by Lex Sinclair
Natalie drove on.
*
Sue Dyer had no dreams or premonitions that gave her a forewarning of the end of the world. However, when the innumerable stories all across the country and around the world kept rolling in one after another on an endless ream, she knew then the world would never truly be at peace.
The two world wars were bad enough. Not to mention the Falklands and Vietnam. In recent times it was the conflict in the Middle East and the 911 incident. The latter had traumatised her more than most in the U.K. when she found out her cousin Bobby had died while taking a two week vacation to New York (a lifelong dream for him). He’d run towards the Trade Centre buildings after the first plane had made impact to help citizens trying to flee the buildings and from being struck by falling bodies and flying debris. He’d been at Ground Zero when the second plane flew into the other tower. No one knew precisely what had been the cause of death. However, according to coroner reports he’d been struck on the head and pulled out of wreckage, minus half a leg some weeks later.
But this time it wasn’t conflict that was tearing the world apart. The world all over faced the same peril, which bizarrely united all nations. Sue always expected there to come a time when the world was without habitation. Yet she’d always envisioned humankind destroying itself, being the sole reason of their extinction.
She could have quite easily have continued as normal. Content with being in her favourite armchair with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a good book, Sue would let her fate be decided by chance or a higher power. Yet if she did that her best friend since high school, Natalie Hayes, would be crippled in mourning for her. Sue would feel exactly the same if it was the other way around too. So when Natalie called her a couple of days ago and told her about the sanctuary John had discovered not two miles from her house, Sue accepted the invitation to join her best friend.
Today was Christmas, although it didn’t seem to be. Christmas and New Year celebrations were events celebrated in past soon to become as distant as a star. No one had anything to celebrate or be cheerful about. Nevertheless, Sue, like a lot of the countries’ most privileged now had somewhere to go where there was a fairly good chance she might survive the devastation and be alive for the aftermath.
But time was creeping on. She checked the clock on the wall in the kitchen and sighed.
3:51
Already the twilight was sneaking up over the horizon, masking the daylight in its black cloak. Sue finished her tea, cringing at the cold liquid running down her throat. She was expecting Natalie to phone her sometime this afternoon. That’s what they’d arranged. Although Natalie had wanted to come over in the morning, but had to make other arrangements when John told her they’d need to prepare. Sue and Natalie kept in touch with each other a couple of times a day. That was before the news of the asteroids heading to Earth. Thereafter, they’d been in touch in person, over the phone and via email and text messages.
Sue crossed the kitchen to the sink and poured the cold dregs down the drain. She didn’t know how to proceed. An hour earlier she’d sent a polite, concerned text to Natalie asking if everything was all right, stating she was ready to meet up when it suited Natalie best.
No text back. No phone call. Nothing.
Under the circumstances, what with folks running about in hysterics and madness, Sue couldn’t help conjure up the worst possible scenarios.
She shook her head, as if the bad thoughts were clinging to her roots.
No! Nothing unforeseen or awful has happened. Natalie and John are just very busy getting everything sorted before we take refuge in the bunker. It’s no use forgetting something imperative when we’re down there, ’cause then it’ll be too late. Be patient.
Sue nodded acquiescence at her plausible and lucid reasoning.
She turned on the portable radio and listened to the hurried and frantic voice of the announcer.
“Once again for those listeners just tuning in, a mad riot has erupted outside the House of Commons. Ordinary citizens insane with the pending Doomsday have been attacking the House of Commons since midday. Many have been gunned down. Military forces constructed a barricade to prevent further attacks. Two hours ago citizens calmed down and began to disperse. Yet an attack on an SUV arriving outside to collect the Prime Minister broke out. And I can now announce for the second time that the Prime Minister has been shot. He died shortly after from the fatal wound in his neck.
“It appears envious citizens are blaming the pending devastation on our government leaders for not acting quickly enough when the largest asteroid was discovered a year ago.
