by Ryan Casey
Martin smirked. “Thought so.”
They walked further along these hills. Martin’s footsteps crunched through the fallen leaves and sloshed through the muddy ground. He kept on looking around for signs that this really was an EMP. He’d only seen one crashed plane, and he was off road, so he hadn’t seen any cars yet. Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe there was still hope.
Ominously, he hadn’t seen anything in the sky.
Martin stopped at one stage. He took a handy magnet out of his pocket and touched the South Pole of the magnet to the point of a needle he carried. Then, he touched the opposite pole to the eye. He picked up a leaf, popped the needle on the leaf and sat it on a little puddle of water. Pointed right ahead. Confirmed their direction.
“So are you gonna tell me why the hell you’re messing around with magnets and leaves? Or are we just going to pretend that didn’t just happen?”
Martin smiled. “It’s a makeshift compass. Makes sense to keep track of where we’re heading.”
“And you just happened to have a magnet and a needle with you, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah. And it’s a good job I did. But if I didn’t have a magnet, I could just rub the needle onto a wool jumper or something for about two minutes. Same effect.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Magnets. Needles. Could you not have brought, like, a bike along or something?”
Martin frowned. “A bike?”
Ella nodded like it was common sense. “Yeah. We’d get there much quicker on a bike.”
“Along these muddy hills? You really think so?”
Ella shrugged and sighed again. “I just... I hate this. And I can’t stop thinking. About the plane.”
Martin’s stomach turned. Shit. He knew he should’ve shown more sympathy. Ella had seen something shocking. Something that would stay with her for life. It’d sure stay with Martin, that was for certain.
The sight of those charred bodies.
The smell of hot metal and burned meat.
The taste of blood in the air.
And the sound of that pained man’s wails, dying right before him.
“I keep thinking about it too,” Martin said, slowing down a little. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It’s... it’s not a good thing to have in our minds.”
She looked away from him. Stared off into the distance. Held those hands close to her chest, covered her arms, protected them.
And he wanted to ask her about it.
He wanted to know what drove her to do something he didn’t even want to admit his little girl did.
“If you want to talk about anything, you can do, okay?”
She looked around at him.
Their eyes met.
They held for a few seconds.
She opened her mouth like she was going to say something.
And then she half-smiled. “I want to talk about how much these trainers cost. Cause when all this gets sorted, you owe me a new pair.”
Her smile widened. And Martin found himself smiling too.
For all the shitness of this situation, this felt like the first time he’d really connected with his daughter in years.
And it felt... dangerous.
He looked away from her before she could say anything else and turned to the hills ahead.
“We don’t have far to go. Should be there in no time. Come on.”
He swore he heard Ella mumble something under her breath. He swore he heard her sigh.
But then he heard her cry out.
He turned around.
Ella lay on the ground.
Covered in mud.
Wincing as she held on to her ankle.
“Ella?” Martin said.
He rushed over to her side. She sat there in the mud, cursing, squeezing her ankle.
“What happened?” Martin asked.
“I just slipped. My ankle. It kills.”
Shit. Less than a frigging day away with his daughter and already he’d got her bloody injured. God forbid what her awkward grandma might say. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s get you to your feet. See if you can stand.”
“I can’t—”
“Ella, you’ve got to try.”
She turned and looked at him as he crouched there, hand extended.
“Come on,” Martin said. “Let’s just see.”
She very visibly swallowed a lump in her throat.
Then she grabbed his hand and pulled herself to her feet.
She winced a few more times at first. The first couple of steps were laboured.
But the more pressure she applied, the more Martin realised she was okay.
“You’re fine. See?”
She looked up at him.
Hand still in his.
Cold.
Bony.
But Ella’s hand in his.
“Thanks,” she said.
And then she did something he knew he didn’t deserve.
She smiled at him.
He nodded.
Then he let go of her hand and turned away.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to keep moving. But watch your step this time. I’ve already got Grandma Moira’s bill for a new pair of Stan Smiths heading my way. Rather not have to answer for a broken ankle, too.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was half an hour later that Martin’s fears rose even more.
The sun had hidden behind the thick grey clouds again. At least it wasn’t pissing it down. Small victories. Had to take them when pretty much everything else was going against you.
And everything was going against them.
Especially with what they saw in front of them.
There was a helicopter before them. An Air Ambulance helicopter, the kind that saves idiots who think they’re mountaineers and get their idiot arses stuck up Scafell Pike on a daily basis when they realise they’re nowhere near fit enough to make it back before dark.
The helicopter had crashed.
Shards of smashed glass poked up from the muddy ground. The rotors reached up into the air, one of them twisted underneath. Martin couldn’t see inside the helicopter all that clearly. He didn’t need to.
He saw the deep red of blood somewhere behind where the windscreen used to be.
