by Amy Cross
Turning my attention back to the crowd, I realise that the impromptu meeting has started to break up. People are discussing things amongst themselves, but there seems to be no sense of direction, and there seem to be no leaders.
“Everyone listen to me!” shouts a voice from somewhere in the crowd. “Everyone! This is important!”
The crowd starts to focus on the man who climbs up onto the steps. He's a middle-aged guy with longish curly black hair and the look of a slightly mad, slightly English librarian, though he speaks with a distinctly local New Jersey accent. “Er... okay, everyone. I have two important things to say”. He pauses, seemingly a little nervous. He doesn't strike me as the kind of person who normally speaks in front of big crowds. “Has anyone here heard anything from outside Morristown? Has anyone heard from New York or from anywhere else in the country?”
There's a general murmur, but no-one comes forward.
“Okay,” says the man, “then we have to assume that we're alone. And we have to assume that even if help is coming, it's not coming soon. We have to organise and -”
He stops speaking as a gunshot goes off at the back of the crowd. We all turn as a second shot fires, then a third. Finally the crowd parts a little and a man starts walking toward the steps. He's a big man, tall and stern-looking, carrying a rifle. He walks right past me, and I notice that his clothes seem ragged and damaged, and he smells of... I'm not sure, I think it might be gasoline. As he reaches the front of the crowd, he ushers the other guy down from the steps and takes his place.
“Sorry to scare you like that,” he says, “but I need your attention. My name is John Sharpe. I came from New York and there's a problem that you all need to be aware of”.
The crowd murmurs again.
“There are people coming,” Sharpe says. “From New York. They're coming this way and they're only a half day behind me. They're dangerous and you need to protect yourselves”.
The crowd has fallen silent now, waiting to find out the extent of the threat that they face.
“It's chaos,” Sharpe continues. “People who are revelling in the collapse of society. They're taking out all their base animal urges on everyone they meet. Killing, raping, torturing, everything... No-one's safe. I've seen them torturing children, burning people to death. They're coming here, and you people have to be ready”.
“Bullshit!” shouts a voice from the crowd, a woman's voice.
“I've seen them,” says Sharpe.
“No,” the woman shouts, “this is bullshit! If the government can't get here, how come these other folk can?”
“Mommy,” says Lydia, holding on tight to Else's leg.
“It's okay,” says Else, stroking the top of her head.
“You can't just ignore this threat and hope nothing happens,” Sharpe says. “I came here to warn you, and tonight I'm riding on to warn other towns. These anarchists have to be fought and you can do it, but you need to be prepared”.
There's a disturbance off to one side, and a man starts shouting. “I'm getting out of here,” he announces to the rest of the crowd. “I ain't fighting. I'm going west, right now. There's nothing here to fight for. I was leaving anyway”.
There's a general murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“You can't just abandon your town,” Sharpe says.
“Can't we?” shouts a voice. I notice people already starting to hurry away, probably going to grab their families and leave town.
“We can just wait 'til they're gone and come back,” I hear someone say.
“Mommy,” Lydia says, sounding distressed. She clings to Else's leg.
“It's okay, honey,” Else says. “Jesus'll protect us”.
Lydia looks up at me. “Will Jesus protect you too?”
I stare at her, not sure what to say. “Sure,” I tell her, though I'm not sure I believe it.
“That's good,” says the girl, grinning.
“We have to go,” says Else, shepherding Lydia away. I watch them head off, and I realise that I probably won't ever see them again. That's one of the problems with this lack of electricity: you can't get someone's phone number, or their email address, or their Facebook name. Once they walk away and go around the corner, you probably won't be seeing them again. Everyone's alone now.
I have to go back for Pierce.
