by Lee Kerr
‘So, Emma, can I ask you something?’ Scott says, leaning his face close to mine, like we have been in this embrace for a decade or more.
I look at him and I feel my heart beating faster. I feel faint from exhaustion and hunger – I didn’t eat much for breakfast and now it’s taking its toll. I feel the grip on me get tighter, as though he is mine and I am his, and always have been.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ he asks, and then stutters, perhaps wanting to say more. He looks around and probably realises that there are twenty-or-so people listening, having no choice but to witness our first meeting. ‘It’s just that you always seemed so quiet, so uninterested in those around you, that I assumed you were probably taken.’
I smile and wait, trying to find genuine excitement from the scariest of places. ‘No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I never have a boyfriend.’
‘I see,’ he says and then nods, finally looking around the carriage, almost as if he’s got bored of me, as if picking up single girls while society is collapsing is something of a hobby for him.
I push a finger into his chest, desperate to see how solid it is, imagining how many hours I would spend doing this if we were in my bed. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
He smiles and turns his attention back to me, moving his mouth close to my ear. ‘That’s better,’ he says and blows soft air behind my ear. ‘It tells me you’re interested in me and not just this bunch of miseries we’re stuck with down here.’
I can only offer him a half laugh in between my frantic panting, a smile forming in a place I never imagined possible. I study his neckline, gazing at his smooth, creamy skin, which looks good enough to eat. I look down his white shirt, seeing what bulges out of it. ‘You haven’t answered me yet,’ I say.
He nods and pulls his head away slightly. ‘I used to have a girlfriend. We split up just before all of this started but we should have ended it long before then.’ He puts his arms around my waist, pulling me up, moving my face closer to his. ‘I should have sat down in your carriage, in the seat opposite you, a very long time ago.’
I feel his arms struggling to hold me, the space is not big enough and his back is taking the strain. Before he lets me go I take my chance and move my face closer to his. I approach slowly, distinctly aware of how little time we have and how his energy is draining away, but my eager mind is trying to capture this moment forever. Our lips finally touch, slowly at first, just teasing each other. We both know that time is not on our side, that the option of a slow build-up is not a luxury that we have today, and so his warm tongue is soon in my mouth, slowly teasing and exploring its new home. His passion flows through me, reminding all the time me of just what I have missed, of all the men I have rejected in favour of continuing to search for my personal definition of perfect. And now that it has found me I realise both the lost opportunities of denial and the reward of the wait.
The train suddenly jolts forward again, forcing Scott to put me down. He still manages to do it gently, and his eyes quickly find mine again. ‘That was nice,’ he says, with a smile, a smile that I only hope to see in a hundred places, in a thousand moments, until the day I die.
I want to keep looking at him, taking it all in, but we’re both drawn away from each other as the light of the station starts to shine into the carriage in front of us. I brace myself, waiting to feel the battering on our train from the many hysterical people waiting to be rescued. I wonder if the tube will do a few more journeys, trying to all collect those who have been left behind.
The much-expected banging doesn’t take place; instead, I hear screams from the people slightly in front of us. Whatever this new horror is, it reaches them few seconds before us. I look through a space between some people, focusing on the windows between our two carriages, until I see those in front yelling and crying at whatever it is that they have just seen.
It is soon our turn to enter the station platform. We all look through our own long windows into the station. I stay silent, quietly witnessing the hell that is spread out before me. Those in our carriage join the others in crying in fear at the unknown terrors separated from us by only a thin layer of glass.
The door is still open. Scott grips me tighter and I can do nothing but try to catalogue every horror that is laid out before me. I feel his breath against my neck as I trace the blood that has stained every wall in the underground cavern; the splatters of red seeming to spell out a pattern, a reminder of many painful deaths. Across the concrete floor bodies lie scattered everywhere, their flesh sliced open and many limbs severed from their now dead owners. I look closely, forcing myself to see all of this, my mind quickly realising that the bodies don’t seem to match the parts left around them. People must have run and fled whilst they were still being chopped apart.
The people in the seats try to move backwards, desperately hoping to escape the evil outside. The sounds of the dead and dying find me now, as I realise just how close I am. We’re packed so tight and I’m still at the front of the crowd and so I edge closer to the open door, needing to look, to see and to understand. It’s the reporter in me, something that will never leave – my need to help others know what is happening somehow overrides the fear of what is spread out before me.
Scott must feel me stretching away, because he starts to pull me back. I feel my body moving, as I realise he is trying to rotate us so that he is closest to the door. I turn to look at him. ‘I need to see what is happening,’ I say, not having the energy to explain why.
He immediately shakes his head but I move quicker than he anticipated. ‘Just keep a hold of me,’ I say, leaning out of the door. The lingering smell hits me first; it’s as though it was just waiting to catch me off-guard. I look along the station and see that the bodies of the fallen stretch all the way along the cold, stone tiles – the corpses of the mutilated take up a lot less space than the living bodies of the humans who were once here. I make myself look to the end of the platform and I see others doing the same, the brave few who are willing to stick their heads out and get a proper glimpse of this very real hell. I look at the formations of corpses, the pile of bodies at the end of the platform. The victims must all have run the same way, all clambering over each other to get out. I see nothing but red flesh and faces painted with the horror of a gruesome end.
