FOG

Part 1

The End of the World

Chapter 1

Where were you at 10:15 on the 8th of May 2030? The beginning of the end. Armageddon.

It arrived with a double flash and a silent pillar of fire rising into the sky. Our neat, ordered, world was turned completely on its head. It went something like:

Old world order - flash-flash - new world order.

Nobody at the time realised that 'world order' would switch from 'old' to 'new'. And why should they? The full implications of that pyrotechnic display didn't sink in right away.

But I'm jumping the gun. The day started in the normal way, for a Wednesday. It was a beautiful spring morning, full of promise for another agreeable day whiling away the hours, doing not-much-at-all, until it was time to come home. Brody dropped by to collect me at 09:30, and then we drove off to pick up Fred. The leafy Cambridgeshire lanes looked particularly fresh and green. The recent rain had revitalised the countryside and it was looking like the warm spring weather might turn into an early summer. How wrong we were.

Fred's stop took longer than mine. He's not very nimble on his feet these days. Or as he would say, 'I'm not so steady on me pins'.

He's taking longer every day, I swear. said Brody.

I shrugged. Brody could be a bit blunt at times.

Eventually, Fred reached the door. When our little Wednesday outings had first started, Brody had offered to help him get to the car, but Fred wouldn't hear of it. He always tried to be independent like that, Fred did. Still does.

Morning Tommy, Brody. And what a lovely morning it is, said Fred. Always vocalising. The way he can't stop talking, I swear he's got East End blood in his veins.

If you say so, replied Brody.

I said nothing. I don't vocalise.

Be there in half-an-hour, said Brody.

Fred had tried to find out if 'Brody' was his first name or his surname, but Brody was bent on keeping it a mystery.

What's it to anyone anyway? That's my name and that's what you call me, he had said dismissively.

I had quickly lost interest in the big secret. Fred had only been trying to break the stretches of silence during the car journeys.

What do you think of the new girl? said Brody. It brought me back to the present.

Nice girl. said Fred, A bit young for us though.

Well, you can still window shop can't you?

I don't talk to her. It's not that I don't like her; I do. She's a pretty girl. No, stunning is the word. Maybe a bit on the young side. The main problem, though, is that if I tried to say anything to her, I'd get embarrassed - yes, even at my age - and it'd come out all wrong. The words would trip over themselves and spill out in a complete jumble. I'd sound like a moron. I have my pride and I wouldn't embarrass myself or the girl. So I nod and smile and make non-vocal, 'u-huh' sounds.

What about these terrorists then? said Brody changing the subject. They reckon they've got nukes. Got them from Pakistan.

Yeah, well, said Fred. They've been saying that for quite a while now. They'd have to build them and ship them round the world. How are a bunch of amateurs going to do that?

Fred was trying to apply Fred-logic to the world. Those guys didn't think like that. Our reasoning didn't apply. You could get caught out thinking that it was a game of cricket, or that the Queensbury Rules applied. Like we got caught out in the South Atlantic.

Anyway, said Brody, we'll be there in less than half-an-hour. What've you guys got lined up for today then?

Sitting in a circle looking gormless and pissing our pants, I would imagine, said Fred, ever the optimist.

I just shrugged. He was probably right. Only, we never got to find out.

A bright ball of fire rose silently into the sky on top of a pillar of flame. It didn't make a sound.

Shit! cried Fred.

What the ...? said a startled Brody.

Seconded. My heart sank. I'd hoped never to see that sight in my lifetime. Not for real anyway.

Four minutes, I managed to blurt out.

Chapter 2

What the hell was that? cried Brody. He slammed the brakes on and the car screeched to a stop.

Oh shit!, I thought, Four minutes and counting. What's he doing?

Go! I managed. I looked at Fred for backup.

Tommy's right, said Fred, picking up my cue. We shouldn't stop here. We need to get under cover.

Why? replied Brody. What do you know anyway? What the hell's happening?

Drive! shouted Fred. We haven't got time to discuss the world political map just now!

OK, keep your hair on. Oh, sorry, I forgot you haven't got any.

Three, I said. A strange calm had descended on me. I'd seen so much in my lifetime that, if the plug was pulled now, I'd say 'OK. Fair cop. I've had a good life.'

What are you saying now? said Brody.

I looked at him as though I wanted to kill him and he got the message.

OK, OK, he added. We're going.

We set off again. Time was getting tight. We desperately needed shelter.

Two. I said.

We were driving parallel to the motorway. I knew what I was looking for.

