the lead rescuer, who was now leaning into the container.
He recoiled and shouted something to a colleague, who clearly disputed the information and approached the hatch opening himself only to similarly recoil in disbelief. The pair began to wave their arms, and one pulled out a radio. The camera zoomed out to reveal a US Navy frigate, which slowly tacked towards the bobbing pod.
“It’s the Soyuz capsule,” said Myles, without taking his eyes from the screen. “That charred cone. It was transporting the previous crew of the ISS back to Earth. But according to the news, NASA lost signal from the capsule during re-entry. Ah, come on!” he blurted, as the TV began to freeze up in pixelated glitches until the image distorted completely and the broadcast cut back to the newsroom.
“It was supposed to land in Uzbekistan or Kazakhstan or somewhere,” Myles continued, looking at Lucy briefly, then back at the screen, “and instead it wound up in the Gulf of Aden, which is not near. Hey, here we go,” he added, as the footage cut to an infographic charting the capsule’s deviated course.
“What killed them?” asked Lucy, also now glued to the screen. “Have people ever died on the ISS before?”
“No,” said Myles, “and they have no idea what did it. Apparently the whole station crew’s heart rates plummeted during the night, and NASA have since lost all contact with the station. Or at least that’s what the media’s claiming.”
“Email and internet’s down for a while, people, sorry, soz, sorry,” came the IT technician’s voice as he whirred through the staff lounge in a hurry. “I’m gonna go reset the server so bear with me, and don’t shoot the messenger, yada yada …”
“Oh great, well there goes the stock image library,” said Lucy, mentally cursing as her five p.m. deadline slipped yet again.
“What was it you wanted?” asked Myles, finally peeling his eyes from the TV, which had moved on to a fresh story.
“It can wait now,” said Lucy. “I’d better go phone the Colchester firm – and tell them their promo video’s gonna be more like six p.m. at this rate.”
“Where are they based?” queried Myles, as Lucy withdrew.
“London,” she called over her shoulder. “They’re pulling an all-nighter.”
“Let me know if you get through,” he persisted. “I had a teleconference scheduled with some clients there this morning, but we couldn’t connect.”
“Oh joy,” said Lucy, rushing back to the office.
***
“Sorry I’m late!” chimed Lucy, bustling into the booth Cassie had reserved. She was definitely on the seven-thirty side of “seven o’clock”. She took off her jacket and ran her hands through her long brown hair, which fell elegantly either side of her pale cheeks. The new sports bar was busy for a Friday night. “Maps wasn’t working on my phone – no GPS signal or whatever.”
“It’s fiiiine,” slurred Cassie. “I had problems with my cell earlier, don’t take it personal, Luce.” Cassie was halfway through an aggressively cheerful cocktail, and there was a suspiciously empty identical glass next to it. She laid her cracked smartphone out on the table. “It made me super late for a client appointment.”
“Ever considered buying a case?” said Lucy, frowning at the splintered screen.
“Yes, Lucy, it’s top of my to-do list – right after getting a boyfriend, a home, having kids, quitting my awful job, and stopping hating life,” snarked Cassie.
“Glad you’re taking that trademark optimism into your thirties.”
“It served me so well in my twenties, why stop now?” drooled Cassie, taking another long drag through her straw. “Yes, I drank yours,” she added, catching Lucy’s glance at the empty glass. “You were late! What was I supposed to do, let it get warm? God, Luce, I’m not an animal.”
The waiter swung by.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” said Lucy.
“Two cosmopolitans and a piña colada,” replied the waiter, making a note.
“This is your third cocktail?” exclaimed Lucy, turning to Cassie. “I was only thirty minutes late!”
“Pff. ‘Only.’ Time is precious, Luce, gotta make the most of it. Besides, we Asians are famous for holding our liquor. That will do us nicely, thank you, good sir,” she added, dismissing the waiter. “Luce, your hair looks freakin’ incredible. Oh my god, what do you use in it?” She almost threw herself over the table in a bid to reach Lucy’s locks.
“OK great, so we’re at the hair-smelling stage already.”
“I may have had some pre-drinks,” confessed Cassie, doing a small victory dance in the orange leather booth. “Hey, what’s your news?” she buzzed, still dancing. “You said you had news, tell me! Oh my gosh, are you pregnant?”
“Am I what? No, I am not pregnant!” laughed Lucy.
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing – it can wait. Let’s get you some nice starchy carbohydrates first, shall we?” said Lucy, reaching for the menu.
“Hey!” yelled Cassie, staring over Lucy’s shoulder. “Hey! Fix
your TV, man!”
