Maz Marik

Hands cuffed, Kyle looked up out of the car window as it pulled into the police station grounds. The clouds had been forming for a while, and had deepened in colour, the gloom overhead mirroring his own mood. Another arrest. Another night in a cell. Probably another fine he would never get round to paying. At least he was guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

“Welcome back,” the officer in front said, as he slowed the vehicle to a stop. “I doubt this will get to court for a while with the bank holidays, but as always you picked a shop that insists on prosecuting every time.”

It was true, but Kyle hadn’t had much choice. Most of the high street had either banned him from the premises completely, or instructed their overweight security staff to stalk him like a terrorist, CCTV cameras whirring in time with his every step. The shop he had visited on this occasion had a particularly lazy security guard, but also tended to prosecute more than most. It had seemed a risk worth taking as he had not been in the area for a while; he was only back because Portsmouth had proved just as fruitless.

Besides, Crawley was his home. He hated it, and it hated him. He was its Lex Luthor. The villain. And, like Lex, he just kept coming back.

Kyle did not talk as he was helped into the station by the two officers. Instead he watched the sky, darkening from grey to angry black, although odd patches were white or lined with pink and red.

Inside, he was led to a small desk. He had been through this procedure time and time again, and knew most of the officers’ names.

“Afternoon, Stan,” Kyle said. The lights above the desk flickered for a second before steadying out again.

Stan smiled, and raised his form-filling pen with a flourish, muttering each answer under his breath as he wrote. “Still of no fixed abode?” he asked.

Kyle nodded, thinking of the freedom he enjoyed sleeping rough, but not the struggle he endured to find food. “No fixed abode,” he sighed. The lights flickered once again. He turned to face the short corridor along which he had just walked. The walls were pale blue and plastered with anti-crime posters, while heavy doors led to two side rooms where he had often sat drinking tea while waiting for the wheels of justice to turn. It was not exactly comfortable, but was luxurious compared to how he normally spent his time.

The main entrance at the end of the corridor only opened when activated by the duty officer at the desk, and after hours in the cells Kyle would often stare out at the sky while he waited to be released. He wasn’t missing much today, just those weird clouds.

The lights flickered slightly again, and this time failed completely.

“Shit,” muttered Stan.

One of the officers who had led Kyle in disappeared into a room at the far side of the desk, leaving him with the younger policeman he had never seen before. Kyle winced as the officer switched on his torch and shone it in his face. They stood in silence, disturbed only by the faint mumbled conversation in the distance, and the sound of the young policeman’s keys as he threw them into the air and caught them, over and over again.

After a while there was a loud noise that sounded to Kyle like a car misfiring, followed by the building vibrating and a faint rumble underfoot.

Amidst a great deal of swearing in the station, a voice called out, “Burns, get in here!” Kyle followed the path of the torch as the young policeman moved in the direction of the voice. “You too, Stan. Put Kyle in waiting room 1 for now.”

Stan led Kyle to one of the side rooms, dimly lit by the smallest of windows high on the far wall. “Shouldn’t be long, old boy,” Stan said. He unlocked the handcuffs, and then headed back into the corridor.

Kyle sat on the chair and sighed. Closing his eyes, he relaxed in anticipation of the comfort of the cell.

*****

PC Burns walked into the busy office. Several officers stood around. One sat fiddling with a clearly dead telephone while making repeated unsuccessful requests for officers to respond on a battery-powered handheld radio Another was banging a landline phone against the table in frustration. Even in the darkness, only disturbed by a few torches, he sensed anxiety and confusion.

“What’s happening?”

“Something big has gone down in central London,” one of the sergeants said.

“The power cut?” Burns asked.

“That was just the start. An explosion, apparently. But nothing’s been confirmed. The equipment is dead. Millions of pounds worth of investment, and we’re relying on my twenty-year-old pocket transistor for news.” The sergeant held up a small radio.

“Terrorists?”

