Surviving the Fall: How England Died Read online

  SURVIVING THE FALL

  by Stephen Cross

  Copyright © 2016 by Stephen Cross

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

  Table of Contents

  Holiday Apocalypse

  The Inn at the End of the World

  Zone Lima Delta

  The Dead Lands

  Train to Hell

  Tower Block of the Dead

  Plane Dead

  The Facility

  Holiday Apocalypse

  Saturday 20th May, early evening, Cornwall

  Jimmy sighed and looked in the rearview mirror. The old bat was still moaning about her ‘bite’, and making so much fuss that the other olds in the minibus had joined in.

  “Alright, Violet, alright, we’ll be back soon enough and nurse can sort you out.” He turned off the A-road onto a country lane. It was six in the evening, it would be another thirty minutes until they got back to the rest home, and then another half hour until he could sign off. He couldn’t wait, what a bloody day.

  Stan leaned forward, “Really, Jimmy, you should have called the police and an ambulance. She needed immediate medical assistance. I’ll be sure to report you.”

  There were mumbles of agreement from the rest of the van. Jimmy rolled his eyes. Calling the police would have been a nightmare - he knew how it would go. An hour waiting for them, more time making a statement, another few hours in hospital. He would have been stuck there until midnight, and there goes his date with Britney.

  “I have a headache,” he heard Violet moan from the back of the van.

  “She has a headache!” parroted the rest of them.

  Jimmy dug around in the glovebox and pulled out some ibuprofen.

  “Here you go,” he passed the tablets to Stan. “Get her to take two of these.”

  Stan looked at the tablets. “She can’t take these! Not with her other medicine. We need to get her to a hospital.”

  Jimmy shook his head, “We’re closer to the care home now than we are to any hospital.” He glanced at Violet again. She did look rather pale, and she was sweating now. Maybe that old drunk who’d bit her had some sort of disease. He started driving faster, just in case she was ill, best to get there sooner rather than later. Keep himself out of trouble.

  What sort of a nutter bites people anyway? The trip had gone smoothly right up to the end of the day. Nice afternoon in Newquay, the old buggers walking by the sea with their ice creams, then about to set out home and some loon attacks Violet, just as they are getting in the minibus. A stinky tramp by the looks of him, appeared from nowhere.

  Jimmy was quick, he was pleased with that. Kick boxing was paying off. He had got the tramp and punched him hard, he went down like a sack of shit. Got straight up again though, to give him his dues. Luckily by then, all the other olds had got Violet and themselves in the minibus, shit scared the lot of them. So Jimmy knocked the tramp down again and got in the van quick smart. Not worth fighting drunks, they kept going til you knocked them out, and then you’re in danger of the pigs doing you for assault! Crazy world alright.

  Jimmy thought that would be the end of it, until she started moaning about the bite. Apparently he’d caught her on the neck, just a nick, but enough for her to make a fuss all the way home. They loved a fuss.

  “Jimmy! Jimmy! She’s passed out!”

  “What?” He looked in the mirror again, and saw her head lolled over to the left.

  Stan leaned forward again, “You silly young fool, I told you she needed medical assistance, she must have a dangerous infection!”

  “Look, just shut it and look after her, we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Jimmy drove faster and tried to black out the shouts and moans aimed at him. He was for it now, there’d be all sorts of inquiries. Might even lose his job.

  He raced the van through the narrow Cornwall lanes, taking chances on the blind bends. The olds started shouting about his driving. Did they want to get back quickly or not?

  There was a scream from behind him. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said to himself before shouting, “What’s going on now?”

  More screams, louder, and a strange moaning sound. Stan was trying to crawl over the seat into the front, “Stop! Let me out, let me out!”

  Jimmy pushed at Stan, “What the bloody hell are you doing? Get back!” He pushed on Stan’s face, but the old bugger kept coming. Jimmy gave up and let Stan fall headfirst into the front seat.

  Jimmy took a turn too fast and nearly ended up hitting a wall. He righted himself and put his foot on the accelerator. Satisfied he was going in a straight line, he turned to see the source of all the chaos from behind, and his face was immediately sprayed with blood.

  “What the fuck?” he shouted.

  Violet clamped her teeth down on Deborah’s cheek and ripped the flesh off in one thick slab, all the way down to her shoulder. Blood spurted across the roof of the van as Deborah screamed, the bones and muscle of her jaw visible, the flesh under her eye socket flapping as she tried to pull herself away from Violet.

  “Fucking hell!” shouted Jimmy. Transfixed on the scene of horror unfolding in the back of the van, he let go of the steering wheel.

  The van veered off the road and hit a telegraph pole. Jimmy was flung forward and his head hit the steering wheel. He blacked out immediately, which was just as well.

  Monday 15th May - Leeds

  Jack sat at his desk and switched on his computer. The familiar hum broke the silence of the empty office. He was always first in, and last to leave. He cursed to himself as he tidied a pile of papers that had been untidied by the cleaners. They were paid to clean, not touch people’s stuff.

