The Ash

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room.

Silence. Nothingness. The World had been, and now it wasn’t. At least, it wasn’t the World as it was…

The Ash, in some places, ten metres deep, swathed what was once London. Swathed, the entirety of Earth.

Terrible decisions, made by terrible leaders had caused this devastation. Childish words hurled across the world wide web by foolish, grasping man-children had caused this, this nothingness.

The dreams of billions snuffed out thanks to the egos of the few. And let’s not forget, the few had, for the most part, been voted into power by the billions. Naïve, stupid, fear-lead billions.

And now, who knew if anyone had survived, if anything had survived?

The Ash, if you didn’t know it was made up of people, animals, everything, looked like snow, untouched, fresh snow.

Beautiful.

Marny stood riveted to the spot, her eyes raking the untouched vista. She’d been wanting and not wanting to look out of the window for weeks, maybe months, who knew? They’d been told to stay inside, stay ‘safe’, whatever that meant, when the entire world was going to shit on a high speed fucking train! One minute everything was perfectly ‘normal’ and then, well, then it wasn’t. It was as far from any known normal that she could have imagined.

The last time she’d looked out of that window, out of any window, was when she saw a Boeing 747 fall, nose first into what might have been Shoreditch. The truly terrifying thing was she’d already seen it happen, in a dream, years before. She hadn’t wanted to risk even another peep.

Dave had been great, at first. Stoic, organised, practical, despite the sheer horror of it all. Despite not being able to get in touch with any members of their families since a week before the end of everything, he’d been her rock. Despite him telling her he was no longer in love with her, of course he still loved her, was still her best friend, but just not IN love with her anymore, there he was, solid, dependable Dave.

Hate is a strong word, it wasn’t hate per se that Marny was feeling, it was evisceration, sadness, heart crunching sadness peppered with a healthy dose of grating anger.

Stuck in his house, with his stuff, him, for fuck knows how long, possibly forever, all the while knowing he wasn’t IN love with her anymore. FUCK!

She lied to him, said she felt the same. The lie almost permeated her own psyche, she very nearly believed her own stinking lie herself. But she, Marny, was still in-love with Dave and her heart was in smithereens. Shit, shit, shitty shits!

Marny tore her eyes away from the oddly comforting, and disturbing sight, deciding to try the old fashioned radio, again. It would be the gazillionth attempt but she held hope, like an eggshell in her palm, that this time was THE time. Twizzling the dials left & right, furiously at first then slowly, deliberately, millimetre by agonising millimetre. Come on, come on, just an iota of a clue as to what was going on would be wondrous, even if it was awful. Just to hear another live human speaking would be bliss to her.

She had vividly remembered reading ‘Children of the Dust’ at school and being too scared to sleep for months. Terrible images pervaded her sleeping hours then, when she was fifteen or so. Now they had managed to infiltrate her unconscious, and to be fair, her conscious mind again.

Nuclear war, she had reasoned with her fifteen year old self, wouldn’t and couldn’t happen. Who would be so stupid as to even consider it? Many, it transpired. Now, the anger she felt for these so-called humans was almost uncontainable, she felt it in every fibre of her being. It was a lively, sparking thing, crackling through her nervous system, not unlike a nuclear reaction, she realised, and a laugh escaped her. An actual laugh, fuck, she’d forgotten she was capable of such a thing.

Dave was sitting reading something hard-backed and tome-like. He didn’t look too well, she noted. That scared her and in that moment the fear rocked her, constricted her throat, left her gasping for breath, her heart racing. Without her Dave… without Dave, what would she do?

Breathe Marny, breathe.

They had systematically sealed up the house. Every last gap had been filled with Polyfiller then taped over with industrial strength gaffer tape, the outside variety. Nothing was getting in. They’d stockpiled food, loo roll, necessities, over the past few years at Dave’s place. It was much bigger than her Hoxton flat and situated on Highbury Hill, posh! Inside was lined with row upon row of non-perishables, it was like the interior of one of those homes on TV programmes about hoarders, maze-like. Marny knew how 'lucky' they were, they had enough to survive for years. Seriously though the apoca-choc reserves had been high, emphasis on ‘had’. She honestly didn’t know what to expect in this strange new world, would there ever be chocolate again? If she suited-up (Dave had managed to get his hands on some sort of industrial strength hazmat suits, no idea how or where from) and went out, would she find chocolate? Her mind racing she fleetingly saw herself as Juliette Binoche in 'Chocolat' after somehow locating cocoa and reintroducing the poor unfortunate souls who had survived to the delights of of delicious, creamy chocolate...

Focus Marny, focus...

