After the Storm (Book 1): Blackout

by Ryan Casey

  I knew right now I needed to be ready.

  Especially after I’d killed someone.

  I didn’t want to have to do that again. But I had to give off the illusion that I would, if I had to.

  I descended the hill towards the car park, Bouncer not far behind me. There was a weird smell in the air, like rot. I figured the meat in the supermarket must finally be going off. The barrage of flies circling the entrance confirmed my expectations.

  But again, that was weird. Because usually all the meat would go first. The fresh food would be taken to be used before it went off.

  Maybe people round here really thought the power would return.

  As I got closer, I noticed a “Closed” sign on the automatic door. I tried to wedge them apart, but with no luck.

  And then I saw to my right, there was some smashed glass.

  It’d been smashed inwards, so I knew someone—at least one person—must’ve been here by now. Which, sure, didn’t exactly shock me. I would be surprised if I didn’t bump into any trace of life.

  But it made me feel uneasy. Because it made the reality that I might have to fight—and kill—someone else if it meant furthering my survival and my dog’s survival.

  Anything in the name of love, I suppose.

  I looked around the car park. There were a few cars, but not too many. All of them had been abandoned. Tree sap was setting on the surface of a few over by the opposite side of the supermarket.

  “Come on then,” I muttered to Bouncer, and noticed my throat sounded raw and ropey. Probably lack of water and all this walking I’d done. I’d left a pan up on the hill anyway, so I could catch some rainwater while I was in here. “Better get this place checked out.”

  We stepped inside through the broken glass.

  I was immediately struck by the sheer silence of this place. It felt creepy, like something out of a zombie movie. I was expecting something to jump out and grab me at any point. It really wouldn’t surprise me.

  Nothing was far-fetched anymore.

  But the weirdest thing about this place?

  As I walked through, my footsteps echoing against the solid tiled flooring, I realised many of the shelves were still full of useful supplies.

  And not just the fresh food, which wasn’t so fresh anymore.

  But cans. Cereal bars. Peanut butter.

  And bottles of water.

  My hands shaking, I rushed over to the cans and threw a load in my bag, not really accounting for weight, just taking advantage of the bizarreness of the situation.

  I barely even looked up as I ran to the next aisle, and then the next, grabbing whatever I could. On the fruit aisle, I saw some bananas that weren’t too black and immediately chomped down on one.

  “Here, boy. Have some of…”

  When I turned around to offer Bouncer some of the banana, my stomach sank, and my heart dropped.

  “Bouncer?”

  I listened to my own voice echo against the walls of the supermarket. I heard the sound of my heartbeat banging at my eardrums and felt sweat start to roll down my forehead as the rain lashed down even heavier outside.

  “Bouncer!”

  My voice resounded through the supermarket.

  But Bouncer didn’t respond.

  Bouncer was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  If there was one thing that kept me going through my post-apocalyptic solitude so far, it was Bouncer.

  I couldn’t face losing him. I couldn’t bear the idea that he wasn’t beside me. I realised that it wasn’t total solitude I craved after all, because in those moments, my trusty companion was always by my side.

  But not now.

  Bouncer was gone.

  “Bouncer!” I called. I ran through the supermarket, no regard for the noise I might be making, for the attention I might be drawing to myself. Because to hell with it. I didn’t care if I drew attention to myself. All that mattered was my dog. All that mattered was finding him.

  And hoping to God he was okay.

  I ran down each and every aisle. I figured it made sense that he might’ve caught scent of some of the fresh meat. But he wasn’t there. The only living things down the meat aisles and around the counters were flies.

  As well as a shitload of bacteria, of course.

  “Bouncer!” I kept on going. The bag was heavy now, stuffed to the brim with food I’d found in this place. I knew it was unwise. I knew I should lose some of it and think ahead to stamina and energy and things like that. But it’d taken me days just to find this place. I couldn’t bear the thought that it’d be even more days before I found another goldmine like this.

  And yet it would be. In truth, I’d probably never even come across another place like this. Because this place was special. Really special. This place had food and water.

  The supermarkets weren’t just going to magically restock. The shelves weren’t going to refill all by themselves.

  This was it. This was the end.

  I had to make the most of it.

  But none of that mattered if Bouncer wasn’t by my side.

  I felt my heart pound a little harder with relief when I realised where might be. The dog food aisle! Of course. He’d been in a few of these places now, and he was a clever dog. Must’ve been getting the hang of what was where in places like this.

  But when I reached the dog food aisle, my heart sank yet again.

  He wasn’t there.

  He wasn’t anywhere.

  I felt my throat tighten. The hairs on my arms stood on end. I could even feel tears building behind my eyes. I was on this journey because I wanted to make sure my family was safe. But Bouncer was family. He was a part of my family. I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d be finding Olivia, my daughter, and having to explain to her why her doggy wasn’t with me.

  No.

  That wasn’t happening.

  I was finding him.

  I ran over to the smashed glass. I felt like someone was watching me as I left, but again, I knew that was just a trick of the mind, and wasn’t any way rooted in actual science.

