Welcome to the apocalypse

by Lee Kerr

  I give my television a triumphant nod and then look down at the three pictures I am still clutching in my hand. I look at my parents and I decide that this is the weekend I will go home. Apparently, two-thirds of Londoners have remained in the capital, seemingly to keep things going, but for many people it is their one and only home, so they cannot leave, even if they wanted to. The fact is that refugees stuck in the middle of a crisis in a civilised society don’t fare well, because people are too concerned with protecting what they have to open a door to strangers. But for people like me, who call this place home but also have an alternative, it’s something that has been weighing heavily on my mind. Perhaps the countryside will be safer, as my dad constantly insists, or perhaps it’s just more appropriate for me to leave this life, which I will never manage to protect, to be with those who matter most. I flick to the second photo, which is of my girlfriends, all of whom have stayed in London. Defiant until the end, that’s what we agreed.

  It’s the third photo that makes me wonder, makes me yearn. I hold up the picture; it’s of a man I have never met, a world I’ve never known. He’s just a man from a magazine, someone I’ll never meet yet he has still earned his place in my small collection. He’s the unknown someone, just like one of the many I see every day and wish could be single and mine to hold. My one regret is still being alone at the age of 30. Despite living in a city of millions, I still spend every night on my own; even the impending collapse of the last pillar of the western world hasn’t led to me having any nice, young and talented men in my cold bed.

  I tuck him away, into my small purse, where I keep pictures of my family and friends, as well as a scattering of other small treasures and a wedge of notes that make up all that is left of my limited wealth. I start to wish I had kept more money hidden in the flat; I should have seen the restriction on cash withdrawals coming from a mile away. It’s funny that the things you tell people and the things you do don’t always end up being the same. I was too busy writing news stories about how money will soon lose all its value that I forgot to count up what I had and hide it somewhere safe, just in case I survived and just in case I was wrong.

  The sudden noise of a siren in the distance jolts me back to life, back to my small world of big worries. I look out the window to see smoke rising up in the sky, joining the grey clouds and casting a shadow over the view I once loved. Whatever is happening now is new and different and, in my tortured mind, it becomes something entirely more sinister. It looks to be a few miles away, but it’s not like I could ever know for sure.

  I grab my day-pack and my coat and head for the door. I look in the mirror, still evaluating and offering myself some everyday criticism. My skin looks tired, my makeup application half-arsed at best. I ruffle my hair, pulling my fringe over as much of my pasty skin as possible. I manage to find some praise for myself – my choice of skinny jeans and a tight jumper seem appropriate for the dangers of today, in being entirely unattractive, although they do add a post-war drama feel to my attire.

  I take one final look throughout my apartment and wonder if I will see it again. Everything here is a symbol of my progress towards the life I desperately wanted – the yellow cushions that match the sunny weather, the pictures covering nearly every wall, all deliberately chosen from the year I spent travelling the world.

  I look around at all the things I could never fit into a suitcase, let alone my small survival pack. This isn’t supposed to be happening because this is supposed to be my happy home – my place of sanctuary where I await my man. He would come in and smile at the ready-made woman for him. He would have his own place, too. The weekends would be ours to fill as we pleased, but the odd evening he slept here would mean the most. He would choose to add interruptions to his weekly routine; he would give up a gym session, post-work drinks or a meal with his dearest friends to spend his time with me. It would be our time and it would be the midweek boost I would need. And in the morning, when he clasped a silver watch around his wrist, getting up early to make into the city in time, I would start my countdown to when he would next wrap me in his solid arms.

  ‘Get a grip,’ I say, out loud to no one but myself. I’m still shaking my head at my own desperation when I finally find the courage to open my front door. I’m still looking into my flat, into the world I so desperately want but that’s now being taken away from me, day by day. I take out my phone and get a picture, taking a snapshot of this place exactly how I left it. I do this every time I leave and I look at the photo several times a day, each time reminding myself of what I have to come back to. I also take this daily photo so that when I get home I can check the exact detail of the image against what is in front of me, looking for any signs of a disturbance. Mass looting might not be taking place, but burglaries are up 500%, as I reported in my editorial feature last week.

  I drop my phone deep into my coat pocket – out of sight but close to my heart. Don’t leave anything in your backpack: that’s the current advice from the Metropolitan Police. I pull my backpack around to my front, hunting for my keys, openly laughing that this advice doesn’t quite cut it for this urban, end-of-the-world city girl.

  Just as I find them, I feel something grip my arm. The hold is tight and I can feel another hand making its way around to the other side of me. I scream and pull myself away, frantically shouting until I trip over and fall down. I’m still yelling as I hit the floor and turn over, hoping to somehow use my feet to push the door shut. I’m already seeing visions in my head of some crazed man scratching his way through the gap, trying to slice me up.

  No sooner do I get my mind sorted do I then realise that it’s Carla, my one remaining neighbour.

  ‘Emma!’ she shouts, her hands held out. ‘It’s me, it’s just me!’