‘What can you see?’ someone shouts from somewhere behind me.
‘Why aren’t we moving?’ says another.
I’m about to turn around, to try to explain what I can see and describe horrors I never imagined when something pulls at my leg. I scream, pushing myself into Scott as his grip tightens and he pulls me backwards. My panic seems to spread throughout the carriage and others do the same; our primal instinct to share our fear with others seems to take over.
I look down at my feet and see a bloodied hand is trying to take hold of me. I follow the trail of the arm until I see the mutilated face of a survivor, his skin covered in blood, his hair matted with sweat. His back has been sliced open and blood still flows from it, telling me all of this happened very recently. I can only shake my head, as though I am apologising for all that has happened down here.
I think about reaching out to him, trying to help, but Scott pulls me further back before I can do anything. ‘You can’t help him now,’ he says, seeming to know what I was thinking.
I take one final look at this man as I wait for the life to drain from him. It won’t take long now and I’m hopeful the train will start moving again, ending my need to share his last few agonising breaths. I curse myself for somehow becoming this evil, this uncaring, this utterly selfish, but I’m at a loss to know what I can do for someone who barely resembles a human being, and who will pass over before the help that no longer exists could ever reach him.
I look ahead, back to the front of the train, starting to wonder why we’re still here. And that’s when I see it – the reason for all of this horror. It’s only a flash, a flicker in the corner of my eye, but it leaps into the front carriage, clear
ing its own space, throwing bodies out of the way using its long claws. Those who cry out as they fly through the air look dead even before their bones crack against the far wall.
I try to pull myself in; the fear that swells through me more intense than I ever thought possible. Just as I retreat inside I see another flash in the corner of my vision; something is tearing a path into the carriage at the rear of the train, much closer to us.
Screams are echoing from every angle now. Scott looks into my vacant eyes and demands to know what horrors I have just witnessed. People try to move, some even jump off the train and onto the bloodied mass of corpses. They slide on the fluids spilled by their fellow man, slipping onto the floor as they scramble to get up and to get out.
I think about doing the same; my eyes carving out a path across the floor, thinking of jumping across the few spaces of clean concrete, as though they were stepping stones to freedom. I’m about to pull Scott with me but he doesn’t move. I turn to see that he has become trapped between the masses of people who are struggling and moving in all directions. I try to keep a hold of him, thinking about who is in my way and who I can use as a shield, but as they push we are suddenly pulled apart. I fight against these people, my new enemies, thinking only of survival for Scott and me. I know that have to get to him; I have to get us out.
The lights start to flicker on and off and an announcement comes from the driver. ‘Hold on, we’re about to move,’ he shouts. Any fear he once had seems to have been replaced by determination to get his remaining passengers to safety. I start to like him, to have faith in his ability, until I remember what has boarded our safe haven.
I keep shouting Scott’s name and find that I suddenly have space to move, thanks to the few people who have already fled. I want to do the same, to get out of here and back to the surface. If the tube train moves then I hope it will take this evil with it, giving those who are willing to run a fighting chance of getting away. Find Scott and keep moving, I think. It is my only possible future now. I keep telling myself that we will get out and make it to the countryside. I picture my parent’s faces when they see that I have not only come home, but also finally brought a man back with me, and how proud I will make them both.
The tube moves forward, then jolts to a halt again. The driver starts to speak but whatever reassurance he once offered is now replaced by his own screams; our one hope of escape has now been obviously been butchered before he ever got to save any of us.
I look around, desperately trying to find Scott in the midst of the moving bodies and frantic shouting. I shout his name, my anger at losing him seeming to drown out my fear.
The angle of those left seems to suddenly change as something new makes its way into our carriage. I hear the slamming of a door and the screams of the people who can see what has been waiting for us down here.
I look ahead and see jets of blood travelling over the heads of those about to meet their maker. I look through the window, seeing that the passengers who have jumped off have not fared any better; blood splatters across the train, making it look like a crimson canvas; the guts of those who had thought they were the lucky ones are now on show for all to see.
The number of people remaining in the carriage is quickly dropping; we have become one long line of victims. A few look like they are putting up a fight, but most simply fall back like they have already lost a battle they never saw coming. They collapse into the seats, slowly retreating towards those who are bundled around me, cries for mercy and screams of pain all muddle together. My own doom is now only a few feet away.
The lights go out, plunging us into near-blackness as the shadows of those around me claw for survival. Something suddenly takes hold of me and arms wrap around my waist. I don’t scream or try to flee, but I soon feel the welcome touch of the man I have always longed for. I feel his breath on my neck; his embrace is warm and he gives off a faint, primal smell of sweat mixed with his aftershave. It’s some new world scent – such obvious effort to prepare for this moment, our moment, this short space of time we have together.