Lucy turned and looked at the jittering sports screen. Large pixelated blocks stuttered across between blackouts, which was invoking disapproval from the bar’s regulars.
“I don’t think it’s their fault, Cass – our TV at work was doing the sa–”
Cassie ignored Lucy completely, cutting across her.
“Do you even know how to run an establishment like this?” she yelled, grabbing a handful of salted cashews from the bowl on their table.
“Amen to that!” burped one of the balding men propping up the bar, turning and raising his beer in concurrence.
“I really hope you ordered those,” said Lucy, regarding the half-eaten nuts with suspicion.
“One thing,” said Cassie, shoveling cashews into her mouth. “All I wanted for my birthday was to see my best friend and watch the ball game, but can I even have that? No!”
“Hey, I’m here, right?” said Lucy, scooting round to Cassie’s side and placing a consoling arm around her drooped shoulder.
“Meh,” she shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
Lucy lifted the arm off and Cassie burst out laughing.
“Relax! I’m jerkin’ you around. You’re the best!” squealed Cassie, nearly wiping Lucy out with the force of her counter-hug.
The waiter recoiled just in time to save the new cocktails from annihilation, as he began serving up the fresh round.
“What’s with your TV, bro? It sucks,” said Cassie, turning her attention to the attractive waiter, and sliding Lucy’s cocktail across with excessive speed.
“Sorry ma’am, we’re trying to fix it. I think the satellite network’s having some trouble, it’s across all the channels,” he replied, while Lucy dabbed spilt cocktail off her jeans.
“OK pal,” replied Cassie. “I’ll take your word for it, but only because you look like you were carved from freakin’ candy.” She reached out to stroke his face and the waiter swiftly backed away. Lucy mouthed an apology over her friend’s shoulder.
“Uhhhhh! Are you shitting me?” said Cassie, slumping onto the table and burying her face in her arms with a groan.
“What?” said Lucy, looking around. Her eyes fell upon the door: Myles had just entered, with a girl. “Ah. Not ideal,” she conceded.
“You see that bitch he’s with?” mumbled Cassie from the table.
“Do you know her?” replied Lucy, surveying the petite blonde across the room.
“No, but she’s a bitch.”
“OK, we hate her, I’m cool with that,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes and taking a substantial swig of cocktail. “You wanna go someplace else?”
“He’s your boss, can’t you just tell him to fuck off?” pleaded Cassie, turning her head to the side to peer out at Lucy.
“I think that’s the last thing I can say to my boss, Cass,” retorted Lucy, as the petite blonde took Myles’s arm and laughed enthusiastically at some comment he’d made.
“Oh god, she looks about twenty! She’s like half his age! Why is this happening to me?” whined Cassie, craning her neck out of their booth to get a proper view. “Shit!” She gasped, immediately ducking back down. “They saw me, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” replied Lucy.
“Are they leaving?”
“No,” muttered Lucy, looking straight ahead with a fixed smile as Myles began to limp towards them. “They’re coming over.”
“Fuck! Fuck! This is not happening! No, no, no!” moaned Cassie, peering out of the booth again. “Wait, why is he even walking like that?” With that, she began to slide further down her seat until she was entirely submerged beneath the table.
“Cassie!” hissed Lucy. “Cassie, get up! You’re being ridiculous! They’re – Myles!” said Lucy, suddenly warming her tone and standing up to give her boss a cordial hug. “Long time no see! What’s it been, forty-five minutes?”
“I think we could call it forty-six, but I won’t split hairs,” he replied with a chuckle.
“That’d be a first,” came a mutter from under the table.
Myles rocked on his heels and hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to acknowledge the table situation. Lucy’s throat began to dry with the awkwardness. Mercifully, Myles blinked first.
“Ah, Cassie,” he said, striking an unconvincing tone of surprise. “I didn’t see you there. How’s it going? It’s your birthday, right? Happy birthday.”
“Leave it, Myles,” huffed Cassie, clambering out from under the table to the genuine surprise of the petite blonde. “If there’s one thing I learned over the past eighteen months, it’s that birthdays mean jack to you. No wait, not birthdays, people. People mean jack to you.”
Cassie swayed as she stood, prompting Lucy to put out a steadying arm, which Cassie gripped like the rail of a cruise ship.
“Perhaps we should be leaving,” said Myles, his eyes darting away as Lucy tried to offer him a sympathetic smile through her own blushing.
“I’m Cassie,” said Cassie, leaning into Lucy’s by-now-restraining arm and scowling at the terrified blonde. “Did he ever tell you about me?”
