Lights Out

by Amy Cross

  “Good,” Anders says as he starts inspecting the guns in the box. “Let everyone leave London. Empty streets are fine by me.”

  “Angry scenes are continuing around the world,” a different presenter says, “with riots breaking out in scores of capital cities. Protesters, angry at what they see as a lack of preparedness for this type of situation, are attempted to gain access to government sites including the White House in Washington and the Elysee Palace in Paris. In one incident, around two hundred protesters were able to break through security cordons and enter Kremlin buildings in Moscow, although these buildings have now been cleared. Our reporter Jonathan Oakes estimates that similar incidents have occurred in all but a handful of countries. In some locations, there's evidence to suggest that local populations are not being told about the solar storm, and that internet access has been cut in several parts of Asia, Africa and South America.”

  “Let them riot,” Anders mutters, pausing for a moment before picking two handguns and setting them into a separate bag. “It'll be good for them to get the exercise.”

  “A crowd in southern Germany has gathered,” the presenter continues, “to hear from a self-proclaimed preacher who claims that the solar storm represents the return to Earth of Jesus Christ. All around the world, religious groups have begun to take advantage of the oncoming storm and authorities have begun to warn against any attempt to set up impromptu communes. An armed stand-off has already begun in Wiltshire, where around a hundred people are believed to have entered a farm owned by a man named John Wilkinson. Wilkinson is said to have referred to the storm as a sign of the end of days, and there are fears that he might encourage his followers to commit mass suicide. The Pope, meanwhile, has called for calm and has encouraged people around the world to focus on looking after the sick and needy who might be less able to deal with the difficulties caused by the blackout.”

  “One man's difficulty,” Anders says as he puts the box back into place and fetches another, while trying to ignore the pain in his lower back, “is another man's opportunity.”

  He puts the box in place and removes the lid, revealing rows of grenades.

  “I'm sure,” he continues, “that Michael Essien has said something stupid like that at some point. He's about to find out just how true it is.”

  He takes one of the grenades and holds it up, marveling for a moment at its compact size.

  “Now will you work during the blackout, that's the question,” he says with a sigh. “I should know, but I'm a little worried about some of your internal bits and pieces.”

  He turns the grenade around, while trying to remember exactly how all the systems inside speak to one another. If there's anything electronic in the grenade, it'll be about as useful as a rock, but he can't specifically think of anything that should render the thing useless. At the same time, he doesn't want to rely on the grenades if they turn out to be compromised, so finally he puts half a dozen in his bag before carrying the box back to its storage spot.

  Taking one final box, he starts to carry it over to the table, before feeling another twinge of pain in his back. He hesitates for a moment, and then he sets the box on the floor and crouches down to remove the lid, revealing a hefty assortment of knives and axes.

  “At least you know where you are with these,” he mutters as he picks up one of the axes and admires the blade for a moment. “Sometimes it's good to be old-fashioned.”

  “Finally,” the radio presenter says as Anders continues to pick his weapons, “on a personal note, I want to say that we're going to be shutting our studio down in a few minutes from now. That's to allow everyone here time to get to safety. I'm sure you'll all join me in thanking the team that has stayed to keep us on the air, so that we can let everyone know what's happening. I want to reiterate government advice that there's no need to panic, and I very much hope that the night will pass without incident. Remember to help one another, to look out for those who are sick or infirm, and to focus on the fact that in the morning all the lights will come back on and we can start getting back to normal. As dramatic as this blackout might seem, it's temporary and life is going to go on.”

  “Not for everyone,” Anders says as he places one final ax into his bag and then drags the zipper shut.

  He puts the last box back into place, and then he swings the bag onto his shoulder before heading to the door and turning to look back at his little stockpile of weapons. For a moment he worries that maybe he should take a few more items, but then he reminds himself that he has to balance that need against the fact that he can't carry too much equipment into the tower. He briefly considers dumping the grenades and instead taking something more reliable, something he's certain will work during the storm, but then he closes the lock-up's door and starts putting all the padlocks back into place.

  “So that's us signing off now,” the presenter says, as the radio continues to run in the waiting car. “Good luck, everyone, and we'll see you on the other side with our big breakfast show recap.”

  “See you on the other side,” Anders mutters.

  Chapter Thirteen

  14:20pm

  “And don't forget that last share order!” Essien calls out as he sits typing at his laptop. “That's the key buy, 'cause it'll trick all those other fuckers into following us along the wrong path. They'll be so excited, they won't even notice what the shell companies are doing.”

  “Of course, Sir,” Randall replies, watching his own monitor for a moment until the green flash indicates a successful purchase. “From what I can see, people are already starting to notice your moves in the various markets. It seems you're not the only one who's trying to benefit from the blackout.”

  “I'm the only one who's going to do it properly, that's for sure,” Essien mutters. “I didn't get to where I am today by following the crowd.”

  “No,” Randall says under his breath, “you got here by selling arms to people who couldn't buy them through the conventional channels.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Randall replies, before turning to him. “Everything's in place. We have about four hours now until the blackout, so I need to go downstairs and make sure that the right people are in the right spots. I promise I won't be too long.”

