End Times

"I have heard the languages of the apocalypse, and now I shall embrace the silence." -Gaiman

Okay

Okay, breathe.

Remember how to breathe.

One two one two one two.

I didn't see. I didn't see when the road rose up in front of us, rising up and folding in, smashing on top of the car. My friend was driving, he didn't even have time to swerve. Oh god oh god.

I'm lying down on my side, the felt of the ceiling of his car itchy under my cheek. I try to say his name, but the word scratches my throat on its way out. It hurts to breathe. Oh god oh god.

The end of the world. This has been done already, this story has been told so many times we forgot to be afraid of it. Zombies, The Rapture, World War III. We imagined it, and re-imagined it. Called it cliche. We filmed it, we played it. Some of us even wanted it. I played along, reading the books, watching the films, laughing at the news as it predicted our extinction.

I don't have to look at my friend very hard to see that he is dead.

One two one two remember to breathe. I gag at the smell. S**t s**t s**t.

It's quiet now. People have said about how awful the calm before the storm is. I promise you, the calm after it is infinitely worse.

I'm not going to die. Not right now. I'll be a survivor. I'll be around to witness the world after the end of the world. S**t.

The car creaks, and images of gas leaks and explosions fuels my motivation to get moving. Where to? There are no protocols for this. None that I'm aware of. My hands and arms are cut and bleeding, but still useful enough to drag me out through the window. I lay on the tarmac for a few seconds, catching my rasping breaths. How long was I in there? I could've sworn it was lighter outside.

I stand up, feeling the vertigo. It doesn't feel real. This image in front of me...that's all it can be. An image. Something from the films. I've seen it too many times before, but not like this. It's never been my home that lies in ruins, my friend dead in a wrecked car. I take a step, and wince. My leg hurts, but only numbly. A sprain, a tear in the muscle. Something my brain isn't properly registering. The pain will hit me soon.

Instinct takes over. It's not safe here, it screams. Move. Run. Anything.

I'm no hero sprinting through ruins. I'm hobbling on my injured leg through the streets. I'm not far from where my cousins live...if there's a chance that they're still alive.

Helicopters fly over head. Black. Military. Searching for survivors? I hobble faster, waving my arms above my head, screaming "Down here! Down here!" They ignore me.

Not all the buildings have been flattened, but enough of them lie as rubble to make my stomach turn. For some of them, one or two walls still stand, the bright wallpapers and photos somehow still hanging look strangley eerie in the havoc around them. This morning they were part of a home, tonight they are relics. But still...some of the houses are still intact. Hopefully there are still people inside. Maybe this isn't as bad as I'm making it out to be. Somewhere far from here, a news report is playing on someone's radio, detailing the destruction of our home, and the rescue efforts underway.

I've been trying to run for twenty minutes now, but my leg is getting to me. Without the street lights, it's too dark, and my heavy feet start to stumble on the debris. I sit on the side of the road, wondering numbly if I'm going to throw up.

"Hey...you!" a voice hisses from the darkness. It's deep. From somewhere in the darkness, a man is calling out. To me? "Hey, miss!"

Footsteps. A hand grabbing roughly at me. "Come on you have to move. What are you thinking, sitting out in the open?"

"What?" I blink up at him, barely able to make out his features. All I see is a silhouette.

"You have to move! They're rounding people up off the streets, you have to hide." Says this faceless man.

"Help me!" I wimper, my voice weaker than I intended. I want to vomit and cry and sleep.

He hesitates for a second, before pulling me up by my armpit. All I can feel are his rigid fingers, gripping onto me. It hurts worse than my leg somehow.

"I can't let you hide with us. The bigger the group, the quicker they find you." he says, his voice quivering. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I have children with me."

"I'm scared." I say. I really want to cry.

"I'm sorry. I want to help you, I do!" He flicks on a torch, aiming its beam directly down at the tarmac, before letting it trail carefully up the street. "Go that way, three houses down, one of them is unlocked and it's not in bad shape. I don't know what you'll find inside though." The torch is only on for a second or two before he clicks it off again. All of his movements are jolting, nervous. He hesitates again before hugging me quickly. "I’m sorry, good luck. Careful!"

I can't see where he goes. Like I child I try to follow him, but it's too dark and I'm too slow. And alone. Suddenly very alone.

Everything is a blur when I'm moving. One minute I'm standing in the gutter, the next I'm standing at a front door. I open it with hands that don't feel like mine. This body doesn't feel like mine. The door has fallen off one of its hinges, and falls at at awkward angle. I have to shove myself up against it to make a gap big enough to climb through. Through the darkness my imagination tricks me into seeing eyes watching me and hands clawing at me. I fall through the gap, and use all the energy left in me to kick the door hard back into place. Once again I find myself lying on the floor trying to remember how to breathe.