He turns me around, wrapping me tight in his arms, then slowly steps backwards, taking me away from this place. The endless screams around us seem to fade away and we become a silent movie – black and white, except for his blue eyes which shine like an ocean of calm, despite the chaos we are in. We reach the end of the carriage and he presses his back against wall. I try to turn, to see the evil that approaches, but he doesn’t let me. He faces our fear while making me bury myself into his chest. I feel his heartbeat, thumping a million times its normal speed. I’m not sure if it’s only my body that is shaking, or if it’s both of us, but it doesn’t matter now.
‘Ssshhhh,’ he says, as he holds me tight.
I can feel people still scrambling around us, the number of screaming people diminishing with every step forward that it takes. The crowd pushes against us but he doesn't let go, he just holds us in together in the corner, in this little world he has carved out for us.
I start to cry as the inevitability of what will happen is overshadowed by the pain and suffering that will precede our deaths. I want this to end, and to end quickly, for us to both be welcomed to the next life: a place where I will be with Scott forever, always in his arms.
He places his head on mine and wraps his arms tighter around me. He doesn’t say anything; we must both know that words are pointless now. He slowly rocks us both as my face stays joined with his chest. I want to be brave; I want to turn around and face our enemy together, but the simple truth is that I cannot bear to see it. I know what it is and that is enough for me; I want to keep all that I have seen as a vision somewhere in the distance.
There are now only a few desperate cries from the handful of people still shielding us. I can feel them drop one by one, their hard bodies hitting the floor with such regularity that I count them as they fall. Through all of this Scott doesn’t move, as I wonder if he has his eyes shut too. I focus only on his beating heart. I never want it to stop; my eyes stay closed and our bodies join as one.
And when all the crying finally ends, when that last prayer for mercy goes unanswered, I wonder if I’m already dead. Nothing seems to happen; only the silent smell of death surrounds us as I convince myself that I have already been sliced open. Time seems to want to make me wait, as does the beast, as I feel something lingering behind me. I sense its breathing; think I feel the lashing of its tongue against my neck.
I don’t scream now; I’m no longer willing to beg. I have what I want, can still feel the beating of the heart of someone I could easily love and I refuse to ask for more.
And so, in all but the darkness, I hold on tight to what is finally mine.
The Enduring Inevitability of Corporations and Cockroaches
Tuesday 23rd August – The Caribbean
After what seems like an eternity the tie comes off.
I knew it would. I watch as he throws it onto the chair and it joins all the others in a strange pile of overlapping patterns. The colour combination was not bold enough and so it lands next to the dark green one with white spots, and the blue and red one, which I thought stood a chance, but which apparently makes him look like a schoolboy.
‘Not enough red,’ he says and then continues to tell me how important today is. He has told me this a hundred times before, citing countless reasons why today is more important than any other day; it’s even more important than the end of the world, because it will be the beginning of a new world. I nod and listen to the endlessly repeated lecture. I get that today is totally important, like in a crazy way, but it’s no more or less important to me. It’s just another day in this hellhole we’re all stuck in.
‘Perfect!’ he announces, as he finds what he believes is an exact match, forcing me to turn my attention back to him just at the moment he pushes the knot up to his throat until it’s almost choking him. Sadly, it’s still not quite tight enough for my liking.
I nod back at him, not really knowing what to
say. I think it makes him look like one of Virgin Atlantic’s finest, although he’s clearly a few too many kilos past what would be a respectable flying age.
He doesn’t seem to want anything in return, just to have his own voice echoed back to him. He starts to comb back his hair, that combination of black and grey which seems to capture the essence of where he is in his life. He licks a finger and then focuses on a few stray hairs, putting them back in their place, forcing compliance where none is needed. When he finally turns to me he stares in complete shock. ‘Henry!’ he shouts, the look of horror blazing through his black, thick-framed glasses. ‘You will have to change your entire outfit because we look far too similar. What were you thinking?’ He fixes his cufflinks while his reflection judges from the mirror, watching to see what I will do next.
I look down at myself and then over at him and can’t help but shrug my shoulders, although I quickly see what his issue is – the younger version of him looks better, healthier, a little less burdened.
‘Sometimes I think you do this deliberately,’ he says, his head shaking. ‘You are my executive personal assistant but that doesn’t mean you should try to outshine me. You just need to do as you are told. That was our deal and yet you often try your best to undermine me.’
I shake my head, openly denying his accusation but not wanting to bring this argument to life, not again.
He turns around so he can glare at me properly. ‘You are not me and you never will be. When I think about what I had achieved by your age, it’s clear you will not become an entrepreneur, even if the world was as it should be.’ He makes his way towards me, placing a hand on each of my shoulders, his eyes digging deep into mine. ‘You must realise your place and try to learn from me. You have the potential to go far in my organisation, providing you keep your head where it needs to be.’
