by Ryan Casey
I was getting closer when I realised Bouncer was totally still.
“Bouncer,” I said. “What’s up with you?”
He was looking above the shop.
Looking into the sky.
I turned around. I couldn’t see anything. “Creepy dog. What’s…”
Then I heard the noise.
I wasn’t sure what it was. Not right away.
But then I saw them.
Specks in the distance, like birds.
Only these birds were falling from the sky.
And the birds were getting bigger the closer they got to the earth.
I saw the smoke coming from these “birds,” and I realised right away they weren’t birds at all.
They were planes.
They were planes, and they were falling from the sky.
I didn’t understand. If it was an EMP these planes should already have fallen by now.
But I couldn’t argue.
I didn’t have time to.
One of these planes was right above us.
Chapter Eight
It might’ve been like a scene out of a movie. It might’ve been unreal. It might’ve been completely frigging bonkers.
But there was no denying what I was witnessing.
A plane was falling down from the sky, hurtling towards me and Bouncer.
Fast.
I looked up. The shop was right in front of me, probably twenty feet or so away. I wanted to get to it, to get whatever supplies I could salvage. But I wasn’t sure I could make it in time.
Not making it to a shop in time was an absolute tragedy, because it was such a waste. If an EMP had struck, which I couldn’t deny now a plane was falling towards us—in fact, it made it seem like more than one EMP had struck for it to be falling so long after the initial event—then every single supply counted. A shop being abandoned was like passing up a free meal, or twelve.
But what mattered more?
A free meal or survival?
I looked up and squinted into the sky. The sound of the whirring, failing engines grew louder. If I listened close enough, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, because through the screeching collapse, I swore I could hear people screaming.
That was something people forgot when they talked about EMP strikes. If an EMP went off above the United States for example at any given time, then 5,000 planes would fall from the sky, immediately killing two million passengers.
That was just America.
And it wasn’t including the unlucky sods underneath, like me, if I didn’t move fast.
The problem was, if this was an EMP strike, which it sure looked like, I couldn’t explain why the planes were only just falling. There was nothing delayed about an EMP disaster. The planes should’ve fallen with a click of a finger.
The falling mass of planes right now could only mean one thing.
Somehow, the first strike hadn’t been quite strong enough to take out everything.
But there had been a second strike.
Or a third.
Or a fourth.
And those strikes were finally bringing down every plane.
“Bouncer, run, boy!”
I sprinted as fast as I could away from the shop. Bouncer ran by my side, clearly understanding the urgency of the situation from my reaction, without really understanding it. Well he would understand it. He would understand it properly soon. He’d understand it when his meals weren’t as big. He’d understand it when he wasn’t on the gourmet delights of Harrington’s and had to make do with roast squirrel. The thought of it made me sick. What kind of a shitty survivalist was I?
I couldn’t let myself get caught up in the hypothetical what-ifs, though. This had to be wrong. This had to be just some kind of accident. Some kind of temporary situation that, in time, would resolve itself.
I tried to believe that, as the plane hurtled closer towards me, the screeching sound of the falling mass of metal inching ever closer.
I tried to believe it, as I got closer and closer to being crushed under the weight of an enormous—
I felt myself falling.
It was one of those weird, slow-motion moments, the kind which you only think exists on budget television shows or lazy music videos.
But here I was, both of my feet off the ground, hurtling towards the grass, face first.
Here I was, falling, just when I needed to be on my feet more than ever.
I slammed face-first into the grass. I tasted blood right away, as I bit into my tongue. I knocked the wind out of myself, and rolled over onto my back so I could clamber further away from the falling plane.
It was still moving towards me.
It was so close now.
“Jesus, pilot. What’s your goddamned problem?”
I struggled back to my feet. Bouncer was at my side again, licking at the back of my hand. I could tell by the way he was panting and letting out little groans that he was just as distressed as I was.
Well. Maybe not as distressed as I was. I was very frigging distressed right now.
I pulled myself to my feet, shaking with panic, fear, adrenaline, everything. I didn’t look over my shoulder. I couldn’t afford to anymore. I knew what was coming. I knew what would happen if I didn’t get out of its way.
All I could do was say my prayers and hope for the best.
As I ran back into the woods, uphill now, I closed my eyes and felt tears building up. I saw Kerry and Olivia. I wondered where they were when it happened, if it had even happened down where they were. For my own sanity’s sake, I had to believe it hadn’t.
But if it had…
They weren’t as prepared as I was. They didn’t write post-apocalyptic fiction for a living. They didn’t know how to react in the event of a disaster.
In all truth, I didn’t really. I had my plans. I had ideas. I fantasised about what I’d do. I even had emergency provisions, just in case. A bit of a hobby of mine. I was inspired by preppers in America. I didn’t have anything on them. They were amazing. Admirable.
But I had basic provisions. I had basic survival skills.
And yet I’d never felt as alone and lost as I did right now.
I heard a collision right behind me.
I felt the ground shake.
Inadvertently, I went flying forward. I held on to Bouncer. I heard crashing explosions behind me. Beside me, I saw pieces of debris hurtling into the ground, just inches away from my body, from my head.
