Survive the Darkness: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller Read online

  Max heard the footsteps behind him and sighed. He should’ve known this was all too easy, all too good to be true. He’d come in here, found more supplies than he was even hoping to find, and he’d just been about to lay some money on the counter—out of guilt more than anything.

  And now he was faced with the store’s owner. Or the shopkeeper at least, seeing as this was one of those mini supermarkets on the side of a petrol station.

  He turned around and saw the man standing there.

  He was an Asian guy. Tall. Quite thin.

  And he was holding something that made the hairs on Max’s arms stand on end.

  He had a machete in his hand.

  “Come on,” Max said. “There’s no need for—”

  “Don’t you tell me what there’s a need for when you’re in my shop, stealing from me.”

  “Last time I checked, this wasn’t your store,” Max said, knowing full well he was pushing his luck a little. “It’s a petrol station. Which means you have to take my money. And by the way, I wasn’t stealing. I was going to leave some cash on the counter. Right here, see?”

  The man stared through the darkness at Max. His nose twitched. And Max swore he heard movement on the other side of the shelves, too. Like someone was approaching that way. Ambushing him.

  “Don’t get cute with me,” the man said. “You put that rucksack down, and you leave right now, and nobody needs to get hurt.”

  Max saw the man holding the machete, and he felt torn. Because, on the one hand, he knew he had to be careful. This man looked reckless. Crazy.

  But on the other hand, he trusted his own instincts and his ability to fight. Even against a man wielding a machete.

  “I’ve got the money,” Max said. “Let me take these things and like you said. There doesn’t need to be trouble.”

  “Money?” the man spat. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You know as well as I do money’s worthless, now. You’ve seen it out there. If you weren’t at least somewhat smart about what’s going on, you wouldn’t be in here. You’d be out there panicking with everyone else. Biding your time, waiting for things to right themselves. But I’ve seen the sort of things you’ve picked off the shelves. I’ve seen the sort of supplies you’ve stuffed into that rucksack. You know what you’re doing. Exactly what you’re doing. So you’ll know also that I’m deadly serious when I tell you to get the hell out of my shop and put my supplies down before you do. Right now.”

  Max had to admit he was impressed, at least slightly. Impressed but also pissed that he’d happened upon a store where the guy working clearly knew a thing or two about what he was talking about. It looked like he saw the significance of the power outage. Of just how widespread the ramifications could be and how things could get really nasty really fast.

  But at the same time… he felt like there was only one solution here.

  “It looks like we’re at an impasse then, doesn’t it?” Max said.

  The man stayed still. Kept holding on to that machete. “Don’t push your luck, mate. Don’t try anything stupid. I’m warning you. If you take that stuff—”

  “And the power comes right back on; how are you going to explain that?”

  “Anything will be explainable,” the man said. “But let’s face it. We both know the power isn’t coming on any time soon.”

  Again, the guy had a point. It would be very hard for the police to arrest anyone for any kind of crime committed in this world. It would all be too easily covered up. The guy could just drag Max’s body outside and make it look like he’d died being hit by debris or anything.

  And Max knew what the sensible option was here.

  Put the stuff down.

  Try another store.

  But he wasn’t one to walk away from conflict.

  He took a deep breath, and he walked towards the man.

  “I’m going to leave fifty quid on the counter. It’s right there. Do with it what you want.”

  He kept walking.

  “And I’m going to leave the store right now. You’re not going to hurt me. You’ve got plenty here to get by. What I’ve taken isn’t excessive. But you might want to gather what you need and get the hell out of the city before you find yourself in trouble.”

  He stopped, right before the man.

  “I’m going to walk past you right now. And you’re not going to do a thing. Okay?”

  Max held eye contact with the guy.

  Watched him search his face.

  “I really didn’t want to do this,” the man said.

  He pulled back his machete.

  Went to swing it.

  And Max flipped.

  He pulled back his fist.

  Buried it in the man’s stomach.

  Hard.

  And then he grabbed his arm as the machete came flying down towards him.

  Kneed him in the balls.

  Headbutted him.

  Twisted his arm until it cracked and then grabbed the machete from his loose hand as he cried out.

  And then he sat over the man, machete raised in the air, and for a moment, he didn’t see the shopkeeper at all.

  For a moment, he saw the killer.

  He saw Kathryn.

  And he saw himself going into David’s bedroom.

  Finding him lying there in a pool of blood.

  The killer standing there, smile on his face.

  The anger and the pain and—

  “Please!”

  He heard that voice and looked down.

  Back in the room again. Back in the store again.

  The shopkeeper lying there beneath him, wincing, crying, tears in his eyes.

  “Please,” he said. “Just go. Just take it and go!”

  And Max felt bad as he crouched with the machete over him. Because he was close. Close to burying that blade into his neck. Close to killing him.

  Close to pouring all the rage he’d felt about his wife and son’s death, all those years ago, into this man—this man who was just trying to defend what he thought was his.

  Max lowered the machete. “I’m taking this too.”

