Welcome to the apocalypse Read online

  WELCOME TO THE APOCALYPSE

  By Lee Kerr

  Copyright © Lee Kerr 2016

  www.leekerr.net

  The right of Lee Kerr to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  ISBN 978-1-326-54388-4

  This electronic novel is entirely a work of fiction. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written consent from the author.

  “It is perfectly true, as philosophers say, that life must be understood backwards. But they forget the other proposition, that it must be lived forwards.”

  Søren Kierkegaard

  Danish philosopher, theologian and poet.

  May 1813 – Nov 1855

  STORIES

  1. To shop, to drop

  2. Your money means nothing

  3. Beg, buy, but never borrow

  4. All that is so obviously hidden

  5. What is truth if not real?

  6. Do not disturb

  7. In all but the darkness

  8. The enduring inevitability of corporations and cockroaches

  9. That secret slice of life

  10. Welcome to the apocalypse

  To shop, to drop

  Saturday 13th August – London

  ‘Why are we here again?’ she asks, as they walk towards Big Blue.

  ‘I don't wanna go and Jade don't wanna go, neither. There’s nowt we need,’ Cortnee says, her arms flapping by her side.

  ‘And nowt we can afford, anyways,’ Jade says.

  Mum quickly clips Cortnee around the ear, although it’s less of a slap and more of a tickle, on account of the child being considerably taller, and by Mum’s own admission, her big, fat chicken wings are not able to lift up much these days.

  ‘Your Ashley needs a new mattress. He's pissed enough in the last one.’

  His two sisters point at him, making it clear where their laughter is directed. Ashley says nothing. He walks forward, his head bowed down and his shoulders hunched forward as he tries to block out his horrible siblings’ howls, which echo around the empty car park.

  ‘Meatballs,’ Dad says.

  Mum looks at him, her fists clenched, her head shaking. She knew it was coming and yet she can still feel the anger stirring deep within her. She takes a deep breath, which must never be mistaken as a sign of forgiveness, or even any level of understanding, but rather a chance to ever-so-slightly calm her frayed nerves. ‘Yeah, we'll get you some bloody meatballs.’

  ‘We have to get ‘em here because yours are so shit!’ Ashley shouts and starts running, ever so slowly, knowing she will give chase but entirely confident she won’t ever catch him.

  And sure enough, Mum breaks into a small run and pursues him for a second a two, just until her back starts to hurt or her knees start to ache, or her boobs begin chafing against that cheap, ill-fitting bra. The reason barely matters in the shadow of her obvious lack of willingness to continue. She puts her hands on her knees, her back bent over, not sure where the pain is coming from, as she looks around at the two girls who are still laughing. She looks at Dad who, in her opinion, ain’t doing nothing worth doing. ‘Mine not good enough for you, eh?’ she asks.

  He doesn’t say anything, just shrugs his shoulders and walks through the entrance. The girls run in and Mum takes up the rear, counting up how much is in her purse, knowing they will just about be able to afford the meatballs, but it will be just one refillable juice to share between the kids and one coffee for the adults. Anything else they want will have to be swiped, and the only thing that will go through the tills will be Ashley’s new mattress.

  If Ashley pisses on this one too she has said he will go back to nappies, because it’s getting stupid now, she thinks. After all, whoever has heard of a fifteen year old lad having to wear nappies? But then again, who ain’t thinking it’s gross that he’s still pissing in his bed when he’s so close to being a proper man.

  Hypnotherapy could cure it, the consultant had said. Hypnowhat? My ass, she had thought. We can’t be affording that, and besides ain’t nothing a wipe down mattress protector can’t fix, at a fraction of the price of some posh doctor, she reckoned.

  And so, as Mum closes her purse and pushes her husband onto the escalator, telling him it ain’t nothing to be worrying him, it is only Ashley who stops to think. He stands at the entrance and looks around the car park, all the time thinking that he has never seen this place so empty. Sure, it’s early in the morning but there should still be people in the outdoor car park. He knows the multi-storey don’t be filling up unless the rain comes or there is a queue for the surface one. But there are always the keen people who want to do all them home improvements at the weekend. Ashley thinks that one fine day he might come here as one of them, and not as part of this family outing. They always come here early, before there is too many staff on shift, meaning that their swearing and swiping is likely to be spotted.

  As he moves up the escalator he can’t help but think that this place is not like it normally is, and there aren’t many other customers or staff members inside, either. He runs to catch up with his family, his mum is still shouting at his sisters.

  ‘Mum,’ he says, hoping she’ll listen to him, just this once. ‘The telly was saying we should stay indoors today. Don’t you think we should maybe listen to what they is saying?’

  She stops and looks up at him, and for a second he thinks he might have actually got her attention. She holds his gaze as he watches her eyes for any hint of understanding. She stares back at him, as if she is actually thinking about this as a genuine problem. But she says nothing and eventually pushes out her backside, releasing a loud, prolonged fart – one of those very satisfying sorts that gets both ass cheeks flapping together. ‘That’s what I think of that bollocks virus shit they’re talking about.’

