Lights Out

by Amy Cross

  “That's the spirit,” he says. “Chin up.”

  “We're all going to fucking die!” the man on the road shouts. “How do you feel about that, you posh fucking pricks?”

  “He's rather unsavory, isn't he?” Caroline says, peering past Anders and watching as the distant man disappears into the distance. “Some people just love any chance to get worked up about things.”

  “I'll see you later,” Anders says, as Milo barks again. “I'm sorry, but I have a few things I have to do.”

  “See you here again tomorrow morning?” she calls after him as he heads around to the driver's side of the car. “Mr. Holl? Shall we meet on this exact spot tomorrow morning and laugh about it all?”

  He stops and glances at her. For a moment, he's not quite sure what to say.

  “Sure thing,” he says finally, forcing another smile. “I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

  She turns to head back inside, but then she stops and glances back at him.

  “Where are you going anyway, Mr. Holl?” she asks.

  Again, he hesitates, as if he's not quite sure how to answer.

  “Me?” he says finally. “Oh, I just have to go and pay a visit to an old friend.”

  Chapter Four

  9:45am

  “What's taking so long?” Essien snaps as he looks out through the vehicle's tinted windows. “What are all these cars doing in our way?”

  “It seems we're not the only ones who're trying to get out of London,” Randall replies from the opposite seat. “It's okay, Sir. We're less than a mile from the airport now, and the plane's ready to go. Are you still sure about Geneva?”

  “I want to go to the compound by the lake,” Essien mutters, as car horns sound all around them. “That's the most secure place I own.”

  “Technically the London tower is more secure,” Randall tells him. “The state-of-the-art systems are -”

  “I don't care!” Essien snaps. “I feel safer at the Geneva compound. We're out in the middle of nowhere there, we're miles and miles from anyone else. I can see for myself if anyone's approaching.” He turns and looks the other way, and he sees more and more cars all around. “The further away from people I am,” he continues, “the safer I feel. People are animals. Savages. I hate them.”

  He pauses, before turning to Randall again.

  “Get this fucking car to the airport. Maximum force.”

  Randall hesitates, before turning and tapping on the partition that separates them from the driver's compartment.

  “Get us to the airport,” he says calmly. “We'll deal with any consequences later.”

  Essien takes a deep breath and tries to steady his nerves. He can still hear car horns everywhere, and voices too. Between his various towers and compounds around the world, he's rarely in the company of ordinary people for long, and at this particular moment he feels like a sitting target. He refuses to show his fear, of course, but in the back of his mind he can't help wondering whether a sniper's bullet might somehow pierce the vehicle's armor at any moment and shoot him dead. He's been told over and over again that the car is safer than anything else in the world, but he finds it difficult to trust such pronouncements. His gut is telling him to be worried.

  Suddenly the engine surges and the car lurches forward, slamming into a blue vehicle that's stopped in front of them. Angry voices yell, but Essien's driver keeps his foot down and slowly but surely the blocking vehicle is pushed out of the way until, finally, it hits the edge of the grass verge and tilts. Essien barely even notices as the other vehicle rolls down the verge, and he ignores the anguished cries of the people inside as his own car rumbles along the road and then takes to the grass banking on the other side.

  A moment later the car hits a roadside sign and knocks it to the ground, as Essien's driver bypasses the queue of cars and then rejoins the road, quickly slipping between several cars and then mounting the roundabout and driving straight across the middle.

  “Sometimes,” Randall mutters, “this thing feels less like a car and more like a tank.”

  At that moment the car crashes down over the opposite side of the roundabout and then sideswipes another vehicle before briefly mounting another verge and then finally reaching the slip-road that runs along the side of the airport. Here, at least, the road is empty, and the driver floors the pedal and sends the car racing along.

  “I want to be in the air in ten minutes,” Essien says, as he sees planes on the runway ahead. “Tell the control tower that I demand priority.”

  Chapter Five

  10:10am

  “Despite calls for calm,” the voice on the radio continues as Anders drives along a Central London road, “reports are coming in of sporadic outbreaks of civil disobedience across the country, and in other parts of the world too. A spokesman for the Metropolitan police has told us, however, that no excuses will be made for anyone who commits criminal acts during the period of the blackout or in the hours leading up to it.”

  Anders glances at the cars that are all going the other way. Already, many people are choosing to leave London's heart and find somewhere a little more isolated for the night.

  “This is absolutely not a free-for-all,” a woman's voice says on the radio. “This isn't some kind of movie where normal laws are suspended. Anybody caught committing any form of illegal act with have the full weight of the law brought against them. And I would remind people that at least up until six or seven this evening, all cameras are functioning as normal and a zero tolerance policy is being instituted.”

  “What about reports that you're struggling to get officers on duty over the next twentyfour hours?” the reporter asks. “Will there be more police on our streets during the blackout, or the same number, or will there in fact be a shortfall?”

  Anders takes the next left, heading along a narrow road.

  “We will have a full policing presence,” the woman explains. “Obviously I'm not going to go into detail, for operational reasons, but nobody should fear for their safety and nobody should think that they can get away with anything whatsoever.”

