Minutes passed before the immediate terror began to pass, and he could dare to open his eyes. He slowly turned his face away from the wall it was resting on, at any point expecting a blade to strike down and smash out his life. The sound of movement made him whince and shut his eyes, but the expected blow never arrived. After again summoning the nerve to open his eyes, he finished turning his head, and looked upon the stranger.

The stranger looked back, his concentration temporarily distracted from the meal of rations and water he had filched out of Oliver’s bag. The man looked back down, and continued his meal, disregarding Oliver, and allowing Oliver to continue to study the man.

He had been busy, Oliver could see. The rucksack had been rescued from the expanse of blood, and given a wipe down. Likewise the man had cleaned himself up, with only a spattering of bloody dots now on his trousers. His gray suit trousers looked out of place worn, as they were, over a pair of medium brown leather walking boots, boots which showed little evidence of wear beyond the recent ruddy blood stains on their sides. The puffer jacket, warm as it no doubt was, looked like it should be being worn by some hip-hop fan rather than the besuited man now snug within it. The dirty white collared shirt looked especially out of place.

The man reached into a pocket and extracted a package, which he threw over to Oliver. “Eat this – it’s chocolate – it’ll help with the shakes.”

Oliver suddenly realised that he was trembling uncontrollably, and was still in a near-foetal position. Reason began to enter his mind, as the effects of the adrenaline rush disappeared, and was replaced with the certainty that this man meant him no harm. He moved the short crawl necessary to snatch the chocolate, then sat back and munched away, suddenly ravenous. Then buoyed by the chocolate-induced sugar and endorphins, he began to relax.

The man cast a glance in Oliver’s direction and noted that he had calmed down somewhat. “I’m sorry to have scared you. I was nearby when I heard you getting mugged, and thought I could help you out. I didn’t expect things to come to blows, but the guy had a gun…” The man paused, studying Oliver with a quizzical look. “I don’t mean to sound weird, but do I know you? I was certain I recognised you, in fact, that’s why I risked coming to help… My name’s Carl [surname]…”

“I, I don’t think so…” replied Oliver. “I’m Oliver Du Savoy… I used to work in South Kensington…”

“Oliver, Du Savoy, hmmm.” Carl played with the name, repeating it, running it through his mind. Eventually a memory stirred – “Du Savoy – you’re the guy who predicted this whole pulse thing weren’t you?!”

“At your service” replied Oliver with a wan smile.

“Wow! I thought you’d be in some nuclear bunker or something!”

Oliver again smiled sadly, “Unfortunately when my first prediction proved slightly incorrect, I’m became a bit of a pariah in political circles. They refused to even listen when I predicted the one the day after, the one we’re suffering under. And so I decided to prepare and escape. A decision which looks somewhat less wise now…” He looked pointedly at the rucksack in Carl’s hands, and the pool of blood now congealing on the pavement.

Carl had the good grace to blush a little, in between mouthfuls. He pushed the bag over to Oliver. “Sorry, I was just really thirsty… All yours. And yeah, the city’s gone a bit mad. The army and police can’t be trusted, and for everyone else it seems to be every man for themselves. So, you knew this big one was going to happen, and nobody would believe you? A real-life Cassandra eh.

So what are you doing here? I guess you’ve got some kind of plan….?”

Carl paused, waiting for Oliver to reply. Meanwhile, Oliver’s mind churned as he thought about whether to tell the man the truth or not. He didn’t have replies for two, and he could sail the boat easily on his own. And what if there was only a single boat, this Carl could steal it. Still, he reckoned he could trust the newcomer to some extent, and two people would generally be safer than one…

“I’m going to sail out of here.” Carl choked off a laugh, and indicated for Oliver to continue.

“I thought about this just before it happened. First, the cities are quickly going to run out of food and water. Second, the cities are full of people willing and able to use violence to control what few resources remain. Third, the towns and countryside immediately around cities will be inundated by people escaping them. Fourth, all the roads leading out of the cities will be flooded by people escaping, and will actually be a worse place to be than just staying put.

Taking this all into account, it’s obvious that going is better than staying, but only if a safe way to exit could be found. Air is out of action. Land routes will be flooded with refugees. But water routes, they should stay open. There’s a limited amount of water transport available, so the routes won’t get clogged up. You won’t need to fear getting waylaid by a mugger. And you can transport much more food and water on a boat than by foot.”

Carl sat back, thinking. The guy sounded like a scientist, by the way he’d broken things down. But he’d obviously left some key points unsaid. “Okay, that all makes sense. But I note you’re on foot. So where’s the boat? And where are you going to go once you’ve got one?”

“Both good questions. On getting a boat, I know a place where there may be some. There’s a boat club on the Isle of Dogs, and they’ve got a number of small skiffs, boats which a single person could safely sail with a little training. As for where to go, I haven’t decided yet. Most of the coast, especially in the south, is populated. However there’s Wales, large tracts of Scotland, and lots of unoccupied islands scattered around the mainland – I’m sure I could find somewhere to winter. Eating sparsly, trapping the odd wild animal, I reckon I could survive.”

Carl had been watching Oliver as he spoke. He’d noticed the look of judgement on Oliver’s face, the excitement as he talked of his plans, and the nervousness he’d conveyed whenever he talked of specifics.

“So, now you’re wondering whether I’ll steal your idea, get to the boats first, and hightail it out of there. Maybe even take your supplies at the last moment?” Carl said, with a smile. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t know the first thing about sailing, so it’s no use to me. It’s a good plan though. I assume you know how to sail…” Oliver replied with a curt nod.

Carl rested back against the wall, and thought about his situation. Really thinking, perhaps for the first time, about what would happen in the UK over the next few months. His rough plan of heading generally homewards, and then seeing what would happen, was obviously too shortsighted. Everything Oliver had said, the conclusions he’d drawn, made sense. The cities would turn into a war-zone; hell, it was already happening! He couldn’t rely on the government – they’d not proven especially competent thus far and he couldn’t bank that they’d pull their fingers out of their arses any time soon. His limited exposure to the armed forces had also not filled him full of confidence. He decided to voice what was hovering in the back of his mind.

“Do you want some company?”

———-
Chapter 13 – James

Dim light trickling through the windows around him awoke James. He shivered in his great-coat, and moved to get more comfortable. With a groan, he realised that it had been a mistake to fall asleep in his chair – a catalogue of sore joints brought him fully awake.

A sheen of icey condensate covered the insides of the windows of his office. James stood up with a second groan, and shuffled over to the them, willing circulation back into his body. With a jacket sleeve he polished a hole in the frosting, and looked out upon the city. The fires appeared to have largely abated, starved of fuel, although large columns of smoke still arose from here and there. These were joined in the still morning air by innumerable small columns of smoke, rising from ad-hoc camp fires scattered across the city. The air at the height James was standing seemed thick with a cloud of smoke, dimming the already weak winter sun.

Try as he could, James couldn’t see any movement on the streets below. Not even a single footfall disturbed the pavements, not a single car could be seen easing its way through the chaos on the roads. James looked out over the quiet city, until he became aware of the growing clamour on the other side of his office door. He turned and walked over, opening it to reveal a scene of chaos.

The dorm rooms must have emptied out, as the office area outside his door seemed full of people. Most were huddled up in coats and jackets. A small number were just standing around, but many appeared to be involved in arguments, explosions of breath steaming out of peoples mouths as they heatedly discussed matters. James stood in his doorway, trying to listen to the crowd, and then decided to do something. He put his hands up, and shouted out for attention. Nothing happened.

He tried again. This time a few heads turned, and nearby conversations hushed temporarily. Then people were drawn back into arguments, and conversations started up again.

James walked around the office, catching bits and pieces of conversation, trying to understand what was going on.

“…I say we just go, we can’t just stay here forever! It’s freezing in here, and I want something to eat other than Mars bars and bags of crisps…”

“…I don’t care what you say – I want to go home! I hope my husband picked my kids up from school. Oh, god, I hope the kids are okay…”

“…we’re supposed to share food – that’s like your second sandwich! And I saw you eating a load of chocolate earlier…”

“…we’ve got to stick together. We don’t know what’s going on outside now, we’re safer together than apart. I say we head find somewhere to hole up, somewhere near a supermarket or something…”

“… but it’s so cold!! Surely just a little fire, in one of the bins, wouldn’t be too bad. And it’s not like there’s a shortage of paper to burn…”

It was this last comment that spurned James to action – if people tried to set fires to warm up, this place would fill with smoke in no time. He walked through the crowd again, getting people’s attention, hushing them up, and then standing on a table near his office. A quiet spread, and eventually most people were looking at James,, albeit whilst still having muttered conversations and arguments with each other.

“Can I have your attention please…! Thanks. Right, firstly, well done to everyone for keeping sane. It’s been a hard day, and a hard night. I know it’s cold, but please lets not have any talk of lighting fires – if you do that this place will fill full of smoke, and the fire could also spread. So, no fires. I know most of you want to head home,” James was interrupted by angry shouts of “Damn right!”, “I need to get home to my kids!”, “What are we even still doing here?!”, and the like.

James put his hands up to calm things down. “As I was saying, we all have places we want to go to. But we don’t know what’s going on out there. How are you to get home if there’s no trains, no buses? We don’t know what the government is doing to help people out, or whether they’re holding people in location until they can get things running.”

“We can walk!” shouted someone towards the back, followed by a widespread muttering of agreement.

“Yes, you can. But where? And how?” was James’s reply, to be met with a retort of “Anywhere is better than here!” James could feel control slipping away from him, as the crowd again started discussing things between themselves.

“Everyone, please!” he shouted out, trying to regain control. The crowd began to quiet, and then a voice rang out. “This is all your fault anyway!!! We could be home with our families by now if it wasn’t for you!”

Angry voices of agreement sounded out, as the owner of the voice worked his way to the front.

“I’ve just done what’s best. At least here you’re safe – you don’t know what’s happening out there…” James replied.

“Oh, yeah, we’re safe. Freezing to death, almost out of food and drink, unable to even light a fire because we’d suffocate on the smoke.” The owner of the voice turned out to be a man called John, always a bit of a loud-mouth and a braggart, but popular within the rugby-playing crowd. He jumped onto the table James was perched on, the surface groaning a little under their weight.

“It was my call to make, and I made the safest I could. I’m in charge here…”

John interrupted. “You were, and look where that’s left us. We’re [20] floors up, and the only way down is via staircases that are now pitch black. We can’t stay here. If we’d have left yesterday, we could have gone down in light, and for most of us have been home now. Many of us have families, and we don’t know what has happened to them. Even those of us who couldn’t have walked home in one day would at least have been able to get a few miles closer. Now look outside – it’s abandoned here. There’s no-one around. No-one to help us. No police or army to transport us. You’ve led us into a dead end and you’re too arrogant to admit it!”

James looked around, waiting for the loud shouts of agreement to calm down. “John. It was your choice not to leave. I haven’t forced anyone to stay. I’ve tried to make the best decisions to keep everyone safe! I’m in charge, and it’s my responsibility.”

“You were in charge, you mean.” John turned to face the crowd. “Does anyone think this is only a temporary blip? That we’ll all be back in work in a week’s time, or even a month’s? Yesterday morning, everything changed. We’ve just be knocked back into the stone age, people. Might is now right. The person in charge will be the strongest, or the person who can control the strongest. Does anyone really want [nickname for James] to be in charge? I don’t. So I’m leaving. I’m heading North – my family is up near [N of Canary Wharf]. Anyone who wants can come with me – we’ll stick together and help each other out – anyone on their own will be easy game out there. Once I’ve got my family safe, I promise to help any who follow me to seek out their families. I leave in 10 minutes.”

With that John jumped down, and made his way towards the [erstwhile] dorm rooms. The room dissolved into an explosion of conversation and action. James shouted, tried to get the attention of his staff, but was broadly ignored. A few people looked in his direction, but all had scorn, dislike, or anger on their faces. After a while, James jumped down and walked back to his office, wondering why they were ignoring him. Didn’t they realise he’d been thinking of them, trying to stop them from falling into chaos?

Shortly after 10 minutes had passed, James walked out to see what was happening. The couple of hundred people had calmed down, and were listening to John. James walked closer.

“Okay, we’ve 10 torches still working, so that’s one every 20 people. I’ll lead the way. We’ll all go down the same way, in one line, two abreast. As people walk through the door, Edward here will pass out the torches for every ten or so pairs. It’s still going to be dark in there, but your eyes will get used to it – just don’t shine the torches at peoples faces. Point them at the floor, on the outside of the stairway.

Don’t huddle up too much, and be careful. 20 floors really isn’t that many to go down. But getting back up would be hard work, so take anything with you that you may want. We’ve tried to be fair with the food and drink, but there’s not much left so be sparing with what you’ve got. We don’t know how long it will have to last.

Ready? Okay, here we go.”

With that he turned on his torch, and stepped through the door and onto the pitch-black staircase. His action catalysed the crowd into movement, and slowly it began to trickle through the same doors. All evidence of grumbling and discord disappeared, as though just actually doing something was sufficient to alleive people’s concerns. Instead some people even appeared jubilant, and chattily talked to each other, discussing how much they were looking for to seeing their kids, partners, or even just their own homes and beds.

Everyone around studiously ignored James, and in a remarkably short amount of time the last few of his staff were stepping through the door leading to the stairs. Edward, having handed out all but one of the torches, deigned to look up at James. “Coming?”

James nodded, and walked forward. He took one last look around the office, the office in which for the last few years he’d spent more time than in his own home, and said a mental goodbye. He then turned to the staircase and joined with Edward to begin the walk down.

The torch proved to provide more than enough light. As he looked down the stair he could see the dim forms of those preceding him, and the dark turned gray by the reflections of the beams below. The staircase was strangely silent, people choosing to speak in hushed voices when they chose to speak at all. Only ten minutes later James stepped out into the cold outdoors, eyes temporarily seared by the sunlight wan as it was.

Around him people were discussing what to do, where to go now. People were hugging and beginning to wander off, often in small groups with a common destination. James wandered over and attached himself to the group led by John – he knew they were heading generally northwards. Again, he was ignored. Finally his group began to head off. The walking pace was an easy saunter, as women in high-heels tottered along, and men in leather-soled shoes slipped and skidded along a pavement covered in a sheen of frost.

They had only walked a few hundred metres when they passed closed to an army landrover, parked across the barely passable part of the road. The group walked past it without a thought. James, the last of the group, had barely passed it when he heard a car door open and close, and a shout brought the entire group to a halt.

They turned, to encounter a soldier obviously having just stepped out of the vehicle. He was wearing desert camouflage, incrogruously covered by dark green and brown body armour. Ammunition magazines, radios, and other equipment sprouted from the webbing he wore over the top. He casually held an assault rifle, pointed safely away from the group, but in a manner from which he could obviously bring it to [bare] within seconds. His left foot was slightly forward, and James could make out 3 [arrows] on the [eppaulets] on his left arm.

“Who’s in charge here?”, the soldier said, in a kindly but still forceful manner, as a parent would talk to children.

James began to open his mouth to speak, but John pushed forward and said “I am.”

“Where are you coming from? And where are you going?”

“We’re from [company name]. We’ve just left – we stayed in the office just that way last night. We’re all heading roughly up towards [destination]. Could you tell us what’s going on?”

“Okay, hold on.” The soldier pressed a button on his jacket and spoke quietly into a microphone in front of his mouth. He nodded as he received a reply, then looked back up at John.