  And then he stood up from the wincing man and rushed towards the door.

  “Keep the money,” Max said. “And get yourself away from here as quickly as you can. But a word of warning. Don’t fuck with anyone like that again. You won’t be so lucky next time.”

  Max turned around and stepped out of the store into the night.

  That’s when, just around the corner, he heard a woman’s scream.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Come the fuck back with my dog right now!”

  Aoife heard the shouts from the house, and she froze. Her heart raced. Adrenaline surged. Because this guy. He looked angry. Mad. And he looked like a piece of shit, too, to be quite frank.

  Gangly. Skinny. Dark circles under his eyes. Pale face. Looked like a junkie.

  “You think you can just walk into my yard and steal from me ’cause the lights are out, you posh bitch?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I saw you. I see people like you all the time. Looking down yer noses at us. Judging us. About time you were taught a lesson.”

  “I saw your dog barking,” Aoife said, adrenaline surging, survival instincts taking hold. “I didn’t know there was anybody home. I thought it needed help. So I let him free.”

  The guy shook his head. He was the kind of guy who couldn’t be reasoned with; that much was for sure. His eyes, illuminating in the light of the moon, looked distant. Like he was high as a kite. He reeked of weed, too.

  But the main thing that caught Aoife’s attention was how the dog was acting.

  It stood back. Cowered, ears turned back. Docked tail tucked in. And right by her side. Not in a hurry to get back to its owner. Which was what worried her. Because usually, a dog was loyal to its owner. So loyal, through all kinds of traumas.

  But this dog looked like it didn’t want to go anywhere near its owner.

  “Rex?”
the bloke said. “Come the fuck here right now.”

  But the dog—Rex—didn’t budge. He just stood there. Tilted his head either side. Whined. Clearly not comfortable.

  And now Aoife was closer to the dog she could see the markings on his back more.

  The sores where some of his fur had been burned away, presumably by cigarettes.

  The sight of his spine through his skin.

  He looked mistreated. Malnourished.

  And he definitely didn’t look in a hurry to get back to his owner.

  “Oi!” the man shouted. “Get the fuck back here. Now!”

  And Aoife worried that his dog’s reluctance was making things worse. Like the dog was insulting him, right before them both.

  She watched as the dog, Rex, walked slowly back towards his owner.

  Watched him, head lowered, eyes wide.

  And she wondered what kind of a life he was going back to. What kind of hell he was going to face for daring to walk away, daring to abandon his owner.

  She thought about it all when she felt a sudden strength.

  She wasn’t sure whether it was the adrenaline. She wasn’t sure where it came from.

  But it was that deep sense of strength inside her that made her stand up.

  “He’s coming with me,” Aoife said.

  The bloke stopped. Frowned. “You what? Why the fuck are you even still here?”

  Aoife’s heart raced. She didn’t know what she was doing or why she was doing this, only that she had to do something. “The dog. Rex. He’s clearly mistreated by you. And he clearly doesn’t want to be with you. I’m—I’m not letting him go back with you.”

  The man smirked. Shook his head. “Oh yeah? And how do you plan on stopping me taking my own fucking dog back home, eh?”

  She swallowed a lump in her throat.

  “Rex?” she said. “Come here, boy.”

  Rex turned around in an instant.

  His ears rose.

  His little docked tail wagged.

  And he ran over to Aoife’s side.

  She looked at the man standing there. Wide-eyed. His mouth moving, but no words coming out.

  “Looks like he’s made his choice,” Aoife said.

  She stood there with Rex by her side, and she felt a sense of panic creeping up inside. Because this guy. He’d been rejected. Rejected by his own dog. And truth be told, Aofie figured that would hurt him more than actually losing his dog. The fact he’d been embarrassed. Embarrassed by an outsider.

  And that built Aoife’s sense of urgency.

  Her need to get the hell away from here.

  Fast.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said. “We’re going to go now.”

  She turned around and went to walk when she felt a hand grab her hair and yank it back tight.

  Instinctively, and something she wasn’t proud of, she let out a cry.

  The man tightened his grip on her hair and whispered into her ears with his sickly breath. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Max heard the shout from up the road, and he froze.

  It was dark. Pitch black. The air was cold, but Max felt boiling hot. He had the machete in his hand, and he knew how ominous that would make him look, right in the middle of the street. He was still reeling a little from the stand-off with the guy working in the store. How close he’d been to burying the machete into his neck, to getting revenge for what happened to him three years ago, just on the wrong guy.

  He thought he’d controlled his anger. Thought he’d managed it.

  But he was starting to wonder if he’d just buried it, after all.

  That shout. A woman. And the sound made him shiver. Because it made him think of how Kathryn must’ve shouted when the bloke stepped into their house that night when he was finishing work late.

  The bloke he’d arrested a few times.

  The bloke whose girlfriend he’d arrested.

  The bloke who’d hunted his family down and killed them, and then smiled as Max stood over their bodies…

  He heard that shout echoing around his skull, and he wanted to go and help.

  But then he lowered his head and sighed.

