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

What the…

Her heart hammered against her ribs and she had to fight every instinct that told her to pick up the nearest length of metal she could find and go to war.

Two of the men were holding Max back by his arms. One of the others stood by as the fourth paraded in front of him, talking. Max’s eyes weren’t on him. They were darting frantically around the yard. Looking for me , she realised with a pang of fear.

She lowered herself a fraction, praying that her legs wouldn’t give way underneath her. If they did, she wouldn’t have time to stop herself from falling into the scrap and making one hell of a noise.

Any other time she might have done it on purpose to give Max time to get away.

But there was no point in doing that. Not when the two men who weren’t holding him had shotguns. The one standing off to the side had his back to her and his gun pointed at Max.

She bent down out of sight again, worried that Max might react if he saw her. She held her breath and focused harder on listening than she’d ever done before.

“Now. Two choices,” the man was saying. “Do what I tell you or I get Mo here to put a bullet in you. Maybe I’ll tell him to save the cartridges and use a crowbar.”

Si squeezed her eyes closed, fighting back the tears of panic and fury that were welling up inside her.

No. This is a dream. It can’t be real. It can’t be.

Max cleared his throat and spat noisily. She winced. Part of her wanted to stand up and scream at him to just give them what they wanted.

A moment later, there was a muffled thud and a low groan. Si cringed and fell to her knees, now holding both hands over her mouth to stop herself screaming or crying or making whatever inhuman sound wanted to burst out of her mouth.

This is real. It’s real. But why?

“You must be mad!” Max growled. “I’m flattered, but you’re not going to get much for this fat arse—you do know that, right?”

Si’s eyes widened and she wondered if she was going to pass out. They wanted Max ?

“I’m not after your arse,” the man said. His voice was calm and cruel. “I have plenty of people for that. It’s your hands I want.”

“My hands?”

“Yes. Your hands.”

“What? Why? I’ve never met you before in my life. I’d have remembered a car like that.”

The man laughed. “Oh, it’s not mine, but thank you. Now. Two choices, like I said. Get in the car or…” he paused before laughing again, so abruptly that it caught Si by surprise and she almost jumped.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” the man said. There was still the faintest trace of laughter in his voice. “It’s just… I thought of something funny. How’s about instead of killing you, I take your hands instead? Even if you survived, you’d spend each day wishing I’d just topped you. Wouldn’t you?”

Max said something she didn’t catch. Then she heard a dull thud and the sound of gravel crunching.

The engine started.

Si wanted desperately to see what was happening, but she didn’t dare move. She curled up in a ball on the wet gravel, not caring that her hair was soaked and her face muddied. There wasn’t a thing she could do to stop them. And she hated herself for it.

Clive couldn’t sleep. Everything was falling apart and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He’d walked away. He’d talked the talk about how much he loved the force and helping people. But when it came down to it… He shook his head. He wasn’t thinking about old Charles Mackintosh now. He was thinking about the general public. Couldn’t he have gone down to the local police station to see if they needed a hand? Hadn’t it always been about the greater good than about any one person?

All the resentment he’d felt when they’d pulled him off the more challenging assignments… They’d been right. His dedication to the job had vanished when Livvy’s illness came to a head.

As much as she needed him, he’d be lost without her. She’d been his rock for so many years; always encouraging him and never asking for anything in return.

Olivia stirred beside him and he sighed.

He’d tried. He’d tried harder to convince her than he’d ever tried to convince anyone of anything, but it was no use.

All he’d succeeded in doing was giving her an anxiety attack once she understood the severity of what was happening. She didn’t want to leave her flat and that was the end of it.

He hadn’t told her the part about the army. He wasn’t sure he believed that himself.

Even so, she’d been on the verge of hysteria. He hated seeing her like that—his cool, calm, collected wife. She’d been an A&E nurse—the best there was. That made it even harder to see her like this.

His wife; his rock. She hadn’t left the flat in more than a year—he doubted she ever would again.

And she’s only fifty-five , he reminded himself. Younger than me.

That was the cruel part of it. Partly he blamed himself. They should never have bought that big house. There was only the two of them. But that’s all anyone had ever talked about: moving up the ladder; investing in a buy-to-let to provide income in retirement. They’d both been on good money—the bank was only too eager to give them a second mortgage to buy the flat when the mortgage on the house in Hampstead alone was sky-high. it had been manageable when they had two incomes coming in to pay the bills.

When Livvy stopped working, they’d had no choice but to sell the house and move into the flat. Clive couldn’t afford the mortgage on his own—especially now that he wasn’t able to work as much overtime—and the rent on the flat barely covered that mortgage.

He laughed sadly in the pitch darkness. He had no attachment to this place. Cycling north would have been a sound plan if things were different. He would have happily agreed to trade a few days of high risk for months of uncertainty.

He glanced over at Livvy’s sleeping form. He’d given her diazepam to help her sleep. As much as he hated giving her those drugs, she’d been so anxious he knew she wouldn’t get to sleep on her own.

Was he doing her a disservice by staying? He shook his head. He might have managed to force her into a car and feel terrible about it, but there was no way he was going to be able to force her onto the bike she had once loved. He probably should have gotten rid of them before they moved, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. They’d had some wonderful times on cycle tours. Sometimes it felt like those memories were all he had left.

He stared up at the dark ceiling, desperate for an answer. What was going to happen? They had enough food for a week or two, but they didn’t have any water. He’d never believed in buying bottled water and by the time he’d gone to the shop to get some, it was all gone. How long did they have?

Days?

Maybe it was for the best.

Maybe…

He got up and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. He opened the cabinet and stared at the dark shapes of her pill bottles all lined up neatly on the top shelf. What light there was from the moon was useless in there because the window was tiny and distorted by the privacy glass.

He remembered their names, but he couldn’t remember anything else. His mind was blank. One of them wasn’t supposed to be taken with alcohol—but which one? Livvy didn’t drink, so it had never been important.

His eyes stung and it took him a moment or two to realise why. He hadn’t cried in years, but now it felt like he couldn’t stop. The lump in his throat was unbearable—he swallowed as rapidly as he could but he couldn’t get rid of it.