After a couple of hours of slowly walking down the street, he heard gunshots ahead. He’d heard bangs all morning, but this was the first time he could identify the sounds – not really much like most hollywood movies. As he continued walking, it became apparent that a dim roaring he’d heard was coming from the same place. Eventually Carl could make out the source of this noise – a surging crowd several hundred metres ahead. What they were doing, he wasn’t sure. However, judging by the numbers of figures wearing green, and mixture of olive and tan coloured vehicles it was apparent that the army disagreed with whatever it was.

Carl quickly decided he wanted nothing to do with the crowd, and so turned right, off the street, in what he judged was generally a southerly direction. He reckoned he could walk a mile or so south, or until he reached the Thames, then turn back east, hopefully skirting whatever the trouble was.

His new boots were beginning to rub his heels by this point and the cold westerly wind, which had been channeled onto his back down the road he had been on, had begun to sap his strength a little. Therefore, when he reckoned he was far enough away from the immediate fighting, and found a spot both in the sun and out of the wind, he decided to take a short break.

He had stopped next to some construction work, on the edge of an industrial estate. He took the opportunity to make use of a porta-loo on the site – he’d been rushed out of the hospital before he could make his morning ablutions, and he was still civilised enough to feel wrong about just going to the loo on the side of the street. Now feeling much less bloated and uncomfortable, he made himself a comfortable spot in a pile of sand, loosened his boots, and lay back to enjoy the low midday sun whilst he could.

He was just dropping into a light sleep when he heard a voice, quiet but just about discernable.

“Hold it right there.”

Carl’s eyes flicked open and he squirmed around in his ad-hoc seat, trying to see the author of the statement. He hurriedly began lacing up his boots, trying not to get any of the abrasive sand into them. Then he heard another voice – “Look, I’m sure we can sort something out.” A dim memory stirred, Carl somehow recognised the owner of this voice.

Carl also managed to get a better idea of where the voices were coming from. Ahead of him lay the beginnings of a maze of containers, piles of raw materials and equipment, and it was from a nearby passage between some of these that the sound seemed to be emanating. He edged up to a corner to see if he could see anything.

“Back up, back up the way you were going.” The voice was much louder now. Then Carl saw a man backing along an alleyway a few metres ahead of him, perpendicular to that down which he watched. Despite his face being white with fear and stubbled with a few days unshaved growth, Carl was sure now that he recognised the man. Then he saw a man with a pistol, eyes focussed on his victim, slowly advancing. “That’s right,” the man said. “What’cha got in the bag?”

Carl ducked back out of sight, cautious of being seen by the man with the gun. Conflicting urges tore at him. One part of him just said to run, get the hell out of there – he didn’t want to be a second victim. But another part of him wanted to help the man, a poor sod in the wrong place at the wrong time. Further, this wasn’t just someone random – it was someone he swore he recognised.

He heard the other man reply – “Supplies: some food, some water, a tent, clothing, that sort of thing. Medical supplies… You can have it all, just don’t hurt me.” The man’s voice was definitely someone he knew, or at least had heard recently. Much more importantly, he had supplies and maybe he’d be willing to share – it had been a good 48 hours since he’d eaten anything more than a soggy sandwhich he’d been given at the hospital. Almost before he realised what he was doing, his subconcious made the decision for him. He walked over to the worksite, and grabbed a spade. Then, on feet that seemed to crunch loudly on ever bit of rubbish on the path, and to the accompanying drumbeat of his heartbeat pulsing deafeningly in his ears, he crept towards the alley he’d seen the men go into.

———
Chapter 13 – Oliver

Oliver stayed very still, not wanting to draw the attention of the man with the gun, for all intents and purposes trying to make himself invisible. Why the man hadn’t killed him he wasn’t sure, but if he could escape from this situation alive then he’d even count the entire contents of his bag a fair price.

The man uttered a sigh of happiness as he encountered Olivers stash of nutri-bars. He wasted no time in tearing one open, and devouring it, together with lashings of power-drink. A beatific smile spread over the man’s grimy face, and eyes suddenly alive fastened on Oliver.

“Relax, I’m not going to kill you. Damn but I could for this much grub, but I’m not a murderer yet. I’ll tell you what – I’ll just take what I can easily carry, and leave the rest for you. After I’ve left, wait a couple of minutes and then you can head out wherever you want. Deal?”

Oliver nodded, still not trusting, but feeling vastly more relaxed than he had only a few moments previously.

Something behind the man suddenly drew Oliver’s eyes up and slightly to the right. His eyes opened wide in surprise. The mugger saw the movement and began to turn, right hand reaching for his gun. Spooked by the mugger’s movement, the puffer-jacket wearing man sliced around and down, almost decapitating the mugger. Oliver watched in silent shock as blood sprayed all over this new man, and spattered Oliver’s rucksack.

The man walked up to him, one hand still clasping the dripping spade, seeming uncaring of the blood splashed over his face and clothing, and said “Are you okay?”

“Sir, wake up sir, you can’t sleep here!”

Carl cracked open his eyes and rolled over, back cracking in sympathy. The coarse nylon carpet under him, barely covering a concrete floor, brought him barely to wakefulness. Above him, he could blearily make out a figure, washed in the dim red light of dawn and aurora.

“Sir, I said get up.” This time the voice sounded much more imperative. Someone flicked a switch and suddenly the room was ablaze with light. Through the glare Carl could now make out the man above him. Middle aged, he would have been wearing a suit a couple of days ago. Now he’s missing his jacket, the tie is long gone, and the shirt sleeves have been roughly rolled up. Stains cover his white shirt. Then Carl turned his head to see who the person with the light-switch flicking finger was, and was somewhat taken aback to see a fully armed soldier.

“Look, get up. Are you staff? What are you doing here?”

“Sorry,” Carl finally croaked out as his brain finished the journey to being fully concious. “I’ve been volunteering here. I just had to crash out.” His mind flashed back through the events of the last twenty-four hours, and reality crashed in.

“Who with?” Carl looked blankly at his inquisitor. “Who have you been volunteering with? What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been portering, with a guy called Eli.”

The man’s face, previously looking stern and annoyed, softened a little. “Ah, okay. I know Eli, and now I think about it I think I remember seeing you helping around. Still, I’m afraid you can’t sleep here – only staff or patients are allowed in now. Not even family.” He reached down with a hand and helped Carl to his feet.

“The sergeant here will see you out. Thanks for the help.” And with that the man, apparently some form of admin, stepped out of the office and continued down the corridor, checking each room as he passed it. The sergeant nodded at one of the soldiers, and then the rest of the squad marched off to accompany the man.

“You got everything mate, don’t have any bag to pick up or something?” the soldier said in a sad-sounding voice.

Carl shook his head. “Nope, all I’ve got is what you see here.” Carl started walking slowly towards the exit, the soldier keeping pace with him. “So what’s it like out there?” Carl asked.

“Chaos. I’m sorry we’re having to turn you out of here, you seem like a good bloke, but the orders came down – in order to conserve resources, only patients and staff are allowed in hospitals. You’ll see why when we get outside…”

“What am I supposed to do? I don’t have any food, and somehow I doubt the cash machines are working any more…” Carl asked.

“It’s pretty much dog-eat-dog at the moment. If the government has a plan, they sure as hell aren’t telling squaddies like me. Hell, we’re on emergency rations at the moment ourselves! I’ve heard rumour that they’re setting up an emergency food point somewhere in East London, and a few other places scattered around the region, but I don’t know where. Oh, and be careful out there – looting is now a capital crime, and there’s a curfew 5pm til 9am. That said, there’s few enough of us out there that you’d have to be pretty unlucky to get caught, if you catch my meaning…”

Carl looked at his watch and pondered. It was just coming up to 9am now. At least he had a full day to get somewhere. And heading East sounded as good a plan as any – besides the soldier’s gossip, that was roughly the direction home.

“Look mate, I feel pretty bad about turning you out like this – you’ll freeze to death out there. Let’s take a quick detour.” The soldier made a left and sped up, with Carl hurrying to catch up. He wasn’t sure exactly what the soldier meant as they headed down some stairs and into the basements of the hospital. As they finally turned into a room though, the soldier’s meaning was made plain.

The morgue and warehouse had filled up further during the night. There were hundreds of bodies lying around now.

“It’s pretty fucked up, but if you can find anything here to help you out… I’ll turn a blind eye. It’s not like they need the clothes and shoes now…”

Carl stood stock still, jaw dropped, shock written plainly on his face. It was a disgusting thought. But then the truth of the soldier’s statement flashed into his mind. The world had changed, and if he was to survive he would need to change with it. Feeling decidely ashamed, he started rummaging around the room.

Quickly he found a pair of walking boots around his size, barely worn. A puffy arctic jacket followed. Unbeliever as he was, Carl still stood for a few moments, silently praying for the souls of those whose bodies he was ransacking, as much to diminish the self-disgust he was feeling with himself as for any other reason. Then he turned, and walked out of the room, skin cringing under his new jacket. The soldier followed.

It was only when Carl stepped through the exit to the hospital that his being turfed out began to make sense. He had been wondering about the government’s edict on staff and patients only, and then he saw the crowds. All around the hospital stood and sat hordes. Some addressed soldiers, pleading, arguing, desperately seeking entrance and access to the food and heat that the hospital offered. Others just sat patiently, despair apparent on faces white and chapped from the cold. A perimiter of soldiers stood watch around the hospital, and a scattering of bloody stains on the ground showed that they were capable and willing to use any means to follow their orders. The curfew had apparently been waived in the immediate area, judging by the evidence of many people having been here for hours, but Carl took the soldier’s warnings to heart anyway.

They reached the edge of the cordon and Carl turned to his escort, “Look, thanks. I know you’re just doing your job, and thanks for not being an asshole about it. I hope it all works out okay for you.”

“Thanks. And I hope things work out with you too.” The soldier took Carl’s profferred hand, shook once, and turned back towards the hospital. Carl turned away, and walked through the crowds, heading east, ignoring the assortment of envious, questioning, and hostile looks from the people he passed.

Oliver awoke early after a fitful night huddled in his darkened office. A very dim crack of amber-tinged light from under the office door hinted that dawn was aborning. He lay back for a while, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sleeping bag for just a few moments longer – the hint of mist when he exhaled warned of another cold day.

He was just beginning to drop off to sleep again, the rigours of the last 48 hours taking their toll, when the scuff of shoes on nylon carpet tiles reached his ears. He startled fully awake, and rolled back under the table. Carefully he extracted himself from the sleeping bag. Other noises played at the edge of his hearing: more footfalls, whispers rendered unintelligible by their quietness, the odd squeak and click of doors quietly being opened and closed. Oliver lay, now fully dressed, as the sounds got steadily louder, then began to drop off. It wasn’t until there had been silence for several minutes that he felt comfortable to complete his packing and nervously opened the door.

There was no sign of anyone else, so Oliver decided to not push his luck, and to head out. He gathered his pack and headed towards a set of stairs leading downwards, a set of stairs which at his best guess was at the back of the building, and so away from the bridge and the potential security guards. He managed to escape the building without encountering a soul, and found himself on a footpath running beside the Thames. Not looking back, he started walking, constantly expecting a shouted enquiry from behind.

After a short while Oliver had to turn away from the river, the fortifications of the Tower of London blocking his way. Unfortunately the tide was high, and the river full, so he couldn’t take to the beach, so he headed slightly north, and joined the eastbound traffic on the main road. He could feel the acquisitive eyes looking at his pack, but there were still enough civilians around, and society hadn’t rotted away sufficiently yet that any of the people looking at him were willing to take his belongings by force. Still, Oliver walked carefully, avoiding clumps of individuals. As well as individuals, the odd military vehicle would push by, causing pedestrians to scatter for fear of being hit by the broken-down cars forced willy-nilly out of the way. The military carried on, apparently oblivious or uncaring of the footsore mothers, children, office-workers, handymen, tourists, and other human flotsam.

It was just after he’d passed the Tower that he saw that his impression of the military had been incorrect. They apparently did care, and had very explicit instructions on how to handle the citizens of the London. Emblazoned on the side of a building was a statement “Looting will not be tolerated.” Below this bullet holes and splashes of red paid testament to the punishment. The objects of this particular lesson hung from some of the lamposts scattered along the street.

Oliver stopped, looking up at the bodies as they twisted in the cold breeze. He couldn’t believe things had gone so far, so fast! That the government had instituted capital punishment, and without any real judicial process, was terrifying. And illegal, based on discussions he’d had whilst at COBR. The feeling of urgency to get out of the capital suddenly reasserted itself; he felt he couldn’t trust anyone now, civilian or in government employ – if the military or law enforcement were being allowed to summarily execute people, then true chaos would surely not be far behind, where those in government employ would begin to abuse their power for personal advantage. He realised that within 36 hours the UK had slipped from the position of one of the most advanced nations on the earth, to being barely dissimilar to anyone tinpot dictatorship in Africa.

He started walking again, continuing to head in an easterly direction, his plan to sail down the Thames again on his mind. A couple of miles passed under his feet. He noticed that he was largely against the flow of people now, most travelling west, away from docklands. This caused him little trouble though, as by this point there were many fewer people on foot than even a couple of hours previously. Obviously the office complexes of the financial companies had emptied out by now.

To his right, he passed a small park. The park was littered with refuse, and he was surprised to see a scattering of tents, with a few communal fires. How people had acquired the tents, Oliver couldn’t think, but the source of the firewood was obvious when he looked closer – wooden furniture was piled up in heaps, and stumps of trees and bushes were all that remained of more natural sources of fuel. Why the people were in tents, rather than the nearby houses, Oliver also couldn’t imagine. Then again, he thought, a couple of object lessons on looting like those he’d seen would probably make some people think twice before taking advantage of a property left empty.

Just after he passed the park, he heard a squeal of breaks behind him. Turning, he spotted a convoy of military land rovers and trucks pulled up next to the park. Soldiers spilled out of the vehicles, and headed into the park. He waited only long enough for it to become apparent that everyone in the park was being rounded up, and roughly at that, before he skipped off the road to the left and into an industrial complex. The last thing he needed was to be lumped in with the group in the park. Either they were being punished for something, or they were being moved on to some containment center; in either case he would undoubtedly be worse off than he would be on his own in the countryside.

A short jog later, legs tiring under the unexpected activity and the load of his backpack, and he was confident that he’d left the soldiers behind. A look at his watch showed it was nearing noon, so he decided to take a break. Finding a corner out of the wind, he settled down and used some of his precious water to make another mulch out of some of this dehydrated supplies. The lunch was a quick one, as he still felt the urgency to move on, and within 30 minutes he was walking again.

He’d gone only 50 meters or so however, just as he was entering a maze of alleys, when a voice sounded out behind him.

“Hold it right there.”

Olivers head fell. Obviously he’d waited too long and a soldier had crept up on him. Hopefully he could blag it, say that he was just passing through and that he didn’t need transporting out of the area. Even better, it was the truth. He’d have to leave unsaid that his expected escape route was to steal a boat, but he was sure he could come up with something. He turned around.

Instead of the expected soldier, a grimy looking man stood facing him. A grimy looking man holding something up towards Oliver. Something which looked very much like a pistol. His sphincter spontaneously tightened. He raised his arms up. “Look, I’m sure we can sort something out.”

“Back up, back up the way you were going,” the man said, flicking his gun hand to indicate the direction. The man nervously looked around the open yard in which he was stood, obviously worried someone may see him. “That’s right,” he said, as Oliver backed up. Another alley passed him to his right as he moved further into the warren of gaps between buildings, the man following. Oliver could see that the man was limping slightly, and toyed with running for it, a plan he quickly abandoned when he noted how the pistol stayed centered on him.

