Alex Knightly - Sudden Darkness - A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller

He picked up the fresh refill with a grunt. It was heavier than he’d expected. But it was worth it for fifteen litres of fresh water.

He filled his pockets with the stash of chocolate bars from the desk and hurried out.

Terry soon became aware of the value of the water he was carrying. People stopped to look at him as he passed through the shop and it made him nervous. He moved as fast as he could, which wasn’t fast when there was so much glass and debris to avoid.

He thought about hiding the huge water bottle, but how? There were no bin bags on the shelves—people had been using them to take away as much food as they could carry.

He sighed with relief when he was out of the shop, but it was short-lived. He still had another half mile or so to go. He walked as fast as he could, trying to project confidence. It was hard when the bottle was starting to weigh down on him. He wasn’t used to carrying this sort of weight: they used trolleys when they restocked the shelves.

His heart was racing now as he recalled the guy who’d robbed that old lady’s handbag. What if he was lurking around?

The thought made him speed up, but his pace was still slow. He stumbled and his knee locked as the container weighed awkwardly on his shoulder.

“Bugger,” he muttered. It didn’t help that his shoulder was tender from breaking down the door. “Come on. Keep going.”

He tried not to look at the shops with their broken windows and ransacked interiors. Or at the looks of confusion and fear on people’s faces.

He didn’t dare think about how nice it was going to be to have a glass of simple, plain, fresh water. It still felt cold to the touch too, not that he would have minded if it was lukewarm.

He blinked. He was almost there now. The most dangerous part was almost over—there were more people on High Street. Safety in numbers…

His optimism evaporated. Just as he’d started to feel relieved that he’d gotten away with it, a group of boys in tracksuits turned onto the street and started walking towards him. He could tell by the way they were swaggering that they were trouble.

Stop it, he told himself. Those kids could sense fear a mile off. He kept walking. There was nothing unusual about carrying a container of water. Nothing at all. So why was he making a big deal of it?

He stood up straight even though his shoulder was aching. Make yourself look as big as possible . But he didn’t feel big. He felt small.

“What’s that?”

Terry’s heart hammered. They weren’t asking out of politeness. He was only about a hundred yards from High Street.

Ignore them.

“That’s water, that is,” one of the others muttered.

“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking him.”

Terry looked up. The menace in the boy’s voice had startled him. Their eyes met and Terry was taken aback. He was no more than fifteen. Terry coughed awkwardly and looked away, but not before he saw what the boy had in his hand.

His stomach lurched and threatened to expel the beans he’d eaten for breakfast. The kid had a knife.

The bottle dug painfully into his shoulder. He tried to readjust it, but his sweating hand slipped against the smooth plastic.

Every hair on his body was standing on end and that was about the only thing he could feel. The rest of him was numb with fear and self-loathing. Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about confronting the little brats. A lot had changed since then.

They didn’t even say anything. The one in front smirked as he jerked his head to the side. The others swarmed around Terry and grabbed the bottle.

Terry fell to the ground, gasping and trying to get his breath back. His legs were like jelly. He had to run—but how was he supposed to do that when he couldn’t even stand up?

Go! he told himself.

It was a few seconds before he realised that they weren’t going to hurt him. They’d walked away. He stared after then in astonishment. They sauntered away along the street without a second glance in his direction.

He couldn’t believe it. Was he that weak in their eyes; that unthreatening that they didn’t even need to watch him? When had he become such a pushover? His fingers automatically went to the scarred skin at the back of his neck, as if showing him the answer.

Annie didn’t know how long she’d sat in front of the door. The sound of the outer door opening roused her from her thoughts. Before she knew what she was doing, she had leapt to her feet and pulled her door open.

It was the guy from the supermarket. He looked as flustered as she felt.

She blinked as an idea struck her. She hadn’t thought of it before because she wasn’t used to relying on anyone besides herself and Dan. Well, she couldn’t do that now. He was two hundred miles away and she wasn’t sure she could do this on her own.

“I know this is going to sound weird, but I need to talk to you,” she blurted. “And anyone else in this building. We have to get the hell out of here.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at her like she wasn’t even there.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

She sighed. She wasn’t very good at convincing people to do things, but this was important. “Who else lives here?”

“Clive. Just Clive. All the other flats are empty. Bloody place is a shambles.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He exhaled noisily and moved towards the stairs.

“Wait! Where does Clive live? Is he in?” She followed him up the stairs.

He stopped at a door on the first floor and gestured to the flat two doors along.

“Thanks,” she muttered, moving along the short landing. “Do you know if he’s in?”

He shrugged as he took his keys from his pocket. “No idea.”

“Can you come in too? I need to talk to you both.”

“Why? Unless you’ve got a way to turn the power back on, I don’t need to hear it.”

The door opened before Annie could reply.

The man standing in front of her—Clive, she presumed—was somewhere in his fifties or sixties. His white hair was neatly cropped. It was hard to tell if he normally looked this stressed or if it was a result of the events of the past few days. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked dry.

“I’m Annie. I’m in one of the flats downstairs. Can I talk to you?”

He nodded. “Clive.” He looked behind her. “Hello, Terry.”

The change in Terry’s demeanour was immediate.

Annie cleared her throat. “I need to talk to you about everything that’s been happening: the power, the cars. It’s only going to get worse. I have an idea that could help us all.”

“Who is it?” asked a faint voice from somewhere inside the flat.

His expression softened. “It’s one of the neighbours, love. I’ll be there in a moment.”

He pulled the door until it dug into his neck and only his head was visible. “Now’s not a good time.”

“I know. A man outside just tried to steal my bike.”

Clive hesitated for a moment. “I’m not a patrol officer. I don’t respond to thefts. This area has a bad reputation, unfortunately.”

“No,” she said. “Don’t you see? It about thirty-six hours since the power cut. It’s going to get a hell of a lot worse when people start to realise they can get away with murder. Can I come in please? I have an idea that’ll help us all.”

Neither man said anything.

Annie shook her head. “Look, just hear me out. This isn’t some short-term thing. Don’t you think it’s strange that everything’s stopped working? This could last months. Maybe years.”