  “You're not committing to full police numbers, though, are you?”

  “Contingency plans are in place.”

  “But do you expect a certain degree of trouble?” the reporter asks. “We're already hearing about people taking the day off work and starting unofficial blackout parties.”

  “I hope that people will be sensible,” the woman says. “Let's all remember that whatever we do today, we'll have to deal with the consequences tomorrow. This is an extraordinary event but it's also a temporary one.”

  “Great,” Anders mutters under his breath. “Don't worry, Milo. Not long now and we'll be at -”

  Suddenly several figures race out from a nearby alley and jump into the road.

  “Fuck!” Anders shouts, slamming his foot against the brake pedal and bringing the car screeching to a halt just in time to avoid hitting the half-dozen men who are now swarming around his car.

  Wearing nothing but their underpants, the men are grunting loudly and banging on the car's roof, and after a moment one of them leans down and starts bumping his head against the window while making monkey noises.

  “What the hell are you idiots doing?” Anders yells as Milo starts barking. “Get out of the road!”

  “Didn't you hear?” one of the other men shouts, banging his fists against his own bare chest. “We're all gonna be cavemen for the next twentyfour hours!”

  “Christ,” Anders says with a sigh, as he sinks back into his seat. He's tempted to just hit the throttle pedal and drive forward, but there are two men making monkey noises right in front of the car and he's not convinced that they'd be smart enough to get out of the way in time. “My life would be so much easier if I didn't have to deal with people all the bloody time.”

  “Come out and be a caveman, dude!” another of the men yells, as the others bang on the car's roof and bonnet. “Let's get prehistoric and bang some bones!”

&
nbsp; Milo barks again.

  “You're scaring my dog,” Anders mutters under his breath, trying to suppress his anger before, finally, glancing at the clock and realizing that he's wasting precious time.

  “This is not going to be anarchy,” the woman on the radio is saying. “I cannot emphasize that point enough. All the normal rules still apply.”

  “Okay, Milo,” Anders says as he unfastens his seat-belt. “Hold tight. Daddy's got this.”

  Opening the door, he slips out and then slams it shut again, just as one of the men runs over to him and starts gently bumping his fists against Anders' shoulder.

  “Have you come out to play?” the man yells. “Come on, we're all gonna be cavemen for a day! We're gonna go to Oxford Street and have a big caveman party!”

  “You're scaring my dog,” Anders says, turning to him.

  “Your dog can come too!” the man shouts. “The more the -”

  Before he can finish, Anders grabs his left arm and spins him around, before slamming him against the side of the car and then twisting his arm back until the man lets out an agonized cry.

  “You're scaring my dog,” he says for a third time, “and you're fucking pissing me off.”

  “Hey man,” one of the others says, heading up behind him, “don't -”

  Suddenly Anders slams his right elbow back, smashing against the man's nose and sending him falling backward with a yelp. At the same time, Anders pulls the other man away from the car and spins him around, while still keeping hold of his arm.

  “Let go!” the man screams. “What the fuck do you think you're -”

  Anders twists the man's arm until he feels a snap, and then he shoves the man to the ground and turns to see the others staring at him. One of them has blood gushing from his broken nose.

  “Do you other fucking idiots want to come and try something?” Anders asks, sounding just a little breathless now. “Come on, I'm ready, but I'm in a hurry so let's get it over with. Normally I'd say form a queue, but you're scaring my dog and you're pissing me off, so you might as well come at me all at once so I can get this over with.”

  The man on the floor starts to get up, while clutching his broken arm.

  “You fucking asshole!” he sobs. “We're only joking!”

  He lunges at Anders, who doesn't even glance at him as he raises his left hand and chops hard against the man's neck, sending him thudding back down to the ground.

  “Are we done here?” Anders asks, as the other men start slowly backing away. He pauses, before looking down at the broken-armed man who's writhing in agony on the floor. “Good luck at the hospital, getting that fixed. You might have a long wait.”

  With that, he climbs back into the car and then pulls the door shut, then he puts his seat-belt back into place and turns to pat Milo on the scruff of the neck.

  “It's okay, boy,” he says calmly. “Daddy just had to teach some nasty men a lesson.”

  Turning, he hits the throttle pedal and drives off, leaving the near-naked men far behind.

  “Neanderthals,” he mutters under his breath.

  Chapter Six

  10:30am

  “And I've told you,” the representative from the air traffic tower says firmly, “there are no more flights leaving the airport today. That's an international decision that's been made in order to stop a mass panic. Nothing leaves, nothing arrives unless its already in the air and we're its closest airport.”

  “We called ahead and requested clearance,” Randall tells him, as they all stand on the tarmac next to the private jet. “I'm sure something can be arranged.”

  “No exceptions,” the man says.

  “How much do you want?” Essien snaps, struggling to control his growing anger. “A million? You can have it in cash right now. Randall, get the fucking briefcase.”

  “Nothing is taking off from this airport today,” the man replies.

  “Two million.”