  For half an hour, Jack worked in silence preparing for the day, organising his tasks. Meetings, and a few hours to work on the council budget.

  Lights on the other side of the office hummed into life as other members of staff arrived. Conversation sprung up around the different cubicles. Phones began to ring. Printers started to chug into life. Jack’s peace broken.

  In the corner of his eye he saw Stewart walk across the office, to sit on the edge of Jack’s desk. Jack eyed the pen that Stewart had moved to make room for himself.

  “Hey Jack, how you doing?”

  “Good thanks.” Jack looked up only long enough to make brief eye contact, then returned to looking at the news site he was browsing.

  Stewart continued. “I’ve just been in a meeting with Peter. He said he asked you to redo your report using my new spreadsheet.”

  Jack nodded, focusing on the news. An article about Brazil caught his eye.

  “Hey look, sorry about that,” continued Stewart. “Must be a pain to have to redo your report?”

  Jack moved closer at the screen, reading the article. “What?” Jack looked up, annoyed. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. It won’t take me long.”

  “You sure you don’t mind? I can have another word with Peter if you like?”

  Jack stared at the screen again, feeling anger and frustration growing - the news about Brazil was bad. He remembered Stewart and smiled, “Look, really it’s ok. Honestly. I don’t mind.”

  Stewart nodded, “Knew you’d be cool with it. Cheers pal.” Stewart jumped off the desk and made to walk away, but paused. “Oh, by the way, you’re going on holiday next week aren’t you, to Brazil? You should check out the ne
ws. Some weird shit going on down there. Later.” He walked away.

  Jack grabbed his mobile phone and called his wife.

  “Amy, have you seen what those bloody idiots are doing in Brazil? They’ve closed the airports!”

  “What? They can’t!”

  “There’s something going on, riots or something. Our insurance had better cover us for this…”

  Jack realised his voice was rising above the standard office din and was drawing attention. He walked quickly to the corridor.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this for six bloody months, it’s the only thing that’s kept me going.’

  “Me too,” sighed Amy. “You said riots, Jack?”

  “Riots, so called terrorist threat. Usual bollocks.”

  “It may be over by next week, why don’t you contact the airline and I’ll phone the hotel, see what we can find out.”

  Jack let out a slow breath. “Ok. Good idea”. He looked out over the grey and miserable skyline of Leeds. Heavy clouds sat motionless above the city, dripping slow rain onto the roads and people.

  “And Jack…”

  “Yes, I know. I’ll be calm.”

  Reuters Special Report 06/05/2016

  Brasilia, Rio De Janeiro, Sau Paulo and Curitiba are among many Brazilian cities that have closed their airports under order of the Brazilian government. Many seaside towns and cities have closed their ports. There are reports emerging that the UN and the US have called for all travel in and out of Brazil and surrounding countries, including Bolivia, Paraguay, Columbia and Venezuela to be stopped for an indefinite period until the crisis has passed.

  The nature of the crisis is still uncertain. Reporters have been detained within their hotels under military curfew and are relying on interviews with local staff. This report comes from Sam Thomas in Rio De Janeiro.

  “From my hotel room I can sit on the balcony and look out over the city to see fires, hear gunshots, screams - the sounds of increasing disorder. Violent clashes between protesters, the police and the military have escalated to unprecedented levels over the night.

  “It is unclear when the riots began, and even what the rioters are protesting against. I have interviewed a chef in my hotel, who started his shift just before we were interned - he told me that the violence started late last night in one of Rio’s largest favelas.

  “To add to further speculation and fear, is an apparent internet shut down. People are unable to access Twitter, Facebook, and a number of other social network and news sites. I myself have had to file this report using my satellite phone on the balcony, as the hotel internet connection is inaccessible.

  “Whatever is causing these riots, whatever has brought about these untold levels of violence, the Brazilian government is very keen to stop the world from finding out what, exactly, has happened”

  Jack sat in the office canteen waiting to speak to the airline, his phone held to his ear.

  He put down his coffee and looked around the room. The same people sitting in the same chairs, talking about the same things to the same people. He shook his head and looked to the ceiling where the strip lights beamed.

  He listened to the on-hold music on his phone for a good five minutes before there was finally an answer.

  “I’ve read that all flights into Brazil have been cancelled?” said Jack. “Can you tell me what’s happening?”

  “That’s correct, Mr Barnes, we have been told that there is a government decree closing all travel into and out of Brazil, passed early this morning.”

  “Ok, why is that?”

  “Erm…” There was a pause. “We have been told this is due to civil unrest. We don’t have any further information at the moment. I’m very sorry, Mr Barnes.”

  “So what about our flight next week? We’re due to fly to Sao Paulo on Tuesday.”

  “We have no news on any flights for next week Mr Barnes.”

  “Great, so, what, I just have to sit and wait?”

  “I’m sorry but there’s nothing more I can tell you.”