 

I feel more like myself.

I feel exposed lying so close to the door, but I'm not ready to try standing up again just yet. Kicking the door was a desperate move and a bad idea. Inside this house, where I can't see the chaos outside, my brain calms down, finally having time to process the pain in my leg that feels much much worse than before. I take this time to go through what happened.

We knew about this. Or at least, we were warned. But we'd heard it all before. Those lunatics and crazy scientists always told us that the world was going to end soon. But each date they set came and went without complaint, with only a few people actually beleiving it. Yesterday was one of those days. We were told that the Earth's tectonic plates were acting up or...something like that. I don't even know. You stop paying attention after a while. I'm probably way off. I remember going to bed last night, not even thinking about it all. Completely forgetting that we were all supposed to be dead by now. Life goes on. Even if only for another day it seems. Then Chris and I were driving into town...oh god. Despite everything no one saw it coming. The only thing the scientists and lunatics got wrong was the date.

It’s weird to feel so calm. There's too much to think about.

Water. If survival tips have taught me anything it's the importance of water. I pull myself up and limp into the next room hoping it's a kitchen. So much to think about, but one thing at a time. Water.

I find the kitchen eventually at the back of the house. Through the window I can just about make out a garden. A hole has been blown through the fence, but other than that it looks untouched. Even the garden gnome appears untroubled. I try the taps but they give me nothing. Instead I try the fridge, which by the feel of it hasn't been cold for hours. There's a tiny carton of milk on the bottom shelf which is only just on the brink of going bad. I practically inhale it, drinking straight from the box. My mother would be horrified.

Christ, I haven't even thought about my mum. Or anyone else. Are they ok? Thinking about it, where are the owners of the house?  Maybe everyone who lived this close to town was evacuated?

If there's no running water, I can't even hope the electricity works. There's a tv in the kitchen, and I almost pick up the remote to try it, see if there's some emergency broadcast from the Ministry of Defense or whoever. Then I remember how the stranger in the street was almost too afraid to use a torch, and stop myself. 'They're rounding people up in the streets.' 'The bigger the group, the quicker they find you.' Who the f**k are 'they'?

 

Hours later, I try sitting on the sofa in the living room, but it feels too...normal, and I can't relax. The giant window that looks right out onto the street has me nervous. I think maybe the glass got blasted out, but I can't really see properly, and I'm too scared to get closer and check. Everywhere is deadly quiet. I wait to cry. I wait for the gut wrenching realisation. I wait for the bubble and the burst...but it doesn't happen. I sit quietly on the sofa, like a good little guest.

Maybe this is just my town, or just my region, or just my country. This can't possibly be it. The End. There's just no way. If this is The End, there's no way that I would survive it. I'm weak and unfit, totally the wrong person for a dystopia. How did I survive something that killed someone who was less than a foot apart from me? I haven't cried yet, and that surprises me. Like with my leg, I don't think my brain has taken the time to process this yet. It's too big.

There's a light outside. Not a timid flashlight, not a flickering TV screen. A blinding light that sweeps over the entire street. The living room is lit up so suddenly I have to cover my eyes from the glare. My heart starts to pound in my chest, and panic rises. S**t. What do I do? Is this a rescue, or the illusive 'They'? I stand up, painfully. The bones in my foot threaten to break through the skin entirely. S**t s**t s**t f**k.

Screaming.

People are screaming.

Nothing prepares you for that. Nothing.

There's no gunshots, but there are heavy footsteps and shouting. It's definitely not a rescue. They're getting closer. If I felt exposed before that's nothing compared to what I feel now, when every heartbeat send a new shiver down my spine and raises another hair on the back of my neck. I half run-half hobble to the hallway, and crawl as quietly as I can up the stairs. They creak slightly, but everything outside is so loud I can hope it was drowned out. I lay flat on the landing, just out of sight of the front door. There are pauses between screams that are long enough that you can just start to hope that they've stopped. They don't get any less difficult to listen to. It's now that my body finally decides that it's time to cry. I press my hand up against my mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the sobs. I shove my fist into my mouth, biting down hard. It tastes like dirt and milk.

The voices are outside. Right outside. I can't hear what they're saying, something is wrong, they're warped. Like speaking through a moving fan, or a sound effect from a really bad arcade game. I drag myself into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind me, but not letting it click shut. I don't know what to do, I'm so f*****g helpless.

Author's Note

part 1 of 2, swear words galore!