  He waits, but Essien is already engrossed by the live stock feeds. The markets are really getting volatile as the blackout approaches, and Randall knows all too well that Essien's minds will be focused entirely on the possibility of finding fresh ways to make money.

  “I'll be half an hour, at most,” Randall says, before turning and heading toward the elevator.

  ***

  “Do you really think anyone's going to attack the place tonight?” Foreman asks as he checks the weapons that have been laid out on the table. “I know you, Randall. If you really thought there was a threat, you'd have brought in back-up instead of relying on the four of us.”

  “Back-up is very difficult to procure in these circumstances,” Randall replies.

  “You'd have found a way,” Foreman says with a smile. “This is just theater, isn't it? You just want to make the man upstairs feel like he's important.”

  “Nobody is to get complacent,” Randall says, turning first to Vips and then to Craine. “This is going to be a long night. Foreman's right, the odds of an attack are very low, but we work for someone who has many enemies. It's not inconceivable that somebody might just happen to be floating around in London, and that the blackout might be seen as an opportunity. Remember, the tower's usual defense systems will be offline for the entire night.”

  “What about the cameras?” Vips asks excitedly, filled with his usual inability to stay still.

  “The cameras use electricity,” Randall reminds him.

  “What about the alarm system?”

  “That also uses electricity.”

  “What about the external sensors?”

  “All electricity.”

  “What about -”

  “We're going to be
locked in,” Randall continues, turning back Craine. “I've given you your positions for the night. Mr. Essien and I will be in the penthouse suite, and the rest of you will be placed at various points in the building. I don't want you moving around too much. Just stay put and listen out for anything unusual.”

  “And then what?” Vips asks. “Do we call you and let you know?”

  “The phones won't work,” Randall replies.

  “But we've got cellphones. If we charge them and -”

  “There'll be no signal,” Randall points out. “All the satellites are going to be put into emergency dormancy periods, remember? You're going to be on your own, but I have more than enough faith in all of you.”

  “Where's Callum?” Craine asks. “I thought you said there'd be six of us in the tower.”

  “Callum has been deployed as the first line of defense,” Randall explains. “I'm not going to go into every detail. I want each of you to focus on your own job and to stop worrying about what everyone else is doing. I've made sure to position you at key points in the building, and I'll be with Mr. Essien so that I can keep him calm. As you can imagine, he's very concerned about any security gaps that might be highlighted during the night. He's always relied on technology to keep himself safe, so this night represents something of a return to the old methods.”

  “It's really just gonna be you and him rattling about up there the whole time?” Craine asks with a faint smile. “Aren't you worried he's going to drive you nuts?”

  “Let me deal with that,” Randall says, before checking his watch. “The power's going off at three, so we don't have much time. Before I go back upstairs, does anyone have any questions?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  14:55pm

  “Look at it,” Essien says as he stands at the window and stares out across London. “So calm. So beautiful. So much power rippling through the city, and in -”

  He checks his watch.

  “In just over four minutes,” he continues, “it's all going to get switched off for a little over half a day. My poetic side is starting to respond to all of this, Randall. You don't know what it's like to have a sensitive, poetic soul, and in some ways I envy you that. If I were in my Geneva home right now, I might actually be enjoying this moment.”

  Hearing a gasping sound, he turns to see that Randall has emerged from the door that leads through to the stairwell. Out of breath, Randall leans against the wall for a moment before turning to secure the door and type in the code that activates the steel bolts.

  “Oh,” Essien says, “I thought you were already in the room. What's up with you, anyway? Why didn't you take the elevator?”

  “I thought it'd be wise to exercise caution,” Randall replies, “just in case the power went out a few minutes early. I really didn't like the idea of spending half a day stuck in the shaft.”

  “A fair point,” Essien mutters. “Still, I didn't realize you were so out of shape.”

  “It's a lot of floors,” Randall says, and now he has his breath back. “Everyone is in position. I completely understand your concern, but there's no way that anyone can get up here. Vips is covering the ground floor and the garage area, Foreman has taken the lower stairwell and Craine is watching the upper stairwell.”

  “What about the other guy you mentioned?”

  “Callum is covering the exterior of the building.”

  “I've got a bad feeling about this,” Essien replies.

  “Sir, there's no -”

  “Don't tell me not to worry!” Essien snaps, and Randall immediately knows to stop talking. “My entire life, I've always believed my gut. Don't ask me how it works, but at every stage I've had this instinct that tells me when it's safe to move and when I'm in danger. This instinct has saved my life on countless occasions, Randall. Without it, I wouldn't be here now, I'd be just another of the petty little criminals running around the world. But I was born different.” He pats his belly. “Something inside my body, something powerful, keeps me safe. What it is, I don't know, but it manifests as a profound form of instinct.”

  “Sir -”

  “And do you know what my instinct is telling me tonight, Randall?”

  “I'm sure you're about to tell me, Sir.”