  Jack hung up the call. He sighed and sat back in his chair, staring at his coffee. The one thing he had been looking forward to all year, the break he needed. The break from this place. The break from this life. Gone.

  He looked at the clock, two thirty in the afternoon. He would speak to Amy later, at the moment he didn't have the energy, and thought it likely he would lose his temper. He didn’t want to take his frustration out on her.

  Tuesday 16th May, Leeds

  The mood at home was sombre.

  “It says here,” said Amy looking up from her laptop, “that thousands are dead already. What do you think has happened?”

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t think anyone knows what’s going on. I’m reading here some nonsense about people eating people. It’s ridiculous.”

  “People eating people?” Amy scrunched up her face. “Why would you do that in a riot?”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “That’s what I mean - It sounds like no one knows what is going on. Annie,” said Jack to his six year old daughter who was climbing over the couch, “can’t you go and play in the dining room?”

  “No! I want to play here. What’s a riot?”

  Jack ignored her and continued to scan the internet.

  “Come over here darling, your Daddy is busy,” said Amy.

  Annie reluctantly sat next to Amy on the other couch.

  “Hang on… Here’s a link to the latest BBC report.” Jack followed the link.

  ‘Steven, how are things in Sao Paulo now?

  ‘Well Sue, I am in a city that is in absolute panic. Buildings and cars are on fire, people are in the streets in force, some in groups, some alone, some trying to escape the city, and others looting stores.

  ‘The Military and police are trying to keep control but it seems even their numbers are dwindling as the rumours of a terrifying virus are starting to spread. Whether or not these rumours are true is hard to tell as there is no official response from anyone in authority, other than to stay indoors.’

  ‘Can you tell us more about these virus rumours Steven?’

  ‘Well, I spoke to a man earlier who said he was trying to leave the city with his family. He told me he had seen some of his neighbours covered in blood, that some of their skin and flesh was actually hanging off.

  ‘I also managed to speak to a fireman, who told me that his crew were all deserting. He said he has seen people covered in blood attacking others, calling it ‘Devil’s work’.

  ‘These are only rumours Steven, we must emphasise that?’

  ‘Yes, as I have said, there has been no official response, and we are dealing with rumours and hearsay at the moment. However, the actions of the government have done nothing to quell these rumours. All air and sea ports have been closed, and it appears that the military are controlling all roads into and out of the city.’

  ‘Thank you Steven for that report. That was Steven Blacksmith, our reporter in Sao Paulo.

  ‘To recap, there is no official stance from the Brazilian government on the riots occurring across the country. These riots have now spread to neighbouring South American countries. News blackouts seem to be trying to contain what is happening, but reports are leaking out through remaining internet channels, and through exclusive reports such as ours.’

  “Wow”, said Amy.

  “What’s a virus?” said Annie.

  “It’s like a cold,” said Jack.

  “That sounds pretty bad?” Amy said. “I don’t think I even want to go anymore. Not if there is a virus there.”

  “No… If that is what’s happening of course.”

  “What, you think they might be lying? Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. This news blackout though…” Jack stood up abruptly. “Anyway, it looks like our bloody holiday is off, no matter what’s going on.”

  “Jack…”

  Without saying anything, Jack left the room.

  He made his way upstairs t
o his music room. A small box room with a chair, his hundreds of records stacked up on shelves across one of the walls, their many colours and textures taking on the appearance of abstract art. His immaculate Gibson SG guitar and Marshall stack sat in the corner of the room. Next to his chair sat an expensive record player.

  He moved his finger along the spines of the records, looking for Led Zepplin IV. He took it out and carefully removed the record from its sleeve. Being careful to hold it only on the edges he blew across it’s surface and, with precise movements, placed the vinyl on the record player.

  He turned on the amp of his guitar and sat in the chair, guitar resting on his round belly. With a practiced motion he turned on the record and quickly repositioned himself, so as soon as the music started, he was able to hit the matching notes on this guitar.

  Jack closed his eyes and played along, note for note.

  As he did for the next song and the one after that.

  When the first side of the album finished, he sat in silence and looked at the framed picture on the wall, from a newspaper cutting taken fifteen years ago. A local newspaper had written a glowing review on one of his band’s gigs, noting that the lead guitarist played with a natural verve and ferocity that ‘guaranteed’ he would soon be moving on from small local venues, that the ‘bright lights’ beckoned.

  The door opened, it was Annie.

  “Annie, what did Mummy tell you, you don’t come into the music room.”

  “But Daddy, I have nothing to play with.”

  Jack rested his head against the back of his chair. “Ok,” he said. “Let’s go to your room. We can play in there. You might break something in here.”

  Annie smiled.

  Wednesday 17th May, Leeds

  Jack had lost all enthusiasm for the day. He wanted to get out of the office, go to sleep and forget all about Brazil. Having resigned himself to the holiday being cancelled, he had heard enough about Brazil and its bloody virus.