Alex Knightly
SUDDEN DARKNESS
A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller
I. MONDAY
1. Terry
Terry Patterson kept his head down and joined the bottleneck of people at the escalator. It was only three in the afternoon, but the tube station was packed. It reminded him exactly why he didn’t like to go further than walking distance from his flat.
Sometimes he had no choice. He’d had a pain in his back teeth for months and the only NHS dentist he’d been able to get an appointment with was miles away. It was either that or go to the place up the road with the fibreglass tooth hanging from a pole outside. No way was he giving that lot his hard-earned cash. People had always said the area was too rough to be gentrified, but it had happened all the same. There wasn’t a lot of the old place left. High Street was all cafes and boutiques now. The old estates would be torn down too if the developers had their way. Why couldn’t they leave the place alone?
“Move out of the way,” a woman hissed.
She pushed past before he could move, metal heels clanging against the steps in a way that set his teeth on edge.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Where’s the emergency?”
No-one reacted. He might as well have been invisible.
Terry had spent most of his forty-five years in London, but it was different now from when he was younger.
Move over! Stand clear! There were so many people now. It only took a minor delay to send the whole place into chaos—especially at rush hour.
He reached the top of the escalator, still thinking about the crowds that depended on the underground each day. There must have been millions, all taking that huge transport network for granted.
He tapped his Oyster card on the reader and felt a blast of relief once he passed through the barrier. He was still surrounded by people, but it didn’t matter. He was only fifteen minutes’ walk from his flat and about the same distance from his work.
Back in his comfort zone.
The peace didn’t last long. Some bloke shoved past him and a woman began to scream. Startled, Terry turned around to see what had happened.
“That man took my bag,” the woman sobbed. She looked like a nice old lady; neatly dressed but worn around the edges. Much like a lot of the customers that came into the supermarket just before closing, looking for a bargain on the already cut-price stock.
No-one paid any attention.
Terry’s heart buzzed as he spun around. He could see the man’s yellow beanie bobbing through the crowd.
Go. Go after him.
“Someone stop him,” the woman was wailing. “My pension’s in there. It’s all I have.”
Terry wanted to help—wanted desperately to help. She’d probably worked hard her whole life just like his nan and no-one was doing a bloody thing to help her. But his feet felt like they had rooted themselves in the ground.
No no no no.
Sweat rolled down his forehead despite the arctic breeze blowing through the entrance to the station. The ridge of scar tissue on the back of his neck throbbed painfully.
He’d never felt so ashamed of himself, but there was nothing he could do. Memories of the screams and taunts acted like a wall that stopped him going after the man, no matter how much he wanted to.
Money. He had twenty quid in his pocket. He’d give her that.
Before he could turn around, there was a loud gasp from outside. Terry pushed through the crowd in a daze.
A crowd had gathered around in a circle just outside the entrance. An older bloke had tackled the thief and was kneeling on his back twisting his arm up behind him. But that wasn’t the reason for the audience. The older man had a gun in his free hand.
People were muttering; the circle was widening as people tried to figure out what was happening and whether they should stay to watch or run away to safety.
“For goodness sake,” the man snapped. “Will one of you call 9-9-9 instead of taking pictures?”
Terry realised with a start that he knew the man. Well, knew him to see. He lived in the same block. Several people had their phones out already, so Terry darted forward and picked up the woman’s handbag. It was the least he could do.
After Terry had returned the handbag and waved away her attempts to give him a few pounds as a reward, he went back outside. The crowd had dispersed since two uniformed officers arrived to arrest the thief and speak to Terry’s neighbour.
Terry wasn’t sure what to say, but the man nodded in recognition when he looked up and saw him.
“You’re in Rutherford Mansions, aren’t you?”
Terry nodded. “Yeah. I recognised you. That was…” he sighed. “I’m glad you got him. I saw… well, I didn’t do anything.” He dipped his head. Why hadn’t he done something? There were so many people around. He was a grown man. What if his neighbour hadn’t come along? He shook his head. He didn’t want to dwell on this. He couldn’t. “Why do you have a gun?” he asked dully, not really caring but unable to think of anything else to say.
“It’s alright,” his neighbour said. “I’m a police officer. Personal protection. I was on my way home when I saw that fellow running with a handbag.”
Terry nodded. He seemed the type. Sixties. Serious. Like a detective on a TV show. Terry didn’t know him well. They said hello whenever they met in the corridor, but that was about it. “I’m Terry.”
“Clive. Clive Staunton. Come on; I’ll walk you home. You seem a little shaken.”
Terry was about to argue that he was fine when he realised he was shaking like a leaf. He clenched his fists. Pull it together. What the hell is wrong with you?
“It’s probably the gun,” Clive said as they walked. “People think they’re accustomed to them from seeing them on television, but it’s quite another thing in real life.”
“Won’t you get in trouble? People were taking videos.”
Clive sighed. For a moment he looked pained. “Probably. That young man was off his head on something and I didn’t know for sure that he was alone.”
“Brave.”
“Foolish, more like.” Clive shook his head. “Do you want to know the truth, Terry? It wasn’t a violent crime—it was a young addict running with a handbag. By rights, I should have walked right along. But my wife has the same handbag.”
“Oh,” Terry said, not quite knowing how to respond. What did you say? She must have passed away a few years back when Clive moved into the block. “I’m sorry. Do you want… Well, the Horse and Pony is on the corner. I could use a stiff drink.”
“Some other time, perhaps. I’d best get home to Olivia.”
Terry frowned. “Who’s that?” He’d never seen anyone else coming into or leaving that flat. And he would have noticed. Most of the flats in the block were either empty now or used as short-term lets. He hadn’t seen any older women around the place in years.
“My wife,” Clive said, sounding confused. “Perhaps you ought to go and have that drink to calm your nerves. A shock like that can have more of an impact than people realise.”
“Maybe,” Terry managed to say. “Yeah.” He was distracted from his own shortcomings now. Maybe Clive had remarried, but that still didn’t explain why Terry had never seen her.
2. Si
Si glanced over at Max. Her boss had stopped pretending to be busy and was leaning against the messy desk in the corner.
It should have been easy to be straight with him. There was no reason to keep up the act that there was actual work to do. The locals weren’t rich, but that didn’t matter. It was easy to buy a new car on finance. Or lease one. Max always said they’d be better off flushing their money down the toilet. But they were happy with their flash cars—and they had no need for a local garage when those new car deals had dealership service plans attached. He’d tried to branch out and specialise in classic cars, but that business was slow to build: collectors already had their go-to mechanics.