  “It's telling me that there's danger,” Essien continues.

  “And where is this danger coming from?”

  “It's not a fucking radar,” Essien sneers. “Since I'm sitting on the top floor of a fucking tower, I think we can safely assume that the danger probably comes from below.” He turns and looks back out across the city. “You can tell me I'm worrying over nothing,” he continues, “but I promise you, my gut has never been wrong and right now my gut tells me that something's heading this way. And whatever it is, it's something I don't like.”

  “Indeed,” Randall replies diplomatically.

  “But do you know something else?” Essien asks.

  “I'm not sure that I do, Sir.”

  “My gut also works the other way. It doesn't just detect bad things, it also picks up the good. And after all the stock buys and acquisitions I made today, I can feel something really good also coming toward me. All I have to do, Randall, is survive this night, and then in the morning the world'll come back online and I've set things up so that I'll be a very rich man. Hell, I might just be the richest man in the world. Do you know how that feels, Randall? Do you know how it feels to be on the verge of beating every other fucker in existence?”

  “I don't believe that I do know that feeling.”

  “How long until the power goes?”

  Randall checks his watch.

  “About thirty seconds, Sir.”

  Essien steps closer to the window. His eyes are alive with possibilities as he watches the city.

  “If you've done your job properly,” he continues, “I'll reward you in the morning, Randall. You'll be rich beyond your wildest dreams. Everyone's saying that nothing'll be different when the power comes back on, but they're wrong. One thing will be very different. I'll be the richest, most powerful man in the world. Everyone else will bow down before me and -”

  Suddenly the lights flicker off, and a moment later the hum of the air-conditioning unit stops too.

  “Is this it?” Essien asks, turning back to Randall. “Has it begun?”

  “I believe so, Sir,” Randall says, looking up at the air-conditioning vents before glancing out the window. “It's a shame it didn't start after dark,” he points out. “That way we'd have enjoyed the rather dramatic sight of all the lights going off across the city. That would certainly have been something.”

  “Are cars still working?” Essien asks. “I think I can see things still moving out there.”

  “It's only the power grid that has been shut off now, Sir,” Randall explains. “The actual solar storm won't hit until a little before six o'clock, I believe, so certain things will still work for another two or three hours. But certainly this moment is, as you might say, when things get real.”

  “Huh,” Essien chuckles as he continues to watch the city. “Lights out, huh?”

  “Indeed,” Randall replies.

  “It's all gonna change,” Essien continues, his voice tinged with a hint of wonder. “I can feel it in my gut. All I have to do is avoid the danger tonight, and then all the good fortune is gonna come flooding my way.”

  “Absolutely,” Randall says with a faint smile, as he slowly reaches under his jacket for his gun, while watching the back of Essien's head. “Everything is about to become very different.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  17:00pm

  “It's all a big lie!” a lone voice screams in the distance, her voice carrying loud and high along the almost-deserted city streets. “There's no solar storm! It's a military coup!”

  “Sure it is, darling,” Anders mutters as he sits in the shadows of an alley, watching Essien Tower a few blocks away. “Sure it is.”

  Suddenly the woman lets out an agonized scream, and Anders flinches.
The scream dies away as Anders reaches halfway toward his closest gun and then hesitates.

  He listens to the silence.

  “You fucking sheep!” the woman screams, and Anders lets out a sigh of relief that she's still alive. Whoever she is, she sounds more disturbed than dangerous. “This is the end of democracy! The end of representation! This is the oligarchs taking control!”

  Anders sighs and – unable to help himself – rolls his eyes.

  The woman screams again, followed by the sound of breaking glass. A shopfront, perhaps, or a car window. To Anders, who has spent a lot of time in war-zones, it sounds most like a shopfront. The woman yells something, a few curse words perhaps, but she seems to be getting further and further away, which is just fine by Anders. The last thing he needs right now is some lunatic loose cannon running around when he's getting ready to start work.

  He checks his watch.

  Two hours to go. Two hours until Cassie either shows up to fulfill the vow they both made ten years ago, or...

  No.

  No, he won't contemplate the alternative.

  He knows Cassie, he knows she won't back down. She might be scared, she might have something to lose now that she's built a family life for herself, but ultimately she'll show up at seven. He'd bet everything on that. The thought of her not helping is just impossible to contemplate. All he knows is that if, for whatever reason, she doesn't arrive, he'll go through with the job alone.

  But she will arrive.

  Of that, there's no doubt.

  She'll have left her house by now, she'll be on the road. She'll most likely arrive early.

  Suddenly something moves in the distance. Anders looks along the street, toward Essien Tower, and spots a lone figure crossing the junction. Wearing a hoodie, the figure quickly disappears from sight, and Anders allows himself to relax just a little. He already knew that there'd be a few strays still on the streets. After all, it's a few minutes after five now and the solar storm is predicted to hit within the next hour. Looking up toward the sky, he sees nothing untoward; the sun is beginning to dip and the clouds are darkening, but he doesn't see a solar storm. Not that he knows what a solar storm is supposed to look like, anyway.