by Ryan Casey
I was debating where I might shelter and when I might consider stopping for a break when I saw something up ahead—something that took the decision out of my hands for me.
There was a suburban town. And it was a town name I recognised. Chorley.
I felt tingling in my stomach when I saw Chorley. It wasn’t too far away from my home town of Preston. Certainly within walking distance, probably in a good four, five hours or so. Maybe more accounting for the less risky route. And that meant that if I rested up near here tonight, a solid day of walking tomorrow would get me home in time.
But Chorley, as expected, didn’t look in the best of states.
I saw people in the streets scrapping with one another. Men spilling out of the pub, clearly too much booze in their systems. I saw smashed windows. I saw people hiding behind curtains, staring out at the chaos.
I kept on walking, keeping my head low. It wasn’t like I’d be worth mugging. I didn’t have anything on me. But I knew for a fact I couldn’t stay in central Chorley after seeing the state it was in. I needed to get just outside of it, maybe kip in someone’s garden shed for the time being.
But even that felt like such a dangerous thing to do when the town was clearly caving in on itself.
Wherever I looked, I saw some evidence of criminal damage or graffiti. Barely a minute passed by between hearing more windows smash, more places being broken into and wrecked. I realised what must be happening here. There was a prison nearby. The prison doors would’ve opened, and as much as the prison officers would’ve tried to keep that place under control, I had no doubt that the prisoners would have broken out. So many of them would now be enjoying the chaos, living life as fast as they could while they felt they had an opportunity to do so.
And others?
People were just enjoying being free of the shackles that society wrapped so tightly around them.
I picked up my pace when I heard a couple of clearly drunken men staggering out of an alley to my left. Just typical. Country goes to shit and what does the average British man do? He goes to the pub and he gets pissed. A quote from Shaun of the Dead comes to mind. I’ll leave you to figure that one out.
Growing uncomfortable with their level of shouting, I took a right and ended up on another street that was similarly wrecked. Car windows had been smashed. Graffiti had been scrawled across the ground. Electrical pylons were clinging on to whatever remained of their cobweb-like wires. Remains of those who had been fried by the blast were scattered all over the place. But this street was emptier than the last. I had to go down it. I had to find somewhere to shelter.
And then I had to rest up and move on.
It was when I was about half a mile down the street that I noticed something unusual.
It was on my right. And at first, I almost walked past it; it took that long to dawn on me.
But then I looked back and I saw it.
There was a light.
I narrowed my eyebrows. That light, it looked artificial and flickering. Not like the light of a candle or a torch. But of something else.
Something familiar.
I took a deep breath and blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.
But there was no doubt about it.
There was a light in this house opposite me.
And it was a light I recognised.
Just as quickly as I realised what it was, the curtains closed.
The light was hidden from view.
But I had no doubts about what I had to do now.
I had no doubts about what I had to go investigate.
Because inside that house, I’d seen something impossible.
A television.
A working television.
And it’d been switched on.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I looked at the closed curtains of the house with the television inside and I knew I couldn’t just walk away without knowing what was hiding behind those curtains.
The sun was setting and daylight was growing duller. I knew I should be putting more attention on getting to shelter, on making sure I had somewhere to stay for the night. But this was more important than that. This was a working television. Electricity working in a country where, so far, aside from by the military, I hadn’t seen any evidence of it working anywhere else.
And not just any old electricity. This was a working television. Which meant there could well be a working signal.
And if there was a working signal, then perhaps there was a chance to figure out what the hell was happening after all.
I looked to my left and to my right. I could still hear the smashing of glass and the shouts of rowdy thugs in this crumbling town. But I couldn’t see anyone around me. So I knew now was my opportunity. Now was my chance.
I had to investigate this house.
I had to know who was inside it.
What they were hiding.
I walked slowly over to the front door. The bulk of my caution came from the fact I knew I’d seen someone pull the curtains across, so there was a good chance they’d seen me, too.
And if they had a television that was working, who knew what else they might be hiding back there?
I stepped up to the window. I thought about just banging on the window at first, but that would hardly be making a good first impression, especially with some of the other idiots walking around.
So I moved to the front door and banged on it three times.
I waited for some kind of response. Waited for anything. A sound inside would do. The creaking of floorboards. Anything at all like that.
But the longer I waited, the further the silence stretched on, and the more I realised that nobody was going to answer me.
I could turn away.
I could give up.
But curiosity had well and truly got the better of me.
Giving up wasn’t an option.
I walked back over to the window. A morbid part inside of me contemplated lifting a rock and throwing it. But no. Again, I didn’t know who I was dealing with here. If they had a television, they could be someone that I really didn’t want to mess with. And at the same time, they might be able to help me.