Static, bloody static, white effing noise to match the white expanse of outside. And then, a snippet of a voice. A woman's voice. Marny almost dropped the radio, shouting for Dave to listen too. It was faint and crackly but definitely another human was alive. Marny whooped, joy slapped her in the face, she danced in a wild and manic frenzy before looking at Dave. Colour had drained from his face, he looked old she realised, he looked grey. Her dancing abruptly stopped she fell to her knees next to him. Dave, oh Dave.

You know those moments when reality hits home like a sledgehammer? This was that. Fuck! The enormity of the situation hurtled toward her, unstoppable, cruel and hard. He was going to die, she was going to have to bury him and hope she didn't get sick too. She'd read the pamphlets, all the information she could about radiation sickness. Gods! They'd been so well prepared, so bloody chuffed with themselves and it was all going to be for nothing, Dave was going to die an awful, agonising death and she was going to have to witness it. Shit!

Did they have enough batteries for the radio? Because there was no freakin' way she was changing that channel, not a chance. She hoped there would be clues as to where this person was and that she could somehow get to them. Marny was a determined woman and she wasn't about to let Dave's imminent demise stop her from living. Maybe he would survive. No, that was looking less likely by the second, he was very, vey ill and Marny thought that he knew that too. Oh man, what a nightmare.

Dave knew, he knew he was not long for this strange new world and part of him was completely relieved. Who wanted to survive in this catastrophe? What would be the point?

Marny's joy at hearing another living soul pissed him off, she was always so fucking positive. Well, no, that wasn't strictly true, she had been terrified when it all began, when she saw the plane seemingly fall out of the sky and nose dive into East London, and no wonder, it had been terrifying, he too had been horrified. He had vividly remembered Marny telling him of the dream that had woken her from sleep five or so years ago. She had been screaming in her sleep then woken up and sat bolt upright her heart hammering against her chest like she'd been running. She had said then that it felt different, like it had happened. She had said it was crystal clear, sharp edged like it was in HD but in her dream she'd been looking out of a window.

Gods he felt like shite, as if his insides were liquefying and he wanted to rive off his own skin it was so itchy. Marny kept looking at him, checking on him, he could see the haunted shadow cross her eyes, the gut wrenching realisation that whatever happened to him, whenever it happened, she was going to have to deal with it. She'd possibly, no definitely, go outside and leave his body there under the ash, another life snuffed out thanks to the nutters who ruled the Earth. She'd then get enough supplies together, suit up and leave the relative safety of his house. He looked at her then, this woman he loved, that he had once absolutely adored heart and soul, and she seemed at once both tiny and powerful, filled with a fierce will.

"He...ello... ca...n anyone hear this br..oadcast?" the woman's voice brought Marny careering back to the moment. ‘I can hear you’ she thought. She also wondered what the point was of asking that question, it wasn't as if any telecoms device worked anymore. Was she supposed guess the direction of the broadcast? She would just have to just listen 24/7 for clues.

They had moved almost everything into the living room to keep the place warm but with Dave now wasting away, continually vomiting and heartbreakingly ghoulish she wanted to to run away from him not to abandon him, this man she loved the bones of, but because it was too much to bear witness to his struggles.

In a moment, a flash, she decided to numb his pain and bust out the stashes of whiskey, champagne, cognac, the good stuff. One last drink to the life they might have had, to the dream that was doomed not to be.

Dave was barely conscious now as she unscrewed the bottle of Green Spot pouring them both a generous measure but he could make out a vague outline of her face, her green eyes rimmed with red and leaking tides of tears down her usually smiling cheeks. Marny lifted the glass to his lips and the smooth fire glided over his tongue deliciously burning his throat and he hoped that this he could keep down, it was so perfectly warm. The fuzziness the Green Spot induced was perfection for his end.

Marny held Dave's cold hand, shaking uncontrollably. She'd played this moment over and over in her head for weeks and stupidly thought she wouldn't cry, that she'd hold it together. Well that was stupid wasn't it? Of course she wasn't going to hold it together. This was fuckery of the highest order, and now, now she was on her own.

After sitting like that for hours, a strange calm washed over her and she stood up. Wash, pack, be ready. Dave had a collection of bushcraft knives and axes, they were coming with her, she'd watched enough zombie and dystopian films to know a woman needed to be able to defend herself in such situations. How much moisturiser could she pack? She had anxiety dreams about running out of moisturiser if she had to pack a bag and go on the run, this was like that wasn't it? But in this reality she was just on her own. She found a wind-up radio and located the station with the woman talking on it, fashioned a cord so as to have it hanging round her neck.

First, she needed to get that hazmat suit on and bury Dave. Somewhere where the ash was deep.