“What’cha got in the bag?”

“Supplies,” Oliver replied, “some food, some water, a tent, clothing, that sort of thing. Medical supplies…”. He looked at the man’s lame leg. “You can have it all, just don’t hurt me.”

The dirt on the man’s face crinkled with a mixture of a smile and a grimace. “That’s the plan… I don’t want to hurt no-one, just need grub and some’t to drink. Now put the bag down, and carry on walking backwards – walk to that corner over there and then sit down on your hands.”

Oliver complied, and watched as the man began to rummage around the bag. At no time did his hand move far from the gun.

A cautious and surruptitious exit via the main doors to his apartment block, easily opened now that no electricity flowed to power the magnetic locks, and he was on the street. Even now, on the second day without power, the streets were far from empty. People walked along the street going to destinations unknown, rumpled office clothes evidence of nights sleeping rough, fearful eyes constantly flitting back and forwards seeking any source of danger.

Dave turned to the right, and tried to emulate the people around him. The fearful glances were the easiest, as even armed and armoured Dave felt uncomfortable. He was wearing some loose tatty clothing, rumpled and worn enough that he wouldn’t be singled out as someone with a home nearby or goods to be stolen. He weaved along the street, taking circuitous routes to avoid clusters of cars which had been broken down and shoved out of the way by the few vehicles still working, as well as to avoid the other people on the street. Even with these diversions he still made good time however, the journey of 5 minutes actually proving faster than would normally have been the case.

Only when he reached the entrance to the office buildings did he encounter his first problem. The doors were locked with good old-fashioned mechanical locks – obviously whomever the doorperson or security guard had been had chosen to lock up before heading off to wherever. Dave leaned his back against the wall and pondered his options, looking like just another weary traveller taking a break. He could always break through the doors – they were only glass – but he could well imagine how the sound of breaking glass would sound out over the relatively quiet city. There was a car-entrance to the side, leading up and around out of site, but his mind conjured images of thugs in ambush. Finally there would undoubtedly be emergency entrances around the back, but firstly these may be locked, and secondly he’d be running the same risk of ambush as the car park.

In the end he attempted to ignore his fears, and made his way into the car-park, looking around as he did so to see if anyone noted him. No-one seemed to care, no heads turned, people just continued their plodding. Dave breathed a sigh of relief when he’d made his way into the car-park and confirmed that he was the only person there. Even better, there was an emergency exit leading from the building into the car park, and judging by the way it was swinging slightly in the breeze it was obviously of the magnetic-lock variety.

He made his way into the building, and cautiously up the concrete stairs to the first floor. There he found another open door, and entrance to the offices proper. It felt strange, wandering around the floor. All around him desks sat unoccupied and monitors dead, but with papers laid out and filing cabinets open, as though the inhabitants had magically disappeared. There were no signs of an emergency, no chaos, just a snapshot of office life.

After a couple of minutes wandering, Dave found the kitchen area. He splashed into the room through a pool of water, the now-unpowered fridge/freezer having defrosted remarkably quickly. This room was away from any windows, near the core of the building, and Dave again regretted not bringing a torch – he should have taken the hint from his own building’s situation. After a few moments though his eyesight adjusted to the dim light, reflected via a myriad of cream-painted wall, and his eyes alighted on the target of his search – the watercooler sat in the corner of the room. The bottle stood almost full, and even better he realised that a completely full container sat on the floor next to it.

Dave walked over to the corner of the room and picked up the unused bottle. Or tried to. Crap, Dave thought. He’d completely underestimated the weight of that much water. On a second attempt, using his knees he successfully picked up the bottle, and began to walk back to the stairs. As he staggered, his mind was awhirl. He realised he had failed to fully plan things out. It would take a while for him to walk back home, carrying such a weight. And carrying such an amount of water would immediately mark him out to all the people walking around outside, people who were undoubtedly thirsty, maybe even thirsty enough just to take what they needed.

He carefully walked down the unlit stairs – hurting himself in this sort of situation could be life-threatening – and placed his load down just inside of the exit door. As he walked upstairs to get the other bottle he pondered on what to do. He needed a way to carry a couple of pretty-damn heavy loads, or at least the one bottle, and in such a way that the load would be disguised. An unconcious look out of the windows on the first floor and an idea came to him. Dave smiled, yep, that should work. It meant breaking into another building, but his fears of gangs had proven unfounded. He upended the second bottle and removed it from the cooler without completely drenching himself, and sealed the end with a cap made of sellotape and paper. He carried it downstairs and put it right next to the first bottle, and then put his plan into motion.

Opposite the office building stood yet more shops, including a [Mothercare]. And there, on display in the front window was the answer to his needs – a pushchair. Dave cut across the street, again alternately pleasantly surprised to find that he attracted no attention and then disappointed to find the storefront locked. Dave had no doubt however that there would be some form of loading facilities and another entrance at the back, and so walked down the adjacent alley to try to gain entry. He saw an open space behind the store and smiled as he walked towards it. He walked out of the alley then stopped abruptly, the smile on his face turning fixed in surprise.

“And what have we here?” said one of the causes of the surprise. The man was sat on the back of a delivery truck, legs hanging over the bumper, one hand in a large bag of crisps. Piled up on the ground next to the van lay a collection of empty beer cans. The man looked directly at Dave.

“I think someone turned the wrong way…” said the other cause – a man stood only a couple of meters away from him. As he spoke, Dave’s nose caught the scent of a day half-spent drinking, a hint confirmed when the man threw his empty can in the broad direction of the pile by the van.

“Sorry guys,” said Dave immediately, backing towards the alley, “I didn’t realise you were here, I was just taking a short-cut.”

“Ah, a short-cut was it?” said the one in the van, jumping down, “well that’s all well and good, but this particular route is ours now. And you’re going to have to pay a tax.”

Whilst the first one talked, the second had moved closer, the man’s hand creeping behind his back. Dave risked a quick look behind him and found he was still a few feet away from the alley. He weighed his options – there was no way he’d be able to turn and run fast enough to escape.

“It’s alright, but I’ll find another route,” said Dave, still sliding backwards.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” the van man said, “you’ve seen our little stash now…” And with that the nearest man leapt for Dave.

Dave had been preparing himself mentally for this moment, even as he tried to back out of the prospective fight. Even whilst nominally facing the man near the van, he’d been keeping watch on the nearest opponent. As he leapt, the man pulled a large knife from behind him, and twisted his body to deliver a deep and probably fatal stab to Dave’s gut.

Dave saw this and evaluated in an instant, his training suddenly coming to the fore as his actions became automatic. He dropped his arm down and wide, parrying the blade with his bracer, the blade cutting the clothing over his left arm but doing little other damage. Closing with the assailant, bringing his hips in close, Dave countered with a crushing headbutt, feeling the man’s nose collapse. The man staggered back, allowing Dave space to draw the knife stashed at his hip. He again closed, and thrust the knife in and upwards, through the man’s diaphragm and into the man’s heart.

Letting the knife go, Dave pushed the man away and looked for the van man. The other agressor was still looking on, feet [riven/rivetted] to the floor in shock at what had happened to his friend. He looked up into Dave’s face, and then turned to run. Dave again operated on auto-pilot as he reached under his left bracer and extracted the weighted knife sheathed there. Left foot forward, in approved stance, Dave loosed the throwing knife, and watched it impact with a sickly thud and a spray of blood into the back of the flee’ing man’s head.

Dave stood panting as time seemed to speed up to a normal rate. The whole fight had taken less than 10 seconds, and yet he suddenly felt like he’d just ran a marathon. As the reality of what had just occurred struck him, Dave turned around and vomitted.

He looked again at the nearest body, his trembling hand remembering the fluttering feeling as the man’s heart had destroyed itself on his knife. Dave looked down at the hand, splashed with dark red blood, then collapsed to the floor, again throwing up.

It was many minutes before Dave could again think coherently, or get off the floor. Finally he collected himself, and again looked at the corpses. First things first, he had to get his knives and clean himself up. He did so, choking back his feelings as the second blade grated when he pulled it from the man’s head. He cleaned the knives on the corpses, and resheathed them. Next he washed his hands in a small puddle of water in the corner of the loading dock. Finally he dragged the bodies over to a dumpster and, being careful not to get any more blood on himself, rolled them in.

This done, he decided to continue with his original plan. He put the incident out of his mind, and used a discarded pole of metal to force open the back door. Inside the shop he quickly found a twin-pushchair, fortunately already assembled, and carted it outside. Keeping his eyes averted from the pools of blood, or the dumpster, he headed down the alley, across the street and into the car-park. He noted that the flow of people had dropped off a great deal by now, and with a look of surprise realised that it was already late afternoon, the sky beginning to darken with dusk. Hurriedly he placed the water into the pushchair seats. The seats groaned with the weight, but held. Covered them up with blankets he’d also stolen, and with the rain-cover closed, he was happy to see that the real load wasn’t evident.

The journey home was uneventful, and the hard labour of carrying the water up to his floor helped keep his mind clear of the murders he’d committed earlier – for that was what he thought of them, despite the fact it was self-defence. Nonetheless, as night arrived, and Dave retired to his bed, the faces of his victims again visited him.

A fan of dystopian fiction, Dave could well picture the mess that the UK was about to descend into. It wasn’t that he was a pessimist, and being a bit of geek his knowledge of broader society was spotty at best, it was just that Dave just didn’t feel positive about societies’ response to an emergency like this. This was no blitz, where bad things periodically happened, but where most of the time you could continue living your own life, whilst fighting the enemy. This wasn’t one of the localised floods that appeared every now and again, destroying a few thousand people’s belongings and killing a few unfortunate souls. The unaffected regions of the UK could always help out for floods, or any other localised natural disaster. No, this was affecting the entire of the UK, and had removed the main thing on which the modern world survivied – electricity.

As soon as he had had time to think, therefore, Dave had made the mental switch from the world of a couple of days to that he was inhabiting now. The rules had changed, and those who understood that first and correctly worked out the new rules of society, would do the best.

The first rule was that you could no longer rely on some largely-benevolent government to look after you. It was now dog-eat-dog. The forces of law and order, whilst still present in the short term, would be tasked with only whatever the government deemed critical – and the people of the UK would generally not be deemed a critical resource worthy of protection.

So, extrapolating from that predication, it was critical to take care of yourself. Dave therefore spent a good part of the morning reinforcing the potential entry-routes into his flat. The old adage of an englishman’s home being his castle would be coming true.

Once his accomodation was fortified, and so he knew he could sleep in relative peace, it was time to look after personal protection. In this area, Dave had much to be thankful for. His years of roleplaying games and interest in medieval militaria had left him with a small armoury of combat-ready equipment. None of which would stand up to modern weapons, however in the short term it meant that he could both go armed, and have the skills to use them.

He arrayed a few knives and melee weapons suitable for combat in enclosed spaces around the flat – that way something would be on hand at all times. It was just as he was finishing his preparations that he heard a rumble from outside.

Dave walked up to the kitchen and looked out. The source of the rumble was readily apparent – the building down the street had finally succombed to the fires raging unchecked all day, and had collapsed inwards, spilling debris across the street. During the course of the day, the fires appeared to have spread down-wind – a number of other buildings stood gutted, smoke still oozing from their remains. Dave thanked god that the wind had been southerly today – his over-active imagination could easily picture being trapped within his flat as the building burnt down around him.

This image made him realise that he hadn’t considered the risk of fire when fortifying his flat. There was little he could do to actually fight a fire – no water flowed from his taps and he had managed to only cache a couple of liters before they ran dry. In the event of a fire, he only had one option – to flee. With this in mind he prepared a go-bag – a bag with the sorts of equipment and supplies he would need if he had to leave in a moment.

By the time all these assorted preparations were complete, dusk was beginning to fall outside his windows, and it was proving difficult to see around the flat. For a moment, he considered using some of the assorted batteries in his flat to power a torch or two. After a moment’s consideration he decided that that wouldn’t be a good idea – he should avoid anything that would get him noticed, anything that would single him out for the attention of the gangs his imagination pictured as roving the night.

Dinner consisted of a few packs of crisps, and some bits and pieces of salad he found in his now-warm fridge. The crisps left him thirsty, so he had a couple of pints of water without thinking. And then he castigated himself for failing to ration that particular resource – he only had a couple of pints left now. And excluding a few cans of lager, that was the only liquid remaining in the flat.

Dinner eaten, and no light to do anything by, Dave retired to his bed. He cracked his window open slightly just before he went to bed, in order to get an early warning of any commotion, or any hint of smoke from the fires his imagination pictured. He tried to sleep, but it was only around 7pm – well before his normal bed time. Eventually he dropped off to an uncomfortable sleep, broken periodically through the night by screams of anger and pain in the distance, punctuating the unnatturaly still night.

He awoke with a start, the dim light of dawn trickling into his room. He looked around the room, foggy head wondering why it was light as he normally slept with the curtains closed. Recollection of the events of the previous day flooded back, and Dave relaxed back onto the bed. It wasn’t like there was anything he had to do urgently. His mouth felt dry and his throat croaky. He wandered into the kitchen, and had a few sips of the remaining water. He would have to do something about that today.

Over a breakfast of cereal with the dregs of some milk he’d forgotten about, he mulled his supply position. On the food front, he was good for at least a month, and maybe as much as three if he rationed himself. Heat may become a bit of a problem as the winter months progressed, however generally he was blessed there as well – the flat had excellent insulation. No, the only problem he had was water – he was already almost out. He realised with a gulp that he would have to venture outside the doors of his flat.

But where to go? The shops would be either guarded, or have already been ransacked – he had seen enough people wandering the streets yesterday to know that at least some of them would have twigged to the importance of supplies. He would need to think of somewhere else to go, and somewhere which would supply him with many days worth of water – he wanted to minimise the amount of time he would have to spend outdoors.

It was as he was looking out of the living room windows that the solution reached him. Down the road, only a few hundred meters away, was a set of office buildings. Whilst never having been an office-worker himself, and so having a shortage of first-hand experience, he had seen enough TV shows set in offices to be aware of the water chiller. These worked by upending a large container of water over a small reservoir, and relying on [surface tension] to empty the bottle only as water is used up. Just one of those bottles would provide him with enough water for weeks.

He looked over his assorted gear, and pondered how and when would be best to get to the water, and bring it back. The screams he’d heard last night convinced him that night-time would probably be least safe. Similarly, going during the day dressed in full 14th-century military garb would definitely also attract attention. The main safety would be in merging with the assorted people already beginning to walk the streets outside – trying not to stand out.

That said, he wouldn’t dare risk going out unarmed and unarmoured. His eyes settled on a pile of leather goods – greaves, archery bracers, even a breast-plate and [upper arm protection]. He could wear those under loose outer clothes without anyone realising. A collection of knives in strategic places around his body would mean he could at least defend himself, and hopefully help convince any prospective aggressors that some other poor sap would be a better target.

Fully garbed, he unlocked his door and stepped into the dark hallway beyond. There were no windows in the hall, and the emergency lighting had been dead for a while, and so it was with careful footsteps that he made his way along the corridor and to the pool of light marking the emergency exit staircase – the staircase fortunately had a window at each floor.

Rob was sent out on guard duty – watching a nearby school which had been co-opted as an aid station and overnight refuge. As the day had worn on there had been a gradual increase in the numbers of interlopers, the numbers of people just trying to get home to see their families. He hadn’t really appreciated the size of London before, or the vital role public transport played, until he was witness to the footsore masses just trying to get home.