  He needed to get the hell away from here. He needed to get back home—fast. He’d already run into trouble in the store. Definitely didn’t want to be taking any more chances.

  He went to walk when he heard another shout.

  He stopped.

  That shout, it sounded just like Kathryn.

  So much like her that it could be her.

  He stood there, tensing his fists, shaking.

  Just walk away, Max. Just walk away. It isn’t your business to get involved in. It…

  “Please,” the woman shouted.

  And that’s what made Max turn around.

  Please.

  The same word Kathryn had said to him when she’d asked him to check on David.

  When she’d begged him to save his life.

  He heard that word, and he knew he couldn’t walk away, not anymore.

  He walked. Walked fast. And then he started running. A sense of urgency he couldn’t even describe building up inside.

  He knew he should turn away. He knew he should run. He knew he had no business getting involved in any of this.

  But right now, he felt like he was on rails.

  Like he had no choice.

  Like instinct was driving him.

  He reached the road where he’d heard the cry, and he saw a scene before him.

  A woman was on her knees. A man was dragging her away. Beside them both, a dog, who looked a bit nervous about the whole endeavour.

  “Come on,” the bloke said, facing the other way, pulling her by her hair. “You’re so keen on my dog then you can fucking come home with us.”

  The dog growled.

  The man turned on it, spat at it. “And you’re in deep shit, too, you little mutt.”

  The dog cowered, but then it followed.

  And just watching this all transpire, Max once again felt that sense he shouldn’t be here. That this wasn’t his fight. That he was involving himself in unnecessary drama and should stay well away.

  But then he saw the way this woman was struggling—fighting but struggling—and he knew he couldn’t just walk.

  “Leave her alone,” Max said.

  The man stopped. Turned around. Glared at him. The woman opened her eyes, still trying to fight her way through, not giving up.

  “You what?” the man said.

  Max stood there. Heart pounding. Machete in his sweaty palms. “I told you to leave her alone. And leave the dog alone, too. Clearly doesn’t want to be anywhere near you.”

  The man let go of the woman. Tossed her to the road. He walked towards Max, laughing. “What the fuck is it with you people today? You got a death wish or something, buddy?”

  “No,” Max said. And then he did something he knew would be risky. He raised the machete. “But if you step a single step closer to me, you’re in deep shit. Let her go. Let the dog go. And we’ll be done here.”

  The man stopped for a moment. Shook his head.

  And then he walked towards Max.

  “See, I don’t believe you,” he said. “Not a posh fucker like you. I mean, you’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think you’d do a thing. None of you would. Not really. This bitch here, she tried to steal my dog. She’s a stuck-up cow, and she’ll pay for it.”

  “No,” Max said, calmly as ever. “She won’t. And I think the dog’s better off without you judging by the condition it’s in, anyway.”

  The man stepped right up to Max. Shook his head.

  “Not a step closer,” Max said.

  “Lower the machete, dickhead. Come on. Look at the size of you next to me. It’s not like you need it, is it?”

  Max figured the guy had a point.

  He lowered the machete.

  “Why can’t we just have a conversation here?�
� the bloke said. “No need to get all fucking violent. You don’t know the full story.”

  “I don’t need to know the full story. I can see it with my own eyes.”

  “We’re all in the shit. And this girl, whether you like it or not, she was stealing my dog. You can’t just go around doing shit like that. I’m not a bad guy. The dog. Rex. Rescue dog. Went through shit before me.”

  “He’s lying,” the woman said.

  “Shut up,” the man said, spinning around to her, his composure slipping right away. And then he took another step towards Max, returning his focus. “Come on. Let’s not get dramatic here. Leave me be. Walk away. It ain’t your business, buddy. It ain’t your fight.”

  And Max heard the guy. He heard him, and he hated to admit it, but he was right.

  It wasn’t his business.

  Wasn’t his fight.

  He looked beyond the man at the woman on the road.

  Then at the dog.

  He wanted to step in.

  Wanted to help them.

  He gritted his teeth, looked at the man opposite, and he turned away.

  “Good move,” the man said.

  That’s when Max felt a smack over his head.

  When he tumbled to the road.

  Heard the dog barking.

  Turned around and saw the guy standing over him.

  Baseball bat in hand.

  Smile on his face.

  The machete on the ground and out of reach.

  “Shoulda just walked away,” the bloke said, lifting the baseball bat. “Shoulda just gone when you had the chance.”

  He went to swing the baseball bat towards Max’s head.

  And then Max heard a massive thump.

  He lifted his hand instinctively. Expected the pain of the baseball bat to split through his already aching head.

  But then he realised he hadn’t felt a thing.

  He opened his eyes. Looked up.

  And that’s when he saw him.

  The man. The thug who’d dragged the woman away then attacked him.

  He was bleeding from his head.

  He fell, flat, on the road, right beside Max.

  And right behind him, Max saw the woman. Bloodied brick in her hand.

  Her eyes were wide. She looked frozen. Frozen in time. Like she couldn’t actually believe what she’d just done.