  I ran around the car park. Looked over at the cars with the tree sap covering their roofs. Looked under each and every car, and even inside them, as much as I realised it was futile.

  When I didn’t see Bouncer around any of them, I collapsed forward, hands on my knees, and let the rain pour down my face.

  The rucksack pushed down against me. I could feel my temper building. The urge to just throw my pack away and give up. Because I was hopeless. I was a useless survivor. I had thought before I knew stuff, but well clearly I damn well didn’t.

  I couldn’t hunt.

  I couldn’t walk far without feeling like I needed to shit.

  I couldn’t even look out for my own damned dog.

  I lifted my head upright and looked up at the sky, desperate for an answer, eager for some kind of guidance.

  Then I heard a bark.

  My eyes opened right away.

  The bark came from inside the supermarket.

  And when I looked inside, this time, I could see movement at the back, near the warehouse entrance.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I said. “I’m coming for you.”

  I ran back inside the supermarket. I had my knife tightly gripped in my palm. I didn’t care if I killed anymore. Nobody was hurting my dog. Nobody was getting to my family.

  When I ran towards the back of the supermarket, what I saw froze me in my tracks.

  There was a man opposite me.

  He was holding Bouncer up on his back two legs.

  He had a knife to his neck.

  I felt a cold shiver cover my body. Bouncer just looked at me, wagging his tail as if he knew everything was okay because I was here, but also licking his lips in discomfort.

  “It’s okay,” I muttered, stepping closer towards him, knife in hand. “Don’t worry, Bouncer. It’s—”

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill your dog to put on my b
arbecue tonight.”

  I stopped. I was surprised this man was saying something like that. He sounded more… well, eloquent than I’d expected. He was grey, with a big bushy beard that he’d clearly been growing long before the end. He wore a checkered shirt and waterproof trousers, but his checkered shirt was covered with a thin lining of a transparent waterproof layer.

  “Because if you do, I’ll come over there and I’ll stab you to death.”

  The man chuckled. “Oh really? You will? Give me another reason.”

  I narrowed my forehead. I’d pictured and written about hostage situations before. But this felt way, way more clumsy than I thought it would be. “Well we’re in a supermarket full of food. So… so killing my dog would be pointless. Unless you’re Korean.”

  The man widened his eyes. “That, my friend, is a racial stereotype.”

  “It’s the end of the world. I don’t think political correctness is a thing anymore. And it’s—it’s just a fact. Koreans eat dog. Right?” I felt myself blushing. I’d always prided myself as a guy who didn’t jump to racial stereotypes. I couldn’t stand racism. Dig yourself out of this hole fast, Will. “So… so I was just making a… I was just saying. I hope you’re not Korean. Which you aren’t. Clearly.”

  “Clearly?”

  “Shit.” Another frigging racial stereotype. I gripped the knife tighter and cleared my throat. “Anyway. Hand my dog over now. Or I won’t go easy on you.”

  The man frowned.

  He pressed the knife closer to Bouncer’s neck.

  Bouncer wagged his tail.

  I got ready to launch myself forward…

  Then the man lowered the knife and started laughing.

  “Seriously, mate. You think I’d kill a dog? What kind of a monster you have me down as?”

  Bouncer came running over to me. He jumped up at me, paws on my chest, then turned around and looked at the man, like he was waiting for an introduction from his new friend.

  “I’m Mike,” the man said, smiling now as he slipped his knife into his belt. “And you look like you could use a proper kip.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Day Six

  I NEVER THOUGHT I’d enjoy porridge as much as I was doing right now.

  It was morning, and I was in Mike’s caravan. It was a bare bones static caravan on a secluded little site not far from the Callander golf course, just inside the Trossachs National Park. Outside, the rain had subsided. It had before I’d gone to sleep, actually. Or maybe it hadn’t. I wasn’t so sure. I’d been out like a light and had the best-damned sleep I’d had in ages.

  I was reluctant to head back to the caravan with Mike. After all, we hadn’t exactly met on the best terms. Namely, him holding a knife to my dog’s neck, and me throwing racial stereotypes about Koreans, even though he blatantly wasn’t Korean, or… Okay, okay. Enough of that now. Dug myself enough of a hole as it was.

  But I’d come back here. Mike had given me some cooked rabbit, which was immensely more delicious than it should’ve been. I’d taken a dump in an actual toilet, Mike making the most of his toilet chemicals to decontaminate the waste. Yeah, the caravan was so old that the toilet was more like a motorhome one, a little plastic box that Mike had to empty outside every now and then. And sure, it was still just a hole in the ground. But it was better than an actual hole in the ground.

  There were rumours that squatting was better for the posture. Yeah well screw posture. Comfort over posture any day.

  But anyway. Enough shit talk.

  I scooped up some porridge that Mike had cooked over a little fire he’d started outside. I offered him my lighter to start it, and even my portable stove, but he was already kitted out with his own gear, all of which seemed inferior to mine, but was a real display of this guy’s technical nouse. He’d set up a beer can stove, as he called it. All it required was a beer can, a pocket knife, some scissors and a lidded pot to store it in. He was using a pot of protein powder that he’d soon got through.