As the curfew hour approached, the police, together with a small detachment of soldiers, had guided everyone remaining on the streets towards overnight accomodation, including the school Rob was placed at. By the 5pm deadline, only official personnel could be seen out of doors, and a deathly quiet spread over the city; a city without the rumbling of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians. The strangest thing of all though, thought Rob as he did a turn around the school grounds, was the lack of light. In a few windows candle-light could be seen, but overall the only light was the dim pink of the Aurora above – dimmer and more patchy now than it had been that morning.

An hour and a half passed, with Carl stuck on the train with his new found friends. It had turned out that the girl by the window’s name was Trudie and that yes, she was on her way to work. Even getting that much information out of her had been a difficult task. After a while, Carl wandered off, and borrowed a heavily thumbed copy of Metro from an old lady.

Eventually, even including reading every horiscope, the sports section – he had no interest in sports – and every classified, he couldn’t eke out the Metro any longer. He made polite conversation with a few people – yes, I’m sure this wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t privatised the railways, no, I’m afraid I didn’t see the snooker last night – and moved around a bit as the metal carriage stole the heat away.

After the ninety minutes had passed, the driver, who told everyone his name was Alan, decided a change of plan was called for.

“Alright, everyone friends now?” he started, trying but failing to inject levity, “I promised you an update. Well, I still can’t contact anyone using the radio or the on-rail communications. We’ve no electricity whatsoever, not even batteries, and I’m sure you’re all aware that it’s getting pretty nippy here. I think it’s time we do something for ourselves. We’re only a couple of miles from Liverpool Street, and the nearest station – Bethnal Green – is even closer, maybe only half a mile or so away. So, we’re going to walk. Anyone who doesn’t feel up to it can stay, and we’ll send help. Okay? Any questions?”

No-one bothered to raise a hand – doing so would require taking them out of warm pockets.

“Okay. Before we go, a few safety rules. We’re going to go via the front of the train, in single file. Always stay in single file. We will walk along the tracks, in between the rails. Do not, ever, stand on any rails – you don’t know which ones may be dangerous.”

A few sniggers could be heard at that, as it was obvious that electrocution wasn’t really a problem at the moment.

“If we ever leave the track, be very careful. There can be sudden drops, and there often aren’t any railings. Apart from that, do exactly as I say, when I say, and we’ll be fine. Okay? Right then, we’ll head off as soon as I tell the other carriages.”

Alan walked into the next carriage along to deliver his news. Carl wandered around aimlessly, just trying to keep warm. Everyone seemed happy to be finally moving, and the dry weather outside, cold as it was, seemed to hint that this was the best time to do so.

Alan reappeared, now wearing a high-vis jacket he must have found in the rear drivers compartment. Behind him huddled the passengers from the other carriages. It was strange, in the now almost 2 hours they had been stuck, he hadn’t once left the carriage he was in.

“Alright, we’re off then. So everyone’s aware, there are 5 people staying behind – a couple of people couldn’t make the walk and we had some volunteers willing to stick around until rescue arrives. So, now, in single file, follow me. And be careful of the step down from the drivers compartment. It’s best to face in, hold the railings with both hands, and slowy feel down for the steps.”

Carl found himself agreeably close to the front, and even more agreeably close to Trudi. Shortly he had worked his way out of the train, and was walking between a pair of tracks. It was cold outside, he realized, damned November. Not a good time to get power cuts. Trudi, a couple of people in front, was shivering wildly from the cold. Carl toyed with being a gentleman and lending her his jacket, but then decided it was too damned cold for that. Plus, he didn’t have a chance anyway.

The walk, whilst allegedly short, proved to be very tedious. The spacing between sleepers seemed wrong somehow, constantly forcing him to break stride, and the single-file rule precluded any form of conversation. Periodically, Alan would stop up ahead, and step out of the line in order to check everyone was okay. Even with these annoyances however, after about 20 minutes, a set of lines came in from the right hand side, and there a short distance away was Bethnal Green station. Alan led the group over the points, and up to the station, there to be greeted by the station manager.

“Hi, we’re from the 810 from Romford. We had a fault develop on our train…”

“You mean you don’t know?” interjected the station manager. “The power’s down, everywhere. Even the diesel rolling stock appears to have been affected. Where did you stop?”

“Erm, about three quarters of a mile back, on the slow track from Romford. There’re still five people on the train though – they couldn’t make the walk.”

“Nowt we can do about it I’m afraid. Unless you want to go and get them? We haven’t seen a single working engine since 9.45am this morning. I’m snowed under just keeping track of what’s stopped where – I’m surprised you didn’t see any of the other walkers. People are having to use shanks’ pony to get anywhere they want to. I’m all out of jackets and coats even – I’ve given them all away to people who needed them.”

Alan hung his head, obviously torn between his perceived duty to help his charges, and his desire to find somewhere warm to settle up.

“I’ll go back.” Carl said, surprising himself even. “Do you have any rugs or anything, they’re going to be pretty cold by the time we get to them?”

“No, nothing, I’m afraid”, replied the station manager. Carl could see Alan trying to hide away, a difficult task in a high visibility jacket. “Hold on – there’s a petrol station not far away. You may be able to buy some rugs there. It’s only around the corner. 2 secs”

The manager disappeared into the station, giving Carl some time to gather together a small number of volunteers to help him out. The cold weather was already driving off most people though, as they began walking into town, and their original destinations. The manager returned with 100 pounds, and a sheet of paper.

“Here’s some cash – I wish I could help more. Could you just sign here, just to cover my ass in case we ever get all this sorted? Cheers. Okay, to get to the petrol station, just come out of the station, turn left down Dubridge Street, then left on Vallance Road – you’ll see it easily enough. Get as many as you can, we can always keep any spare here.”

Carl sent the rest of the volunteers marching back towards the train, and ran to the petrol station. Sure enough, a small pile of rugs were in the shop, with a surly teenager watching the store. Carl persuaded the teenager to sell the rugs – he had been loath to do anything because the EPOS system was down – and then jogged back and onto the tracks.

A pretty miserable site met him by the time he arrived at the train. The three ill people, attended by a couple of family members, were all very old and hadn’t been able to move around much. His team, as Carl began to think of them, had managed to move them out of the train and onto the track, but that was all.

“Here’s some blankets, pass them around.” Carl looked at the casualties, “First things first, can any of you walk?”

An elderly gentleman, with a couple of helping hands, managed to level himself erect.

“Okay. You start walking now. Don’t worry, we’ll catch up. You two,” Carl pointed at a couple of the volunteers, “go with him, try to stop him from falling over. Also, try to keep him moving – it’ll keep him warm.”

One down, two to go, thought Carl. Then he remembered a sign he’d seen when he’d been commuting one day, partaking in the London pastime of studiously examining everything about the train except the passengers around you. He jumped up into the drivers cab, and searching around found the collapsible stretcher he remembered seeing. He passed it to one of the people outside, together with instructions to assemble it, then ran to the far end of the train. There to be foiled by the locked door, with no emergency release. No doubt for security reasons.

Back outside the train, he saw his team helping one of the old women onto the stretcher, and covering her with rugs. One to go. Well, she’s pretty small, Carl thought. And no doubt pretty light. How about if…

He sent the least strong two volunteers off with the stretcher, leaving himself and the stronger with the final woman. Carefully, Carl folded the rug width-ways, to form a sort-of sling. Using this sling to lift the remaining old woman between them, using the sling as a seat whilst she threw her arms around their necks for stability, they lifted and began to walk. She really is as light as a feather, Carl thought. However, as they neared the station, even this slight weight was beginning to wear him out – his hands weren’t used to this sort of strain. Eventually, they gave up carrying her this way, and instead cradled her like a child. The old woman had been passed out for over ten minutes by the time they got to the station.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?” he asked the station manager, whilst they worked together to lift the dead weight onto the station platform.

“The Royal London, it’s less than a mile South from here.”

“Okay, we need to get this lady, and in fact probably all of them, there asap. Erm, do you have a car here?”

“No. And anyway, most of the cars don’t seem to be working for some reason.”

“Okay. Do you have a crowbar, or something else heavy?” Carl asked, an idea forming in his mind.

“Errrr, yes. I don’t want to know do I?” replied the manager, racing into the station and returning with a hammer.

“No, not really. Bring them outside as fast as you can.” Carl said, before himself running off this time.

Bethnal Green station didn’t really have much of a car park outside, but even so, Carl found what he wanted. A small, light, hatchback. With a swipe, he smashed the driver side window. A few more blows cleared the window of all the glass, allowing him to reach in and unlock the door. He swung the seats forward, allowing the elderly people, now fading fast with the cold, to be placed in the back and passenger seats, then took the hand-brake off. It was only at this point that the other volunteers understood the plan. Together, they pushed the car out of it’s spot, and started it on its way to the hospital. Pushing together, the five of them made easy work of the movement, and they were fortunate that there was a gradual downward incline to the road. Within only a few minutes they were at the hospital, and with it a whole different world.

The roads on the way to the hospital had been empty, quiet to a degree that was completely out of Carl’s experience. The closest he could get was maybe Aldgate at a weekend, when no-one was at work and no-one lived nearby. But even that wasn’t a good example – even Aldgate had traffic at times.

This all changed within a couple of hundred yards of the hospital proper. There was suddenly an increased police presence, and even a few soldiers scattered around. What they were guarding the hospital from, he didn’t know, as there were only a few souls milling around.

The car coasted forward and to a stop at an improptu road block.

“Can you help us?” asked Carl of the guide, stepping out from behind the wheel of the car. “We’ve got three people who are all probably hypothermic after being stuck on a train for most of the morning.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” said the lead soldier, a corporal to judge by his insignia, and spoke into his radio.

“They’re sending some gurneys out. Could you get them out please. And then push the car out of the way over there – we need to keep this route open.”

Carl and his group eased the cold forms from the back seat. When he got to the last passenger, the woman he had carried, her unmoving form gave him a cold feeling of dread. Carefully, all the passengers were laid on the ground on top of, and swaddled by, rugs.

The gurneys arrived and the passengers transferred onto them quickly by harassed-looking hospital staff, shivering in the cold noon clad as they were only in scrubs. A nurse quickly triaged them.

“Urgent, early onset hypothermia, treat for likely pneumonia” – the elderly gentleman.

“Immediate, hypothermia, depressed breathing” – the more mobile woman.

“Dead. Waste of time resuscitating, put her in the warehouse with the others.” – the last woman.

The staff began wheeling the gurneys back towards the hospital, the first two rushing, the latter walking slowly, having a cigarette as they walked.

The group followed them, all a little distressed by the death of the woman, who Carl realised he didn’t know the name of, and a little surprised by the casual way she had been treated in death. The couple of family members of the other patients followed the gurneys closely, the rest of the group hanging around, not knowing what to do now their immediate task was over. It was only as they entered the ER that they realised why the callous disregard of human life.

Where the outside of the hospital had been relatively quiet, with the exception of security in the form of soldiers and police, the inside was a whirling storm of chaos. Everywhere people were sitting, standing or lying down, almost every surface was taken. And every one of these people had major injuries – burns, obviously broken bones, bloody wounds. The floor was littered with surgical detritus, and blood spots discoloured patches.

Carl was taken aback, and lost sight of the gurneys as they were wheeled around a corner.

“What’s happened?” he asked a man huddled on the ground, cradling his arm, a bloody head-wound inexpertly patched up with sticking plasters. His dark suit was wrapped closely around him, shielding him from the cold.

“End of the world, mate. Everyone here was caught out when the pulse happened. I was in my car, driving to an appointment when suddenly everyone around me went haywire. Turns out my car, a nice vintage Jag, wasn’t affected by the pulse, but that didn’t matter, because enough of those around me were. People were swerving, trying to change lanes, playing with radios suddenly gone haywire, not paying attention. Someone side-swiped me, then next thing I know my car’s wrapped around a lampost.

Most of the people with burns were caught in buildings which had fires – I guess when the mains went out, there were shorts and things like that. With no water, and roads clogged with broken down and crashed cars, there’s no way for the firefighters to do anything about the fires. Hell, how would they even know there is a fire – someone told me all the phones are out.

I managed to get here by foot. A broken arm, some bruising, a cracked rib, and a sore head – I got away lucky. Now, I’m just happy there’s somewhere with some heat – the hospital still has electricity and heating. Where’ve you been? You seem to be okay…?”

“Stuck on a train. I helped some old people to get here who’d been stuck on the train with me – the cold out there is really brutal.” Carl tailed off as he remembered the cold corpse in his arms. That was the closest he’d ever been to a dead body.

“You’re not kidding there, mate. Still, I wouldn’t hold my breath for those people – a lot of the borderline cases I’ve seen being wheeled off to the wards. A rumour passed around earlier was that people who couldn’t be treated, and especially old people, were being sent to some warm rooms to die in peace. Not that I believe it, but you’ve gotta wonder…”

You have to wonder, indeed, Carl thought. Still, it was nice to be in the warm again. Just the number of warm bodies in the room helped keep the winter at bay, and with the hospital heating still functioning…

So, the question was, what to do now. His improptu group of volunteers had disappeared following the conclusion of their task. He couldn’t be bothered heading in to work – life had changed irreversably a few hours back and he knew that the old order of things had passed. He couldn’t really go home – it was a good many hours walk away, further in fact than he could remember ever having walked in his life, and it was already gone noon. The night-time was going to be even colder. No, maybe he could overnight here, make himself useful or something in return for soaking up the hospital’s warmth.

He stood, and thanked the man for the information, then went looking for someone to talk to about him helping out. After having a word with the reception, he was pointed at a harrassed-looking administrator.

“Hi, I feel like a bit of a spare wheel here – can I help any way?”

“Any medical experience? Why are you here, in fact?”

“I brought in a couple of ill people off a train. And no, I’ve got no medical experience. I can help with manual work, crowd control, something like that?”

“Okay, follow me.” the administrator walked a ways, then pointed out a porter pushing a wheelchair down the corridor, “go and have a word with Eli – he may have something for you to do.”

The admin turned and walked back to her tasks, leaving Carl to chase after the departing back of Eli. A quick conversation later, Carl had been given the task of pushing gurneys and wheelchairs around the hospital, helping Eli with the manual labour whilst Eli navigated around the complex of corridors. By late afternoon, Carl had seen more death than in the entire of his previous life.

The doctors and nurses were doing all they could, but they were swamped by the deluge of humanity. According to the pragmatic rules of the Major Incident plan, they did all they can, but focussed their efforts on the people they could best help. Anyone too far gone was wheeled off to the set of wards marked off as ‘limbo’. There, their needs, such as they were, were seen to, and generally they were made as comfortable as possible, whilst the doctors waited for them to die. He found both of the elderly people he had rescued in this ‘limbo’, their fates plain to all, but at least comfortable and warm.

The dead were wheeled off to the morgue. The freezers rapidly filled up, and so by the time Carl volunteered to help out, and helped transport his second dead body of the day, the overflow storage was being used. This was just a room adjacent to the morgue, whose chilly temperature would keep the bodies from decaying too rapidly. There the bodies were stacked up like firewood; the first sight on entering the room was an array of bare feet, identifying tags tied to their right big toes. Body bags weren’t even being used any more – they had run out of them a couple of hours before.

Carl almost threw up the first time he had to enter the room. The sight of the stacked dead was bad enough, the casual disregard for the shells which had only a few hours before held living breathing people, but the smell was worse. A miasma greeted him: burnt flesh and hair, the iron smell of blood, the smells of bodily fluids now released as muscles relaxed in death. In a remarkably short time though, he got used to the smells, and the sights, and a deadness grew in him as his psyche pulled away from the shocking sights, sounds, and smells which surrounded him.