So instead, I tapped on the window three times and I hoped for the best.
“I saw you,” I said. “I saw the television, too. I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m just… I’m just looking for some shelter for the night. But when I saw your television, I needed to find out how it was working. I just need to know. You have to understand that. Right?”
The silence stretched on. And the longer it stretched on, the more frustrated I felt myself growing. I didn’t want to cause a scene here. But if it was the difference between me being stuck out on the streets and me getting inside this house to find out what the hell was going on, I knew damn well which of the two options I was going to pick.
“I’m gonna wait here for a few more seconds and if nobody shows, I’m going to come round the back, okay?”
More silence followed.
The seconds ticked away.
No sign of life.
I heard voices at the end of the street. Saw a few hooded figures with rucksacks spilling with stolen supplies. I couldn’t wait out on the street anymore. And I couldn’t draw any attention to this place, either.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m coming round the back.”
I hopped over the metal gate beside the house. I walked down the narrow, dark alleyway, pushed past stacked up bicycles and garden equipment. The further I got down this passageway, the more I worried that someone was going to be waiting for me at the other side, ready to pounce…
But I reached the garden. And when I was in the garden, I noticed something remarkable.
The back door was wide open.
I frowned. That didn’t seem… right. Why would the door be left ajar? If they were so keen on keeping a low profile, why would they leave their rear entrance so easy to get in through? Especially if they had a television.
I didn’t want to go in unarmed. I didn’t know what to expect. So I looked around the garden for something I could use. A broken piece of metal from an old washing line pole. And a fallen brick. They would do. Hoped I wouldn’t have to use them ’cause they could get messy, but they’d do.
I went to grab them.
When I stood back up, I felt cold metal touch the back of my head.
“Get on your knees right this second,” a voice said.
The voice didn’t give me long to respond.
A kick behind the knees and I was on the ground.
And before I could shake free, before I could fight back, before I could even see who was above me, I felt a sack wrap around my head, covering my face completely.
After that, I saw nothing but darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been trapped in the darkness.
All I knew was that I was certain of one thing.
I wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon.
I had no idea what time it was, or what the weather was like outside. Because I had no idea how long I’d been in here; I wasn’t even sure whether it was day or night. I didn’t think I’d got any sleep, so I could only assume it was still the first night. I was hungry. Thirsty. And the air wherever I was—not helped by the fabric bag over my head—was stuffy and damp.
Really, when it boiled down to it, all I knew was that I’d tried to get into the house where I’d seen the television, and someone had stopped me. Why? Well, they were obviously eager to keep their secret as to why they had any kind of working power. And I couldn’t exactly argue with that. It made a lot of sense.
I tried to move but my hands were tied behind my back. My feet had suffered the same fate, tied right around the ankles. The wall I was propped up against was solid, digging into my back. I tried to listen for voices, but there was nothing. Nothing but the occasional dripping of water, and what sounded like scuttling. I pictured a rat scurrying around this place, and I felt myself shudder. There could be all sorts down here and I’d be none the wiser.
I wasn’t wallowing in self-pity or anything like that. After all, I’d got myself into this mess. I’d grown curious, and I’d been captured for it. I just wished the person—or people—who’d captured me had at least given me a moment to explain myself. I wasn’t a threat. I wasn’t the enemy. I wasn’t trying to take anything away from them.
But then of course, that’s what everyone would say. And to them—if they were eager on protecting whatever secrets they had—every outsider was the enemy.
It was a grim way of looking at the world. Sometimes I wondered if I was the only self-centred person on this planet. But sometimes, being self-centred had its benefits. It kept people alive. People you cared about.
You just had to know the right times to show that self-centred side, and the right times to reel it in.
I thought about Sarah and Bobby. Where would they be right now? If I knew Sarah like I thought I did—and I should bloody know her, being her husband—then she’d hopefully just be staying put at home. They had the animals, and they had a fair share of supplies in a cellar under the house.
But knowing Sarah, I knew she had this urge to explore, too. This urge to leave home and go find out what was going on for herself.
I hoped that when she saw that this blackout had affected everywhere, she’d turn right around and head back. After all, home was the safest place to be right now.
But still that fear that something had happened radiated through my system…
I took a deep breath and swallowed a lump in my throat. If there was one thing for sure, it was that I couldn’t just give up and stay here. My family needed me. And I wasn’t getting any closer to them by allowing myself to be held captive.
I had to take responsibility. I had to show some initiative.
I had to fight.
I pulled at the ties around my wrists. It hurt, but I kept on going anyway, because I knew that giving up meant accepting this fate, and that wasn’t something I was willing to do at all.