  Making the stove itself was remarkably easy, and I wished I’d paid more attention to Dad back in the day when I saw just how handy these tips were, and easy to pick up. You just cut off the top of the can, then cut the can in half with the knife and scissors. After that, trim the bottom of the can down to about an inch and a half, which was ideal size because any taller and it gets unstable. You repeat the cutting with the top of the can, then put some dents in it, putting two fingers inside the can and denting with the knife from the bottom edge to where the can starts to bend in. The dent ideally is bigger at the bottom and not so dented at the top.

  Repeat the dent procedure all around the top of the can. Handy because they act as small combustion chambers; pockets that the alcohol fills with vapour to burn.

  After that, just make a tiny hole at the top of the can, and then slide the top of the can into the bottom and bingo, a tiny beer can stove.

  Plus it means you have to drink the booze to get to the goodness. Always a nice trick.

  Actually lighting the stove wasn’t much harder. You just pour a little fuel into the can and light it. To turn it off, smother the flame by covering the stove with the containers then pour any unused fuel back into the bottle. The container is then a handy carry case for the stove, to stop it getting crushed in the bug-out bag.

  I was learning fast. I really felt that now.

  There were no hitches. Only Mike had to bat Bouncer away from it a few times to stop him tucking in, but eventually it cooked through, and here we were.

  Carton milk, sure. Which wasn’t ideal.

  But I wasn’t complaining.

  Mike’s caravan looked like it’d literally been prepped for a disaster. There was no sign of a microwave. There were cereal bars everywhere on the counters, and wrappers underfoot wherever you walked. Outside, I looked through the glass at the peaceful, idyllic caravan park, where only three other caravans were situated. “You come camping here a lot then?”

  Mike smiled and chuckled a little, answering immediately, like he was lapping up the opportunity to have a conversation. “I travel. It’s just what I do. Travel here and there, everywhere. More fun than having one home.”

  “So you’re homeless?”

  He frowned. “My friend. We’re all homeless now. I’d say I’m doing alright, hmm?”

  I looked around at the caravan. I couldn’t argue with Mike on that front.

  “So how about you, huh?” he asked. “You don’t sound local either. Where you from?”

  “Preston.”

  “Oh. My condolences.”

  “It’s fine. Much appreciated.”

  “So what’re you doing up in bonny Scotland while the rest of the place goes to hell?”

  I thought about how much I wanted to tell Mike, and how little any of it even mattered. “I needed to get away from… from life for a while.”

  Mike started laughing again then.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” he said, coughing up some of his porridge, wiping it away on his sleeve. “It’s just, damn, you were looking for a way to get away from life. You sure as shit found it!”

  He laughed some more. And I found myself laughing along too, even though I didn’t really find what Mike was saying all that funny in truth. But it was nice to laugh with someone.

  I thought I could survive out in the wilderness on my own. But really, it was moments like these where I really saw the value of human company.

  “So what now?” Mike asked.

  “I’m gonna finish this delicious porridge—which I’m grateful for, by the way—and then I’m going to head off to Preston.”

  Mike lowered his spoon. “You’re gonna do what?”

  “My family are back there. I can’t leave them alone.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “I mean, there’s plenty of free caravans on site. There’s one just a few metres down. You can stay here, if you want. Stay here and—”

 
“I appreciate that. But really. I… I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done. But for the sake of my family, I can’t.”

  Mike tilted his head then poured the remains of the porridge down, some of it sticking in his beard. “See your point. But you’ll never make it.”

  I finished my porridge and stood, then walked towards the door of Mike’s motorhome.

  “Wait. You’re going now?”

  “It’s early. I’ve had some good rest. I can make progress.”

  “You’ll make progress and then you’ll drop dead.”

  “Respectfully, I can look after myself.”

  “Oh really? And how’re you gonna get there? Walk?”

  “I was hoping I’d find a bike on my way. Turns out it isn’t as easy as I imagined.”

  “I know where we could find you a bike,” Mike said.

  I turned around and looked at him.

  “There’s a place,” he said. “Just a couple of miles from here. Bike shop. There’s a shitload of bikes. And even little things that tag along on the side. Things you can attach Bobster to.”

  “Bouncer.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Mike nodded. “I mean, I have a bike. But you’re not having that. So you’ve got a choice. Come into town with me and help me pick up a few things. There’s a real nice hardware store there, and I could do with some extra gear before the idiots latch on that it’s useful.”

  “The idiots?”

  “Scavengers.”

  My skin crawled at the thought of coming across any more scavengers. “I’m not sure I…”

  “We can go in there and take what’s ours. You can get your bike; I can get my stuff. We watch each other’s backs.”

  I wasn’t comfortable with this agreement. But I had to admit, I really needed a bike. And what else could I do?

  “What’s stopping me killing you and taking your bike?” I asked, just playing more than anything.

  Mike grinned. “Trust me. You don’t even wanna try that, son.”