By midnight, he decided that he had had enough of volunteering, and snuck off to a quiet corner to catch up on some sleep. As the day had progressed, there had been a slackening of cases coming in, and generally fewer critical injuries. Instead, more people began to turn up suffering from the cold, or just hungry. As people drifted in, they brought stories of chaos beyond the hospital walls.

—————
Chapter 8 – Oliver

Oliver had been sat in his comfortable chair, the flat electrics turned off at the fuse box, when the pulse happened. Still, he knew that it had occurred when, despite his curtains being closed in order to hide from the prying cameras of the press, he heard a change in the tone of the conversations outside. A small smile creased his face – the world be damned, it was good to be right. To check, he turned on his small battery-operated radio, and received only static. He also carefully turned on the lighting circuit, and tried his lights – nothing happened.

He noticed a change in the light of the room. Wow, that must be a bright Aurora, to be this visible during daytime. He flirted with making a statement to the press, rubbing their faces in the fact that he had been right, but decided that would just be childish. Instead, he looked out on the sky from a back window, and marvelled at the light show in the heavens above.

After a while he tired of this, and decided to peek out of his letter box, and see if the street outside had cleared at all. Looking around, the coast appeared largely clear. A Sky News van was still parked up, but judging by the activity around it that was due to technical issues rather than any desire for future reporting. Not like anyone would be watching anyway, Oliver giggled, and especially not Sky – all the satellites had probably been knocked out.

Oliver was beginning to feel a little hysterical – the emotional ups and downs of the last few hours getting to him at last. He headed over to the freezer, now thawing a little, and extracted the bottle of vodka he kept there for special occasions. He thought back as he poured himself a drink – the last time he had used the bottle had only been 3 days ago, with Svetlana, and yet how much had changed! A hysterical giggle began to bubble up, which he choked down with another large shot.

The previous night, after sending out the barrage of emails warning of the upcoming disaster, he’d sat back and had a think about his plans for the future. It was obvious that, properly prepared, his best chances lay in getting out of the city. Whilst very few places in the UK were truly wilderness, there was plenty of rural farmland around which he could survive off. He also felt comfortable that he could trade on his scientific knowledge, fixing electronics and rigging alternative ways to generate power on small scales. No, the only problem was actually getting into the countryside. Surrounding him was a city of 10 million people, many of whom would be thinking roughly the same.

After wracking his slightly tiredness befuddled brain for an hour or so, he had managed to sketch in a plan. The fastest way into and out of London, before the motor car and rail – neither of which would be properly functional at the moment – had always been by boat. And whilst Oliver, situated as he was in Camberwell, didn’t have a boat, he knew where he would be able to find one. And one he’d be able to actually sail, at that.

Located on the Isle of Dogs was the [name of sailing club]. This club has a number of small boats and skiffs – all capable of being sailed by a single person, for tootling around the old docks in docklands. He could steal one of these, and just sail downstream and out of London. If he took it carefully, there was no real risk of capsizing on the river itself, and by the time he was in the estuarial regions he would be far enough out from the city that he could dock and start walking. Or he could slowly work his way up the coast – finding some quiet little cove or island to set up in initially, whilst the inevitable chaos of the short-term future worked itself out.

Unfortunately, step one was to get a boat. And to do so would mean walking into the middle of the London. Even worse, he was currently on the wrong side of the Thames, so he would need to use on of the bridges, bridges that would undoubtedly become chokepoints.

Ah well, he thought, knocking back a third shot, I may as well try. He picked up his pack, now full of supplies and equipment sufficient to last him at least a month, and slung it over his shoulders. He was already dressed in his walking clothes, layered to control how warm he was, and all already broken in with a reasonable amount of exercise. He toyed with what to do with the bottle of vodka, still over half full, and a powerful 120 proof, and ultimately decided to tuck it into a last remaining only partly-full pocket – it could be used for barter, lighting a fire, or just to alleviate spirits in the future.

The streets outside his flat were surprisingly busy, almost feeling like a normal weekday, but felt strange at the same time. Everyone appeared to have a definite purpose – none of the gentle strolling and window-shopping that characterised a normal day. Instead everyone rushed ahead in a straight line, focussed on getting where they needed to get to, as soon as possible. Oliver imagined that most were simply trying to get home, the pulse having caught them in their offices and workplaces, miles from their loved ones.

There was also a tension in the air, a lack of trust. Everyone seemed to be carrying a bubble of personal space around them, and people would walk far into the street to avoid getting too close to one another. He hadn’t seen any evidence of violence, and yet people were acting as though the people around them may turn into threats at any moment.

A major change was in the road traffic. Over 50% of cars still seemed operational, but many of these were blocked in by the numbers of cars which had either broken down, or been involved in crashes. Because of this, there was virtually no traffic. The odd car could be seen trying to make headway, wending their way through the stationary obstacles of steel, and the walls of humanity, but in every case Oliver could see that foot travel was definitely proving faster.

He walked in a generally northward direction, heading towards London Bridge. He had to make a couple of detours, one around a major conflagration which was spreading from building to building in a city block. By the looks of things, the entire block would soon be destroyed. Hot, glowing, embers were lifted by the wind from the fire, and being deposited on buildings and vehicles down-wind – if someone didn’t do something, Oliver could imagine the fire spreading. But virtually no-one did – people preferred instead to stand a short distance away and take the opportunity to warm themselves. There was no leadership present in the form of the fire services, and no-one other than those actually living there who were willing to stand down-wind and attempt to put out the minor fires being started. Even those who lived down-wind appeared to be fighting a losing battle, their numbers diminished by the proportion of people at work, and their resources rapidly dwindling as water supplies and mains pressure dropped off rapidly.

The walk to London Bridge took a lot longer than normal, what with the busy streets and the detours h had to take, but by mid afternoon he had managed to make his way to the bridge. And there saw a chaotic mass of people. It looked almost like everyone in London was the wrong side of the Thames, and had decided to cross the river at this one point. The crowds surged back and forwards, as people fought to cross. Rather than sticking to one side of the street for each direction, and hence forming a more efficient laminar flow, each individual was trying to force their way across. This led to lots of people having to change direction, dodge each other, squeeze past each other, and generally make their way across in a tortuous manner. Oliver shook his head, disgusted but no surprised by the incapacity of the mob to actually think about more optimal ways to operate, then seeing no option forded into the swaying mess, sticking as closely as possible to the right side, where there appeared to be the fewest problems.

After 20 minutes of effort, a lot of cursing, and having managed to just avoid being alternately pushed into the river and having his pack stolen from him, he was just reaching the northern side of the bridge when with a cacophony of car horns, a pair of Olive green land rovers and an olive-clad [soft-top] truck pulled up beyond the northern edge of the crowd. Scrapes and dents on the bodies of the vehicles attested to the unsubtle methods used to make their way through the stationery traffic.

In short order, the contents of the vehicles had arrayed themselves in two rows of uniformed soldiers, in full battle gear, L85A2′s held ready with batons fixed. Ahead of them an officer stood, armed with a loudspeaker.

“Att..t..n!” the sound of the crowd drowned out the officer’s voice.

“..tion!” he tried again. A few people in the crowd turned to look, but only those nearest the northern shore could hear or see anything happening.

The officer turned and spoke to the soldier at his shoulder. This one turned and shouted something to the arrayed ranks, who raised their weapons to the shoulders, and aimed at some point above the heads of the surging crowd. The office placed the loudspeaker to his lips again, then with dropped his spare hand from the slightly raised position he’d been holding it. A loud ‘crack’ echoed over the crowd, bouncing and repeating itself off the tall buidlings either side of the river, as the soldiers all fired a single round into the air. The crowd screamed, and started pushing in a southward direction, now moving much faster as all of a sudden everyone decided to go in the same direction. People unfortunate enough to fall in the stampeding crowd never got the chance to rise again, as hundreds of feet crushed the bodies of those beneath them. The people nearest the northern shore ran in the opposite direction, all trying to get off the bridge as fast as possible, heading down subways and into buildings, anything to get away from the men with guns.

Oliver was one of this latter group. When the shots had been fired, he had been only a few meters from breaking through the main chokepoint of the bridge, and into the broader crowd. As the shots rang out, and the crowd hurried madly away, he was knocked to his feet, but a friendly hand snaked out and helped him up. The hand, and the owner of it, disappeared into the masses before Oliver could shout a hasty thanks.

The pressures of those behind, and the openings in front, led him to his nearest safe refuge – the offices of [xxxx]. The guards had been trying to hold the doors to this building shut, but had succumbed to the sudden influx of panicing pedestrians.

Once inside, and safe from the crush outside, the people who had managed to make their way indoors calmed perceptibly. A few hysterical women started crying, and a few panic stricken men tried to hide their fear by acting tough, but overall the crowd now huddled in the building’s reception settled. Oliver could now sometimes make out what the office was repeatedly shouting over his loudspeaker. After a couple of repetitions, he managed to piece together the message:

“All bridges across the Thames are now closed to uncontrolled pedestrian traffic. Following the establishment of checkpoints, controlled traffic will be allowed, subject to proof of the need to cross the river. A driving licence or other identity card giving a residence, or location of next of kin, on the other side of the river will be deemed sufficient. All travel should be minimised. Law enforcement services can and will question anyone they deem suspicious, and if a valid purpose for travel is not provided, you may be subject to arrest, and the seizure of any goods of a suspicious nature on your person. Any persons caught looting will be immediately arrested – the minimum term for looting has been raised to 10 years jail. A curfew has been set, with no travel allowed other than during daytime – anyone caught on the streets between 5pm and 9am will be immediately arrested.”

Oliver looked at his watch. The time now was already almost 3pm, and with the military and law enforcement prowling the city the journey to docklands would likely take longer than the 2 hours left available today. He didn’t have a good reason for being this side of the river, and didn’t dare risk being arrested – he was under no doubt that his food and camping equipment would be deemed ‘suspicious’ and seized.

He looked around him. The crowd in the reception area had fragmented into many small groups, discussing and arguing. The building’s security guards were busy either watching the road outside, or participating in some of the more lively debates. Oliver slowly edged his way backwards, deeper into the building, and deeper into the shadows where the daylight wasn’t quite as bright. He scanned the room, and when no-one was looking, ducked into the main building and up some stairs, to the second floor. There he found a darkened office and set himself up for the night. He couldn’t risk a fire, but a quick trip to the water-cooler in the kitchen allowed him to top up his water supply, and mix some of his dehydrated food into a barely-edible slurry.

Satiated, or at least with the edge taken off his hunger, he checked that everything was tucked out of sight and settled into his sleeping bag, hidden under a table.

—————
Chapter 9 – James

Following the power outage, James had tried to keep control of his staff by keeping them busy. For a long while, he had thought it may just be a power outage, which would be quickly fixed, however as the day progressed it became apparent that this was no minor power cut. It appeared that some of the worst-case scenarios he’d read about on the press yesterday may actually have happened.

Still, he was sure that the government, group of incompetents though they were, would get things sorted. And in the meantime, there was work to do.

“Think of this as an opportunity, not a problem.” he had said to the serried ranks of his assorted staff at a mid-morning meeting. “Without electricity there’s no emails to constantly distract you, no phone calls from clients asking for unneccessary and annoying status updates. No boring powerpoint presentations to have to sit through.” his eyes rested lightly on the presenter from that morning, and a small smile appeared on James’s face when he saw the man flush slightly.

“There’s plenty of work we can do on hard copy. Make any notes on dictaphones – there are spare tapes and devices in the storage cupboards – we can get stenographers to type them up later. If your handwriting is anything like mine, I guarantee you’ll be doing them a favour in giving them voice rather than handwritten notes.

If you’ve no immediate work to do, the library is still available – the [case law list of books] was updated only a couple of weeks ago – get yourself up to date on new case law. I expect you to find new ways to work, possibly better ways than our recent reliance on technology.

Don’t worry about your welfare – we’ll take care of you. And don’t worry about the outside world – I’m confident this is just a temporary problem. If we can come out of this a stronger, more efficient, company, then that will be reflected in your bonuses.

Now, go.”

A rousing speech, James thought, heading towards his office. His workers dispersed behind him, muttering, but commencing work as he’d asked.

By lunchtime, there hadn’t been any improvement in the situation. The power was still off, but people were focussed on work so they didn’t have time to worry. The emergency lights had gone off, but not too many people had noticed that fact yet. James managed to get people to scrounge a few torches from facilities, which allowed people to travel between floors on what would otherwise have been pitch-black stairwells.

Outside his window, James could see for miles around, and what he could see didn’t look good. Fires had broken out across the city, the cause of which he didn’t know, and columns of smoke coloured the sky, deepening the auroral pink to a darker red. Where the planes had crashed into the ground, there appeared to be even larger infernos, which appeared to be spreading slightly every time he looked, all moving in a gradual downwind direction.

He sent a request out for the fleeter office juniors to come to his office. He followed this by a request for all interns to gather in the main meeting room on this floor.

The juniors arrived in dribs and drabs, and gathered in his office. James favoured them with a smile – best to play this in a fatherly manner, he thought, they all look rather worried. He sat on the corner of the desk to address them.

“I’ve asked you to come here as I’ve a special task for you. The job is completely voluntary, but anyone volunteering will get an extra 5000 pounds in this months pay slip.” That got their attention – as one they stood up a little straighter, and fixed their attention more firmly on him.

“As you’re all no-doubt aware, all the phones are down, and we’re not getting anything on television or radio either. That leaves us in the awkward position of not knowing what is going on, and knowledge gentlemen, is that most important currency of all these days.

So, I need volunteers to go outside and gather knowledge. Find out exactly what has happened, what’s going on at the moment, and what the government are doing about it. How long are we going to be without power. That sort of thing. It’s now almost noon, I want you back by 3pm. Make sure to allow plenty of time to get back here – we’re a long way up and the lifts aren’t working. Any questions?”

“Sir, could we have a bit of flash cash, to help get people talking?” One of the juniors asked.

“Good idea. Take this to petty cash on the 15th floor, they’ll give you each a couple of hundred quid to spend. Keep anything you don’t use – but I need information. Dismissed.”

James passed over the hastily scrawled note, then turned away back to the window.

After they’d all filed out to their unenviable task – he was glad he wasn’t the one who would be making the trip up and down 20-odd floors of stairs – he headed to the meeting room to give some more bad news out.

“Thanks for turning up,” he said to the interns scattered around the meeting room. “It is now lunchtime, and everyone’s hungry. The lifts aren’t working, so your job is to fetch some food. Go down to the cafeteria and fetch enough food – sandwiches, nibbles, basically a buffet lunch – for everyone. Here’s instructions for the canteen. Any problems, tell them to come up here – I doubt they’ll care enough to walk the 15 storeys up to complain. Oh, and get a few bottles of wine – I think thirty should be sufficient. Have fun, and remember, everyone here is relying on you, so please hurry up.”

James marched back to his office, aware of his own grumbling stomach. Those interns had better hurry up.

The runners began to drift back into the office, sweaty and out-of-breath, shortly before 3pm. As each turned up, they checked directly in with James and briefed him on what they’d found out. Shortly a picture of the outside world grew in his mind, and it wasn’t a good picture. He thought about how best to inform his staff – each of the runners had been ordered in the strongest terms to stay silent, but there was no doubt that news would leak out quickly.

The news that the water had run out gave him the final push. He sent out word for everyone to gather on the floor below – which was a large open-plan office allowing him to address everyone at once. At the allotted time he went downstairs himself, after securing a few burly security guards as insurance.