“No idea. Just silence. Silence, an explosion, then silence. No communication from anyone since.”

Stan walked in. “Yeah, officers were reporting something going on. Lots of crowds for some reason. I'm guessing it’s connected, but God knows why we’re the last to find out. And who knows what’s going on with the lights. If we can’t get through to anyone I guess it’ll be dark for a while.”

Burns looked at the ground, trying to take in the new information. The streets of Crawley had seemed slightly hectic as they drove their suspect back, but then everyone makes space for a passing police car. He was new to the area, freshly transferred from Leicester to be closer to his girlfriend. Everything was new to him. Especially this. There never was much of a terrorist threat in Leicester. “When was this explosion?” he asked.

“You must have felt it. Or at least heard us cursing like pirates.”

“That was the explosion? In London?”

“Yep. What did you think it was, an earthquake? This is Crawley, not California.”

Burns was stunned. They were standing about forty miles south of central London, and yet they had still felt the tremor. “Any other information at all?”

“From where? No mobile phones are working, and there’s no power.”

He resisted asking any further questions. He had no wish to antagonise his new sergeant, who looked pretty much on edge anyway.

*****

Kyle stood up, concerned at being left alone in the waiting room. That was unusual. Normally by this point he had his feet up in a cell, feasting on what would probably be quite a meagre meal. Not today. Only the occasional raised voice from beyond the door broke the silence.

Finally, the door opened. “Your lucky day, sunshine,” Stan said, pushing a piece of paper into Kyle’s hands. “You’re out of here for today.”

Still massaging his wrists as Stan turned to head back to the desk, Kyle asked, “Why?”

“Sarge wants you back on Tuesday morning to be interviewed. You know the procedure, it’s all on the sheet. Just stand by the exit,” Stan said. “I’ll buzz you out.”

Kyle made his way to the door, which failed to buzz.

“Fucking electromagnets,” Stan muttered. He walked over and unlocked it with a key. Kyle stepped out. “Technology, eh? Who needs it? Mind how you go.”

The door slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock.

Bemused, Kyle stepped out into the car park. Immediately, the colour of the clouds overhead surprised him. They had been dark before, but were now almost black, with small hints of red scattered like drops of blood on a satin bed sheet. The air felt tight, and as he headed onto the main street, the noise levels increased.

Waving his arms to get the biker’s attention, Kyle stepped out into the main road as two people ran past screaming. The biker slowed down.

He had known Ian ‘Masters’ Collins for several years. Like Kyle, he too had been homeless for a while, although only occasionally; his parents would throw him out of the house for selling drugs on their premises, before taking him back a week or so later, believing him to be completely reformed. After years of terrorising the neighbourhood, Ian had been forced to help out at the local Salvation Army as part of his community service. Since then he had ridden exclusively on the straight and narrow, even managing to save up for his own bike.

“Get on,” Ian shouted, frantically checking up and down the street.

Kyle climbed on, and held tight around Ian’s waist as the bike began to pick up speed. “What the hell is happening?” he shouted, the wind trying to force the words back into his throat.

Ian did not reply. The bike weaved among the rows of static traffic filling the main roads, past shops being looted, and fighting in the street. A body lay in the gutter. Kyle tried hard not to look, but failed.

The bike slowed suddenly as they turned a corner and Kyle took the opportunity to look at the road ahead. He gasped. The entire street was clogged by a mass of people. Panic mixed with violence. Screaming.

He struggled to focus on anything in detail as Ian swerved to the side, the bump of the kerb nearly knocking Kyle off the back. Down a small side street, an old warehouse came into view, and Ian pulled alongside the wall.

Ian raised the shutter enough for the two of them and the bike to fit through, then quickly lowered it again until only a tiny crack remained.

“What is happening?” Kyle asked again, bewildered by the scenes in the street.

“You been on a desert island?”

“May as well have been.”