Extract from the diary of Lydia Hoff
I still remember how my mother led me away from the town square that day, after I had met Emma for the first time. As we moved through the crowd, I kept looking back over my shoulder to see if I could see Emma anywhere. Eventually we got too far away and she was lost, but I couldn't stop thinking about her. I can't help wondering if somehow I sensed what was going to happen. Did I know, intuitively, that I would end up seeing Emma again, that she would become so important? I'm not one of those people who believes in psychic powers, never have been; but I seemed to latch onto Emma straight away, as if I sensed something about her.
Of course, my mother took me home and we immediately started to pack. My father came too, and I heard him telling my mother that we would go to stay with his brother. It seemed like that's all people were talking about in those days: going to stay with family. It's as if they believed there was safety in numbers. I saw it time and again, as disintegrated families banded back together in order to face the challenging new world in unison. I suppose that was one of the very few good things to come out of the whole damn mess.
But we never got to my father's brother's house. By the time we were ready to go, all the roads had been blocked as anarchists flooded into the town. It was a hopeless situation. I watched my father, my mother, and our neighbours getting slaughtered. How I survived is something of a miracle. For many years, I thought it was impossible to explain why they let me live. But now I think I understand...
Chapter 9
ALONE
“Pierce!” I shout.
Nothing. My voice echoes through the empty building.
“Pierce!” I call out again.
Damn it. Maybe he's gone. Sure, he said he'd wait for me here, but maybe he realised I had no intention of coming back. Maybe he decided to just give up and set off by himself. I wouldn't blame him; after all, I kind of did the same thing to him.
As I wander around the building, looking for signs that Pierce was ever even here, I realise how alone I am. My parents were in California when the disaster struck, and I have no idea if I'll ever see them again. Even if they manage to travel so far to get back to New Jersey, how will they know where to find me? Suddenly, having a friend – any friend – seems way more important than it did before. Even if that friend has to be someone as annoying as Pierce.
“Hey,” says a voice from behind me.
I turn and at first I can't work out who spoke. But then I spot him: Pierce is sitting in the corner, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up, and he's shivering. As I get closer, I see that he's also sweating, and he looks pale and clammy.
“What happened to you?” I ask, kneeling next to him.
“Nothing,” he says, barely able to look at me. He swallows hard, and coughs. “I might be in withdrawal,” he mutters.
“Withdrawal?” I say. I stare at him. “From what?”
“Stuff,” he says slowly. “I have... drugs for certain issues. Mental issues. And I'm all out”.
I grab his wrist and feel his pulse: it's racing. “What kind of issues?” I ask. “What's going to happen to you?”
He winces in pain for a moment. “Sort of... like... slightly... schizophrenic. That's what they say, anyway. I don't know... I think they over-prescribe, personally, but... I don't know. That's what they say”. He looks at me with wide, puppy-dog, lost eyes. “Sorry I didn't tell you earlier”.
“It's okay,” I say. “Listen, we have to get out of here. There are people coming. People we don't want to meet. Can you walk?”
He shakes his head. “Leave me here,” he says. “I can't go anywhere. I just need to wait it out”.
“You have to come with me,” I say. “If I leave you here, you'll die. These people that are coming, they're dangerous”. I try to grab him, to pull him to his feet, but he resists. It's as if he just wants to sit here and wait for the end of the world.
“You don't understand,” he says softly, speaking so quietly it's hard to hear him. He looks up at me, genuine fear in his eyes. “I don't want to... I don't want to be alive like this. Can you just get a brick and smash my head in?” He laughs, and a blob of spit comes from his mouth. “Fuck it,” he says finally, before hanging his head as if he's passed out.
Somewhere outside, far away but close enough to hear, someone screams. A woman. It's a horrible sound, made worse by the fact that it's cut off suddenly, as if something interrupted her. And then there's the sound of breaking glass. It's far away still, but it's a warning. We have to get out of here.
“I'm not leaving you here,” I say to Pierce. “If you stay, I stay. And then we'll both die, do you understand? Both of us. They're anarchists”.
“Oh no!” says Pierce, suddenly finding his voice and seeming angrier than ever. “Not anarchists! The bogeymen! Fucking hell, you've been totally suckered, haven't you? Anarchy is the natural human state”.
