Endurance (4 page)

I should have
proposed earlier; then she wouldn’t have been hit by that car! Or
maybe I shouldn’t have proposed at all; then we would have been
home earlier and avoided the catastrophe.

The
day
darkened; the temperature dropped; the
clouds filled with anguish and anger. London was a ghost town and a
victim of mass destruction. The streets were unrecognizable. Tom
searched for two days for any sign of hope.

His smart
clothes were ruined, his white shirt was grey and filthy, his
trousers and blazer covered in dust, and his tie, still tied around
his leg, was soaked with blood. His hair was no longer spiked, but
instead was a rubble-loaded mess stuck to his scalp. His slightly
tanned skin had a grey tint and was covered in cuts and
bruises.

He continued
to move to yet another part of London not as destroyed as much as
other parts.

Tom had not
eaten since he was with Anna in the restaurant, he felt feeble; his
throat was tight, he had a cough that made his throat sore and he
was having difficulty breathing.

He continued
to walk until he tripped on some debris and fell. He rolled onto
his back and stared at the grey and oppressive sky.

He imagined
what London must look like from above. He could see it: It looked
dark and dreary, enclosed by smoke and decorated with patches of
flames and debris. He then imagined what England must look like
coming from the sea. Looking black and burnt away, with no life
whatsoever and with nature burnt to a crisp, it must like so much
ash. He then imagined the world. A circular ball that looked
volcanic and ready to erupt, the waters grey and full of floating
ash and wreckage. Tom thought to himself…

This is the
view of the aliens that are attacking.

As Tom sat up
and looked around him, he paused as he noticed a corner shop with a
mass of bricks in front of it. He was astonished to see the
building appeared in good condition compared to other
buildings.

Without
hesitation, Tom rushed toward the building; he was suddenly full of
energy and such elation that he forgot about his pain, concentrated
instead on getting refreshments. As he ran, he began to seriously
hope there was still some food and drink inside. Stopping outside,
in front of the piled concrete pieces and mounds of bricks, Tom
began to climb. Finally reaching the top, he slid into the
shop.

The shop was
dark but still had plenty of food and a lot of drink. The only
source of light was coming from the refrigerators around the back
of the shop. That area was full of microwave food, quick snacks and
drinks. The floor was covered in blood and bits of concrete, but
otherwise, everything looked normal.

‘
I could do
this place up. Get some power in here, some lighting and start my
own business. I would make so much money with so many people and so
many aliens coming in to buy refreshments,’ Tom paused.

I never used
to talk to myself out loud, I am definitely mad.

He walked to
the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Using all his strength to
take off the cap, he poured water all over his face, leaving his
mouth open to catch whatever water he could. He grabbed another
water bottle and drank it down within eight seconds, followed by a
Lucozade. He began to drink it while he casually walked around the
shop looking for food. He found sandwiches, sausage rolls, pork
pies, chocolate, biscuits, fruit and cold baked beans. He didn’t
hesitate to eat the food. Once finished, he felt rejuvenated and
bloated.

There was a
rucksack on the counter. Tom picked it up and emptied it by holding
it upside down, shaking it around, until the objects inside fell
out. Not taking any notice of what fell out, he filled the rucksack
with food and drink. He packed snacks and filled his bag with
Lucozade and water. Once full, he set it behind the counter for
when he left, but for now, he decided would rest here for a
night.

Tom gathered
plasters, needles, cotton buds and vodka. With no good quality
lighting, Tom walked out the back of the shop and found two
torches, one battery powered and the other a windup. He also found
some fishing wire. He sat on the ground with everything around him,
his back against the counter and his legs stretched out in front of
him. He loosened the tie from around his leg and looked at the
injury on his thigh. It was a bloody hole with purple and white pus
surrounding it. He poured straight vodka onto the wound and
screamed in agony as the alcohol sterilized the wound. The pain was
too intense. He punched and headbutted the ground repeatedly, while
holding his leg so tightly he cut off the circulation. He regained
his concentration and turned on one torch and laid it on the floor
facing him and put the other in his mouth.

He picked up
a needle and dipped it into the vodka for a moment. He then
threaded the fishing line through it, tied it onto the needle and
stabbed it into his leg, he guided the needle through the skin,
over the wound and through the other side of his skin and continued
to stitch the wound closed.

‘
Not bad,
Tommo, not bad,’ he mumbled to himself.

His leg felt
oddly numb. He then opened his shirt and looked at the bullet
scrape on his shoulder. He poured vodka on it and squealed in pain.
He couldn’t stitch it since it was in a bad place and it was a
gash, so couldn’t be closed anyway. Instead, he put plasters over
it and taped the cluster of plasters on.

After being a
surgeon, Tom decided to drink the vodka to help him sleep. He drank
steadily for about two hours and finally fell asleep.

7

Tom awakened
in a rush, short of breath and in a sweat. After having slept on
his back, he bolted upright and began to cough. He continued to
cough for a few minutes; blood spewed from his mouth with each
painful bout of couphing. Choking on the blood; he crawled on all
fours to the refrigerator containing the drinks. Pulling himself
up, he reached for a water bottle that seemed a thousand miles away
from his grasp. He finally grabbed a water bottle. He composed
himself and began to sip the water, which stopped the choking,
allowing him to catch his breath.

Shaken, he
looked at his arms. His veins were enflamed and his body felt numb.
Tom pinched his skin and couldn’t feel the pain. He continued to
pinch himself, but he couldn’t feel the pinches at all. . He
sniffed the air and couldn’t smell the grime, smoke or dust. He
seemed to be losing all his senses.