He didn’t hear any sounds.
That’s all he needed to know.
All the memories of the last crashed helicopter he’d come across, all those years ago.
Except this time, there were no screams.
There was no hope for anyone inside.
Their time was already up.
“So it really is one of these EMP things,” Ella said.
Hearing the words aloud made the hairs on the back of Martin’s neck stand on end. Because Ella was right. The blackout at the cabin, and it looked ominous. The car out too, things were getting even more damning.
A plane... hell, it looked nigh on certain.
But now a helicopter, too...
Martin couldn’t even begin to think of any other explanation for this.
“There’s still a chance it’s just localised,” Martin said, not so sure whether he even believed his own words at this stage. “There have been localised EMP detonations in the past. Experiments gone wrong. That sort of thing. And if you’re going to do something like that anywhere, why not the most remote part of the Lake District?”
“But the planes,” Ella said, staring towards the broken remains of the helicopter. “The helicopters. Why would they do anything that put those at risk?”
Martin looked at the remains himself. Peered in through that smashed glass. Imagined who might be in there. Some idiot climber, no doubt. But regardless, they didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserved this.
And the heroes at the Air Ambulance who did this selfless, charity funded job... for them to die like this...
Bitterness filled Martin’s mouth.
There would be so many like them out there. And it made him feel numb.
Beside
s. All that bullshit he was peddling about localised EMPs. It didn’t look like that. Not to him. It looked solar. Like an electromagnetic surge caused by a CME from the sun.
The further he walked, the more he saw that backed up his fears.
“I don’t know,” Martin said. “But this doesn’t change anything. We need to keep going to Eskdale Green. Chances are, somewhere more populated will have more answers than we have right now, anyway.”
Ella looked at him. She wiped her hair out of her face. She looked uncertain. Unconvinced.
“And if there’s no answers there? What then?”
Martin hadn’t even begun to consider the alternatives. If there were no answers in Eskdale Green, what could he do?
If this was widespread, then what was the best thing he could do for Ella’s safety?
Head back to his cabin? The location was good, but there weren’t enough things stocked there to last him. He’d need to go out. Salvage whatever he could from the remaining supermarkets, which was a dangerous mission in itself. Gather whatever he needed to survive, then move to a more sustainable lifestyle.
But that left Ella.
He could try getting her back home to her grandmother. But even that sounded dangerous. If this really was widespread, then things were only going to get worse in the towns and cities. He’d be leading her right into a trap.
But at the same time, if this really was bad, then there were perhaps more chances of coming upon a group who could help nearer to a more populated place. Someone who knew how to handle things. Someone who knew how to look after people.
He pushed that thought aside for now. He would cross that bridge when the time came.
He rubbed the back of his head. Looked at Ella, but avoided eye contact. “How’s your, erm, ankle?”
Ella looked down at her spoiled white trainers and her dirty blue jeans, and she nodded. “Better than it was. How’s your back?”
Martin frowned. “Back?”
Ella smiled. Not at Martin, but just in general. “Mum used to always say... she used to always say you’d start off walking so quickly, powering ahead of her. And then the longer you walked, you’d say your back was aching. That you couldn’t walk any quicker ’cause of it. So Mum would always finish the walk ahead of you. She always said it was just an excuse. Said you just burned yourself out at the start of the walk. But you always said the same thing. Your back.”
Martin smiled at the thought. He felt himself transported again. The smells of the fresh grass. The cool wind whooshing over him. Silence for miles, but for the birds. The occasional microlight or small jet shooting over the only sign of life.
He remembered being so out of breath. Seeing Sarah catching up with him with her steady pace. See her march ahead of him after he burned out so early in the journey.
He remembered her looking back and smiling at him, and he felt he was back there all over again.
He looked back at Ella, and he smiled. “It’s doing fine. I mean, I’m still walking quicker than you, right?”
She glared at him.
For a moment, he thought he saw Ella smile back at him.
But then they both turned around, the moment over, a new road ahead.
“Come on,” Martin said. “We’re almost there.”
Ella waited a few seconds.
She stood there, watched Martin walk past the remains of the helicopter.
And then she followed, and the pair of them walked.
A thick grey cloud drifted overhead.
Chapter Fourteen
Garrett ran into the woods as fast as he could, constantly looking over his shoulder.
It was morning. The trees were so much greener than he remembered, even though it was autumn. He’d missed autumn. Always his favourite season. Mostly because he was ginger and fair-skinned, which made him more likely to burn in the summer sun.
Mum used to tell him not to put any sun cream on. She told him it was bad for the skin. It’s a plot, lad. The big companies pump all this cancer-causing shit into the creams so that they can keep their friends at the drugs companies making money. Makes you burn easier, so you buy more. It’s a plot. A dirty money plot.