  “Sir, I can't -”

  “Ten million pounds in cash,” Essien says firmly. “Come on, man, that'll change your life. You can go and buy all the whores you want.”

  “I...”

  The representative hesitates for a moment, almost as if he's considering the offer.

  “Even if I let you take off,” he says finally, “you wouldn't be able to go anywhere. Air traffic control systems globally are refusing to take any new flights.”

  “I'm sure my pilot can find his way to Geneva,” Essien replies. “It's not that hard.”

  “You'd be shot down, Sir,” the representative explains. “A jet without authorization would be seen as a security threat and you'd be tailed by fighters. You'd either be forced to land immediately, or you'd be shot down. In all good conscience, I can't take money from you and then send you off to certain death.”

  “Fix this,” Essien says, turning to Randall. “Make this problem go away.”

  “Sir,” Randall says cautiously, “the London tower is the safest and most -”

  “Fix this bullshit!” Essien shouts, stepping closer and towering over him. “I want to be on that plane right now! I want to be in the air before this idiot has time to get back to his office and take a crap!”

  “I'll make a call,” Randall says, before taking his phone from his pocket and bringing up a number. “I know someone in London who might be able to give us special clearance.”

  While he heads away to make the call, Essien glares at the representative.

  “If it's any consolation,” the man says a little meekly, “it'd be quite a turbulent flight anyway. There are some pressure variations in the -”

  “Don't talk to me,” Essien snarls.

  “Okay.”

  Hearing footsteps nearby, Essien turns and sees that the pilot and co-pilot are already climbing out of the plane.

  “Stay in there!” he shouts. “We're leaving in just a minute or two!”

  The two pilots freeze for a moment, before turning and climbing back inside.

  Sighing, Essien looks across the runway. His eyes are alert now as he watches for any hint of movement out there beyond the grass. He turns and looks in every direction, waiting in case there's any sign of somebody coming for him. In his mind's eye, he can't help imagining somebody crawling closer and closer, then stopping and aiming straight at him. He imagines himself being seen through the cross-hairs of a weapon, and then he imagines a single shot ringing out and hitting him in the forehead, or maybe in the neck. Or the heart. Unable to fight the growing sense of panic, he turns and looks around again, and then he starts scratching an itch on the side of his face. Somewhere out there, he's certain, there's someone about to come at him with a gun.

  “We can't take off.”

  Startled, Essien turns and finds that Randall has finished his call and has come back over.

  “Any unauthorized flight would be taken down by fighters,” Randall continues. “I'm sorry, Sir, but we arrived about twenty minutes too late. We're going to have to go back to London.”

  “No,” Essien says firmly. “We're going to Geneva.”

  “Sir -”

  “Do I have to climb into that plane and start the engines myself?” Essien asks. “We're going to Geneva, and I hope for your sake that you don't try to get in my way.”

  “You once told me to stand up to you if you're wrong,” Randall replies. “Sir, I know you're capable of flying that plane, but I am telling you that you would be alone up there and that you would get shot down. You wouldn't even make it across the English Channel. My source tells me that there are already fighters up there, deployed to watch for anybody trying to make a break. And I for one am not going to countenance an act of suicide on your part.” He pauses for a moment. “Sir.”

  Essien stares at him for a moment as he feels the rage growing in his body. He wants to scream, to storm over to the jet and take off anyway, but he also knows that sometimes – not often, but occasionally – Randall is right. Despite the feeling in his gut, then, he's starting to understan
d that his only option is to get back into Central London and to hole up in the tower for the night, and then to make sure that he never, ever gets trapped like this again.

  “Your jet can stay here overnight,” the representative says, as Essien turns to him, “and then tomorrow -”

  Before the man can get another word out, Essien swings and punches him hard in the face, knocking him out before he even hits the tarmac.

  “We're going back to London,” he sneers, turning to Randall. “And if anything goes wrong, it's all your fault.”

  Chapter Seven

  11:10am

  “How's the arthritis?” Anders asks as he and Milo make their way across the park. “Is the whiskey still doing its job?”

  As if to answer, Milo stops and sniffs a lamppost. He almost pees a couple of times, but it takes a few tries before he decides on the exact spot. Finally he lifts his leg and sprinkles the post.

  “I'll take that as a good sign,” Anders says, before turning and looking across the park.

  There are very few people in sight, and somehow the sounds of London seem different. Every so often he hears voices shouting, and cars speeding along nearby roads. Some people are panicking, others are hunkering down for the solar storm, others are just going about their business. Then there are the idiots, and he's already encountered – and dealt with – a fair few of those.

  “The next twentyfour hours will be very interesting,” he says out loud, before turning to look down as Milo sniffs a patch of concrete. “You're going to see humans doing stupid things. Try not to act too shocked.”

  Milo almost pees on the patch of concrete, before changing his mind and sniffing again.

  “You're the most indecisive dog I've ever known,” Anders continues. “You know that, right? I know it's nothing to do with your arthritis. Just pee already. Or don't. But decide. I want to go and sit on that bench.”