He stood and
stretched. As he stretched his arms and legs, he wandered to the
counter and picked up the rucksack and put it on his back. He
decided he needed to move on from the shop, but might return to get
more refreshments later.

He looked
around and headed to his left to see what he could find.

As he walked,
gun shots blasted in the distance. He paused and listened hard to
work out which direction they were coming from. The gunshots were
in front of him so he ran toward the sound.

Tom sprinted
through the streets. The gunshots became clearer the more he ran.
The echoes began to disappear; he decided he must be getting close.
As he turned a corner, he saw a man and two women, perhaps a man
with his wife and daughter. The parents appeared to be in their
fifties and the daughter looked around twenty-five.

They were
shooting into the sky. They paused as Tom appeared, when suddenly
an explosion hit them and they vanished into thin air.

Astounded,
Tom halted in his footsteps and looked up into the sky. There was
the bright white light on him again. He saw the side of the
machine; it was dark and metallic-looking. Tom didn’t have time to
identify whether it was an alien attack. He turned to run when
suddenly he was blown away, literally tossed ten feet into the air,
landing awkwardly on his hand. He heard something crunch and looked
down to see his hand hanging at an impossible angle, with a lump
poking out of his skin next to his wrist. He got up, but his
rucksack had disappeared. He spotted two water bottles on the
ground, unharmed. He rushed toward the bottles, grabbing them
quickly before running away from the hovercraft; running in zigs
and zags to make it difficult to target him. He turned a corner
just as an explosion hit a building. Bricks flew past him and
debris hit his back. He stumbled, but regained his balance and
continued to run.

He saw an
entrance to the London Underground. There was no sign to identify
which stop it was. He galloped toward it and ran down the steps
into the underground. Just as he reached it, he heard explosions
from above and felt vibrations under his feet. He got into the
empty underground stop and the entrance collapsed behind him. Dust
and smoke billowed into the stop, making it difficult for him to
breathe. It affected his sight as flecks of dust drifted into his
eyes.

He was
greeted by silence. Clueless about what to do next, he sat in the
corner of the stop and stared at the exit.

He heard
screams, which was strange, since he hadn’t seen many people
anywhere. Each scream was muted by an explosion. There was nothing
Tom could do. He felt shattered; it seemed as if he hadn’t eaten
for days even though he had. He pulled out one of the two water
bottles he had in his pockets. He took a few sips from it and put
it on the floor next to him. He pulled the other bottle from his
pocket and put it next to the first bottle.

He lay down
on his side.

Tom
remembered the feeling of being close to normal human contact for
the first time in days. It depressed him. He thought about Anna’s
dead body. She looked better than he previously remembered. Her
eyes were closed; no blood was on her body. He stared at her curves
and her glossy hair. Suddenly, her red, blood-filled eyes opened
wide and stared straight at Tom. She stared at him with vengeance
as her skin turned dark and mouldy. Her neck snapped out of place
and blood spooled out of her mouth. Her veins began to enflame and
burst, the blood under her skin burst from her body. Tom purged the
thoughts out of his mind. He couldn’t understand why Anna was
haunting him but he struggled to control it. He couldn’t think of
any positive thoughts, they were all negative and
recurring.

He felt weak
and vulnerable.

Whatever is
after me could easily get down here through the tunnel or just move
the rubble out of the way with an explosion. I need to make contact
somehow with the world, I need to know how bad this really is and
who’s affected. Wait a second, Dad’s cassette player. You can pick
up radio frequencies on it. If there are other survivors, they may
be on a frequency waiting for others to respond; and if it’s not
worldwide, I can get help!

Tom gained
energy and confidence, he needed to get to his house and get into
the attic, if either still existed.

Tom tried to
get off the ground but felt a deep, aching pain in his leg; the
stitching had come loose and was causing friction on his skin. He
began to pull the fishing line, trying to get the stitches out. The
wound became deeper as his skin hung on the line. He eventually
pulled all the line out. He looked at his shoulder wound. The
cluster of plasters had fallen off at some point. Tom was back
where he began. He felt vulnerable, dehydrated, famished and very,
very alone.

He sat with
his back against the wall. He attempted to pop his wrist back into
place. He held his hand and tried to figure out how to set the
bone. The pain was unbearable. He got a firm grip and bent it in
the opposite direction. He tried to block out the pain but it was
simply too much. Holding it, he forced his wrist to one side and it
finally reattached to the joint. The pain slowly decreased. He let
go and his hand flopped to the floor.

He stared at
the last flickering light. Each time it flickered, he saw Anna’s
face staring at him with those blood-red eyes full of
vengeance.

Tom stayed at
the underground stop he believed to be Embankment for at least two
days. He had no more water.

The stop was
a wreck; it was violated and destroyed, making it unrecognizable.
He listened to the ground above and continued to hear explosions
and screams. Of more concern, he heard deep roars that sounded like
tigers hunting their prey.

He decided to
get up; dust fell off him and floated to the ground and into the
air. Choking from the dust, he tensed each time he coughed, the
coughs were sending spasms to his leg, causing it to tense and
hurt. He clutched the tender leg, leaned into the wall, and slid to
the ground.

Blood ran
down his leg, the cut now healing properly. Trying to shake off the
pain and the lethargy of dehydration, he positioned himself into a
press up, but he was much too weak to do any exercises. He got to
his knees and stared straight ahead.

Breathing
heavily, he used all the strength in his legs to balance on his
left foot and then his right, trying to determine if his legs were
going to hold his weight. He began to limp toward the blocked exit.
He attempted to move some of the debris, but it was thoroughly
blocked. In frustration, Tom kicked the barricade.