Then I saw it. I didn't have time to find the words, or to get Fred to articulate for me. I heaved on the handbrake and hauled the steering wheel to the left, pulling it out of Brody's hands.

What the hell! he shouted.

There! Go! I shouted back. I was getting the hang of these long sentences. ONE! I added for good measure.

Whatever ... he said and floored the accelerator. I think it was a tantrum, but I didn't care - we were going in the right direction, at the right speed.

Time was short. Very short. I wasn't sure of the exact as-the-crow-flies distance from London, but I estimated 75 miles. We needed to be under cover right now.

Then we were there. A motorway underpass. It had to do.

Here! I yelled. Here!

I yanked on the handbrake once more to emphasise my point. Brody gave me another one of those looks that could kill. Fortunately, Fred knew what was going on and jumped in.

We've got to stop. Here. Not much time.

What are you two old gits on about now?

I jabbed my finger at the right hand wall. The one to the south.

Pull in there, Fred said, urgently, by the wall. It'll be here any second.

He knew the score, did Fred. He'd been on the same gruelling route march to Port Stanley, all the time glancing at the sky, wondering if the big one was going drop.

OK, OK, said Brody. I'm doing it.

He swung over to the wall and stopped. Fortunately, he killed the engine before I had to tell him.

Windows! I yelled. At least that's what I intended to say. Fred told me later that I actually yelled 'shit-blow'. I'll have to take his word for that.

If the windows were shut when the pressure wave hit, they would shatter. I started frantically spinning my window winder and Fred got the idea. For a guy crippled with arthritis in his hands, he did a pretty good job.

It was time. Nothing. I listened. Silence. It could only be seconds away.

Then a sound like the mother of all thunderclaps hit us. A million roaring express trains. The contrast with the preceding stillness made it worse. I lunged forward and threw my hands over my head. I knew the whirling debris would be next. Fred made a passable attempt; he flung himself sideways onto the spare back seat. I didn't know what Brody did and I didn't care, not at the time.

Following the shockwave, which was probably doing over a thousand miles per hour when it hit us, came the lost sound - the sound from the fireball we hadn't heard. For a moment, I lost all reason and thought that the end of the world really had come.

Chapter 3

Despite my training, I'd never experienced anything quite like it. I thought the world itself was being torn apart atom-from-atom. Of course, part of it was; the part that used to be London.

The tumult went on for several seconds, with everything under the sun being thrown at and around us; all the rubble, debris, and anything that wasn't fixed down, was churning and spinning round in that concrete dungeon.

When it all died down, I sat up. I looked back at Fred, enquiringly.

Yep, I'm fine. Probably crapped my pants, but no damage.

Ex-squaddies: what can you do with them?

Brody took the cue. I'm OK too. But what the fuck was that?

Shockwave, said Fred.

Brody was about to restart the car.

Stay, I said. Negative shit.

Brody returned a baffled look.

Now, sometimes, maybe in the excitement of the moment, but then again maybe because my brain doesn't work properly, I say things and people don't fully understand what I'm on about. Often they don't get it at all. The words line up neatly in my head, all perfect and apposite, then when I let them out they magically transform into garbage. But Fred knows me well. Fred is attuned. He always knows what I'm saying.

We should wait, said Fred, translating for me. There'll be a negative pressure wave coming back any time now. We need to stay here, under cover.

No sooner had he said that than the train came rolling in backwards. It wasn't an express this time, maybe just heavy goods, but noisy and violent all the same.

Brody was white. Was that what I thought it was? he said.

Yup, I said, Nuke. I made the 'kapow' sound and did a mime for a mushroom cloud, just so that he got the picture.

London?

Perceptive or what?

I nodded.

It's very likely it was, said Fred from the back seat.

Everyone OK? said Brody, remembering his professional capacity as taxi driver.

I think so.

Thanks guys. I guess I owe you one. At least he had the decency to acknowledge our part in saving his worthless hide. Let's get out of here.

He turned the key. The engine started. I was relieved. It might not have. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Fred mouth the word 'Resistance?'

I nodded. He was probably right.

It was only when we drove out of that underpass that we realised just how lucky we'd been. The scene that greeted us was one of total devastation.

Is it safe? said a much meeker Brody. Will there be any more?

No, I said.

No more shockwaves, added Fred, but I don't know about safe. We're probably OK for now, but we ought to get somewhere soon. Get under cover.

But where?

Bloody youngsters, always wanting someone to lead them by the hand.

Centre? I ventured.

What? said Brody.

I was getting tired. The day had taken it out of me and my intelligibility was slipping.