  The girls start laughing, and then, once they get wind of the deathly rat smell, start running. Ashley looks at his dad but he don’t have nothing to say other than the usual: ‘meatballs.’

  Mum smacks dad hard around the face but he doesn’t move, so she smacks him again. ‘You’ll get your fucking meatballs when we’ve got this little pisser’s mattress sorted and not a minute before.’

  His dad still doesn’t move, not even to tense his arms. Ashley still remembers the days when his dad would come home and hear about whatever shit him or his sisters had caused their overworked mother that day. He would calmly listen to her for barely a minute, nodding all the time, before he would throw whatever child was most guilty over his knee. Ashley was often the easy target, being the only boy, so whenever he took his punishment he would watch his old man’s muscles flex and his tattoos grow, like they were swelling with such purpose, wanting his kids to be better than he had ever been. Ashley wanted muscles like that, but he always wanted to do something better with them.

  ‘Can't we go straight to the good stuff?’ Cortnee says.

  ‘Yeah, the stuff that’s ripe for the picking,’ Jade says, licking her lips. ‘Look, there’s like hardly any staff on duty.’

  Mum makes a swing for one of them, either of them, but misses both. ‘Yeah and there’s no fucking customers about neither, so we bloody wait until this place fills up. You know I can’t afford to get caught again.’ She pushes forward, forcing the family to follow. They didn’t dare to be separated in public. ‘I wanna look around, anyway. If we get that pay out from your dad
’s accident then we’re gonna do the whole house up.’

  ‘And what about them council vouchers?’ Jade says.

  ‘You can piss right off if you think we is using them in ‘ere. If we ever get them I’m getting the bathroom done but it ain’t gonna be this posh.’

  ‘Why are we looking around in this bit then?’ Ashley asks, rubbing his eyes, trying to wake himself up, knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it come from his mother. ‘This stuff won't be here next year, anyway.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Mum says. ‘It’s all the same shit, so we’re looking around the whole place and I don’t wanna hear any more moans. I’ve been standing up all week in the chippie, so today I’m gonna chill and you bastard kids are gonna behave! Are you getting me?’

  And so each of them nod in turn, as the family start their journey, snaking their away around living rooms and then towards bedrooms. The girls sit on every sofa and lie on every bed, making sure that they rip anything they really like, always hopeful they’ll see it in the reduced section next week. As they do so, their mum reminds them that if they get caught they should say the security guard touched them. As Ashley blocks out this usual chatter he looks around, seeing that he can count the number of staff in here on one hand, all of them wearing worried expressions, and this time he doesn’t think it’s his family visit that’s got them all flustered.

  *****

  The police car speeds through the streets quicker than any of the four officers have ever known before. Despite having a combined sixty years of experience, none of them can ever recall a time when they made it around the A406 so quickly, and especially without a few near misses along the way. But today is different, as if half-term has been combined with a day where England are playing in the World Cup – that’s the only combination of things that could ever clear the usual, grinding congestion from this inner London road.

  Luke starts to wonder whether maybe all Saturdays in the summer months are like this. He sits quietly, keeping a tight hold of the handrail, as the car swerves around the corners, far quicker than he’s used to. Although the officers in the car have vast combined experience, his own makes up less than ten percent of this total; he’s still in his first year as an armed police officer, but he already knows he’s enjoying it far more than his previous beat around Wembley and Ealing High streets.

  This job still fills him with excitement. No, that’s not the right word. It’s more like adrenaline mixed with slight fear; a sense that the unknown is waiting for him each time they speed off. Sure, you still have to do the regular stuff – the traffic violations and the petty theft – but then you get to carry two weapons; solid steel instruments, at your side, ready to obey your every command. He’s still to do it, still waiting to shoot someone. Maybe he’ll never get the chance, and although he won’t admit it to his sergeant or any of his colleagues, he feels that to never unleash this power on another person would, in some way, be a real shame.

  Of course he means to let it loose on a bad person; someone entirely deserving of the cold touch of steel with skin, all from his steady aim. He wonders if today might be the day; there’s certainly a different buzz on this shift, a feeling that something is looming, something that none of them can quite get a handle on.

  Every officer in his station has been called into work, so he knows that something big is happening. The briefing seemed deliberately vague, telling them their task today would most likely be urban pacification. When they left the station he noticed that half of the officers were being kitted out in riot gear, and everyone knows that when that happens, the press will be all over it in hours.

  ‘Okay, remember to keep a low profile,’ his Sergeant shouts from the front passenger seat.

  Before Dave has even finished talking, Luke gives a quick nod. He listens intently, filtering out all the radio chatter and the blasts from the siren, so he can hear every word from his boss, an experienced police officer who has been in the force for years. He’s one of the best, Luke assures himself. Nothing seems to panic him and you know that if he feels the need to start shooting then you just aim at whoever he’s pointing at and let rip.