“Um … no … but it’s a pleasure to meet you, Cassie,” said the younger girl, meekly extending a hand. “I’m Jennifer.”
“Oh god,” said Cassie, burying her head directly into Lucy’s bosom. “Don’t tell me she’s nice. I can’t handle nice.” She spat the word like it was something dirty. “Lucy, I’m not equipped to deal with this situation, make it go away.”
“Um,” said Lucy, stroking her best friend’s hair as Jennifer’s hand slowly lowered.
“Wonderful to see you both,” winced Myles.
“It’s …” trailed off Lucy, also rendered socially constipated.
“No!” cried Cassie, straightening up again. “No, Myles. It’s my birthday, so this time, I’m the one who gets to leave. Come on Lucy!” she said, pushing through Lucy’s arm barrier and staggering away towards the exit.
“I should go catch her up – I’m so sorry,” bumbled Lucy, but Myles waved a dismissive hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Jennifer. I hope you both have a nice evening. See you tomorrow, Myles.”
He nodded, lips pursed in a painful smile. Lucy hastily pulled out some cash and left it on the table, knowing full well that Cassie wouldn’t have paid for any of her drinks thus far, then set off after her drunken friend.
“What was up with his walk?” slurred Cassie, staggering down the sidewalk defiantly.
“Golfing injury, apparently,” shrugged Lucy.
Cassie looked at Lucy incredulously. “What kind of A-hole injures themselves playing golf? Is that even possible?”
“Apparently, yeah.”
“Ugh, who am I kidding, he still looked fantastic,” whined Cassie.
Lucy kept quiet. She’d never understood Cassie’s attraction to Myles. At a glance, the turtleneck made him look like a hipster, but in reality the man simply hadn’t updated his wardrobe since the eighties. And he played golf.
“Worst. Birthday. Ever,” grumbled Cassie, dragging her feet.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” countered Lucy. “My tenth birthday was my first birthday without my mom. That was pretty sucky.”
“Ah, cry me a river, heard it all before,” dismissed Cassie.
“No siblings,” continued Lucy, “a poor only child stuck on a Louisiana ranch, not realizing my dad was becoming an alcoholic …”
“Whatever, Luce, you had a terrible childhood. Give a crap?”
“I’d rather have a terrible childhood than your depressing-as-fuck adulthood,” said Lucy, slapping Cassie playfully.
“You are such a jerk!” cried Cassie, laughing. “What would I do without you? Apart from all the way-cooler friends you’re obviously holding me back from getting.”
“Cassie, I actually do need to tell you something. My news – it’s about my mom.” Lucy reached out to her friend. “I found her.”
“Wait, what? That’s … I didn’t even know you were looking for her! I can�
��t believe you kept that from me!”
“I’ve kept it from Dan, too.”
“Jesus Christ, Lucy, this is huge. Where is she?”
“Boston, apparently.”
“Boston? I swear your family has some sorta allergy to staying still. How did you …?”
“I used an agency. They tracked her down. Took them a while – turns out she’s changed her whole name. Calls herself Veronica now.”
“Lucy, this is insane. Are you gonna go find her?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t really had time to think about it. I only got the letter a few days ago. They sent a follow-up email today asking what I want to do next, and I honestly haven’t a clue.”
“You have to meet with her!”
Lucy shrugged. “I’m not so sure. She was a pretty terrible mom. If I did, it would only be to ask her why she was such an asshole.”
“It’s like … your destiny!” breathed Cassie.
“Oh my god, you are so full of crap.”
“Dan’ll back me up on this. You’re gonna tell him, right?”
“At some point. Just gotta find the right way. He’s not the biggest fan of my mom. He’s heard the stories.”
“Lemme see the email,” demanded Cassie.
Lucy retrieved her phone. “Sure, it’s … Oh, great, now there’s literally zero signal,” she sighed, shoving the useless phone back in her pocket.
“I bet there’s Wi-Fi in that place over there,” said Cassie, pointing to a bar across the street, “which is perfect, because you look really thirsty. Come on Luce, your treat.”
***
There was a knock at the door. Lucy checked her redundant phone: it was nearly one a.m. She’d only just got back in, after finally bundling Cassie into a cab. The bar (and the rest of the neighborhood) had lost power, bringing Cassie’s power-drinking to a fortuitous end, and allowing Lucy to enjoy a starry, sobering walk home.
Another set of knocks. Quietly, she got up from the kitchen bar stool and tiptoed towards the front door.
Lucy raised her eye to the peephole: it was pitch black in the corridor. A third set of knocks pounded the wood and she recoiled from the door with a gasp.
Convulsive Box Set Page 4
