Harry Styles and the New York Apocalypse

by G. B. Hope

  ‘Not before we’ve checked for my sister,’ argued Michael.

  ‘Apart from rogue elements like those guys back there, there’s no-one left on the island. It’s time to go.’

  Michael was about to speak again, when Officer Hernandez intervened, asking where the hotel was. Michael showed him the address.

  ‘Not far,’ said Officer Hernandez, then to his colleague, ‘Let’s detour, make sure.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s Sake,’ said Officer Lyle, checking the address. ‘Well, come on, then.’

  Michael smiled at Jerry, neither of them ever dreamed they would get a police escort to the hotel.

  ‘Here,’ said Officer Lyle, handing the air rifle to Michael, ‘you can carry that useless piece of crap.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  It took perhaps half an hour of following the two policemen, diverting between vehicles, giving wide berths to the occasional rotting corpse, before Michael realised that he was being directed into an hotel foyer. He didn’t recognise it - maybe he had arrived through another entrance, or just been too excited at being in America for the first time. He had the air rifle, but would have preferred one of the officers to lead with their shotgun. Apparently, they intended to wait on the street.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ said Officer Lyle.

  Michael, with Jerry following, found the entrance to the hotel to be carpeted with shattered glass and broken pot plants, which demoralised him immediately. They stepped into the gloomy foyer. Instantly they were screamed at, orders barked to drop the weapon, figures emerging from the back of house, further shouts to other people yet unseen. All the fuss brought Officers Lyle and Hernandez hurrying inside, shotguns at the ready. Michael had already thrown down the air rifle. Now he found himself in the middle of an armed stand-off between the police and the people in possession of the hotel. Lots of shouting ensued, until finally the police voices became dominant.

  Michael realised the main protagonist on the defensive side was a young woman. A young woman wearing, bizarrely, a pink Onesie.

  THIRTY FIVE

  Charlie McAlister sat with Jonathan, on Mr Stickford’s garden swing seat, drinking tea, enjoying a sunny, breezy day. They were watching the children attempt to play tennis, although the lawn refused to accept any kind of bounce, so they were virtually just volleying the tennis balls around. Charlie and Jonathan had talked about Ana, who was now officially Jonathan’s girlfriend. Then he brought the subject around to her boyfriend, who she had managed to keep deep within her heart since the event began. She touched his hand, beside her, grateful that he had seen that it was time to unburden the emotion.

  ‘I have a confession to make,’ she said. ‘I started dating my boyfriend, William, because he has a slight resemblance to Harry Styles. Now, don’t laugh. It’s not that weird a thing. My granddad married my grandma because she looked like Jean Simmons.’ Charlie saw that he had no idea who Jean Simmons was. ‘She was an English actress in the Forties and Fifties. Anyway, I love William, Mr William Connor, love him to bits, because he is wonderful and funny and sweet, but that resemblance to Harry was what first attracted me. I know I’ve talked about Harry all the time, but because I haven’t talked of William, isn’t that proof of my love for him?’

  ‘Absolutely it is.’

  ‘William’s in England. I desperately hope he’s safe with his family. I know now I’ll probably never see him ever again.’

  ‘Now, you don’t know that.’

  ‘I feel it.’

  After a moment, Jonathan laughed.

  ‘I just remembered,’ he said. ‘An aunt of mine dated a man because he looked like Tom Cruise.’

  They both laughed, leaning into one another, their heads touching. They only stopped giggling when they noticed the raucous tennis game had stopped and that the children were looking off towards the road. Jonathan and Charlie stood up.

  ‘Oh, my,’ said Charlie.

  Quite a large group of people were straggling into the compound, not at all threateningly, just completely bedraggled: a mixture of adults and children, and they were heading towards the empty Ryan family property. Mr Grainger joined Charlie and Jonathan.

  ‘Bless the Lord,’ he said, ‘It’s Mr and Mrs Ryan, with young Miss Ryan, and some other folk.’

