Nick Cracknell - The Quiet Apocalypse [= Island Zero]

The air was dry and hot again, no hint of a storm, as I made my way along the deserted roads. I didn’t know where I was heading and found myself surprised around an hour later when I saw the signs for Playa Blanca homing into view.

Life goes full circle, I thought. I had come home in a certain respect. Life was a big hamster wheel that we call rode on, hardly even realising that we were just coming round to the same place over and over.

Strangely, I was surprised as I cycled through the town limits and found them deserted. I had half expected a welcome of sorts, dammit. Perhaps the invisible film crew that had been documenting this whole charade would finally reveal themselves and we could crack open a few bottles of bubbles, drink ourselves stupid, and then the final denouement of the evening could be Akari revealing herself, alive, and holding two SINGLE plane tickets off the island.

My head began to hurt as I reached the beach. I saw the hut where I’d had a few beers after the Hotel Hesperia exploded, and instinctively headed towards it. The sea was as flat and as calm as I had ever seen it.

Well, that’s about it I’m afraid. I’ve just finished writing the whole shebang down and I’m going to have myself a few deserved beers.

My head is hurting like I’ve never known.

Just one more thing to say though. Perhaps it is a final gesture of defiance, but I shall be damned if this island is going to be my final resting place. I’ve stripped to full nudity, and I’m going to leave this place exactly as I imagine I arrived.

Which I have no idea how, obviously.

I could head back to the Sun Royal, lie down on the very bed I awoke on and wait for the inevitable, but that would be a gesture of acquiescence that I refuse to give this island.

This Island of Nothingness.

In about three beers time I plan to walk down that beach, have a good old cigarette and then step into the sea and bid farewell to Island Zero.

I’ve decided that if I can’t have life, then it damn well can’t have me.

It is almost impossible to write an ‘apocalyptic’ novel without referencing or being influenced by the works of, as I like to call them here, Those Who Have Gone Before. Indeed, the main reason I got into creative writing was in large part thanks of the following works, and although Island Zero is a totally original work I most humbly doff my cap to Stephen King for The Langoliers and The Stand , to John Wyndham for The Day Of The Triffids , to George R. Stewart for Earth Abides , and to Richard Matheson for I Am Legend . For me, these works capture more than any other the extreme manias, from isolation and desperation to unbounded hope, one would feel in an apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic environment. I can only hope to have gone some way towards emulating them.

Lanzarote itself holds a tangible fascination to me, and I couldn’t have written this without numerable visits to the island and I would like to thank it too. Whilst most of the places and names within are accurate some have been invented for creative purposes, and it is not the intention to cause any offence to them, only to showcase what a paradise lies for those who wish to visit them. Inter-lunary tourism may be a lot closer than we think, but until then I am content with Lanzarote.

Nick Cracknell was nearly born on a cement ship off Jamaica in 1978, but made it to Northern Ireland just in time. After reading Russian at university, he worked as a music journalist, building surveyor and voice actor before turning to writing. He lives in Devon with his wife, two children and some chickens. Island Zero is his debut novel.

Copyright © 2018 Nick Cracknell

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13:

978-1984360427

ISBN-10:

1984360426