  ‘We set ourselves up in strategic points and let the beat officers take all the attention. We expect the streets to be clear this morning but eventually the curiosity will get the better of most people, especially when they see all this activity on the news, so just be ready.’

  ‘And what exactly are we getting ready for?’ Mike asks, from beside Luke.

  Dave looks ahead, no doubt checking that they are on a straight road, and when he sees that the next few seconds are clear he turns himself around fully, letting him see the whites of their eyes. ‘I don’t know what we’re getting ready for. You know what I know, and that’s as good as today gets.’

  ‘So this could be a training exercise, for all we know?’ Mike asks, looking at Luke and then back to Dave. Mike asks more questions and gives more opinions than most of the guys Luke has worked with so far, which he thinks might be because of his age, as well as that thing you often hear that he has ‘been there, done that and never got the promotion.’

  Dave looks back at Mike, but he doesn’t really nod or shake his head; he just stares at him. ‘That’s what you want it to be, and that’s what I want it to be, but the reality might just be something different, so you just remember that.’

  Mike nods and then shrugs his shoulders. ‘Sure, boss.’

  The car suddenly takes a left turn, leaving the longest convoy of police cars Luke has ever seen. He watches as a couple of cars turn with them whilst the rest speed ahead, all of them looking like they’re bumper to bumper. Luke can’t even see the first car anymore but it has been replaced by identical blue and white cars, which are followed by many ambulances, moving a little slower, but just as determined to get to somewhere.

  ‘This is no training exercise,’ Mike says, speaking only to Luke, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘There’s no way we’ve got the money for this to be some sort of training day. We didn’t even get this paranoid during the Olympics or the jubilee, or the NATO Summit.’

  Luke stares at Mike but he doesn’t know what to say, what else he can add.

  Mike simply grins back. ‘Not even the royal wedding got this much attention.’

  Luke looks forward, thinking only about his training, reminding himself that there is no difference between an exercise and a real life need to fire a weapon. ‘We will do whatever we need to do,’ he says.

  Mike laughs. ‘I can tell you’re still a newbie. You actually think we’re doing something noble that also happens to pay the bills.’

  The car comes to a halt and Dave leans around again. ‘Right, you two get out here and set up a control point. Give it one sweep of the area and then base yourselves with whatever uniformed arrive shortly. Keep channel one open at all times and report anything suspicious.’

  Luke gets out of the car as Dave puts down his window. ‘We’ll be two blocks away and if it gets nasty out there just remember that you control the situation.’

  Luke nods, taking hold of the steel object draped around his shoulders. As the car speeds off he checks the safety catch for the hundredth time today. He also checks he still has his side arm, as if it could actually just disappear. After a few seconds he remembers to check for Mike, and finds him standing behind him, laughing and shaking his head.

  ‘It’s nice of you to remember me,’ Mike says, before marching forward towards the biggest building in the immediate area.

  Luke quickly follows him, wishing that he was with Dave, wishing he was with anyone but Mike. He breaks into a short run, just so he can get close enough to visually inspect Mike’s weapons, and he sees that his rifle already has the safety off.

  Mike catches Luke looking at him but he doesn’t rectify his blatant breach of procedure. ‘Today is no training exercise, and today is not going to end well.’

  *****

  ‘I like this one,’ Mum says, sitting on a sofa and looki
ng at each of the kids as they stand around, tapping on their phones and playing with their hair. ‘What do you lot think?’

  No one answers. Not Dad, not the girls and especially not Ashley. He just wants to get his mattress and get back home, hopefully grabbing some tinned food and bottled water on the way. That’s what the news people have been telling everyone to do. Whatever is happening, it is the only thing on his phone. All the different apps have been telling him the same thing: get indoors and stay there.

  Mum huffs at the lack of response and it’s Dad who gets the slap. ‘Well your ass seems to be liking it, don’t it?’ she says to him.

  The kids all laugh, pointing at their dad’s fat ass spread out across the crack somewhere between the two large cushions. He looks up, catching the eyes of each of them in turn, but he has nothing to say.

  Mum fills the silence with another long fart until her bowels have been emptied of all available air. The pungent scent gets muffled by the immense stretch of fabric underneath, but eventually reaches its victims nonetheless. She gives a satisfied grin, like she’s marking her territory. ‘Beans for breakfast do the trick nicely.’

  All the family laugh again, even Dad this time. This faint hum slips out of the side of his mouth for just a moment, just long enough for him to be recognisable from that previous life.

  ‘Let’s see them greedy bastards sell this now,’ Mum says, holding out her hand.

  Ashley does his duty and pulls her up, hoisting her out of yet another piece of furniture that they won’t be buying until Dad gets himself back into a job, which looks like it will be sometime close to never.

  ‘Don’t like it anyway,’ she says. ‘That colour looks like dog-shit-brown to me.’ She crinkles her nose as she starts down the long path towards bedrooms, with dining and casual chairs still to get through. The family follow, the two daughters heaving their dad out of his comfy chair. He would have told them he had enjoyed that, if he could just have found the right words.