I pulled at the ones around my ankles too, stretching my feet out as far as I could either side. All it seemed to do was dig into my skin. I swore I could feel the flesh around my wrists and legs chafing, beginning to bleed.
But I gritted my teeth and kept on going.
Kept on going…
But it was useless. My wrists and ankles were a state. My head was aching. The dehydration was getting to me no doubt.
I leaned back and gritted my teeth some more. I needed to think of another way. Maybe if I shouted. Maybe if I just waited for someone to come in here. Because they would come in here. They had to, eventually, right?
I waited for a while longer.
And a while longer.
And still no sign of life.
I pictured myself with Sarah. I pictured myself with Bobby. I pictured us all together and I pictured that all of us were okay.
Because we had to be okay.
That’s how it had to be.
Even if I wasn’t there for them, I was with them.
Even if—
“Think you’ve been in here long enough.”
The voice was sudden and cutting. I flinched, looking from left to right, but of course seeing nothing. I hadn’t heard a door open. I hadn’t heard any footsteps.
Which meant…
“Yeah,” the voice said, footsteps getting nearer to me now. “I’ve been in here all the time. Figured I’d get a read on what kind of a character you were before I dragged you out of here and decided what to do with you. And other than chapping your wrists, you seem like someone who knows when to accept defeat. That’s a good sign. At least it is for me, anyway. For you… I dunno. You’re gonna have to work on that.”
Out of nowhere, the sack was pulled from my head. And seconds later, a snip at my ankles as the ties were cut away.
My eyes were sore. There was a light on in what appeared to be a cellar, which startled me. I’d imagined I was in total blackness, after all.
When my eyes adjusted to the light, which I saw was shining from a portable torch dangling from the ceiling, I saw the man standing above me speaking to me clearly for the first time.
He was bald, and had a mid-length beard. He was probably in his mid to late forties. He was wearing a blue oxford shirt, buttons open at the collar. He wouldn’t have looked out of place anywhere, in all truth. Sitting in an office; watching a football match. He looked completely, totally ordinary.
Except for the fact he was holding a shotgun.
“You’re going to stay right there. You aren’t going to move another muscle. And you’re going to tell me exactly why you were trying to break into my house.”
My pulse raced. My body felt like it was caving under the weight of the adrenaline. I knew what I had to say, and that I just had to be honest, but having a shotgun facing right at me made that a little more difficult than usual.
“Speak up.”
“I—I saw the television.”
“No. You didn’t see a thing. Isn’t that correct?”
I frowned. “I…”
“You walked past the house and you figured there might be something in here that you could take. You didn’t see anything.” He lifted the shotgun higher. “Isn’t that correct?”
I knew what this man was getting at now. He wanted me to lie and say I hadn’t seen anything so I’d walk away from here, no questions asked. And my instincts cried out at me to accept those wishes. After all, they might just keep me alive.
But no.
“I can’t accept that,” I said.
The man frowned. His eyes looked manic and yet focused at the same time. “What?”
“I saw a television. I know you don’t want me to admit it. And I know you don’t trust me. Why would you trust me? But I know what I saw. If I’m correct, there’s been an EMP strike. It’s wiped out every single piece of electricity, except for the rare few things, and f
or the stuff well-protected in Faraday cages. The fact that you have a working television in this house… I had to know how. Surely you see that? I can’t just walk away. Even though my…”
I stopped, took a moment to regain my composure, for what it was worth.
“Even though I’ve no idea whether my family is okay or not. I can’t just walk away. I can’t do that. Not knowing that you might have some information that could help. Not knowing that somehow, a television is working here.”
I saw the cogs turning behind the man’s eyes. I saw him weighing up what I’d said. And I was convinced it was all for nothing. He didn’t care about my family. He didn’t care about my sob story. All he cared about was himself. Maybe I’d be better off after all if I’d followed a similar approach to life myself instead of softening myself.
But then something else happened.
The man reached over and unclipped my ankles.
Before I could even react, he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me outside this cellar, up some stairs, shotgun pressed into my back.
“Into the lounge,” he said.
I frowned. “The—”
“Door right ahead of you. Go in there. You’ll understand.”
I stepped out of the cellar, still trying to get my head around this entire situation.
I walked towards the lounge door, half of me wanting to go in, the other not wanting to see what was inside in case it was some kind of trap.
But as I opened the door, as I saw what it was, I couldn’t help but stop in my tracks.
“Do you see now?” he said. “Do you see?”
And I did.
I saw.
And it was marvellous.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The man was called Stuart, and he was a prepper.
I looked around this living room of his, mouth agape. It wasn’t any ordinary living room. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And by the looks of things, it hadn’t been anywhere near “ordinary” for a long time.