“Well the shit has hit the fan. Everyone is going crazy. And I mean crazy. Forget the clouds, did you feel those tremors? Never felt anything like that before. And there are sick people everywhere.”

“But what’s happened? What was the tremor? And sick how?”

“God knows. I'm heading out into the woods until it all calms down. The lack of people appeals to me more than ever.”

Kyle opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a clatter as two people raised the shutters slightly and crept through the gap. Ian ran across and slammed the shutters closed again.

One of the newcomers spoke in a wavering voice. “Help us!”

Ian helped the woman to her feet, and then an elderly man with a small cut to his face.

“Wait, there’s another,” the woman said, raising the shutter again, higher this time. Another frail-looking old woman shuffled in. Again, Ian pulled down the shutter, the sound reverberating like an echo in a cave.

It was dark, although a little light still filtered through a few of the dirty windows high up on the walls.

“Thanks,” the younger woman said, stroking the head of the old lady.

“What is happening?” Kyle asked, hoping for a more definitive answer.”

“Everyone has gone crazy,” she replied.

Kyle groaned. “Great.”

Ian helped the elderly man into a sitting position. “I'm Ian, this is Kyle,” he said.

“I'm Alice, and this is Ron, and this is Elizabeth,” the young woman replied. “My grandparents. We saw you hiding in here, and we just wanted somewhere safe.”

Kyle looked around. The room was empty. A door led to the main area of the warehouse, but he needed an escape. Anywhere but here. Solitude in a prison cell over Easter had suited him fine.

A scream for help outside made them all turn to the shutter, which shook as something banged into it. Then the noise passed.

He sat down, crouched on the floor, while Ian tended to the old man, and Alice tried to soothe her grandmother.

None of this suited him. Apprehension set in, and not because of the chaos outside. “So no one knows what’s going on, but everyone’s scared, right?”

Alice stood up, cleared her throat loudly and walked away from her grandparents, beckoning to Ian and Kyle to follow. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, “but I do know this: those sick people scattered around the streets aren’t sick any more. I don’t think they’re people either.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle asked. “They’re all dead?”

She shook her head. “One of them attacked me on the way home. She was lying there in the gutter and then she just jumped up and tried to take a bite out of me.”

*****

PC Burns sat on the corner of a desk in the office. With the console out, he was trying to get a signal on his battery-powered handheld unit. Apart from the occasional screechy distorted sound that might have been a voice, there was nothing other than high-pitched static.

The room was quieter now, as the officers had gradually filtered out to other tasks. Stan and the sergeant, Ernie, were talking amongst themselves, although they were mainly repeating the same things over and over again.

“Is there still nothing official?” Stan asked, tossing his keys from hand to hand.

“I told you, everything is down. No contact with anyone. All lines are dead and it’s as if these radios are not even connected.”

“There must be some kind of protocol in a situation like this.”

“There probably is, but I’ve never been through this kind of situation before. It’s Crawley, not Kabul. I can’t get through to HQ. I am, quite literally, in the dark.”

Stan nodded. “I wonder how the public are coping without their mobile phones and internet.”

“Probably the same as they did in the good old nineteen-eighties.”

“Do you really think London has been hit by terrorists again?”

“Maybe. I really don't know.  Last I heard from London was a little while before the lights went out here. A friend of mine in the Met was telling me things were getting hectic in the city. Fights and major crowd control problems. But the line just went dead and I couldn’t get through again. I just assumed his battery was dead, but now…”

“You think London had a power cut a little while before us? What are the odds of that?”

“I have no idea.”

Burns felt deflated. The thought of not being able to contact his girlfriend, to make sure she was all right, niggled at him. She was a natural worrier, and even a slight thing like a power cut scared her. City-wide blackouts would terrify her.

The sound of heavy footsteps approached, and an officer pushed open the door. “We need you all in reception, now!” he shouted. “The streets have gone bloody mad!”

