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

The wind rushed through his hair as he tried to find a balance between speed and going at a pace he could maintain over a long distance. They hadn’t bothered with helmets. His ears still rang from the deafening blast of the gunshots in such a confined space. That wasn’t even the half of it. He’d never shot anyone before, much less killed three people in a matter of seconds.

Three people.

It didn’t matter that they’d have killed him in an instant—they would have, if their aim had been better or if his had been worse.

Working in the dark to clear the place hadn’t just been a kindness to Terry and Annie. Clive himself hadn’t been able to face seeing the men’s lifeless eyes and knowing he was responsible.

Was that cowardly? He didn’t know.

He gritted his teeth as he dodged stationary cars and buses and tried to keep up with the others while going slow enough to stop Olivia from falling behind.

Olivia.

He’d been terribly worried about her, and still was. But he was also proud. Her instincts had kicked in when Annie broke down and her intervention had calmed the girl. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to calm her down the way Olivia had. He frowned. If he hadn’t come back into the room when he did, he didn’t know what would have happened. He wondered if they even understood the seriousness of what they faced.

They came to a clear section of road and Clive slowed to ride alongside his wife. She seemed to be holding up well, but he knew it was a mistake to jump to conclusions. Hers was an unpredictable illness. He knew that better than anyone.

“How are you feeling, darling?”

He had long since given up trying to read her thoughts from the look in her eyes. There were too many variables, like her medication for one.

She didn’t reply, she just stared back at him vacantly. He probably shouldn’t have given her that second pill so soon after the first, but he’d seen no other choice. And anyway, hadn’t her old self peeped out earlier despite the drugs?

Nevertheless, he hated the thought of giving her things that messed with her mind, no matter how essential.

“You were good.” He lowered his voice. “With Annie.”

The edges of her mouth turned down. “Poor love. It’s not easy. For women who can’t…”

“I know.” They had struggled themselves. The pain had dulled in recent years, but it still lingered in the background. “It gets better, doesn’t it?”

She nodded absently. “I suppose. Yes.”

They cycled on in silence for a few moments. Had it really come to this? He barely knew how to talk to her anymore. No matter what he said, he always ended up feeling like it was the wrong thing.

After around two hours—they had no way of knowing, though Clive had been trying to track the sun’s progress through the sky—they were all exhausted. Even from the beginning, their pace hadn’t been close to what it needed to be to get the seventy miles a day Annie seemed to think they could manage. The weight on his shoulders was already bearing down on him and this was day one—they had days to go. A week, perhaps.

His bike was a road bike. Good quality, but it lacked a basket and he had nothing to secure his bag to the rear carrier. Back when they used to cycle regularly they’d had panniers, but he had no idea where those had gotten to. Stolen, maybe. More likely, he’d taken them off back at the Hampstead house and simply forgotten them when they were moving, given everything else that was going on back then.

Well, he’d just have to put up with it. He had no other choice. And it was his own fault for not being fitter—he’d really let himself go in the last couple of years. At least they had the bikes. They were far from being alone on the road. A steady trickle of people moved along the footpaths; the vast majority going in the same direction as they were. Others had decided to get out of the city too. He didn’t like that. They were obviously faster on bikes, but they weren’t moving at a pace where they could confidently outrun a motivated thief. And people were getting desperate—he could see it in the envious way they looked at the little procession of bikes weaving in and out between stranded cars.

Thank God we have weapons.

He’d thought about giving his police-issue Glock to Annie or Terry, but decided against it. He’d be better able to handle one of the guns they’d taken from the raiders, but there was a good chance Annie or Terry wouldn’t hit their target if the pressure was on and they were required to shoot. That was natural. He could still remember the heart-pounding adrenaline rush when he’d first fired live ammunition. No amount of coaching could prepare you for the roar of gunfire and the smell of burning metal.

So he’d kept his gun for himself and doled out the illegal Eastern European weapons to the other two, warning them again and again to pay heed to his instructions and only draw their weapons if their lives were in danger. He was also mindful that their brains would probably go blank if they did get in a situation where they had to draw their weapons. That was the risk they’d have to take.

He glanced up and every ounce of warmth left his body when he saw what was ahead. He’d grown used to cycling with his eyes tilted down towards the road so he could see any immediate obstacles while he listened out for any indication of threats further along.

Now he wished he hadn’t looked up.

“Oh dear lord, no.”

He realised his mistake soon enough. The others had obviously been paying as little attention to what was in the distance as he had been. Brakes squealed all around him. He heard his own horror reflected in the others’ reactions.

He turned instinctively to Olivia, who had stopped and was staring ahead as if she was frozen to the spot.

Clive could understand why. He looked back again. It defied all logic.

“What? What is…”

He shook his head. He was still struggling to make sense of it himself. The journey from their flat had been hell on earth as they passed looted buildings and burning cars. But this was something else. In the first split second, he’d just assumed it was yet another smouldering building—albeit on a grander scale than what they’d seen before.

But it wasn’t. For one thing, the structure had been completely destroyed, unlike other buildings they’d passed. This wasn’t arson. On the wreckage— in the wreckage—he could make out the ruined fuselage of a plane, though it was hard to make out precisely where it ended and the building began. Both were wrecked. Clive couldn’t even make out what sort of plane it was, and that was usually something he could tell on sight having always been interested in that sort of thing.

He shook his head. It had just smashed into the tower block and cut through it like thousands of tons of concrete meant nothing. Like it was made of paper.

He looked at Annie and his eyes must have telegraphed his shock and resignation, because she nodded and sighed.

“EMP. It has to be. And this can’t be the only one.”

He thought of Heathrow and how busy it was, with dozens of planes circling around at all times waiting to land. “What time did you say the power cut out?” He said a silent prayer that it was during the quiet hours after midnight, even though he half-recalled her saying she was still up when it happened.

“About ten.”

His heart sank. All those flights. All of those people.

“Jesus,” Terry muttered, shaking his head.

Hundreds of them. Thousands.

“Come on,” Clive said gently. “Dwelling on it won’t do us any good. There’s nothing we can do.”