Young Writers Society

17:05 ~~

~~~~~~~~~

Helicopter blades and lots of them, coming towards us at speed. In less than an hour, I’d got quite good at recognising the sound.

I hesitated, then dashed for the nearest building, a decently-sized Georgian house that had a Porsche on their driveway. The baby seemed to understand it had to stay silent, or at least I hoped it did. The last thing I wanted was for its piercing wail to alert anyone, or anything, to our location. I shoved its dummy in its mouth to gag it.

The door was locked. I ought to have guessed, really.

We hunkered down in the undergrowth just outside. The bushes were scratchy, and I tried to shield the baby with my arms, but that didn’t protect me from getting cut across the face. I just hoped it was worth it. If not, the end would hopefully be quick. Some bizarre impulse rose up in me to break from under cover and let myself be vaporised. But, on reflection, that was probably a bad idea.

I stayed put.

The machines overhead disappeared once again. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, but didn’t move for a long time. Eventually the kid stretched up its chubby arms to me, whimpering.

“OK,” I muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

We walked on. We were right on the outskirts of town now. Was it worth hitting the road and trying to find somewhere that was still intact? Or was it safe to assume that nowhere was still intact?

It began to grow dark, the sun sinking low below the western horizon, out to sea. I stood on the hill and watched its orange light dapple the waters, then continued on my way. There was an old lighthouse not that far from the seafront, and I thought it might suffice as a safe place to spend the night.

I walked into the sunset, the baby in my arms.

The lights were still on in the tower, despite the power outage. I could only assume there was some kind of generator keeping the beacon lit. Well, where there was electricity there was hope. Maybe it would attract the other survivors, assuming they hadn’t been killed by the second wave of drones.

I felt a surge of guilt. I really should have brought the three from the bank with me.

A shadow flitted across the light, trailing tentacles like some kind of humanoid octopus, and I stopped walking. Maybe the weird stuff wasn’t over yet. The baby began to wriggle uneasily.

“Damn it,” I said to the kid. “Let’s take our chances.” I put the baby down on the floor and opened my bag. I’d packed all kinds of crap in there, the most stupid of which had to be a saucepan. In case I wanted to cook breakfast, had been my reasoning. But maybe that hadn’t been the only reason why I’d packed it. When law and order broke down, the streets might be dangerous and not just from the drones either. Saucepans were a handy thing to have.

Plus, I could cook my baked beans in there after I’d wiped off the blood.

Wielding the pan Rapunzel-style in one hand and the baby in the other, I crept into the lighthouse and up the stairs. The baby stared at me with big eyes as I ascended. “Don’t worry, Mummy’s got this all sorted out.”

The rotating lights from upstairs flared and dimmed and every so often I could see shadows move across the ceiling like something out of a children’s puppet show. Problem was, I wasn’t sure whether the shadows were those of the villain or those of something else.

Hopefully someone else.

I reached the top of the stairs. I’d been up this lighthouse once before, when I’d been a kid. But it was far creepier in the dark, and there was no knowing what I might find. What I did find, however, surprised me.

Cables trailed across the floor, with such blatant disregard for health-and-safety legislation I couldn’t help wondering if this was a recent set-up. Generators hummed in the background, and in the orange glow I could just make out a figure hunched over a computer screen, tapping away and muttering to itself.

I set the baby carefully down on the floor. It didn’t protest. Stepping carefully over the cables, I held the saucepan a little higher.

The figure ceased its tapping and looked around, then looked up, then looked alarmed. It shot to its feet, and to be honest I’m not exactly proud of what I did next. It wasn’t even like the guy was armed, but that’s typical Kastyn for you. Attack first, ask questions later.

In true Rapunzel-meets-Flynn fashion, I smacked the pan into his skull.

He dropped like a stone.

I stood and stared down at him. You idiot, Kastyn, a voice inside my head told me. He was a survivor, and what have you gone and done?

I prodded him with my toe. Just a guy, maybe slightly older than myself with messy dark hair and a too-big jumper that looked as if his gran had knitted it. He was currently lying on the ground at my feet, a little too still for my liking. There were no tentacles to be found anywhere. I must have just seen him carrying a load of cables, and jumped to the most ridiculous conclusion possible.

The apocalypse had only happened a few hours ago, and I’d already killed someone.

[To be continued]