  I lie still for a second and my heart continues to beat in triple-time. I look up and I let her stare down at me, wanting her to realise how close she caused me to come to a heart attack. ‘Carla, what the hell was that?’

  She smiles and then laughs, her frizzy hair almost vibrating along with her body. She offers me a helping hand but I ignore it, in order to prove just how little I need her. The truth is that I would rather do without her – she does nothing but infuriate me. She has this incessant squeaky voice and she can go on for hours about things, freely sharing her frankly uninformed view on what is happening in the world.

  As the last few days have unfolded and more of our apartment block has emptied out, she has suggested several times that we sleep together, or at least stay in the same flat – preferably mine because it’s higher up. Each time I have politely declined, telling her that it’s best that we keep to our normal, day-to-day routines for as long as possible. The truth is that as much as she scares me I also refuse to have her as the first person to share my bed, my personal space or any part of my life. It’s just my luck that the only remotely attractive single guy abandoned our block a week ago, as it turns out, heading back up north to find his last girlfriend, the apparent love of his life. I told him she’s probably a zombie by now, but it did nothing to make him stay.

  As I stand up she can’t help but fuss over me, straightening my jacket and padding me down. ‘I’m sorry I scared you but if we were staying in the same flat, as I suggested, there would have been no need for me to rush up the stairs, would there?’

  ‘I’ve told you we’re not doing that. The world hasn’t ended, yet.’

  She lets out this high-pitched squeal, her arms suddenly flapping all around me. ‘Haven’t you seen outside? Something bad is happening, something very different to yesterday.’ She grabs hold of my arm again, forcing her crazy gaze upon me. ‘That’s why I came up to see you, to warn you to stay here. You see, I really do look after you. We have to look after each other now and there’s no way you can go to work today, it’s just not–’

  I grab hold of her, mirroring her pose so that we’re both holding each other. ‘What the hell are you talking about? What’s happening?’

  ‘Haven�
��t you heard? What have you been doing all this time? Some people are saying that whatever happened in Paris has made it through the tunnel and is coming up the river. Water won’t stop it, nothing can. But I personally think it’s those vigilantes from the south coast. They have finally got past the army barricades and are working their way to London, raping and pillaging as they go. The army won’t stop them – why should they? They have bigger things to worry about, don’t you think?’

  I shake my head, openly refusing to accept her explanation. I can’t believe what I’m hearing, not because I’m in denial, but rather because all the reports we received yesterday said there had been no activity near the tunnel. It also said that all the army barricades were still holding strong. The government made the decision weeks ago to recall every warship, every soldier and every fighter plane in order to protect our homeland, and while they were criticised for not joining the short-lived Global Defence Force, the safest place to be right now is England, particularly the south. I remind myself of all these facts that I have read for myself and of the presence of thousands of soldiers around the coast, and then I look to my frantic neighbour. ‘Carla,’ I say, gently shaking her. ‘Please slow down and tell me what you know, not the gossip you have heard, because it’s very different to what I reported just a few hours ago when I left the office at midnight.’

  She shakes me off her, taking a step back and folding her arms. ‘You know, Emma, you can be quite cutting at times. I was just starting to get to like you and then you get all judgemental on me.’

  I ignore her and find my keys, taking my time to turn all three locks, but the whining continues in my ear. She doesn’t seem to notice what I’m doing. I turn each lock to a certain point and then pull the key out, memorising exactly which position I left each lock in, just in case someone decides to pay my flat a visit.

  I push the door one more time, reassuring my later-self that I did lock, check and double-check it. I turn around and she is still standing there at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Haven’t you heard a word I’ve just said?’ she says, her arms folded and my escape route blocked.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ I say, moving myself forward, quite willing at this point to push her down the stairs. The police would never turn up, even if called, and no one would ever know, except for me. I have visions that she might not be the first person who gets in my way who I deal with like this; I know that the element of surprise would be my biggest asset, hopefully compensating for my unfortunately slender frame. Even high heels don’t help, and besides they are most definitely a thing of the past, which is one thing at least that I am thankful for.

  ‘Oh Emma,’ she says, her head tilted and this smile on her face. ‘You’re too independent for your own good. You’re just the type of person who will do well in whatever wasteland awaits us. And that’s why we should stick together, because with your survival skills and my organisational talent we will make it through this. I know we will.’

  ‘I’m going to work,’ I say, pushing myself forward, now only a single step in front of her. ‘And you’ll need to move out of my way for that to happen.’

  She shakes her head, a hand on each side of the banister. ‘There is no more work, don’t you see? It has finally caught up with us and now we have to take steps in order to survive.’

  I take a deep breath, not knowing where to begin but very clear in my mind that I will be going to work and today is not the day that we all give up, making hiding the only option.

  ‘Now, while you have been wallowing in self-pity and still going to work in the vain hope that you will get paid, I have been busy stockpiling and collecting what we will need. So, I say we do one more trip to Sainsbury’s – the big one, I mean – and see what final bits we can get there. Once we’ve done that, we need to barricade the downstairs door. We’re lucky it’s solid oak – that should help a little bit. We will use the furniture from the other flats to help reinforce it. I doubt they will mind and we will never see them again, anyway.’