It’s remarkable just how big the company had gotten in just a few years, was James’ first thought upon seeing the crowd gathered below. And he was the most senior partner on site today. Great. He got up on a table near the stairwell and, after having a quiet word with the security guards, clapped his hands for attention.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Firstly, let me say I appreciate your showing willing by staying on and working in these conditions. I count it as an honour to work with each and every one of you, and I hope to continue to do so in the future. In the short term however, I have some news to share with you all.

As you’re all aware, a major event has occurred outside. Those capable of putting two and two together, which is everyone in this room I’m sure, will have quickly worked out that this is related to the solar storm due to have happened yesterday.

With no phones or other communications, I took it upon myself to keep everyone here until I could find out what is happening outside. I have sent runners out to find out what information they could, and these individually reported to me a few minutes ago. Each gathered disparate bits of knowledge, which I have pieced together to get a picture of what is happening.

Firstly, let me say that in all likelihood your families have remained safe. The runners reported plenty of police on the streets, and the fact they could move around freely shows just how safe it is outside. There are a few fires, started by accidents, but these are no-where near as bad as they look to be from our viewpoint out here.

So, what has happened? There’s been a solar storm, of that we can have no doubt. This has shut down the electricity supply in London, and according to some reports nationwide. According to the gossip, this power outage could last weeks. The loss of power means that water pumps no longer work – as of 10 minutes ago there appears to no longer be any water in this building. There is also no heating – and it’s getting cold out there.”

A sizeable grumble passed through the room when James announced these latter points.

“In order to proactively, proactively I say, manage the risk from looting and other criminal activities, the army have announced a curfew. Given that it’s rapidly approaching 4pm now, and the curfew starts at 5pm, so realistically people are going to have to stay here overnight.”

This elicited even more noise. James put his hands up to try to quieten the room down.

“I know, I know. I have a wife at home as well. Unfortunately, that’s just the way it is. There’s no public transport. Reportedly a sizeable number of road vehicles, especially more modern ones, were also knocked out by the pulse from the storm. The ones which are working are finding it impossible to get around the city, due to the number of broken down, crashed, and abandoned cars littering the streets.

We’re going to convert the larger meeting rooms, near the center of the building, into dorms. Hopefully these rooms will keep the heat in, as it’s going to be a cold night otherwise. We’re going to have food shuttled up from the canteen – unfortunately it will all have to be cold. Whilst we’re out of water, there’s still soft drinks in machines – I’m authorising you to break into vending machines to get food and drinks.

Now I don’t want any hoarding – we’re all in this together.

Finally, the question of light. As you’re all aware by now, the emergency lights have in most cases run out of battery, so we’re down to torches. It’s going to get dark soon, so I want us set up as fast as possible. Torch use is to be minimised – we’ll need those lights to get out of the building tomorrow.

Does anyone have any questions?”

“Why didn’t you let us go this morning?!” shouted an anonymous voice from the crowd, followed by rumbles of agreement.

“I’d like to remind you, I didn’t force you to stay. I just requested you do so. Until we had information about what was going on out there, I judged it safest for you all to keep us in a centralised location, and to keep busy.”

“Ha”, “Yeah right”, and similar responses sprouted from within the crowd.

“How long have you known about this?” – another shouted question.

“I’ve been receiving updates for only the last half hour or so. It’s been coming in piecemeal, as the runners come back. Remember, we are on the [20]th floor – it’s not a simple task to pop out and try to gather information. Right, no more questions? Good.” James jumped down without giving anyone a chance to ask another question. He quickly exitted into the stairwell and headed up to his office, with the security guards as a rearguard.

It was definitely getting cold, he decided as he sat down in his chair with a shiver. He had Elise send a call out for the managers of each section, and got them to arrange the dormitories, and ordered the interns to again ferry food up to the floors. After a few moments thought, he realised that other organisations in the building were undoubtedly doing the same, and so he indirectly tasked some more people to help the interns, and a few security guards just in case it got a bit rowdy.

With that done, and the sky darkening with dusk, he huddled into the spare greatcoat he fortuitously kept in his office, and watched the city below lit by the variegated light from the aurora and the fires still burning below.

—————
Chapter 9 – Rob

Rob stood next to the police wagon, one of the vehicles still working, and slowly flexed his right arm. Yep, the muscle was definitely pulled. He couldn’t be bothered removing all the riot gear to check if the triceps would be bruising yet, be he wouldn’t be at all surprised. Damn, that man had had a hard head.

It had mostly been calm until late morning, when an out-of-breath constable had reached the station to report of a crowd growing outside the Lidl supermarket on Burdett Road. Rob’s team had immediately been ordered out there to dispel the crowd, and to calm the situation, even if a bit of nightstick-work was required.

The journey there took a lot longer than expected, as the vauxhall van they were in had to drive on footpaths, barge abandoned cars, and generally wind its way to Burdett Road. Even so, they arrived in time. A mob of locals were gathered around the Lidl, complaining about it being shut, but no violence had erupted yet. The sergeant leading the Rob’s team assembled them in front of the store, and then went to talk to the crowd.

It had turned out that the manager had decided to close up shop when the power went out. However, the crowd needed food – they all said that they were pretty much out, and hadn’t been able to buy anything the previous day. After a shouted conversation with the manager, it was agreed that the store would reopen in a couple of hours time, but that people would need to pay in cash, and would need to come in in small groups because the few staff left would need to use hand calculators.

That sorted, the team had gotten back in the van, but rather than returning to the station they had pulled into a quiet alley not far away – staging in case anything happened. Rob was certain some of the people in the crowd had also been at the waitrose the previous day, buying more than enough food, and the sergeant had said that he had a suspicion about something happening. A couple of PCs remained, essentially on guard duty.

It had been only an hour later that one of the PCs sprinted around the corner, skidding to a stop at the van.

Rob’s mind replayed the events that followed.

“Forty or so people, with baseball bats, moving on the Lidl…”

“Okay, let’s go. Hop in.” the sergeant replied, his scottish accent becoming obvious in the excitement of the moment.

It only took 30 seconds or so to get to the supermarket, and the van arrived in time to see the first blow by a baseball bat against the toughened glass windows of the supermarket. The squeal of breaks and tortured rubber turned the mob from their target, and they began advancing towards the van, which had stopped some 50 meters distant.

“Quick, out, line abreast in close order!” was the shouted command, and Rob leapt out to obey them. The police, outnumbered almost two-to-one, lined up about 10 meters in front of the fan, in a densely packed line, left leg forward and long shield raised in approved stance, each shield just protecting the left side of the man in front.

That would have been enough to disperse a normal crowd, but this mob had their blood up. A few of the kids ran off, but most of the mob continued moving towards the police. The mob began to charge.

“Convex front, hold firm, hold firm!” ordered the Sergeant from the center.

With a clattering the disorderly mob washed up against the shield wall. Long shields braced firmly, the police line held. Then it was the time for the counter-attack, before people got wise. With long strikes Rob battered down on the head and shoulders of the man in front of him, turning his shield just sufficient to form a gap to strike through. His immediate opponent couldn’t defend himself – a friend of his kept pushing him forward into Rob’s shield, until one particularly vicious swing of Rob’s put the hooligan down.

Now he was facing the baseball bat-swinging man who had been attacking the shop windows. He caught the first, crashing, blow on his shield. Then a second. The man was strong! Rob could feel each blow pushing him back a little. His arm was beginning to feel numb from the thunderous blows raining down on the shield.

“Draw back!” came an order, sounding like from just behind his ear. The entire line, beginning to buckle, took one step back.

In front of him, Rob could see the manic glint in his opponent’s eye as he saw victory approaching. The man stepped forward, swinging his bat diagonnally with all his force, planning to push Rob back and by so doing break the line of shields retreating in front of him, a line now so forced back at the ends that it was more of a U shape.

What the man had forgotten though was his fallen comrade at this feet. As the man stepped food, his right foot landed awkwardly on his friends arm, his weight and the force of the blow turning the ankle and making him stagger to the right, temporarily open. Rob put all his weight forward, exploding off his right leg and at the last moment snapping his arm forward, unleashing a crushing blow against the man’s face. Blood splashed the front of the perspex, and Rob risked opening his guard wide in order to deliver a massive blow, his entire bodyweight behind his baton as he sent it crashing to the side of the man’s temple.

The man immediately went limp in front of him, flopping onto his erstwhile comrade-in-arms. Rob looked up, trying to find another target. What remained of the mob was disengaging across the line, dropping weapons and running. Rob gathered himself, read to spring after them, but a sudden hand on the back of his collar and a voice next to his ear brought him up short.

“D’nae worry laddie, we’ll get the fockers….”

“Rob, the boss wants to see you!”, a shout across the car park broke him out of his reverie. He’d been wondering what was going to happen – it had been pretty obvious both of the men who had tackled him were dead. It was funny, he didn’t think of himself as a murderer though. Wasn’t he supposed to feel bad? All he felt was anger, that the idiots had forced him to do it, together with a sick sort of thrill as he remembered the blows which had felled them.

He walked up to the inspector’s office, knocked, and was immediately admitted. It became very quickly apparent that this wasn’t some form of disciplinary meeting – there was no-one else present, and the inspector greeted him in a convivial manner.

“Relax, relax. No doubt you’re concerned about some form of formal proceedings against you? Well, while I can’t promise there won’t be an investigation when things calm down, I wouldn’t worry about it for the moment. We’re too busy, and too understaffed, to be pissing around with stupidity like that. You’ve written a report, yes? Good. Well that’s that then.

I just wanted to tell you well done for what you did out there – from what I’ve been told, you guys were in a pretty tight spot. All the casualties were trouble-makers and habitual criminals – hopefully there aren’t going to be too many revenge attacks. Ah well, not your problem. Would you be comfortable carrying a Taser? How about your buddies? Hmmm, I may punt that up the line.

Very well, carry on.”

“Thank you Sir.” was all Rob said, before turning and leaving the station. The old man was in a bit of a strange mood, he thought, rambling on like that – Rob hadn’t had a chance to answer any of the questions posed of him.

The Sun. Source of light, energy, and ultimately life for every being on earth. The earth’s atmosphere protects us from the worst of the Sun’s activity; hides the storms it periodically causes in the solar system. But what happens when, as occurs every few centuries, these storms get through. What effect do the electromagnetic effects of these storms have on a planet which, for the first time, relies on electricity for every facet of life. How will humanity react, when water no longer flows from taps, the electric light no longer keeps night at bay, and the general infrastructure we all rely on no longer works.

—-
Prologue

It was a dark and stormy night, the winds outside rattling the windows in their frames, and blasting the glass with raindrops which hit with the force of hailstones. All of which made Jonas Ferryman happy that he was indoors, a coffee pot brewing on the stove in the corner of the office. The brewing coffee smell mixed with that of the slowly buring wood in the stove, the warm room, the comfortably padded chair, the crackle and pop of the slightly moist wood drying before adding it’s heat to the room, all conspired to lull Jonas towards sleep.

The sound of the door bell ringing brought Jonas quickly awake.

“Darn it, but if this isn’t the damnedest storm this year. I thought I could see a break off in the West, but I was damned if I was going to hang around for a better luck!”

“Howdie Billy. Coffee?” said James, already heading for the pot.

“Much appreciated. And if a mite of something to get the spirit warm could find it’s way in there….”

James smiled, and leant down to the cabinet which contained the whisky. For three years, this had been a nightly tradition, with Billy bringing the day’s dispatches from the newspaper, and Jonas getting him a coffee with a little something extra. And sometimes just skipping the coffee.

“Ah, you’re a true gentleman.” said Billy, taking the steaming mug off Jonas and take a long breath in. “Here y’are. Not too much for tonight, just a few dispatches to go to the east coast. Quiet day all told.”

Jonas took the stack of papers and sat down at his desk. He flicked through the messages, checking they were all in order, and seeing if there was anything of interest – he hadn’t gotten around to reading the paper today. He turned on the circuit which would ring the annunciator bell at the next office down the line, waited for an acknowledgement, and then started tapping the handle of his morse transmitter.

ZZZ 2 SEP 59 ZZZ PORTLAND DISPATCH ZZZ CLIPPERS FROM ORIENT DELAYED BY STORMS STOP AN EARLY START TO STORM SEASONS IN NORTHERN PACIFIC HAS CAUSED DELAYS FOR ALL ORIENT SHIPPING STOP….

The messages continued in this way for 30 minutes or so, then Jonas decided to take a break; the cold weather was playing havok with his joints, and his keying was getting worse. The telegraph was having issues today, with current surges requiring constant changes to the settings on the magnets, and frequent repeats of messages.

“Things not going well tonight?” enquired Billy, still sitting in the office, soaking up whisky and the fires warmth in equal measure.

“Ah, you know how it is sometimes. Sometimes you just can’t get a message across. It’s funny, it always seems to happen when the Aurora’s out. If it clears up tonight, I’ll bet you one dollar to two that it’s out there tonight.”

“Well, it’s not blowing too much now, ” replied Billy, “mayhap soon you’ll have your wish. ”

Billy got up and drew open the drapes covering the window. Outside, a pink glow appeared visible through the fogged-up window. He rubbed a small patch open, and was greeted with the most impressive sight he’d ever seen.

“Jonas, come over here, you’ve gotta see this!”

Jonas walked over and joined Billy at the window. Despite it being nearing midnight, they could clearly make out the entire street outside, and read the signs on the stores lining the high street. A pink glow suffused the outside world, whose obvious source was the curtain-like streaks of light above.

“Wow!” was Jonas’ immediate impression.

“Indeed. I’m glad I didn’t take that bet! Hold on a few, I wan’t to write a fresh dispatch on this. Can you send it to Boston?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I’ve never seen an Aurora like this before.”

Billy had already seized a pencil and pad of note paper off Jonas’ desk and was scribbling furiously. Jonas walked away from the window – the draft there was still something fierce – and leaned on the wall whilst he waited for the new dispatch.

He had been stood there for only a minute or so when he felt a sudden burning on his head, accompanied by a flash of light, a crack, and followed by the smell of burning.

“Jesus!” was his immediate response, hand flying to his head.

Billy was already looking in his direction. “Are you okay Jonas?”

“I, I think so. What the hell?” he looked at where he’d just been stood, back to the wall. Near where his head had been was the annunciator bell from the telegraph. It now stood slightly discoloured, with a small dark spot on it.

“I don’t rightly know, but that there bell just electrocuted you. There was a big yellow spark! You sure you’re okay?” Billy’s head was now bent back over his dispatch, pencil skittering over the paper, no doubt incorporating this latest event.

Jonas sat down at his desk, and tried to contact the Boston office. The current surged back and forth, but eventually he managed to make contact, with Boston sending him a message.

ZZZ OP ZZZ PLEASE CUT OFF YOUR BATTERY ENTIRELY FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES STOP BRK

Billy disconnected the massive lead-acid battery his end, and then replied.

ZZZ WILL DO SO STOP IT IS NOW DISCONNECTED STOP BRK

“What’s going on?” Billy said, handing Jonas a completed dispatch slip.

“I’ve managed to get contact with Boston. Hold on…”

The telegraph tapped out a message from Boston: ZZZ MINE IS DISCONNECTED AND WE ARE WORKING WITH THE AURORAL CURRENT STOP HOW DO YOU RECEIVE MY WRITING QQ BRK

“Yep, I’ve definitely got contact. I think it’s Todd at the far end, judging by his fist. He had an idea, and believe it or not, we’re using the electric fluid from the sky – both of us have disconnected our batteries.