“Folks, usually I’d be working till eight this evening, but for God’s sake it’s the END OF THE FUCKIN’ WORLD!”
Over the clatter of the announcer moving in the background, Sue heard him say in a tiny, faraway voice ‘…getting the fuck outta here!’
Eternal static crackled out of the speaker.
Sue broke out of her trance and flicked the OFF switch. She withdrew her open hand from her mouth, not realising she’d lifted it. The harrowing declaration of the Prime Minister’s untimely death sent a powerful shock wave through her system.
The sheer notion of the Prime Minister being executed like many American presidents stunned her into silence. It didn’t make sense. You couldn’t shoot and kill the leader of the country. It was unfathomable. Yet these days you could. And if enough citizens got together and caused a mass riot, no matter how well equipped and trained the British Army and other forces were, there would be no stopping them. After all, they had nothing to lose. Their way of thinking was, why should the Prime Minister be taken to an unknown location to be saved from the global destruction in an attempt to survive when others of less importance and no money were left to burn to cinders?
Sue turned the cold water tap on and splashed her face. Bending over the sink, shudders of pent-up emotion overcame her and racked her bony frame.
She didn’t know what would be worse, extracting herself from the world to be alone in her armchair with a hot chocolate and good book or interacting with the world and dying, if not of the meteor shower, then the shocking news of so many others dying?
Righting herself, Sue clutched the rim of the basin until the dizziness passed. When she felt safe to walk she ambled out of the kitchen in the dining room and retrieved her mobile phone.
Nothing unforeseen or awful has happened, my arse!
She hit the dial button when the cursor highlighted Natalie Hayes’ mobile phone number and sat on the arm of the chair.
Patience was a virtue that other generations had the luxury of, not her. Not now.
‘You answer the pissin’ phone girl, if it’s the last thing you do, damn it!’
Sue listened as Natalie’s mobile rung…
*
Natalie was careening around the roundabout and onto a straight road when her mobile started ringing. Startled at first by the sound, Natalie shot a look around her and spotted the mobile in the floor well beneath the glove compartment. She had no idea how the hell it’d got there. It must’ve fallen out of her pocket at some point.
The Asda superstore was a mile ahead. Natalie couldn’t risk pulling over or taking her eyes off the road for a second. Not after that madman back in the small town tried to assail her and steal her van. She cussed as the ringing continued inexorably.
‘It’s Sue! Shit, I forgot to pick up Sue.’ She slapped the steering wheel and winced at the pain lancing through her hand.
Natalie swung around the corner, tyres protesting, clinging to the concrete. The car park was nearly empty. She continued forward to the front of the big superstore and pulled up alongside the kerb, yanking the handbrake on. Then she unfastened her seat belt and reached over for her mobile phone. It slipped out of her clammy grasp on the first attempt. Cussing, she focused and clambered over the seat and obtained the mobile. She punched a few buttons and identified the missed call as Sue’s number.
She pressed the dial b
utton when the cursor highlighted the familiar number and waited for a response.
After three rings the ring tone cut off.
‘Natalie?’ Sue sounded panicky. ‘Are you all right? Is everything all right?’
At hearing her name spoken in the dulcet tone of her best friend’s voice Natalie almost relented to the emotions bubbling up inside her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Then she cleared her throat and chastised herself for nearly letting the tidal wave washing through her system drown her in perpetual sorrow.
‘Sorry?’ Sue said, perplexed. ‘What’re you apologising for, honey? You got nothing to be sorry about.’
‘I’m sorry for not calling you sooner,’ Natalie said, getting herself under control.
‘That’s all right. I was just getting anxious. I know John said that you needed to get supplies. I’ve spent the morning packing food, drink, clothing and bedding into my suitcases too. I imagine you two have been doing the same.’
Natalie balanced her brow on the dashboard above the glove compartment and prepared herself for what she was about to reveal. ‘John’s dead, Sue.’
No answer.
‘Sue?’