Burns sensed the confusion in the room as he watched Stan and Ernie run out towards the reception, Stan’s keys clattering to the ground in the rush. Burns picked them up and followed, not knowing what to expect, but aware he had never been trained to respond in this fashion.

Stan pushed open the door and Burns stared in amazement.

The reception was full of officers, maybe a dozen, all pushing against the main doors to prevent a huge mob from entering. Even with the limited light, the anger in the vicious banging on the doors and windows was clear to see. The room filled with noise. The chaos and hatred outside mingled with panic and desperation inside.

He gasped. Amongst the gang trying to get in, lying at their feet, were bloody, broken bodies in the street.

A stone was hurled at the window, cracking it slightly, before a brick smashed against a door. The group outside increased in numbers, and slowly the heavy door began to give way and open slightly. The officers tried harder, but the odds were against them.

Burns watched as another stone struck the window just above the first crack, and this time it shattered, but held its shape. Just.

One of the officers collapsed, and the door opened further, allowing some of the  mob to wedge their bodies into the open space.

Panic began to set in.

Burns turned around and headed back to the corridor as the sounds from reception transformed into a battle. The main doors were open. The mob was inside.

Running down the corridor back to Stan’s desk, he pressed the button to unlock the side door to the car park. It stayed resolutely shut.

No power! he thought, and then remembered the bunch of keys he’d picked up off the floor in the office. My lucky day!

He rushed across and fumbled with the keys. As he locked the door behind him, the sounds of screaming faded.

*****

“So they’re what? Monsters?” Kyle asked in disbelief.

“You could say that,” said Alice. “I can’t think of a better word for the way they were acting. And even from here you can hear the screams.”

There was a pause while they listened guiltily to the terrible sounds from beyond the shutter.

“Well, I say we go out and try and round people up. The Mall is a good place to start,” Ian said.

“Out there? If Alice is right it's suicide!” Kyle said.

Ian shook his head. “In here we will starve. And if that shutter is breached, we are dead anyway.”

Alice stood up and sighed. “Well I was thinking of going to a supermarket. Get some food. And they will sell knives and stuff maybe. Like it or not we’ll probably have to defend ourselves.”

“The surplus store would be best for that,” Ian said.

“The what?” asked Alice.

“The army surplus store. Sells camping stuff and expensive toys so posh boys can pretend to be soldiers.”

There was another brief silence as the ideas were digested, filled by the increasing chaos outside.

“Still dangerous, either way. You go out there, the riots are out there, those things are out there, and you'll die out there.” Kyle said. He sighed “If we’re going to make this escape we need to plan properly. We need to find more people. We need weapons and equipment, food and water. We need a place to camp and someone who can cook for large numbers if we’re going to be rounding people up.”

He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Two figures emerged from the darkened entrance at the back of the room. They began to shout, as did Ian, until all had established the others were friend rather than foe.

“Calm down,” one of the figures said. “We just broke in round the back.”

“Who are you?” Ian demanded, standing between the small group and the strangers.

“I'm Brian, and this is Matt.” They approached slowly, their hands in the air. Matt held a cricket bat and a large holdall, and Brian had an enormous rucksack on his back.

“OK. Well, this is the group. Now we are seven,” Ian said, shaking the hands of the newcomers.

“We have food and bottles of water,” Matt said, as they dropped their bags. “All stolen, but will taste just as good.”

“Have you seen those things?” Alice asked.

Matt scowled. “Yeah. It’s getting dangerous out there. One minute people are laid out, the next they’re jumping up and attacking. I’ve even had to use this.” He waved the cricket bat.

Kyle puffed out his cheeks. “So, surplus store or the Mall? Or do we stay here until we starve to death?”

“Well, why not both?” Alice said.

“Then we all go, and we all stick together,” Ian said.

“Sounds good,” Brian replied, sitting down next to Ron.

Kyle shook his head. “And what about Ron and Elizabeth? Are they going to be up to that?”