Now, looking back, Garrett realised his mum was probably deluded. She was deluded about a lot of things.
Still didn’t fancy wearing any sun cream, though.
Hell. He hadn’t had any reason or chance to these last nine years.
He took a deep lungful of fresh air as he kept on racing along. Every single breath was beautiful. See, when you were locked in prison, you got time to go outside. An hour a day sometimes if you were lucky. But the air was different in there. The air was sweaty. And every breath you took, there was always that knowledge that someone could confront you at any moment. Someone could challenge you. Someone could try to attack you.
But out here, Garrett felt free.
Out here, Garrett knew he was where he belonged.
In his natural habitat.
An animal ain’t meant to be locked away in a cage Mum used to say. And, boy, we’re all animals in this world.
He looked over his shoulder. His legs were sore as shit. He’d done more running than he’d done in nine years. He used to run a lot when he was younger. Couldn’t afford a car or public transport most of the time, so he’d just run everywhere. The Running Boy, people used to call him. When they weren’t calling him the “spawn of the weirdo at Number 12,” anyway.
He didn’t let it get to him. He knew his mum was sick. He knew she needed help.
But she was a clever woman, deep down. Not everyone had to see that for him to know.
He stumbled over to a tree and planted himself down beside it. He felt cold damp ground spread across his barely covered arse. He was still in his grey prison gear. He knew he’d need to change that soon if he wanted to blend in, but he hadn’t had a chance yet.
He had no idea how far he’d been running. Just that he’d sensed an opportunity, and he’d taken it.
He remembered waking up in HMP Haverigg in the early hours to the sound of a bang. Shouting. Darkness. People all outside their cells.
He stepped out of his cell. Looked around.
He saw inmates fighting guards.
Overpowering them.
Kicking their heads in.
He’d seen riots before. Plenty of them.
But there was something different about that riot in the night.
He realised what it was pretty soon after.
The sound of the alarm. There was none. Usually, that sound gave you the feeling there were more guards. It created that vibe that no matter how much order was collapsing, it was just temporary. It would get back under control.
But the lack of that sound had done something to the inmates last night.
It’d made their voices the loudest noise in the prison.
That changed things.
He kept a low profile as he worked his way past fallen guards. He saw blood. Throats cut. He saw inmates running past, bundles of cigarettes in hand. He saw a place that sometimes teetered on the brink of falling apart collapse, right in an instant.
And he sensed an opportunity.
He was nine years into a life sentence for multiple murder. He tried to go down the psychiatric route. Sometimes he thought he must have something wrong with him to end up so cold.
And people said he was several things. They said he was a psychopath. A sociopath. They said he couldn’t be helped.
They said there was no chance of rehabilitation for him.
So they locked up him and threw away the key.
He say back against the cool bark of the tree. Looked up to the sky. Felt leaves falling down onto him and smiled.
He remembered the day he put a pillow over his mother’s face. She was sleeping on the sofa, snoring away in their small, one-bedroom bedsit. He was twenty-three at the time.
He heard her snoring and saw her oxygen tank beside, and he knew she was suffering. He knew she was struggling
.
So he’d done her a favour.
Even though she struggled when he held that pillow in place, he was just helping her out. Relieving her pain.
But something else happened when he took that pillow away and looked down into her pale face.
Something awoke inside him.
That animal urge.
That hunter’s urge.
He heard something rustle over towards his right. Somewhere up ahead, he heard voices. People talking to one another.
His heart began to pound.
Sweat trickled down his forehead.
He knew he should behave. He’d only just escaped prison. He should just lay as low as possible and take advantage of the chaos. Something had happened with the power, and it looked like it’d happened everywhere. He had to make the most of that while he could.
But then there was that other side.
That other urge telling him to make the most of his free time in a different way.
Because it had been so long since he’d hunted.
So, so long since he’d had the chance to feel that buzz, the greatest buzz of all.
He stood up. Crept through the woods. Moved from tree to tree. Closer towards that movement. Closer towards those voices.
He stopped and perched behind a tree. Waited a few seconds.
He looked around the tree, and he saw them.
A man and a woman. Both dressed in bright red gilets. The man was short, with a shaven head. The woman short and blonde.
Both of them smiling.
Both of them happy.
And that’s what made this all better.
The fact they didn’t even know what was coming their way.
He tensed his fists. Watched the man and woman walk up ahead.
And then he stepped out behind them.
The craving took over him.
The urge surrounded him.
It was time to hunt.
Chapter Fifteen
When they reached Eskdale Green, Martin knew right away things were widespread.
The place looked like any other Lake District village, really. Narrow, unmarked roads. Quaint, grey-bricked houses that Martin used to always envisage living in one day. A landscape of hills surrounding the place. It looked perfect.