Let's get to the Centre, said Fred. Where we were going before.

OK, said Brody. Seems logical. I'll just radio in first.

I just looked at Fred. He knew. But we let Brody find out. If we'd said anything, he wouldn't have believed us.

Forty five, he called into his radio. Can you hear me?

Nothing.

I just gazed up at the roof lining, waiting.

Forty five. Can you hear me? he repeated.

Nothing.

Must be a bad spot for the radio, he added. I'll move.

He put the car in gear and we moved off. The scene around us was like nothing we'd ever seen in England. Debris and rubble was strewn everywhere. Cars were overturned, some burned out or on fire. Some houses appeared structurally undamaged, but others were piles of bricks. Others had roofs torn off. None had glass in their windows. Garden sheds and conservatories were mostly shredded and piled up everywhere, with all the other debris.

No one was moving. The streets were deserted. Hiding. They had to be hiding. I probably would, given different circumstances. When the monster comes, you cower inside. When it goes away, you don't want to come out in case it comes back. Eventually, they'd venture out. They'd leave their houses and start asking for help. I had none to give. Nor did Fred. We had our own problems to deal with. Brody wouldn't anyway - being a miserable git.

We skirted the debris and reached open country. Brody accelerated and we made it to a local high spot. The scene was even less pretty from up there. I tried not to look. We were only there so that Brody could discover for himself, what we already knew.

Forty five, he called into his radio again. Come in. Can you hear me?

No, I said. Can't.

What? Don't be stupid. They're probably just busy, with all this ...

No. EMP.

What now?

Ah, EMP, said Fred, the light dawning. The training we'd had when we joined up, came back to him. They'd prepared us for World War III. Your radio's dead mate, he added. Electromagnetic pulse. Will have killed most electronic equipment, especially radios.

Under normal circumstances, we would have been much more tactful, but the fact that all this wasn't normal and Brody was acting like a belligerent child, made us a little more unsympathetic.

Nah! said Brody. Don't be daft. It's probably just reception. Maybe it's disturbed because of the blast.

Nope, said Fred. That was an air blast. EMP will have taken out everything within hundreds of miles.

Brody was still looking argumentative, but seemed to gradually realise that we were right.

I'll just use my mobile phone then, he said brightly.

I looked at Fred again. He met my gaze and shrugged. Bloody kids. What the hell do they know?

EMP, I sighed. I sounded like a parrot. Network?

Sorry mate, chipped in Fred, EMP will have taken that as well. Especially the network towers.

There might have been some hardened base stations dotted around, but under a state-of-emergency, which this no doubt was, they'd be under military control and we wouldn't have access to them. Nope, to talk to anyone, it'd have to be face-to-face.

Brody tried his mobile phone anyway. It was dead. He didn't even get to dialling a number. It was as lively as a brick.

Chapter 4

OK, he said. I give in. Let's go. Where to again?

Centre, I repeated. They'd have facilities there. Shelter. Besides, where else was there to go? And I wanted to get off the streets before the survivors started emerging and before the militia turned up, throwing their weight around.

Brody didn't say a word. He just grunted and flung the car into gear. So we drove away to see what was left of anything.

What started off, only two hours before, as a pleasant jaunt in the countryside, had been turned into a show of horrors. What before were green fields and trees-in-leaf, were now dust bowls and shredded stumps. The windowless houses were in various stages of destruction, depending on how well they were built. The old stone houses fared less badly than the modern timber framed matchboxes. The latter were reduced to piles of kindling wood. I fancied that I saw pale faces peering out of the gloom inside some of the ruins. I didn't want to hang around to find out.

Navigation was difficult. The familiar landmarks were now unfamiliar. GPS was no good. The satellites would still be up there, untouched by our predicament, but the satellite navigation units themselves were now little better than doorstops, courtesy of our friend EMP. In any case, the satellite signals would never penetrate the radioactive cloud that was spreading out over us.

When we arrived at Moorton Village, everything looked so different. With familiar landmarks gone, it was tricky working out where we were, but eventually we found the centre. By the time we got there, I was looking dead ahead only. I'd had enough of the new landscape. My poor brain could take no more.

We rolled into the u-shaped courtyard. For a moment, I thought that maybe all was well here; it looked relatively unscathed. The centre's minibus seemed intact. A number of cars were parked around and looked like they were untouched. But looking round, everything seemed too quiet and still. There was no movement inside - none of the usual telltales of activity. Brody pulled in next to the minibus.

I'll go and check in, said Brody. You two wait here.

As soon as he disappeared through