I held on to Bouncer and lay flat on my stomach.
I squeezed my eyes shut tightly.
Bouncer licked my face, shakily, nervously.
After a while of waiting, maybe a minute, maybe longer, I opened my eyes again.
I rolled over onto my back. I turned around and looked at the scene.
The plane was at the bottom of the hill. It was burning, thick black smoke rising from it. I coughed when I smelled it, and when I smelled something else unfamiliar, something I didn’t want to believe was burning flesh, I tasted sick.
I held on to Bouncer and stared at the destroyed airplane. I saw the flaming pieces of debris around me. I saw the trees that had collapsed under the plane’s weight.
I wondered how many people were on board. How many people had died. And how many other planes had fallen just like this. Thousands. Millions of people.
“It’s okay, Bouncer,” I whispered, stroking his head as he licked my ear. “Don’t you worry. It’s okay.”
I stared at the scene and tried to comprehend what I was witnessing.
But there was no comprehension. None.
Just a man and his dog staring at the burning remains of a plane that’d crashed just before them.
A man and his dog in the middle of nowhere, cut off from society.
A man and his dog who had to survive.
Chapter Nine
I shakily made my way back to the log cabin, but I didn’t feel any real sense of relief when I saw it, and my Range Rover emerging in th
e distance.
I had a sense it was mid-afternoon, which meant I’d been out a lot longer than I first thought. There was a chill to the air, like the warmth of summer had been sliced through with the biting surges of electromagnetic energy.
As I walked up to the log cabin, past my car, it dawned on me just how much everything felt like it’d changed. There definitely seemed to be a shift in the overall feel of the place. I know the effects were invisible, but it’s kind of like when you return home from holiday and see your place in a completely different light, as if you’re looking at it through someone else’s eyes. Or if you’re without your phone for a day. That initial frustration, which eventually caves way to acceptance.
I knew I wasn’t going to feel that acceptance in this new world. Because if there really had been EMP events—which it sure looked like—then there was no going back to the world how it was. Not for a long, long time.
And even if the status quo were resolved, things would never be the same again.
I opened the door to the log cabin—not a keycard, thank God, or that’d be down. Bouncer ran in past me, still clearly a little distressed after the incident with the plane. I knew he’d be hungry. I usually fed him smaller meals three times a day, but I hadn’t been able to grab any dog food from the shop before it got obliterated.
“I know, boy,” I said, patting his head. “I know. We’ll get you something soon. We’ll both get something soon. Promise.”
He let out a little whine, and it made my heart melt.
I walked inside the log cabin. I thought I’d felt disconnected from society when I’d first arrived here, but really seclusion was just a myth in the modern age. We were always tethered to reality somehow. There was no true isolation, not if you had your phone with you.
I used to like that old sort of isolation. That false disconnectedness from the world.
This, I wasn’t sure I liked it at all.
The main thing that frustrated me was that I knew I couldn’t contact Olivia or Kerry, no matter how much I wanted to.
A lump swelled in my throat.
Yeah. That wasn’t going to be an easy one to stomach.
I walked into the bathroom and squinted into the mirror. I looked tired. Dishevelled. Hey, at least I’d had a head start. Everyone was going to look pretty shitty, pretty fast.
I looked down and saw my palms were bleeding a little. Must’ve hurt them when I was fleeing the plane. They weren’t too bad though. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’d just keep an eye on them. There’d be loads worse off than me. In fact, I shuddered to think how many must’ve died already. People in hospitals, reliant on technology to keep them alive. People in ICU, all of their life support machines switched off in an instant.
I could almost hear the silence kicking in, and the thought haunted me.
I wondered how many people were stranded on boats in the ocean, if the EMP had reached that far. I wondered how many car accidents there would’ve been. How many nuclear power plants were going into meltdown now they’d gone down, and their backups had gone down, and their backup backups had gone down. And what about pacemakers, too? Were they affected by EMPs? That was a discussion of much debate in prepper communities. I was researching that topic not long ago for a new project, and I never did find a definite answer.
Guess I could pay my Uncle Alf a visit and find out for sure.
Then again, the loss of shitty daytime television was probably enough to frighten him into a cardiac event.
I took a deep breath and turned out of the bathroom.
Bouncer was sitting at the door, staring in, tilting his head from side to side. He clearly wasn’t happy with the new lunch arrangements.
I crouched down and ruffled his fur. “I’m sorry, Bounce. Things… things are going to be a little tough for a while. But we’re going to find somewhere. A supermarket. A place where we can stock up on things we need. And after we’ve stocked up, we… we’re going to go find Mummy and Olivia.”
Bouncer—who I sometimes nicknamed Bounce—turned his head and licked at my hand.
Saying those words aloud made the reality of the journey ahead really crystallise. I had to get back down to Preston, and I had to get back to my family. It was going to be a long journey. An impossible journey, maybe. But I just had to hope the EMP blackout was limited to a certain area.
I had my doubts. Severe doubts.
But I had to keep on going.
