Lee Kerr - Welcome to the Apocalypse

‘We have a deal,’ she says again, this time louder, as if she is announcing to the world that I have finally done something of significance with my life. She quickly turns to the general, and starts whispering into her ear whilst pointing to me. The general looks at me and nods back, clearly confirming that my passage is guaranteed – that I have got what I have always dreamed of, in return for all my people’s oil and their pointless prince. I already know which one they will miss the most.

‘What do you mean: “we have a deal?”’ Abdul shouts, his angry face appearing before me like a viper waiting to strike. His eyes look into mine and they express only one emotion – betrayal.

‘Your father is returning!’ Hamza shouts. ‘He will deal with this mess!’

‘There is no deal!’ Abdul shouts. ‘You will all leave now.’

‘Guards!’ Hamza shouts.

Neither of them takes their eyes off me, their anger directed only my way, which I realise is their biggest mistake. They have never realised my needs, never appreciated that I am different and that my desire to be unique would always eventually lead us to this point. The day my brother died we all knew that my father had now lost both his sons but although everyone mourned, no one asked about me. They never saw me for what I am, let alone accepted that things would have to be different. As I see our palace guards flood into the room I also see that our American visitors have not sat quietly: they have whispered and planned, and their minds now seem to work as one tight unit.

‘Get out!’ Hamza shouts. ‘You will leave with nothing!’

‘We have a deal,’ the ambassador says. ‘We have conducted negotiations with your prince, the most senior person in your palace, and we have agreed terms.’

‘Come with us, Prince Jalal,’ General Martha says, an arm outstretched.

I don’t move, still frozen by shock at what she has called me. A click of her fingers tells me not to think twice and so I nod and move towards my new master, feeling more of a sense of belonging from that one simple gesture than I have from the past decades of existence in an unwelcoming world.

‘There is no deal!’ Hamza shouts again, spitting anger and hatred over all of us.

‘You are not in a position to decline an offer that has been made,’ Nevin says, still so calm and assured. ‘You have agreed a sale and we have formally accepted.’

‘I will do more than decline your offer,’ Hamza shouts, as he pulls the gun from his holster and fires several shots into Nevins. Hamza’s creased face and rotten teeth seem to fire the bullets themselves, and he screams in anger as the deafening sound of the gun echoes throughout the room. This one action pushes us all into an entirely new place. Blood splatters everywhere as his body falls backwards over the chair and crashes onto the floor.

I fall downwards, pushed by the American hulk who then pulls out her own pistol. She fires bullets into Hamza like they have been mortal enemies since the dawn of time, and I hear metal tear through his thin combat shirt and into his flesh.

‘Kill them! Kill them all!’ Abdul shouts, as he falls to the floor in front of me.

I look around; my eyes are the only senses that still work. My ears are ringing and my nose is filling with smoke. I see our many palace guards pulling rifles and firing as they run towards the marines. What I see in return is pure preparation, as the marines throw grenades and tear gas, followed by red dots trailing ahead of their steady aim, giving them all the opportunity they need to select their target and fire. So few are ranged against so many, but there is no anger, no shouting – simply precision.

I keep my head down, feeling as if I’m in a war zone of my own creation. Abdul looks at me and shakes his head; to him, all of this is my fault. He reaches for Hamza and feels his comrade’s throat to see that he is truly dead. I look around, trying to catch sight of the ambassador, as Abdul grabs a gun and shoots the American general, taking clear revenge for the death of his oldest friend. I cannot look, cannot dare to see my new protectors fall one by one. Somewhere inside I can hear myself begging for my new life not to end here.

When he has finished firing he turns to me, summoning all those decades of contempt. ‘Your father will blame you for this and we will both face certain death. In these last few hours you just remember that it is you who has ruined everything.’

I want to answer him, to tell him that I am not going to be blamed for today or any other day, but as I start to shout he doesn’t say anything, just staring at me. He looks ready to speak, ready to scream at me, but instead he just smiles, a trickle of blood flowing out of his mouth. I look around and then back at him; I’m so conditioned by his constant chastisements that I still expect some kind of response from him. I hear the thud of his gun hit the floor, and see both of his hands fall to his stomach as his shirt turns red.

He goes limp, and instinctively I grab him, cradling him in my arms. He tries to speak, desperately clawing at my face with a blood-stained hand, but he doesn’t have the energy to sustain the movement, and it just brushes against me. I tell him to calm down, that I will get help; that I still somehow care about him. I turn to see what has happened and where the bullet came from, and I immediately see that General is still standing, still very much alive.

‘Mission lost. The Palace is going into lockdown. Confirm this is a no deal. Blow the lot,’ she shouts into her radio as she looks at me, her face expressing nothing – no hatred, no disappointment – nothing I can use. One of her men is wrapping a bandage around her arm as another starts to escort Jessica away. She looks down at me for a moment, her face not moving, as I see that she is willing to only offer me what I think is a look of genuine pity.

‘Please take me with you,’ I shout, still holding Abdul in my arms, hoping that that she will hear my plea over the noise of firing guns and shouting men, and that she will honour our hasty deal.

She shakes her head but says nothing as the group moves away, stepping slowly towards the door. She doesn’t know of my dreams, of America and now her. She cannot know of my desperation but she must be able to see it.

Abdul suddenly grabs me, blood still trickling from his mouth. I look down at him; his body is still entwined with mine. He tries to mouth something, his weak hand only able to lightly smack my face. I shake my head, telling him that I have no time for him now; he’s my past and I’m fast losing my future. He jolts forward, his body wrestling with mine like a baby trying to escape the embrace of a parent. He coughs and his blood stains my clothes.

‘Don’t say anything,’ I say, knowing there is nothing that can undo what has been done.

He shakes his head, pulling himself up just a little, his breathing erratic and fading. ‘You have always disappointed me.’

I drop his body to the floor, screaming at him, screaming at everything I have been made to become. I watch his body jolt and shake a little more, his mouth still moving, still trying to tell me what a terrible person I really am. I watch for a moment, until that mouth stops telling me things I don’t want to hear and those disapproving eyes no longer move.

I look up to see that my future is almost gone. ‘No, wait!’ I shout, but get nothing back. Instead of an answer a deafening sound comes from afar and the palace shakes like an earthquake has hit us without any warning.

I get up and a few more guards run into the room, but quickly fall to the might of the marines who are walking backwards, pointing their rifles at anything that moves. These silent, red dots immediately remind me of my limited worth, my lost opportunity and the time I have borrowed. I run toward them, and their attention turns to me, their guns ready to do to me what my father will inevitably do later. I think about my options: do I prefer being killed efficiently like this or several prolonged beatings before the eventual mercy of a firing squad.