I swallow my last iodine tablet and head to the surface. For months the news had been reporting tensions, escalation, ultimatums and quite frankly I couldn't care less about it. It was all something that was happening elsewhere, to other people. My parents were phoning me every day, telling me about their bunker preparations. The tinned food. The makeshift latrine. The back-up back-up generator. How the shops were empty and people were fleeing to the countryside. They said that new studies indicated there probably wouldn't be any unexpected winter or new ice age. There would be emergency centres. The rumours of our demise would be greatly exaggerated...
It is very dark outside. I had been sleeping with Henry in the underground car park for about a week now. I was the only tenant there, everyone else had seemingly fled London. Outside, the landscape all seemed so, well, flat. Just rubble and bodies and loss. Henry seemed cautious at the top of the stairs. I tried to keep away from the metal as we walked out. Henry didn't piss.
I could hear the screaming still. But there was nobody about. As we got closer to the park I noticed all of the playground equipment was bent, twisted. Henry still didn't piss. It was only then I remembered I'd forgotten to pick up the bloody tennis ball. Henry looked at me nervously. That's the trouble with dogs, they always know when something is wrong.
Maybe an hour passed, I don't know, I had no sense of time anymore. We walked around the park. I found a stick and gave it to Henry. He wasn't interested. I decided to walk the long way back to the car park. About half-way home I started to hear voices. Three hooded figures moved in and out of buildings, boasting about whatever foodstuff they could find:
'Josh I got beans here, small tins'
'Oi I've got noodles here'
'Tub of Marmite here, not taking it though - you think that's gonna be my last meal you're fucking wrong mate'.
Suddenly a loud authoritative voice cut through: 'Looters! Stop immediately or we will shoot!'.
'Fuck! Crown Guards... I ain't going back to that fucking camp lads, run!' I saw all three men leave separate buildings. Then there was gunfire. I saw the outlines of maybe two men approaching, dressed in black like stormtroopers. I dragged Henry into a side street and waited for the shooting to stop. Henry decided it was finally time to piss.
I had been crouching behind a bin of some kind and as I moved off I noticed that my skin was red. It was a narrow side street with rubbish strewn everywhere. I moved down and tried to keep Henry as close as possible. I thought I could hear a feeble voice, getting closer. I looked down. Behind a bin bag was a woman with incredible lesions. 'Water', she mumbled. As I looked closer her skin was a mixture of red and yellow, pus and burns and death. I moved off quickly.
By the time we got back to the car park it was even darker. It occurred to me that looters could have found the car park. I let Henry go ahead of me. No barking. Relief. I didn't understand exactly how but the car park had light, I guess there was a back-up generator running somewhere. It certainly wasn't running off solar panels...
I got into the back of the car and started typing this. I can charge my phone in the car still. It is much later than I thought. No internet of course, but looking at old photos, writing, reading messages, well it gives me some comfort. I suppose it won't be long before a looter or Crown Guard gets to me. Maybe they will cook Henry.
As sad as I am, it is all I can do to survive. After all, that's all we've been doing, as a race, for millennia. King or slave. Oligarch or gopnik. Just surviving. I re-read the last message from my parents: 'Not looking good. Be safe out there. Me and Dad are in the bunker. It is very cosy down here. They will set up emergency stations. Hounslow Council spent millions preparing. You will be fine. Don't worry, and don't give up.'
Trimalchio8 t1_ityyaa5 wrote
Reply to [WP] The world is ending. You are alone; you have no family, no friends, no people that matter to you. The only thing that you truly love is your dog, who you decide to go out and play fetch with one last time. by Ladybug_2004
I swallow my last iodine tablet and head to the surface. For months the news had been reporting tensions, escalation, ultimatums and quite frankly I couldn't care less about it. It was all something that was happening elsewhere, to other people. My parents were phoning me every day, telling me about their bunker preparations. The tinned food. The makeshift latrine. The back-up back-up generator. How the shops were empty and people were fleeing to the countryside. They said that new studies indicated there probably wouldn't be any unexpected winter or new ice age. There would be emergency centres. The rumours of our demise would be greatly exaggerated...
It is very dark outside. I had been sleeping with Henry in the underground car park for about a week now. I was the only tenant there, everyone else had seemingly fled London. Outside, the landscape all seemed so, well, flat. Just rubble and bodies and loss. Henry seemed cautious at the top of the stairs. I tried to keep away from the metal as we walked out. Henry didn't piss.
I could hear the screaming still. But there was nobody about. As we got closer to the park I noticed all of the playground equipment was bent, twisted. Henry still didn't piss. It was only then I remembered I'd forgotten to pick up the bloody tennis ball. Henry looked at me nervously. That's the trouble with dogs, they always know when something is wrong.
Maybe an hour passed, I don't know, I had no sense of time anymore. We walked around the park. I found a stick and gave it to Henry. He wasn't interested. I decided to walk the long way back to the car park. About half-way home I started to hear voices. Three hooded figures moved in and out of buildings, boasting about whatever foodstuff they could find:
'Josh I got beans here, small tins'
'Oi I've got noodles here'
'Tub of Marmite here, not taking it though - you think that's gonna be my last meal you're fucking wrong mate'.
Suddenly a loud authoritative voice cut through: 'Looters! Stop immediately or we will shoot!'.
'Fuck! Crown Guards... I ain't going back to that fucking camp lads, run!' I saw all three men leave separate buildings. Then there was gunfire. I saw the outlines of maybe two men approaching, dressed in black like stormtroopers. I dragged Henry into a side street and waited for the shooting to stop. Henry decided it was finally time to piss.
I had been crouching behind a bin of some kind and as I moved off I noticed that my skin was red. It was a narrow side street with rubbish strewn everywhere. I moved down and tried to keep Henry as close as possible. I thought I could hear a feeble voice, getting closer. I looked down. Behind a bin bag was a woman with incredible lesions. 'Water', she mumbled. As I looked closer her skin was a mixture of red and yellow, pus and burns and death. I moved off quickly.
By the time we got back to the car park it was even darker. It occurred to me that looters could have found the car park. I let Henry go ahead of me. No barking. Relief. I didn't understand exactly how but the car park had light, I guess there was a back-up generator running somewhere. It certainly wasn't running off solar panels...
I got into the back of the car and started typing this. I can charge my phone in the car still. It is much later than I thought. No internet of course, but looking at old photos, writing, reading messages, well it gives me some comfort. I suppose it won't be long before a looter or Crown Guard gets to me. Maybe they will cook Henry.
As sad as I am, it is all I can do to survive. After all, that's all we've been doing, as a race, for millennia. King or slave. Oligarch or gopnik. Just surviving. I re-read the last message from my parents: 'Not looking good. Be safe out there. Me and Dad are in the bunker. It is very cosy down here. They will set up emergency stations. Hounslow Council spent millions preparing. You will be fine. Don't worry, and don't give up.'