  Then Mr Grainger rushed over to intercept the group, warmly accosting the leaders with handshakes and a hug for the female. Charlie held Jonathan’s hand, unsure about this change to their fairly settled lifestyle. But, she supposed, the Ryans had every right to finally make it home. She looked at the mass of people, counting nine in total - there were three men in hoodies at the back, weighed down with rucksacks. All in the group looked exhausted.

  By then, everyone in the Stickford enclave were outside to see the arrivals.

  ‘Charlie,’ called Mrs Grainger, ‘help me get lots of coffee going.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Grainger,’ answered Charlie, heading in.

  An early barbecue was organised by Mr Grainger. The Ryans, attractive, thirty-somethings with friendly dispositions, and the people they had collected on their walk home, had all been given hot drinks and biscuits to tide them over. Everyone sat around on the Graingers' back lawn, slowly getting around to introducing themselves.

  Charlie, along with Ana, helped Mr Grainger, by serving the food on paper plates. She finally got around to serving that trio of young men in the hoodies - the ones who had trailed in at the back of the Ryan group, looking like they were struggling to accept their situation. Charlie found them huddled together, two of them with their hoods up. She tried to lighten the mood with her welcome.

  ‘This is a great place, guys. We have lots of supplies. I hope you’ll want to stay for a while. What are your names? I’m Charlie.’

  The man without the hood gave her a polite smile.

  ‘I’m George. Thanks for having us. Do you live here, Charlie?’

  ‘Oh, I’m from England. I’m a refugee, like yourselves.’

  Charlie looked at the second man, who threw back his hood. He had a ginger beard, and a few cuts on his face which gave testimony to a recent rough time.

  ‘Hi, Charlie. I’m Scott. Good to know you.’

  ‘Scott. Hello.’

  Charlie turned to the last man, while still occupied in passing food to George and Scott. The man kept his hood up but, from the part of the forehead visible, she was vaguely aware that his head was recently shaved. He was heavily bearded, and dirty, but still very handsome. He was one of those men who oozed charisma. He turned his eyes up to Charlie’s.

  ‘And what’s your name?’ asked Charlie, offering a plate.

  Then she was hit with the thunderbolt. It was love at first sight for her.

  ‘I’m H,’ was all the man said, in a soft, charming voice.

  ‘Aitch?’ asked Charlie, lost in his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, H. Hello, Charlie.’

  THIRTY SIX

  The police officers established that there were eight staff and two regular guests holed up in the hotel. Under Officer Lyle’s instructions, because Michael couldn’t remember, Onesie checked the register for his and Danielle’s details, and then led him up to the room. Onesie was close to a nervous breakdown, Michael felt - old before her time. She kept glancing at him as they walked along the corridor. Only when they arrived at the room did she speak.

  ‘You’re the second man to come looking for this girl. She’s not here.’

  ‘What!? What did you say? Was it Liam? Was his name Liam?’

  ‘I don’t recall his name.’

  ‘English, like me?’

  ‘Yeah, English.’

  Michael hollered with delight. His girlfriend’s brother had made it. Hopefully she was safe with him. He was keen for Onesie to identify the exact bedroom door. ‘Did he find any information?’

  Onesie pointed to right door, still open.

  ‘I think he took something with him.’

  Michael stormed into the room, suddenly empty inside at the thought of
Liam taking the vital clue away with him. He looked about him, instantly upset at seeing Danielle’s messy belongings. He picked up her discarded tee-shirt that she had travelled in, touched her deodorant, looked at her travel alarm clock. Through to the bathroom he saw their toothbrushes, looked at the shower cubicle they had shared, before he left to “visit his American relatives in Connecticut”. Briefly, his head sank with the shame. Back in the bedroom, he rooted through her suitcase and bag. Nothing even remotely regarding her job interview showed itself. He was about to give up in despair, leave with Jerry and the cops, when his eyes alighted on the mirror. Written in lipstick was an address for Long Island, followed by Danielle’s name and two kisses.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Onesie, ‘That’s right, your friend asked about Long Island. We didn’t see that message written there.’