“I’ll stay with them,” said Alice.

“Kyle should stay and make sure nothing gets in,” Ian replied, as another shudder briefly impacted the shutter.

“Yeah, OK,” Kyle said. He knew he may be seen as a coward, but always remembered his response as a child when someone called him a chicken: Rather be a chicken than a dead duck.

“Are you sure?” said Alice. “They’re my grandparents.”

“Yeah. I reckon you’re quicker than me anyway.” He turned to Matt. “What is back there?” he asked, pointing to the far entrance.

Matt shook his head. “A few small rooms, and a corridor that leads out but has been bricked up. We got in through a small window into an alley, but it’s crawling with those things now. We only just squeezed in, so no way will the old folks make it out. I think the only way in or out is through that shutter.”

Kyle’s brief optimism faded. If the shutter was opened by the mob, he would be killed. “Fine. We can deal with that.”

“OK,” Ian said, heading to the shutter. “We want to stay under the radar, so we can’t take the bike. Myself, Brian, Matt and Alice will head out on foot to the Mall first as it’s closer, and then try the surplus store, and then we will be back. Then we should head to the countryside. I know a place we could hide for a while.”

Kyle nodded and shifted closer to the elderly couple. He didn't mind the elderly. It was teenagers he couldn’t stand. Despite enjoying his own space, he always had time for anyone in hardship, and this pair seemed to be suffering more than most.

He watch the group head to the shutter. Matt gave Alice his cricket bat. The noise from outside increased slightly as the shutter was raised a little and the group crawled under and out.

“Oh,” Ian called back. “One more thing. Look after my bike.”

*****

Brian led the group as they pulled down the shutter and headed towards the Mall. The crowd and the screams that they had heard earlier appeared to have moved on, although the faint sounds of commotion from every direction suggested they were not far away.

“Keep close,” Brian said. “If we get separated just find your way back to that warehouse.” As he spoke, two people appeared from around the corner running with fear etched on their faces, but they disappeared down a small alleyway before he had a chance to call out.

They reached the end of the road, where the Mall’s entrance stood around the bend, just out of view. The noise levels rose. Shouting and screaming filled the air around them.

An overturned police van lay on its side as they moved closer, scanning their surroundings for any sudden movements. Dozens of cars stood idle, bumper to bumper, with keys still visible in the ignition. But no engines were humming.

Brian peered past the overturned van and gasped. “Jesus.” He muttered. The others joined him and looked on.

There was a huge brawl in front of the mall, a confused mess of fighting and screaming and biting and screeching and roaring. People lay motionless on the floor, others writhing in pain at the edge of the battle. Through the glass doors of the Mall they could see a similar situation inside. Chaos. Pandemonium. The doors were closed, but one fire exit was open, a huge pile of bodies blocking it almost completely, but for a small gap where people still clambered out in a desperate bid for safety.

Out of the frying pan, thought Brian.

Ian nudged him and pointed. A small group of people were cowering behind a car, seemingly out of sight. The group were apparently unaware that the flames were flicking out from under the car’s bonnet.

“This is a bad idea.” Alice said, turning away.

“There are some there we can help, those behind the car at least.”

“Try, by all means, but I don’t think it’s worth the risk. I’m going to the surplus store. We need equipment if we’re going to survive through much more of this.”

“We go together,” Brian replied.

“I’m a fast runner. I’m county level in athletics. I also have a weapon. Just tell me where it is.”

“But if you get outnumbered…” Brian began.

“We are outnumbered here already.”

Brian looked at Ian and Matt for support but their eyes were fixed on the violence in front of them. “I can’t say I’m happy with this,” he said at last, “but its back past the warehouse, and about ten minutes further on foot. It’s a bit difficult to find though, down side streets and things. You might get lost.” It was a foolish idea. The slight figure was more vulnerable than the rest, athletics or not.