Jonas: BETTER THAN WITH OUR BATTERIES ON DASH CURRENT COMES AND GOES GRADUALLY STOP BRK

Boston: ZZZ MY CURRENT IS VERY STRONG AT TIMES COMMA AND WE CAN WORK BETTER WITHOUT THE BATTERIES COMMA AS THE AURORA SEEMS TO NEUTRALIZE AND AUGMENT OUR BATTERIES ALTERNATELY COMMA MAKING CURRENT TOO STRONG AT TIMES FOR OUR RELAY MAGNETS STOP SUPPOSE WE WORK WITHOUT BATTERIES WHILE WE ARE AFFECTED BY THIS TROUBLE STOP BRK

Jonas: ZZZ VERY WELL STOP SHALL I GO AHEAD WITH BUSINESS QQ BRK

Boston: ZZZ YES STOP GO AHEAD STOP BRK

“Alright then,” said Jonas to Billy, “we’re in business. I’ll send that new dispatch first…”

Then he thought about what would happen. If the prediction was accurate, the CME would fly through space, not being slowed down at all by the solar wind the way a normal fast CME would; the previous one had cleared the way. At that speed, a veritable shockwave would build up at the leading edge of the ejecta cloud. If this hit the earth, the effect would be immense!

But what could he do about it? He immediately tried calling Laurence, but the phone only rang out a few times before being redirected to answer phone. He fired off emails to the few friends still sticking around. Then he sat back and thought about what had happened. For all his best intentions, he had become the veritable boy who cried wolf. Of course, in his case the wolf had been present last time. And he’d only sent the single warning before. But it was effects that counted, and the effect was that no-one would give him the time of day.

Furthermore, the ionosphere would be strangely affected for many hours still, and despite the limited ground-effects, many satellites had been affected by the last bout of space radiation. It was entirely possible that none of the early-warning satellites would detect any of the signs that a major solar storm was being unleashed.

He finally played his last, desperate, card – emailing back many of the journalists who had been trying to contact him the previous day. By this point, activity was beginning to pick up outside his window. He heard rubbish trucks slowly driving down the road, and the assorted bangs of the binmen going about their jobs. The number of buses and trucks driving past his flat picked up, the dull rumbles of their diesel engines announcing the start of a new work day.

Oliver decided he had done all he could for the world at large, and decided to start looking after himself. He rummaged around his living room, which was more of a storage room – boxes lay stacked all along one wall, and managed to piece together his assorted camping gear. It was all in pretty shabby state, but he had a sleeping bag, small tent, rucksack, and a few other bits and pieces.

One of the things he’d learnt from his time down in the nuclear bunker, limited as it was, was the risk analyses of the different parts of the UK. The government believed that, in the event of a major power cut, the more rural areas would generally fare better. Out in the sticks there was less pressure on a limited set of resources – the countryside could easily provide water and would even allow a good proportion of people to eat for a while. Here in the cities, it was a different matter altogether. All supplies these days were delivered in a just-in-time manner, which was all well and good when the logistic and distribution systems were in working order. However, when these broke down, there would at most be only a couple of days of supplies, and that only at normal levels of need. Once you bore panic buying, the loss of refrigeration, and probable rioting and looting in mind, the picture got a lot worse.

On the plus side, the cities would be the logical place for the government to send the majority of its military and police resources, but Oliver wasn’t confident on this front. Some of the conversations he’d eavesdropped on had definitely suggested that in many places these forces of law and order would be pulled back to look after key areas en-masse, and the rest would just need to fend for itself in the short term.

Oliver took stock of what he was missing by way of supplies. Food and water were going to be the major concerns in the short term, and he had vanishing little of each. As a precaution, he filled every container he could get his hands on with fresh water, and even went as far as filling his bathtub, with water – but only after giving it probably the best cleaning of it’s life. This accomplised, he decided he should really go and get some supplies in the morning, getting to the shops as early as possible. The news of the lifting of the emergency powers and rationing had been on the press everywhere, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too busy tomorrow. He’d need to get back to his flat before 930am though.

He weighed briefly the option of trying to get the first train out of the city, and decided against it. Whilst those already in the countryside would be most likely to survive the upcoming disaster, the countryside would also become a killer for those without supplies. Better to take the time and do it right.

————–
Chapter 5 – Day 4am

Eight am rang, and with it Oliver’s phone. He answered it, to be connected to one of the plethora of journalists he had contacted. Oliver was suffused with hope – maybe he could still get his warning out. Very quickly these hopes were dashed however – it became quickly apparent that the journalist was just looking for a cheap shot and a quote to put into an article lambasting him.

Not a minute had passed since his hanging up when the phone rang again. Another journalist. Another article casting negative aspertions on his work and his role in the events of the previous 36 hours. Again and again this happened, until after a short while he just decided to turn off his phone.

He checked that the coast was clear outside – it appeared either Laurence had over-estimated the level of press interest or at least press competence. He stepped outside, and headed for the nearest camping outfitters.

–

Time to face the music, Rob thought, dialling Claire on his mobile phone. She would definitely be up now, so he had run out of excuses.

The phone rang out for a long time before being picked up. Then, “Hello.”

“Hi honey. How’re you doing? Sorry I didn’t call last night – I didn’t get off work til gone 10, and I thought you’d probably have gone to bed by then.”

“I’ve been up all night, worrying! How come you’re still at work? The TV said that when they cancelled the emergency powers, everyone would be sent home!”

“Most people were, but a few of us were kept on for the rest of the night shift. I’m sorry, I didn’t have a choice – they needed the most with-it people to stay on, and I was specifically named. Maybe they’re slanting me for a promotion… Anyway, I’ve been working some numbers out, and with the over-time we’re going to get for the last 36 hours I think we should be able to afford that holiday you were talking about…”

“Don’t think you can get off that lightly Mister.”

Aha, Rob thought. He could hear the smile on the other end of the phone. He may need to do a bit more schmoozing, but no matter what she said, he had definitely gotten himself off the hook.

“I know honey, I’m really sorry, but now you see why I had to head off. I honestly didn’t have a choice. And it was really horrible having to leave you like that…”

“Well, come home. When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Probably I’ll get to leave around 10am – it’s still a bit mad around here, and I’ve a load of paperwork still to do from yesterday. But I’ll definitely be able to get back for noon. How about we go out for lunch – that little cafe around the corner maybe?”

“Okay honey, I’ll see you later. But you owe me a night out with the girls, and you’re paying!” Yep, he was deifnitely off the hook.

“Sure babe. Later. Give Lotty a kiss from me.”

–

By the time Oliver got back to his flat, it was almost 9.30am, and the press had arrived. The shopping trip had been a success – he had dried food supplies for a month, more if he was sparing, and in addition to some more travel-ready water containers he had grabbed a large batch of water purification pills and even an osmotic pump. All these were in bags clearly displaying the Blacks emblem, clearly signifying that he had been shopping at a camping store.

He had turned a corner, and there they were, camped outside his front door. To his immediate, untrained, panicking eyes, there looked to be hundreds of people. In reality it was probably on 20 or so. The rabid look that lit their faces when they caught sight of Oliver immediately cast any possibility of his being able to recognise this out into the aether.

“Doctor Du Savoy! Oliver! Why did you decide to do it? People are saying you should be arrested for fraud!? Doctor!” the confused voice of the crowd was made up of what felt like a hundred shouting voices, each vying attention, each distracting attention from the others, each failing to leave a pause for Oliver to answer. Instead he struggled through the huddle, forging in a single-minded way towards the safety of his front door.

“Do you stand by your statements, Doctor? Oliver – Sky News, please can you… BBC… Five… Reuters…” the voices deafened him, the flashes of camera light bulbs seeming inches from his face blinded him. He felt disoriented, he had never been the focus of people like this before. He tried to keep his eyes on his doorway, as the huddle pushed him around like a toy.

Eventually, he managed to make his way to his front door, claw his way through it, and slam it behind him. As he rested his back to the solid wooden door, he could still hear the press the other side. The shouts for attention slowly dropped off, and changed to loud-voiced discussion:

“Did you see what he was carrying?”

“Seemed to be camping equipment…”
“Maybe he’s planning to escape to the country, disappear for a while?”
“Maybe he really believes in this end of the world stuff, is making plans?”
The latter statement was delivered in a jovial tone, and was met with widespread laughter.

–

“The person at the center of this storm however, Doctor Oliver Du Savoy, of Imperial College, London, has so far declined to comment. Peter Dulles has more information, from outside the home of Doctor Du Savoy. Please be warned, this report contains some flash photography.”

Dave watched from his sofa as the news footage cut from the newsroom to some street in London. Judging by the light conditions, the footage had been recorded earlier this morning, and a voice over added after.

“In the light of dawn, questions are being asked about the activities in government over the last 36 hours. Many of the questions are being targetted at the input provided by Doctor Du Savoy, and his predictions. Emails BBC News have gained access to, originating from Doctor Du Savoy, appear to show a person making scaremongering predictions of the highest order. Doctor Du Savoy, an esteemed scientist, somehow managed to convince the UK government, and indeed governments world-wide, that a disaster was just hours away. These claims were backed up by assorted scientists worldwide, based on evidence provided by Doctor Du Savoy – evidence which is now being questioned in many circles.

That a solar event took place yesterday, no one is questioning. However, the pessimistic and worst-case advice and information being presented by Doctor Du Savoy is being called into question. We have been informed that the opposition will today call for a public investigation to be performed.

Requests for comment by Doctor Du Savoy have been ignored. The only public comment made so far has been a press release, received by the BBC and other news organs early this morning, stating that the Doctor stood by his predictions. It then went on to make further predictions about another event expected to occur, dwarfing in size the one which occurred yesterday.

When asked about this new prediction, the government and esteemed scientists have all dismissed Doctor Du Savoy’s claims, stating that the likelihood of two events of such magnitude occuring are, to all intensive purposes, impossible.”

Dave turned off the television, bored of the continuing coverage of nothing really happening. For a moment he felt a pang of sympathy towards this Doctor Du Savoy. This quickly disappeared though, as the desire for a bit of PvP raised it’s head, and Dave decided to play a bit of World of Warcraft before trying to rustle up some more work. He had managed to survive being offline for a large proportion of the last 24 hours, but only barely.

—————
Part 2 – The pulse
– need another quote

Chapter 6 – Day 4 (9:27am)

Magnetic fields coiled around each other. The Sun’s surface flowed in spirals, chaotically infilling the hole left by the previous Mass Ejection. Rather than easing the tensions in the fields between surface and Corona, the situation became more and more complex as plasma rushed to fill the gaps. Billions of tons of helium and other elements circulated in a soup of electrons, charging along at times at almost relativistic speeds as electric currents flowed through the cloud.

Then a couple of key current surfaces, pushed together under too much pressure, gave and reconnected. This changed the magnetic structure of a key part of the cloud, and created a pulse of heat. The changes set off other reconnections, as the chaotic structures attempted to simplify themselves, the anisomorphic magnetic constructions striving towards isomorphism. Immense closed loops of magnetic flux formed, churning, and capturing the Coronal Plasma, as the surface below heated far beyond temperatures normally found. Then a critical point was formed, and with a burst of X-ray, a flare burst forth from the surface of the Sun. This exploded the Corona sheating the star below, blasting forth billions of tons of plasma, heavily magnetised in self contained loops of force. The mass ejected from the corona flew at immense speeds through the cosmos, travelling down the largely empty pathway cleared by the previous CME.

Nine hours later, the cloud reached earth, still travelling at phenomenal speeds. The front of the cloud had grown more dense, as the face was slowed slightly by the little matter present, causing the matter to pile up behind in a shock wave.

Satellites were the first human-made things affected. The electromagnetically charged plasma, heavy in free electrons, hit metal surfaces inside these man-made bundles of orbiting electronics. Sparking occured as voltage differences beyond those painstakingly calculated cause compensating insulation to fail. Delicate electronics were destroyed.

The cloud of plasma encountered the magnetosphere, the strong field protecting the earth from much of the wrath of a chaotic universe. The forces involved were immense, but this was not quite some battle of immovable object versus infinite force. The cloud happened to hit at just the wrong angle for humankind, the plasma adding to the magnetic force of the earth, compressing the sun-side magnetic fields, pushing them inwards towards the earth. The shockwave suddenly overwhelming the earth’s magnetic fields, the field immediately changing with a flux in excess of -5000 nT/min.

Particles which would normally be captured by the magnetosphere, and spirralled out to the poles instead found uninhibited access to the earth’s upper atmostphere. These shot down, passing their energy on to the molecules of Oxygen and Nitrogen inhabiting those outer regions. The massively energised particles immediately attempted to shed their energy, and return to their stable state, by producing photons of light, the Oxygen particles tending to produce in the [99]GHz and the Nitrogen around [99]GHz. These photons travelled outwards, to be seen by the astonished eyes of the people below, as the green and red sheets in the sky immediately recognisable as Aurora. This Aurora was so bright that it could be seen in daytime, and in almost all latitudes.

So large was the effect, with so many massively energetic electrons, that many electrons continued downwards, farther into the atmosphere.

Air Canada flight AC-664 had been in the air for about 2 minutes, heading in an easterly direction from London Heathrow. The first the pilot knew about these electrons was the effect of their hitting the long cables of the fly-by-wire system in his Airbus [A330]. Random voltage surges ran up and down these cables, confusing the computer at the core of the system. Each individually, the computer brains running the aircraft decided they had a fault, and shut down. Voltage surges blew out a small number of semiconductor components, rendering the fly-by-wire system largely inoperative. The last task of the pilots, Captain Andrew Price and [Leiutenant] Tom Fuller as they plummeted uncontrollably towards the city below was to attempt to radio a message to Air Traffic Control, unaware that the transmission circuits had been destroyed by the pulse.

The massive changes in the magnetosphere, induced large changes in the electrojet circling the planet at approximately 50 degrees latitude. These together induced currents in any long cable below. The most obvious of these being the electricity grid in the developed countries.

In circuit NG/33/08243, a 3-phase supply at 365kV, the transformer located in the suburbs of Manchester suddenly, over the course of only a few seconds, experienced a DC voltage bias of several thousand Volts. This caused saturation in some phases, with an increase of current of thousands of Amperes. Within 60 seconds, the oil used to cool the circuits overheated, and with a small explosion the the transformer windings melted. Fuses and cut-offs were completely insufficient to deal with the sudden increase in voltage and current, well beyond designed maxima.

All around the country, other transformers and other grid components were failing. A small proportion continued to work, however they were suddenly faced with attempting to satisfy the demands of all the now dead circuits. This forced these, in turn, to fail, in a cascade around the country. The sudden massive drop in demand caused voltage spikes and resistance changes in power generation stations around the country. Some damage was suffered, with fires being the most common event, and every nuclear power station performed an emergency shutdown.

Within a couple of minutes, the mains electricity supplies of nations had ceased to exist.

Telecoms networks fared better. Over the last decade, companies had been phasing copper wiring out in favour of optical fiber – which was not affected by the E/M pulse. Only the last mile or so were effected, with the switching electronics suffering widespread failures due to the currents being induced in the copper wires of the legacy phone system. Greater damage occurred where voltage spikes, phase harmonics, and other abberations from the sudden DC bias induced to the mains power network, had managed to enter the internal power distribution grids of the switching stations.

In most cases the emergency power systems at disparate key locations around the UK managed to start up in time to minimise the immediate impact of the power disruption to key systems. Thus many computer datacenters, hospitals, and military sites suffered no immediate ill effect. Approximately 15% of backup generation systems failed, often due to damage occurring from spikes in the main transmission system.