“They're coming,” I say firmly.
He snorts with contempt. “Wanna fuck before they kill us?” he asks.
“Fuck you,” I say.
“That's the idea,” he replies, looking up at me, his head wobbling on his shoulders as he struggles to stay conscious. He stares at his feet for a moment. “Okay. Fuck it. Let's go”. And with that, suddenly, he gets to his feet and takes a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, breathing deep again. “I just figure we might as well die fighting, right? And screaming?” He looks me up and down. “Are you sure you don't want to fuck me?”
“Let's go,” I say firmly.
“Can I see your tits?”
I grab his arm and pull him along. We haven't got long. We have to get out of here before the anarchists get here.
“Wait,” says Pierce. “Let me get something straight. Are we setting out on some grand mission to save humanity and defeat the evil anarchists? Or are we just trying to save our own skins?”
I turn to him. “Save our own skins,” I say. “Got a problem with that?”
“Nah,” he says. “I never wanted to be a hero anyway”.
Once we get out of the building, it's clear that things are going badly. There's smoke rising into the sky from somewhere not too far away. A couple of people run past, and one – a young guy, late teens – stops, with panic in his eyes.
“They're right behind us,” he blurts out with a heavy Scottish accent. “Come on!”
He runs off, leaving Pierce and me watching him go.
“The world's falling apart again,” Pierce says. “Which way do you wanna go? Left or right?”
It's getting dark as we head to the centre of town, but of course there's no-one about. Everyone has hidden themselves away, determined to try to wait out the trouble. It's not a bad strategy, but I don't have too much confidence that it'll work.
“Hey!” shouts a voice in the distance.
At first, I can't see who's calling us, but then I spot a guy on the steps of a building on the other side of the town square. He's waving at us. When Pierce and I get over to him, I recognise him as the Scottish guy who ran past us earlier.
“In here,” he says, ushering us through the doors of the building and into a large lobby area. Behind us, he slams the doors shut.
“Is this a library?” Pierce asks, looking around the room.
“I think so,” says the Scottish guy. He reaches out a hand for Pierce to shake. “Craig,” he says.
Pierce waves him away. “I'm going to go look at the books,” he says, hobbling towards the main room.
I shake Craig's hand. “Emma,” I say. “What's going on?”
“There's tons of fucking assholes heading this way,” Craig says. “That's what's going on. I've seen fucking bodies in the street, I saw this little kid getting...” His voice trails off. “They're fucking evil,” he says. “Fucking evil”.
“Hellooooo!” Pierce shouts from the other room. Craig and I go through and find him in the main part of the library, wandering between the shelves. “Anarchists!” he screams. “Come and get me!”
“Is he alright?” Craig asks.
“Not really,” I say.
“Right,” Craig replies. “No offence, but if it comes down to it, I'm not risking my life for him”. He turns to me. “Or you”.
I nod. “Same here”.
Pierce runs over to us, a crazed look in his eyes. “I want to be an anarchist,” he says. “I want to be one of them, not one of us. I want to go... what's the word? Crazy. Nuts. Insane. Doolally. I want to be a baddie. I want to be on their side”.
“No you don't,” I say.
“I do!” he says, seemingly offended. “I fucking well do! I wanna be Darth Vader. I wanna be Sauron. I wanna be Davros”.
“I don't have time for this shit,” Craig says to me. “Is he gonna shut up, or should we throw him out the front door?”
“He's okay,” I say. “He's just a bit excitable”.
Craig clearly isn't convinced. “Make sure he keeps his mouth shut, or he can go out there and take his chances, okay?”
Leading us through to another room, Craig brings us to the rest of his small group. Half a dozen people have taken shelter in the library, ranging from young to old. I recognise one of them, the little girl from earlier. The rest just look terrified, as if they're waiting for the barbarians to smash down the door and come to kill them. Which, frankly, is kind of what might happen.