  I silently shake my head, which only serves to make her eyes wilder; her whole body quivers. The thought of barricading myself in this block with her would be very like encasing myself in my own personal hell, and it’s not something I plan to do.

  ‘I don’t think that you’re taking this seriously, Emma,’ she says. ‘You have to realise that this is the end and we need to prepare. Please, don’t worry, because I will take care of everything. And just so you know, the nice couple over the road are doing the same. We have plans to stay in our separate houses and communicate through the windows. Whoever or whatever comes down the street in the depths of the night will hopefully think the houses are deserted and will move on. I bet we will see that lots of people have done exactly the same.’

  ‘I’m still going to work,’ I say, pushing forward again. My body comes into contact with hers, and my eyes look down, ever hopeful that she will move without a struggle.

  Her body tenses and I feel nothing but a solid bulk of determination in front of me. She wants to keep me here, keep me trapped. I know that right now she is scarier than whatever waits for me outside, but if I leave her like this I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back in later.

  ‘Look, Carla, why don’t we just treat today like a normal day. I’ll go to work and see what is going on out there, while you start the preparations. Perhaps we could have a chat with those Australian guys over the road. I think they’re still here and if they are planning on doing the same, maybe we should all put our supplies into one block. Don’t you think that would be the best idea for everyone?’

  She doesn’t speak, but her eyes probe mine. She looks at me, then around me. Her gaze finally finds the door behind me. ‘Give me your keys, then.’

  I shake my head before I’ve fully processed what she is asking and what she could possibly be planning to do with my things, my home and my life.

  ‘If we are truly a team, then you should trust me and give me your keys so I can prepare, but I can see straight away that you don’t actually mean what you are saying.’

  ‘Look, Carla, I’m not giving you my keys. This is my flat and it’s full of my things.’

  Suddenly she pushes me, hard enough to make me fall to the floor. She stands over me, her fists clenched and her body trembling. ‘You plan to leave me, just like she did. I only went out for an hour to get some food and when I came home she was gone.’

  I know that Carla is referring to her flatmate, who walked out a week ago and never returned. I remember watching her leave. She got into a car with two full bags of luggage. She looked all around the street and then frantically threw her things into the backseat. I had thought she knew something was coming but now I’m starting to realise that she simply wanted to escape from this crazy girl. That night had been horrific: Carla shouted and screamed into the early hours about how she had been abandoned. She banged on my door several times but I didn’t answer. I just curled up in my bath, in the part of my flat where her desperate cries were faintest, as I waited for her to finally tire and go to sleep.

  ‘She didn’t even leave a note, not one fucking word! And how do you think that made me feel, Emma? All I do for people and this is how they repay me! Well, I tell you that you are not doing the same. If you leave now then you will not get back in tonight.’

  I get up, knowing that I must be stronger than I look if I am to survive. This is my first test, and it’s nothing like I thought it would be. ‘Carla, enough!’ I shout, getting back up for the second time in just a few minutes. ‘I am going to work and when I come back tonight I will be getting into my flat and we will continue as normal, do you hear me?’

  But I can tell she doesn’t hear me. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a flick-knife. She shakes her head as she moves towards me, a look of disgust on her face. ‘It’s different out there today. I wish you would listen. We could have got all this sorted, got ourselves prepared, but instead you’ve turned out to be quite the liability. I ca
n’t have this. I can’t feel like second choice.’

  ‘Second choice to what?’ I ask, not knowing what I’m competing against, apart from the deadly contents of her imagination. ‘Second choice to the end of the world?’

  ‘You’ll leave me, too – I know you will! You will find someone or someplace better and never come back.’

  ‘I’m not yours to decide what to do with. You realise that, don’t you?’

  Carla twists her wrist, and the blade flicks out, the silver shiny and bright. It’s new and unused but in the hands of this mad girl, it's deadly. ‘You are staying, Emma. I don’t know how long we’re going to be trapped in here and I can’t do it alone. I’ll go mad if I’m left by myself any longer, I really will.’

  I think about asking her if keeping me here at knife-point is the right way to win me over, and I even think about asking if she plans to live with me or eat me. In the end I decide that I am not going to be stuck night after night with this thing; I am more worried about the horrors in my home more than the ones outside and that must change. I’ve seen enough reports to know what is coming and I know my world is now all about survival.

  ‘So, what’s it going to be?’ she asks.

  ‘I pick freedom,’ I say and push myself forward, forcefully enough to dislodge her. She topples backwards. I think about what I will do once she lands halfway down the stairs but then I realise she has taken hold of me with her spare hand. The other hand starts to rise up, the blade coming back into view. I know that it is now or never and so I push the palm of my hand into her face as hard as I can.

  She screams as blood starts to flow from her nose but this isn’t enough to make me stop. I do it again, as she starts to scream wild threats back at me. She seems determined not to let go, and she swipes the knife at me with her free hand, missing my face by only inches.