  Michael found a pen and paper to copy down the address. He also wrote it on the back of his hand. He looked at Onesie, wanting to thank her, but she was already leaving the room. Michael looked through his own possessions in his case under the window. He quickly stripped off his trousers and Calvin Kleins, putting on a clean pair of boxer shorts and some jeans. He remained in the tee-shirt given to him by Sapir. He realised there was nothing else he wanted to take with him. But then, with a rueful grin, he pocketed his passport. Picking up both toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste on the way out, he followed Onesie, having to run along the corridor to catch up with her.

  ***

  ‘I don’t want them to go,’ said Allison, in bed with Ivanovic, in his house.

  She was talking about the people she had arrived with, as well as Danielle. Mr Manning had built a hand cart from items found in neighbours’ garages, on which they could pull the incapacitated Liam back to the Maria.

  Ivanovic had concluded that they were not exactly Allison’s great friends, but he assumed there was some kind of emotional bond there, after all they had been through. He had no wish for them to leave either. In fact, he wanted more people to come within his sphere of influence, but he wasn’t sure how to force someone to remain.

  ‘Would you like me to threaten them to stay?’ he joked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Allison…’

  ‘Make them stay! They have to stay!’

  He was not used to being shouted at. His face hardened. Smart girl as she was, Allison controlled her emotions, changed tack, deciding to work her hand across Ivanovic’s chest and nuzzle into his neck.

  ‘Baby,’ she whispered. ‘It will be just too strange if they go. It will be like starting a new disaster. While they’re here, I know it is still the same terrible thing that happened.’

  ‘I understand. I’ll have a word.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, darling.’

  Ivanovic rolled Allison over in a clinch.

  ***

  Onesie and her group were about all out of supplies, so they needed little convincing to walk out with Officers Lyle and Hernandez. Michael felt an enormous sense of relief. Everything was going to work out in the end. As he walked at the back of the group, he handed Jerry the address for Long Island.

  ‘Don’t lose that,’ he told him.

  They rendezvoused with six other New York City police officers (six muscular, bald men which kind of matched the stereotypical image of the New York cop). Michael had never felt so secure, with a screen of shotguns around him. One officer had passed round bottled water and rations before they continued. Michael was very grateful for that. It was then, looking around, that he noticed the male hotel worker, dressed as a bartender with an apron around his waist (bizarre in the extreme to still be wearing that). The man sported a heavy beard and greasy hair. To Michael, it was the first real example of someone being sent insane by the enormity of the event.

  Michael and Jerry chatted as they walked along, on a gorgeous day. There was still the tang of death in the air, but their mood was high. Michael talked about his girlfriend, Danielle. He described her to Jerry, explained how they had met in London. How he had just had to split with his sexy, but vacuous, current girlfriend for the adorable and amazing Danielle. How that had made the other girl livid. But that was life. Danielle was everything to him, everything he had ever wanted. He neglected to mention his liaison with the American girl, up in Hartford, which had caused the separation in the first place.

  They started to cross a massive bridge - Michael feeling delighted to be getting off Manhattan. Being on the bridge made them discuss Taylor and the girls, hoping they were well on their way to safety. Suddenly, the bartender bounded a barrier. Michael called to him, thinking for some reason that the man was going to attempt to scale one of the iron spans. But then, with Onesie and other people screaming to him, he threw himself off the bridge.

  Everyone, including the hardened policemen, stood in stunned silence. But that was that. He was gone. There would be no 911 call, no helicopter scramble, no search for a body; he was just gone. So they walked on over the bridge, on into Brooklyn.

  THIRTY SEVEN

  Michael and Jerry had been walking for hours when they realised that the group was about to split up. Michael stopped dead, rocked forward in his boots, and looked about him, seeing a vast swathe of highway, littered with cars. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that he now hated America. He half listened to what was going on. Officer Hernandez and two hotel workers, a man and a woman, were heading home across Long Island, with Michael and Jerry to go with them. Officer Lyle, Onesie and the others were, apparently, going to make for the nearest police station, and from there take their separate routes home.