The financial systems of the world managed to keep running, albeit with a degredation to performance. However, this was of no use to the customers of these systems – the loss of power removed all access to ATMs, shop EPOS systems, or any other ways to either withdraw cash or pay via plastic.

As soon as main electricity was disabled, gas, oil, and water pumping ceased. In many cases there was residual pressure remaining in the system, meaning that flow didn’t cease immediately. However, the loss of power, and telecoms, and widespread RF interference, meant that SCADA systems no longer operated and so all control over these networks immediately became impossible.

An effect not normally ascribed to solar storms effected many integrated circuits. The massive influx of the electron-heavy ejecta mass, at speed, together with the already extant ionisation of the atmosphere, led to large numbers of electrons being accellerated, or absorbed and released, to relativistic speeds. These extremely energetic electrons produced an effect similar to, albeit of smaller magnitude than, the E1 phase of a nuclear EMP. Any cabling greater than a couple of meters in length had voltages induced in them. In most cases these were very small, only a few Volts at most, however even this was sufficient to destroy many semiconductor chips.

Joel Lindeman was driving along the M5 in his 2005 Mercedes CLK350, heading home to show off his new purchase to his girlfriend. He was just passing Gloucester, when suddenly his car engine cut out. He immediately depressed the clutch, and pressed his emergency warning lights, then tried to coast over to the hard shoulder from his original middle-lane location. Unfortunately, the electromagnetic shower invisibly descending around him had induced a current in his CAN bus. Whilst the designers had used a differential voltage and twisted wire for CAN bus, in order to deal with interference, they hadn’t imagined that both would be induced to a voltage greater than the supply voltage. This oversight had caused a number of the nodes on the bus to short out, including the car’s ‘brain’. Thus when Joel pressed the hazard warning light, nothing happened. And so the articulated lorry driver, himself suffering from the sudden onset of electrical difficulties, and whose eyes had also just caught a strange pink colour suffusing the sky, failed to notice Joel pulling into his lane until it was too late. The resulting crash involved over a hundred cars, and a large number of fatalities, with Joel being the first.

–

The train stopped suddenly, as though an emergency brake had been applied. A smell of burning wires filled the train carriage, but no smoke could be seen. Carl wasn’t the only person to let out a sudden curse.

He had awoken late, with a stinker of a hangover. He’d taken the time to shave, trying to ignore his bloodshot eyes, and hoping the paracetamol he’d taken wouldn’t take too long to kick in. It was only after he’d showered, and was considering which shirt to iron that his eyes strayed to the clock. Bollocks! 8.59am! He was due to be in work in exactly 1 minutes, a work which was a minimum of 30 minutes away.

He had pulled on a non-iron shirt over his still-clammy skin, and pulled on his backup suit – his main suit appeared to have acquired a greasy stain on a leg – undoubtedly due to the donna kebab he could still smell every time he exhaled. He’d then rushed out of the house, almost forgetting his keys, and just managed to get on the train. The train that had now stopped for no apparent reason.

At this rate he’d have another ‘meeting’ with Carruthers and Janine. Janine’s name tickled something in the back of his mind, and then, with the sort of slow-motion effect over-used by John Woo movies, certain memories from last night crept into his mind. Oh, Bollocks! He’d tried to hit on Janine. And failed. Drunkenly. And she’d been sober, driving if he remember correctly. Ohhhhhh, Bollocks!

He shut his eyes, the morning light suddenly seeming a little too bright, and tried to forget the undoubted storm he was about to walk into. It was only when he heard a bit of a commotion, and the normally quite silent co-commuters began to talk that he opened his eyes. The carriage had a bit of a strange pink glow about it, and he noticed that everyone seemed to have their faces pressed against the windows.

He moved from his current location, standing – or rather, leaning miserably – in the middle of the carriage, towards one of the doors, and followed everyone else’s eyes up. There, hanging in the sky, was a solid-looking version of the spectral curtains of light he’d seen the previous night. As he watched, the lights pulsed and shifted in a mesmerising manner, inconstantly but continually cast a pink tinge over the world below.

Carl continued watching the display for 15 minutes, making conversation with the other people in the carriage for the first time in his memory, before his attention and that of the entire carriage, shifted to the door at the front of the carriage. Behind that door, which he had never seen opened, sat the driver. And the door was opening.

Through stepped a youngish looking man, wearing a [train company] uniform.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, if I could have your attention please…? Thank you. As you can tell, we’re experiencing some technical difficulties. Firstly, can I just say that there’s nothing to be concerned about. I’m not 100% sure what has happened, but we’ve blown a set of fuses, which has killed electricity to the train. When that happened, the emergency gas brake kicked in. I can’t move the train, and I’m having difficulties contacting the signalling station – probably whatever blew out the fuses damaged my radio at the same time. I’m going to keep trying to get in touch with them, and if we’re out of contact for a while I guarantee you they’ll come looking for us. For the moment, if you could all continue watching the show outside, share copies of Metro, and so on. I’ll give you an update as soon as I can.”

With that he walked to the next carriage, no doubt to deliver the same speech. Ah well, thought Carl, maybe I can use this as an excuse for being late. Still, probably best to call in.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, and dialled the office number. In return his phone just beeped at him a couple of times. Damnit, no reception. Around him he noticed other people trying and failing to use their phones.

Ah well, nothing to do but wait, he thought. I may as well make some use of the time. He sidled over nearer to a cute girl staring out of the window, ready to flash her a winning smile and break into conversation the moment she looked in his direction. Or try to, anyway. If she ever did. Damn, girls have it easy.

–

When Dave woke up, the first thing he noticed was the silence. And the darkness. It wasn’t that it was night-time, he normally slept with the curtains closed. It wasn’t even that the curtains were still closed, surprising as HAL normally opened them for him mid-morning, to try to coaxe him awake. Rather it was that normally he slept bathed in the ethereal light of assorted LEDs. These were barely noticeable in the light of day, but at night the flickering status messages from an assortment of his electronic kit soothed him to sleep.

But now there weren’t any LEDs. And neither was there the comforting hum of computer fans, the ticking of hard-drives, the assorted sounds and noises which had kept him company every night for years now.

He reached over to the manual control for the light by his bed and flicked it on and off. Nothing.

“HAL, command, open curtains one.” No mechanic tones. Not even a beep. And certainly no whirring of electric motors pulling back the curtains.

“HAL, command, open curtains one!” Still nothing.

Cursing, Dave struggled out of bed, stubbing his toe in the process. He managed to make his way through the flotsam and jetsam littering the floor, stubbing a toe on his other foot, which occasioned another wave of curses. With a grunt of effort, he pulled open the curtains manually, struggling against the motors. He was probably shortening their lifespan a lot – the manufacturers expressly warned against doing this – but he needed light. Shortly he was awarded with a beam of daylight, suffused with a strange pink colour.

Dave blinked his eyes, initially thinking it was just something to do with the fact his irises were still the size of dinner-plates. However, even as his eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light, it became apparent that the pink wasn’t some strange artifact of his eyesight. He put his face up closer to the window and looked up, skyward, searching for the source of this mysterious tinge.

What greeted his eyes awakened him completely. He had spent a lot of the previous day looking at photographs, pictures, scientific diagrams. Many of these had been related to solar activity, and solar storms’ interaction with the earth. Some of the more striking photographs had been of the very phenomenon which greeted his eyes – the Aurora Borealis. Those had all been taken at night time, but there was no doubt in his mind. Suddenly the darkness, the quite, all made sense. It looked like that Du Saveloy or whatever his name was had been correct.

He gradually became aware of a hubub outside his windows, despite their sound- and heat-insulating properties. Looking down, he saw a crowd forming below, not pointing at the sky as he’d expected, but instead further down the street to his right. He carefully extricated himself from his bedroom, dodging detritus – he really needed to tidy up – and clawed his way past the closed door of the office/computer room and into his kitchen space. Remembering at the last minute about a carelessly placed box he’d been meaning to move for a while now, he managed to make his way to the blinds in his kitchen. He manually raised them, and saw what the crowd had been pointing at.

Opposite his building, about 50m away, stood a brand new 15 storey apartment block. A vast quantity of black smoke was pouring out of exploded windows on the first floor, orange flames chasing the smoke out and licking the second floor. Dave could picture what had happened – the voltage spike from the CME had melted some wiring, or sparked across an ill-fitted junction, or otherwise caused a heat source. This had found a source of fuel, and when these were present in sufficient quanitites together with oxygen, then the three sides of the ‘fire pyramid’ would be satisfied. A fire would flash out, and begin consuming anything flammable. Modern materials were supposed to be less flammable, but given a sufficient amount of fuel, even these would flash up eventually.

Dave wondered where the fire engines were – if they didn’t get this fire under control soon there’d be trouble. He wandered over to his mobile phone, but there was no reception. The landline was similarly dead, not even a tone when buttons were pressed, or a click when the hook was depressed. It was possible that they didn’t even know. Still, you’d think they may notice the smoke… It was then, as Dave’s eyes followed the smoke upward and away from him as it was caught by the wind, that he noticed the other sooty spires rising across the capital.

Dave turned away in disgust. It was obvious that there was nothing he could do about it. He hoped that everyone would get out okay, but he wasn’t some sick harpy, to watch in case they couldn’t. He had his own concerns. And the first, he decided, was to take care of his own safety.

–

“So you see, the potential impact of this law, if passed is that it could cause a nightmare for us. Limiting the use of shell-companies in order to stop us from disguising large-scale purchases would impact our top 15% of client deals, based on last year’s numbers. Furthermore, if you look at the impact on our sector…”

In lieu of the pie chart and accompanying graph the presenter expected, the projected image suddenly disappeard. At the same time, the emergency light in the corner of the office turned on with a click, bathing the room in light.

James looked on bemusedly.

“Erm, anyone?” the presenter looked around the room, desperately seeking volunteers to help him out, and receiving only blank looks in return. He turned and pulled open the meeting room door, to be met by the glare of other emergency lights, reflecting off blank computer monitors at which people were staring, cursing, or shaking.

“It appears the power’s out.” the presenter, who’s name James suddenly wanted to find out if only to comment on the statement of the obvious, said.

“Bravo. Continue please… I believe you were about to inform us of your stunning insight on the Shepperton law…?” James prompting, enjoying the look of panic on the young associate’s face.

“Erm, yes, erm, if you look at, erm, if you were to look at the impact on our sector generally you would see that, erm, it will affect most of our competitors to a similar extent. It is therefore in our joint interest to lobby against this law, vociferously. If however we were to get the law to be restricted to only UK-based shell companies, then we….” the presenter tailed off, looking out of the south-facing window on the 30th floor meeting room.

“Yes…?” James said, beginning to get a little bored with the incompetence.

“Fuck! Look at that!!” The presenter pointed towards the window, due south.

Everyone turned quickly towards the window, to see the last moments of AC-664, as the passenger-laden plane plummeted into the ground and immediately fireballed outwards, the fuel-heavy wings dissolving and creating a conflagration like a miniature nuclear bomb. A mushroom-shaped cloud immediately formed, lit from the inside as flame consumed the fumes sucked up into the middle of the roiling smoke cloud.

James looked on for only a moment before striding over to the phone sitting on the desk, and pressing the button to turn it on. He was greeted by silence. He reached into his pocket for his mobile phone. Dialling it, he got a ring tone, and then some automated message saying that the line was down and to try again later. Great, he thought. Ah well, I’m sure thousands of other people witnessed the crash.

He walked over to the window, his minions making a gap for him. Strange, he thought, even at this distance, the fire was casting a light over the room. Then he noticed the source of the light – waving curtains of red in the sky. Barely had he had time to appreciate that sight when a gasp and a pointed finger drew his attention to another fireball in the distance.

Typical, he thought, the government got the day wrong.

–

Rob was bent over a table, working on his paperwork, when a flicker in the lights broke his concentration for a moment. He looked around, saw nothing amiss, and then went back to his paperwork.

It wasn’t until some 10 minutes later than a breathless colleague came into the office he’d co-opted in order to get this work done. Every year there seemed to be more paperwork. And it was real paperwork as well – forms in triplicate, signatures, the whole works. When the rest of the world had moved toward computers, the British police services in their infinite wisdom had taken a step backwards, creating more paperwork.

“Rob, meeting downstairs in the canteen, right now.” Then he was off, running like a man possessed, no doubt to find anyone else hard at work. Ah well, Rob thought, maybe it’s something to do with the overtime. But if they tried to shaft him on it…

He put a finally finishing touch on the report for the drunken homeless man – they’d had to arrest him after he pissed on Terry’s shoes, much to the amusement of all his colleagues to be fair – then headed downstairs.

By the time he got there, the only space left was to stand at the back. He did so, shouldering a little shoulder-space between some of the other late people. The entire day shift for the station was here, pretty much, he was surprised to see. A few would be out on patrol undoubtedly, but most of the rest were here – making the cafeteria a bit sticky and humid. He was surprised when the Inspector walked out to the front, and turned to face the crowd. His face looked rather white.

“Approximately 15 minutes ago, London was hit by a huge electromagnetic pulse. We think this is related to the predicted event from a couple of days ago, the difference being, that this time it actually happened. Those of you who have been outside in the last few minutes will have seen Northern Lights in the sky, so we’re not really working in the dark here.” the Inspector paused for a moment, to see if there would be any takers for his pun, but soon continued.

“The current status is that mains electricity is offline. Our backups came online straight away, so we’re fine here, as are nearby hospitals and the like, but for most people there’s nothing. Phones are down. Airwave is down at the moment – we’re not sure why as there should be battery and diesel backups.

We haven’t been formally told that emergency powers are going to be re-enacted, but I think that can be taken as a given. For the moment, there has been no change to our normal guidelines on who to arrest, when. I would suggest though that anything minor be ignored for the moment.

At the moment, everyone’s stumbling, trying to work out what has happened. When the scope and size of this sinks in, there will be panic. I want patrols of no less than four people – we can’t call in backup so choose your fights. I’m sending some people to guard the main food distribution centers – we can’t require the supermarkets to reinstitute rationing, but see what you can do. Everyone is to wear full protective gear including helmets. I also want two 12-man squads fully geared up with riot protection.

Spotters have seen evidence of widespread fires all around – leave those up to the fire brigade. I don’t want any heroics to rescue grandma’s cat who’s still in the flat. I don’t even what grandma rescued by us – we’ll have a big enough job as it is. If called for assistance by other emergency services, give it, but only for the shortest time possible. We can’t afford to get bogged down, we’ve got to keep circulating, and make people think there’s more people on the ground than there are. If you need to arrest someone, and don’t have transport, lock them to a lamp-post or something and keep moving, and flag down the next transport you can.

Right, any questions? No? Okay, go get ready. I want initial feet on ground in 10 minutes. Sargeants, get together lists and routes as fast as possible.”

With that the Inspector walked out, leaving behind a stunned audience. Rob had to conciously think to close a jaw which had fallen slackly open whilst the Inspector was talking. The meeting began to disintegrate, voices shouted and hushed sounding around the room as cliques and groups formed.

“[Surname], go get ready, you’re on riot duty, squad Bravo.” Rob heard his name shouted from the other side of the room. He headed over to speak.

“Sarge, what about my wife and…”

“We’ve all got wives and kids, Rob. Just do your job and hope that the local plod do theirs, that’s all we can do right now. When things calm down a bit, and we’ve a handle on what’s happening, I’m sure we can send a squad car out to check on them, or maybe even pick them up. Okay?”

A slightly mollified Rob nodded.

“Okay then, now go and suit up. I’ve got a feeling you’ll get your fill of brawling today.”