“See you back at the warehouse,” Alice said, raising the cricket bat as though in a salute, then turning and sprinting back in the direction they had come.

“Wait!” Brian called out. Ian and Matt turned around in alarm just as she disappeared from sight round a bend.

“Damn it!” he groaned.

*****

Kyle opened a bottle of water from the rucksack and gave it to Elizabeth, who drank and then passed it to Ron.

“There you go,” he said. “That should help.” The elderly couple did not respond. Instead they sat, leaning against each other, their upper bodies shaking slightly. “Just relax, and try not to worry.”

He looked in the rucksack at the other things on offer: crisps, chocolate bars, ready-made sandwiches and a few packets of bacon, sitting on top of various fruit. Maybe enough for a few small picnics, but probably not surviving the apocalypse.

“Enough food in here to last a week!” he lied, trying to lift their spirits. “Just hope someone finds a cooker or microwave in here!” The feeble attempt at humour went unnoticed, and he thought wistfully about the nice warm meal he had been expecting in his cell.

He sighed.

*****

Ian watched as the flames under the car bonnet gained in height and strength. “We need to get them out of there,” he said. “Now!”

He ran towards the car, crouching down to avoid being seen. He could hear the footsteps behind as Brian and Matt followed.

“Shh!” He gestured with his finger against his lips as he approached the family. “Come with us.” The man, woman and two children followed Ian.

“Shit!” Matt shouted. A figure with blood dripping from its face had jumped on to the roof of the car. “Go!”

They ran.

Ian held a position at the rear and moved backwards, keeping his eyes fixed on the car as the figure crouched on the roof and screamed. A few more of the mob turned when they heard the sound, and began to run towards them.

Suddenly the world went white as a huge fireball engulfed the car. Ian toppled over and for a moment the heat surrounded him. The boom was almost lost in the general chaos.

Scrambling to his feet, Ian quickly checked over his shoulder to see Matt and Brian with the family of four already safely behind the police van. He glanced back, expecting to be jumped by the mob, but the car was engulfed in flames and black billowing smoke. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and scorched bodies and limbs littered the road. Beyond the fire, the battle appeared to be continuing as though nothing had happened.

He shook his head in disbelief and staggered back to the others.

*****

PC Burns opened the police car door and sat inside. He tried the ignition. After spluttering faintly, the engine failed to start. He tried again, swearing under his breath as nothing happened. The radio unit in the car offered only mild static, but he began to call for help anyway.

“Come on, damn it!” he called out, but the static alone responded to each call for assistance, and his body began to seize up in fear.

He tried again, and tears filled his eyes. No voices, no acknowledgment, no backup, no help.

A sound from the side door of the station made him spin around. Screaming and hollering faces were pressed up against the glass.

He tried the ignition once again, as the side door vibrated from the pounding fists trying to break out. Suddenly, he stopped.

Pointless.

In his rear-view mirror he saw the door had been breached. Like a stampede, the mob appeared, pouring across the tarmac towards his hiding place.

He shifted across to the passenger seat as angry faces pushed against the driver’s window. Figures clambered onto the roof of the car, and from inside, he could feel it sway and shake.

He felt warm urine trickle down his leg.

The tears streaming from his eyes made it difficult to see what he was doing but, speaking into the radio, he called for help.

The banging on the windows escalated, thudding and shaking, drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat as it pumped furiously. Sweat oozed from his pores. The windscreen began to crack. As the first hole appeared, his desperate wail was lost amongst the screeching and the screaming..

*****

Matt grabbed Ian and pulled him behind the police van. “Thought you were a goner,” he said. While Ian caught his breath, Matt stood up and peered around the van. The mob had grown, and the fighting continued in the Mall. “Now is our chance to go. There’s nothing we can do here.”

Ian nodded. “Pick up any stragglers and head for the countryside.”

Brian led the way across the road, back in the direction of the warehouse. The newly rescued group were right behind him, and behind them was Ian, still slightly unsteady on his feet. Matt checked behind one last time, but all was clear.