‘Yeah. Sorry,’ Sue said, distant. ‘Did I hear you right? Did you say your John is gone?’
Natalie confirmed what she’d said.
More silence.
Then: ‘Sorry sweetheart, I don’t mean to sound thick, but could you elaborate. How can John be d…?’ she trailed off.
Natalie licked her chapped lips to help her speak coherently. Then she explained in as much detail and accuracy what had transpired at Tesco, and how John had met with foul play in the form of a crazed mass murderer.
When she’d stopped speaking, she could hear Sue’s heavy breathing on the other end. ‘Sue? Sue!’
‘Yes,’ her best friend said.
‘I’m at Asda. I’m gonna get some baby stuff and other vital items. Hopefully, Reverend Perkins and his sister and her baby will arrive shortly. We need to get down in the bunker sometime tonight. Either tomorrow or the day after the meteors will enter the atmosphere. If we’re not down in the bunker, sealed in, then we’re as good as dead.’
Sue didn’t seem to hear her. Instead she said, ‘I… can’t believe John is gone.’
‘Sue love, I could do without discussing my dead husband at this time. I really need to get in this store, gather as many items as I can and fill the transit. On my way back I’ll pick you up. Be ready. See you soon.’ And with that Natalie terminated the call before Sue could say anything.
Without wasting any more precious time, Natalie got out of the van and locked it. She ran to the trolley station and pushed it full pelt at the automatic doors. They made a hydraulic hiss as they disappeared into the apertures.
*
Sue hefted her heavy suitcases to the front door and undid the latch. It finally dawned on her that there was a strong possibility that she’d never seen her two-storey semi-detached home ever again. She still clung to the hope that she could return, but then if it was nothing but rubble, would she really want to?
No was the resounding answer.
If she did manage to survive while the small town she’d resided in her whole life and the environing towns in the district were eradicated the place she called home would be nothing but a memory.
The realisation was beginning to kick in what this all meant. This time it wasn’t some huge event happening in another part of the world. This was happening everywhere and anywhere in the world. This time no nationality was being spared the devastation.
There wouldn’t be any redemption.
There would be survivors, of course. But the ruined land would resemble a war zone. Not a trace of scenery or beauty would remain.
The drone of an engine drawing closer snapped her out of her depressing reverie. Sue opened the front door and poked her head outside. The white transit van steered kerbside, tyres rubbing concrete. She wasted no time lifting her suitcases over the doorstep and down the small garden path onto the pavement. A door opened then slammed shut.
Sue’s heart jolted.
Then she relaxed when she noticed Natalie appearing from around the side of the van and jogging over to her. She tore open the rear doors and stepped aside to permit her best friend to pull her suitcases behind her. When she saw the third suitcase balanced precariously on the doorstep, Natalie ran forward.
Sue glanced over her shoulder, seeing what her friend was doing. ‘Thanks, hon. Be careful. They’re damn heavy.’
Together the two women, getting on in age, hoisted the three suitcases into the back of the transit door and panted with exertion.
‘Get in!’ Natalie barked.
Sue slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door.
Natalie started the engine, fastened her seat belt and pulled away from Sue’s house and sped down the tree-lined street.
The embodiment of suburbia grew smaller and smaller in the passenger wing mirror. Sue stared at the receding scene until it disappeared forever…
*
The Grim Reaper paid no heed to the screams now whimpering from the passenger occupying the bench next to it. Instead it stared forward, no expression or gestures to reveal what it might be thinking.
Meanwhile Vince had gone into shock. His massive, muscle-bulging anatomy shuddered with minor convulsions. The sight, feel and texture of his last victim’s decapitated head were still too vivid and surreal to erase from his mind’s eye. He kept jolting backwards in his seat and making horrified sounds that weren’t quite screams or cries but something in-between. Now he relinquished to whimpering like an abused six-year-old girl, hiding in her closet.
Eventually he summoned the energy and willpower to speak around the trembling of his lips. ‘W-Why d-did you d-d-do that? Why’d you g-give m-m-me his h-head?’
