When Darkness Falls: An EMP Thriller by Ryan Casey

Author:Ryan Casey [Casey, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Higher Bank Books
Published: 2017-09-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

The man was called Stuart, and he was a prepper.

I looked around this living room of his, mouth agape. It wasn’t any ordinary living room. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And by the looks of things, it hadn’t been anywhere near “ordinary” for a long time.

The room was stacked to the brim with all kinds of bird cages and aluminium wrapping. Some of the foil had been pulled away, and I could see electronics inside, like torches, walkie-talkies, portable radios, watches.

And the most remarkable thing about the items I could see?

Those watches were ticking.

They were working.

Stuart had prepared for the worst, and he’d been justified in his preparation.

I looked at Stuart, my mouth still dry and my body eager for water. He didn’t look anything remarkable, as he stood there in the darkness of this room, torch in hand. I could’ve passed him in the street and barely paid any attention to him, he was that inconspicuous. And yet…

I looked at the shotgun in his hand and I wondered just how many more people were out there in the world, like him.

“And I thought I was ready for the end,” I muttered.

Stuart snorted. He barely made eye contact with me, clearly something he wasn’t too comfortable with now I was out of my ties. “Should see the kitchen. Filled to the brim with food supplies, enough to last a good few months. In fact, you must be hungry, right?”

I nodded. I was, of course. But at the same time, I wanted to just stand in here and listen to what Stuart had to say about the items he had, and understand how he’d got to such a state.

He took me through to the kitchen and made me a big bowl of porridge over a portable stove he had. As I tucked into it, I felt myself salivating. I hadn’t realised just how starving I was until I’d started eating. The oats, the raisins… all of it was so delicious, even if it was a little clumpy.

“So how long have you been… well, prepping, I guess?”

Stuart looked over his shoulder as he stood by the kitchen door, shotgun still in his arms. He looked awfully twitchy for a man sitting on a castle of delights.

“Since my wife died. So… so four years, I guess.”

My stomach sank. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too. Love of my life, Mary was. Met her at work. Figured she was alright when she lent me 50p for the coffee machine and didn’t ask for it back. It just kind of went from there, really.”

I swallowed another mouthful of porridge. “What happened? If you… if you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Stuart shrugged, like it was no big deal to him, even though it clearly was. “It was sudden. Brain aneurysm. In a way, that’s what made it worse. The fact that one day she was up and running and healthy as can be. The next…”

He closed his eyes and shuddered.

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