“I don't understand,” I say to Craig. “Why would people act like this?”
Craig shrugs. “All the controls are gone. Aren't you tempted to go crazy? No-one's going to stop you”.
“They killed my wife,” says a man who is sitting by the window. He's old, with white hair and a large belly. He keeps his gaze fixed on the scene out the window, waiting for the first sign of trouble. “They cut her head off and said they were gonna eat her”.
“Some of them pretend to be zombies,” says a woman sitting near me. She's younger, maybe in her 30s. “It's a fashion thing. They act like zombies, they call themselves zombies, some of them even try to eat human flesh like zombies. Of course they're not zombies, they're just fucked up. They'll take any excuse”.
I walk over to the little girl, Lydia. “Hi,” I say, sitting next to her. “Where's your Mommy?”
The way she looks at me, I can instantly tell that Lydia's mother is dead, and that Lydia saw what happened. “Gone to heaven,” she says.
“They're here!” says the man at the window. Craig and I walk over and spot a couple of men wandering into the town square. They're carrying rifles and they seem to be looking around to see if there's any sign of life.
“Get away from the window,” Craig hisses at us.
“I don't care if they see me,” says the man. “I'll take 'em on”.
Craig pulls him away. “It's not just about you,” he says.
“We need a plan,” says the woman. She turns to me. “My name's Ruth”.
“What we need,” says Pierce, who is standing in the middle of the room, “is a missile launcher”.
“Ignore him,” I say to Ruth. “How many of them are there?”
Ruth shrugs. “How can we know? All we know is how many of us there are. Not enough”. She turns to Craig. “There's no point fighting. We should focus on trying to escape”.
There's a bang at the main doors. We all look over.
“They're here,” says the man who was sitting by the window.
“Oh goody,” says Pierce, stepping towards the door. “A party!” I grab his arm and pull him back.
“Quiet!” says Craig. “If they don't know we're here, th
ey might just go away”.
“Motherfuckers!” Pierce screams at the door.
“Fuck you!” Craig says, grabbing Pierce by the throat and punching him straight in the centre of the face. Pierce crumples to the ground, blood spilling from his nose.
“You broke my nose!” Pierce shouts. “You fucking broke my nose!”
There's more banging at the door, heavier this time, more determined.
“They heard him,” Ruth says. “We have to get out of here”.
Craig turns to Pierce, rage in his eyes. “You fucking asshole,” he says. “They're gonna kill us all now”.
Pierce looks up at him, blood still pouring from his smashed nose. He smiles. “Didn't you have a Plan B? Whoops”.
Craig laughs uneasily. “Plan B is to fucking kill you right here”. And with that, he kicks Pierce hard in the chest. Doubling up in pain, Pierce spews blood onto the floor.
I push Craig away. “We need to leave,” I say. “Not fight each other”.
“She's right about leaving,” Ruth says, coming over. She looks down at Pierce. “But this little idiot is too dangerous. Democratic vote time. Who agrees we kill him?”
Slowly, everyone puts their hands up, apart from the little girl and me. I look down to see even Pierce has one hand raised.
“You can't kill him!” I say to Craig. “He's sick. He doesn't know what he's doing. Wait for him to get over the withdrawals and he'll -”
“What?” Craig shouts. “He'll go back in time and not risk getting us all killed?”
“Out of the way,” says Rachel, pushing past Craig. At the last moment, I see that she has a large paperweight in her hand. It looks heavy and strong.
“No!” I shout, but I'm too late. As I rush towards her, Rachel brings the paperweight crashing down onto Pierce's skull.
Extract from the diary of Lydia Hoff
Calvin was here tonight. Dear, beautiful young Calvin. He told me: tonight is the night when the lights will come back. I don't know how he knows this, but he is often right about such things. In recent days, I have seen him hunched over complex charts and maps. So perhaps he is right. Perhaps the magnetic reversal is to finally end. Perhaps tonight, finally, our electric world will come back to us.