The massive cloaked figure that gave Vince the appearance and demeanour of a young boy in the presence of a monstrous adult ignored his questions.
‘Did you think it w-was amusing?’
The Reaper continued to stare straight ahead.
And it was the interminable silence that sent invisible pitching forks into Vince’s nerves.
Worse than the decapitated head of the local bishop rolling around, bumping into his feet, was the fact he had no idea where they were or what their intended destination was. The Reaper’s broad, slab-like back prevented him from craning his head over his shoulder and pulling the deep-purple drapes open.
‘Who’s riding the horse?’ Vince asked.
The Reaper turned its head only on its neck that made that awful, click, click, click noise.
Vince bared his teeth and contorted his features, immediately burying his head into his lap to avoid seeing into the chasm of blackness at the most ghastly image ever known to mankind. The face that made Iron Maiden T-shirts look like depictions of angels.
As the never-ending journey continued it suddenly dawned on Vince that he could no longer hear the snorting or the click-clacking of hooves striking concrete or any other surface for that matter.
In his fit of fear he considered aiming his assault rifle at the mysterious figure next to him and firing at close range. Yet the notion was a fleeting one full of doubt. If he did somehow pluck up enough stupidity and fortitude to do such a thing, Vince’s intuition assured him that the bullets would have no effect.
In front of him he stared at Death.
Evidently Death couldn’t die as it had never been born to begin with. So anything of a corporeal fashion wouldn’t cause it any harm whatsoever. It was impervious to pain, suffering and the fear of death. Those were emotions for all living creatures, not supernatural entities from another dimension.
‘Are you capable of speaking?’
The Reaper refused to answer or indicate it had heard him. Yet Vince knew it heard everything. Most likely heard his thoughts too.
‘Or do you choose not to communicate with me?’
The Reaper didn’t rotate its head t
o one-quarter of the way around its neck. Instead its skeletal hand roughly the size of a lion’s paw filled Vince’s vision and covered his face. Blackness deeper and blacker than any night or shroud enveloped his consciousness. Then there was nothing…
*
When he came to Vince didn’t feel weary, dizzy or any other symptoms associated with fainting or having slept deeply or been in a coma. Instead he woke fully awake. The carriage door was wide open. Outside day had succumbed to night.
The Reaper had vanished from its position next to him. Vince didn’t know if this ought to be taken as a good or bad omen. Neither, he supposed. Whatever the case he shifted across the cushioned bench and peered outside.
He gaped in wonder and astonishment at the sky overhead.
There in full view, amidst the galaxy of twinkling stars and a half crescent moon were what appeared to be fiery boulders floating, hovering in the near distance.
He blurted out a plea to fornicate with himself. Then he almost tumbled out of the carriage, forgetting to emerge feet first.
It was then, and only then, that the magnitude of what was about to befall the Earth fully hit home. It was one thing to sit at home watching the panning camera shots of the asteroids. But seeing was believing. All the documentaries and panel discussions, news headlines, accounts and rumours had been leading up to this finality.
Stumbling out of the rickety carriage, Vince gritted his teeth at the keen wind. He shivered down to the marrow. Then surveyed his surroundings. Frowning, he pivoted until he saw the towering figure that was unmistakably the Reaper.
Not out of choice, but not having any other alternative, Vince crossed the narrow two-way road onto the marshy land. The torrential and inexorable downpour that had flooded some towns and villages on the coasts around the U.K. had soaked and muddied the mountains and valleys below.
Vince had no notion of where he was. He had a good mind to return to the confines of the rickety old carriage. If for no other reason, to prevent himself from catching a cold. Wherever they were they’d travelled far. The enormous dune-shaped hilltops suggested that much. The wind sounded like a banshee out here. The only reassuring sounds were that of innumerable blades of grass hissing and undulating and the trickling of a stream unseen but nonetheless nearby.