“Good job we didn’t try to get into the Mall,” he muttered. “It looked like a bloodbath in there.”

Brian raised a hand and they stopped. Coming out of an alleyway on the other side of the road were two young men. They too paused when they saw the group, but visibly relaxed when they realised they were not about to be attacked.

“Come quick, we’re not far from the rest of the group,” Brian said.

The two young men joined the slow walk in silence. Matt checked behind again. Still nothing. Only the ongoing sound of chaos that faded with every step.

Thirteen, Matt thought to himself, counting the group members. Better than it was.

While Brian scanned the street, the others approached the warehouse. Ian raised the shutter just enough to crawl inside.

*****

Kyle moved towards the large steel shutter as it opened. “Hello?” he called out, uneasily; it could have been anyone.

The response was a muffled collection of voices, but he recognised one of them to be Ian’s and relaxed as he helped them in. Brian came through last of all, and they rolled the shutter down together.

Kyle counted the figures, nodding at the newcomers. Then he stopped. “Where’s Alice?” he asked.

“She ran off on her own to find the surplus store,” Brian replied.

The elderly couple began to weep. Ian went over to comfort them.

Brian leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. “It's madness out there. The Mall was like a warzone.”

Kyle turned and looked at Alice's grandparents. “Well, we should head out of here soon. It will be dark soon, and some won't be as quick as others trekking into the country.”

“We should maybe give it an hour or so. Let everyone get their energy back,” Brian said.

“Where are we going, anyway? What’s the plan here?” one of the young men said.

“We’ll head out into the countryside. There’s a big old barn in St. Leonard’s Forest. It’s about five miles away.”

“Five miles? That’s crazy!” the other newcomer interjected. “With no power there’ll be no streetlights. We’ll be easy targets for those things!”

“Or well hidden targets,” Ian said. “I can ride out in front, check the roads are clear. May not be much, but it gives us a slight advantage, I reckon. And I can maybe squeeze Ron and Elizabeth pillion too if I ride slowly enough. Or they can take turns.”

The young man frowned. “How come your bike is working? We must have tried a hundred cars and bikes and nothing does anything but splutter since the tremor.”

Ian’s smile was smug. “Tender, loving care, my friend. I service her every week. Plus not many people have these bulletproof old bikes anymore. If there was a nuclear war all that would be left is cockroaches and these beauties.”

“Sounds good” Brian replied. “We still need to find food though. What we have won't last all that long.”

There was a heavy silence, filled with dread and uncertainty, and the sound of sobbing from the side of the room.

“Matt and me will go and see if we can scavenge some more food. After that, we leave,” Brian said.

“We won't be going without our Alice,” Ron said, his voice weak but defiant. “We will never abandon her.”

The group stood in silence once again.

*****

PC Burns cried into the radio. “Hello?” He struggled to find the breath to speak between sobs. “Please!”

The window of the driver’s door smashed. “Anybody, help us!” he shouted desperately, as the door was pulled open. “Anybody, please!”

A pair of strong hands grabbed his legs, and then another gripped his neck. Then he was showered in tiny pieces of glass as the passenger window gave way.

The mob started climbing in.

“Oh, God,” Burns called out. Fear and panic overwhelmed him as death approached. He closed his eyes as his body was pulled from the car.

The sounds which had deafened him, faded slowly as he felt chunks of his flesh being torn off.

He thought of his girlfriend, and the goodbye that never came, and then everything faded.

*****

Kyle sat in anxious silence as the time passed. Ian had already moved his bike towards the shutter ready to leave. Brian and Matt had returned with a big bag of dairy products and lots of tinned food. They sat and talked quietly in the shadows. Like him, they obviously did not wish to alarm the rest of the group. Kyle still didn't even know most of their names.

The family of four and the two young men sat close to each other, while the elderly couple remained a little further away, remaining silent since announcing they would not leave without their granddaughter.