I stood up. Walked over to the kitchen cupboard. I pulled out a Nature Valley cereal bar and considered saving it.
Then I split it in two and handed Bouncer half of it.
“Good boy,” I said, as he scoffed it up, hoovering the floor in the process. “We’re gonna be fine, me and you.”
I chewed on the cereal bar and looked out of the window. The silent hum of electricity that I never even used to know was there until it vanished was gone. In its place, what it must’ve sounded like before man roamed this earth.
I felt my heart thump harder. Felt my stomach knotting.
I knew what I had to do.
Where I had to go.
Tonight, I rested, and planned.
Then tomorrow morning, first thing, I left.
Stocked up.
And then Bouncer and I were going back to Preston to find Kerry.
To find Olivia.
To find our family.
Chapter Ten
Day Two
If you’d told me just a day ago that I’d be digging through my emergency bug-out bag and checking on my supplies, I would’ve told you you’re a maniac.
I’d slept surprisingly well last night, and Bouncer seemed to have too. We’d divided a bowl of oats between us for our evening meal and for breakfast. I knew oats weren’t ideal for dogs, but I wasn’t going to let the boy starve. It was more a psychological thing more than anything. As long as he thought I was still feeding him, he’d keep his trust in me.
And for all the joy he’d helped me through, for all the bad times he’d pulled me through, I owed him half a bowl of damned oats.
I was becoming more supply conscious already, though. It’s so weird how much you take things for granted in the normal world. Even just a glass of tap water seemed so infinite. But now tap water wasn’t safe due to the inevitable instant collapse of all kinds of water purification and treatment, and I felt guilty with every little sip of bottled water I took.
Anyway, my bug-out bag or “BOB” as Dad used to call it. I wouldn’t call myself paranoid, but I’d always packed one whenever I was going away. It was Dad’s ex-military background that did it, really. He used to sit me on his lap when we were camping in the Lake District and tell me to imagine what would happen if the world just collapsed, right now. We made a game of it. I said I’d be fine, and Dad told me I wouldn’t, because there were bad people out there. I told him I’d just run home; he told me my little legs wouldn’t carry me that far.
And then I’d get scared and I’d start crying and Mum would tell Dad off.
I could tell from the look on his face that he kind of liked it, though. He’d got the reaction he wanted.
I looked inside the bug-out bag. It wasn’t anything spectacular. It was pretty light, as Dad always told me to keep it at no more than a third of my body weight. It was a pretty neutral looking thing, too. I’d read a lot online about camouflage colours being the most suitable for bug-out bags, but Dad taught me long ago that was nonsense. “When was the last time you saw a tree like that, son?” Instead, he told me that black was the best colour. Incognito beats camo any day.
There was another reason to avoid wearing camo colours, too. Real camo colours. It was because it screamed military and experience. And screaming military and experience was the last thing you wanted to do when you were in a world without rules and boundaries. Because military and experience meant you had something worth stealing.
Black was best. It blended in during the day, and it was invisible at night.
Just had to
hope I didn’t lose the bloody thing.
I opened the interior zips, a twinge of excitement creeping up my arms. Perverse, sure, but there was no denying the strange quality of mind the end of the world as we knew it brought. When you watch a post-apocalyptic movie or read—or write, in my case—a post-apocalyptic novel, you find yourself being drawn into that new world, where all the bad things are reset, and the planet has a chance to breathe again. And sure, I knew this problem couldn’t be global, but it kind of felt… I dunno, fun.
If I ignored the fact I was holding a Becker BK2 fixed blade knife in my hand from out of the bag, sure.
I rummaged through the rest of the kit. I had a metal water container, which would also be suitable for cooking and boiling water. There was a BIC lighter in there, not just for the clichéd post-apocalyptic chain smoking habit I’d acquire, but as a solid fire starter. I had a secondary fire starter in there too—some waterproof matches, but they hardly looked in the best condition.
There were other things in this bag of treasures, too. A spare bottle of water, which weighed down the pack, but was handy to have. I had some water treatment tablets, some freeze-dried diced chicken, which looked and sounded awful, but could be eaten straight from the pack, and provided a good 25 grams of protein per serving. There were other things, too. Some chewing gum, to provide a little burst of energy. A slingshot, which admittedly I was very shoddy at using, but again, would hopefully come in handy. There was a flashlight in there, which I prayed would work… but when I flicked the switch, I saw it was gone, affected by the EMP too, clearly. I pulled it out the bag and put it aside.
Oh, there was some fishing gear in there too. A basic frabill net, which I had never used and would have to learn how to use very bloody fast. There were some basic tools—duct tape, superglue, zip ties. My first aid kit contained some gauze pads, bandages, plasters, diarrhoea tablets and rehydrating powder, but I was short on antiseptics. Shit. Just what I needed, especially with my hands still stinging. I had some antibacterial towels, a few hand warmers, some cold packs, and lip balm—which, as a petroleum product, doubled as a fuel source. And on the clothing front, some wool socks, underwear, and a change of clothes—but the stuff smelled fusty, and I had no idea if I’d still fit into it.