  A small convoy of men suddenly appeared from behind a truck, some pulling hand carts. A couple of the men in front carried firearms, but held them in a non-threatening way. They passed right in front of the group of policemen. Clear for all to see on the carts were bags and bags of cash, hundred dollar bills tumbling out, in fact, and even a few dozen silver ingots. Michael watched on in amazement - here were the spoils of a bank robbery, as plain as day. The men looked at the police – the police looked at the men – then pleasantries were exchanged between them all, and the convoy continued on its way.

  Michael then watched all the cops embracing Officer Hernandez in turn. Michael wanted to keep moving, before his fatigue made him sit down and stay sitting down. Finally, when the love fest was over, the new group of five set off between the cars. Officer Hernandez was on point with his shotgun. The man and the woman told Michael their names, but he just nodded, not interested in them one bit. He did listen to their plans with Officer Hernandez, learning that they were taking a northern route. Jerry seemed okay with it, telling him they could move south when the time came – it being better to stay with people who knew where they were going.

  Michael sipped his water supply. At least the air was cleaner now that they were off Manhattan. He thought again of how shattered he was. Never mind Onesie being ready for a breakdown, he didn’t think he had many more days left himself before he cracked up. After another hour, they rested and ate their rations. There were residents moving about the streets. Occasional burnt out buildings told a story of what had taken place. But it was ghostly quiet – it was a transitional period between normal life and what was to follow. Perhaps frustration and anger would bubble up into violence again. Maybe people were still stunned. Michael hoped desperately to be at his destination before it blew.

  As dusk fell, they continued to walk on. Michael must have switched to auto-pilot, because, when they reached the neighbourhood where the two hotel workers had their homes, they had already split off from Officer Hernandez. It was such a bizarre feeling for Michael that he did a double take at them all, but stopped himself asking when the policeman had left them.

  At the man’s house, he was reunited with his brother, with great joy and hugging. Neighbours rushed out to see the event. Michael, Jerry and the woman watched on. Apparently, the brother was all the man had in the world, so 100% success. They were taken inside, fed porridge with sultana
s in it, given coffee and encouraged to sit and rest, even stay the night. But Michael and Jerry were conditioned by then to keep going. Goodbyes were spoken, Michael even hugged the woman, who was about to be taken nearby to find her family. He and Jerry were given a map of Long Island, as well as a rucksack of provisions, and they slipped away in the direction indicated - never to see those people again.

  Walking by moonlight, Michael got his second wind. He and Jerry chatted. Jerry was fairly sure they were heading East. When dawn broke, they would re-evaluate their position and make a bee-line for the location they needed to get to.

  ***

  At the Ivanovic compound, Mr Manning had started fretting over the Maria. Not that he feared anyone would steal her. But maybe, when they finally returned to the boat, they might find squatters aboard. Or she might have been vandalised. Even just for those reasons, it was time to go.

  Mr Manning’s angst prompted Liam and Danielle to tell Sabrina all about life in England, and of their family. Sitting outside one evening, with Liam’s injured ankle propped up on Sabrina’s lap, they gave serious thought to asking the Mannings to cross the Atlantic. The old couple had nothing to stay in America for, after all. Danielle was terrified at the thought of such a journey – unlike her brother, she had never been to sea, and Sabrina had worked on the cruise liner, albeit briefly. As for Sabrina, she was happy to go wherever Liam was, and she loved her new “sister-in-law”, Danielle.

  ***

  Exhaustion finally grabbed Michael and Jerry and forced them to sleep for a while on a grass verge. As the sun rose, they sat and had breakfast of energy bars and warm coca-cola. The morning was foggy but invigorating. They felt refreshed and ready for the big push to the south-east.

  ‘Are we going, then?’ asked Michael, standing.