“OK,” Brian said at last. “We have to leave now. The darkness will soon make it difficult to get out of these side streets to the main road out of town.”

The elderly couple shook their heads.

Kyle sat down next to them. “I’ll wait with you,” he whispered. “I’ve never been good at large groups. There is nothing more appealing to me than sitting in a cold, dark warehouse at night.” He smiled, knowing it was too dark to be seen.

The darkness did not faze him. People fazed him. Expectation fazed him. Society fazed him. He would rather be alone than walk around aimlessly with a crowd of people. But he could not walk in peace knowing he had left an elderly couple to their death.

Ian coughed to get everyone's attention. “OK, time to go.”

People stood up but Kyle did not move. Ron and Elizabeth looked grateful.

There was a sound from the shutter. A bang, and then the soft clatter as it rose a little. Everyone around him tensed up, adopting a fighting pose.

Brian laughed as Alice crawled through. Ron and Elizabeth stood up faster than their age seemed to allow and embraced her, sobbing once again but this time with joy and relief.

Kyle watched nervously as two men followed her in. One was an Asian man with a big bushy beard and a fearful expression, while the other was a very tall man in a tight t-shirt and combat trousers. He looked somewhat familiar to Kyle, but he couldn’t remember why.

Standing on his own in the darkness, amongst the embraces and renewed optimism that echoed all around him, he felt alone. In this group he knew he would have a part to play, and with that would come a responsibility. Brian and Matt had loud voices but didn’t seem to be much good at organising things, Alice had her grandparents to care for, and the closest Ian had ever come to managing people was on a football game on his Xbox. Most likely the group would end up turning to him.

He sighed. His Easter break in the cells had somehow turned into a cross-country trek to avoid a strange and angry army that roamed the streets. He sighed and headed over to the rest of the group in silence.

A few minutes later, Ian raised the shutter. “I’ll ride out to the main road to check if the coast is clear, and then come back for Ron and Elizabeth.”

The group waited as he set off, the thrum of the engine piercing the silence. The mayhem from earlier had seemingly disappeared, or moved elsewhere.

The sound of the bike faded as it went further away before returning. “All clear,” he said. “Let’s roll.”

Slowly, one by one, the group crouched under the shutter until only Kyle was left. He looked around the bleak warehouse and sighed. Stepping out into the street, he did not want an adventure. He had spent all of his life avoiding one. He wanted to fade into the darkness, to be unknown.

But, suddenly, everything around him was unknown. Would the barn they were heading towards even be safe? There were no guarantees any longer.

He followed the group as they began to creep down the street like stealthy rats, staying close to the walls in the deepest shadow. He ran his fingers through his hair and realised he was part of a bigger picture. A new world.

A second chance.

THE END

Author's Note:

Dear reader,

Thanks for downloading this short story.

The story in Second Chance runs parallel to that described in the opening chapters of the novel End Storm, available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk as well as all other Amazon stores!

Another End Storm short story, The Gathering, is also available from Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.com, and other Amazon stores.

Look out for a new book in the End Storm saga in the coming months, along with further short stories!

For announcements and information about new releases, or to contact the author, please visit:

the author’s website at mazmarik.weebly.com,

his Facebook page (facebook.com/HoboMarik),

his GoodReads page (goodreads.com/MazMarik),

or follow him on Twitter (@MazMarik).

About the Author:

Maz Marik is a horror author from England.  Born in the small town of Threapwood, he grew up in the Midlands and has also lived in the USA, the Caribbean, Spain, Mexico, Turkey and Egypt.

He currently lives in the south of England, a setting he has employed for his debut novel End Storm, which was published as an e-book on December 1st 2012.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Please note this short story was written in Britain by a British author, and therefore uses British spelling, vocabulary and grammatical conventions.

Kindle edition.

Copyright © 2013 Maz Marik

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Cover design © 2012 Ish Ferris