Short Story Collection

After Day Zero

Some said it was aliens, but I don't buy it. I know that human stupidity can screw up the world. 

And now it has.

My name is Izzy by the way. Izzy Hannah Julivan, not that it matters.

I live in London. Or, what's left of it, at least. I barely even remember 'The Earth That Was', before Day Zero, the day it all started, when the city was more than a silent pile of rubble and crumbling buildings, flashing with colourful advertisements and so crowded it gave you a headache. I also hear about how most of the rest of the world is a barren, uninhabitable wasteland, with the rivers stained grey with radioactive chemicals and air so polluted we need masks just to breath.

Not that London is much better.

---------------------

Sometimes, I feel as though I am alone in the universe.

I know that's stupid. They can't have killed everyone, because the last person alive would be anything but me, a teenage girl who only survived out of sheer luck. 

I'm still not sure whether my luck was good or bad.

Logically I can't be the last one. But that doesn't mean I'm not one of the last. I haven't seen anyone else for weeks. Not that it meant they weren't there, but I certainly didn't expect them to show up. One of the rules to survival is to stay alone. And streets are a dangerous place.

Seven billion dead. Down to about ten million, spread throughout the UK, Australia, America and Asia. The survival of the human race truly teetered on a knife's edge, and yet, people had formed gangs and still went around stealing and killing, bringing the small population down even more.

So far, good luck had let me avoid those gangs. That, and common sense.

I walked down the roads, the gravel and loose concrete crunching under my worn shoes. I was making my daily trip to the abandoned mall two miles from my hideout; I needed water and new clothes. I mean, sure, I could have gotten water from the lake, which would have been a much less dangerous trip, but I was worried the water was contaminated. After all, contaminated water had probably millions. And my clothes were falling apart. I loaded up as much bottled water as I could carry in my backpack and went through the clothes, selecting a black jacket and a grey shirt. I had to get back as quickly as I could, because it was already twilight and it wasn't safe at night.

The store looked exactly as it did when I found it a few weeks back: Smashed windows, graffiti on the walls, the cash register empty, the boxes of beer long gone and the large amount of bottled water and junk food hidden under a loose floorboard in the back. 

But something was wrong.

A faint sob echoed out from the back room. My gun was in my hand in seconds, pointing directly at the doorway with white, peeling paint. 

I've only used the gun twice, one to see if I could actually use the thing, one when a nuclear satellite got to close (That was very stupid of me, it was lucky I actually hit the thing or it would have known where I was and I would have been dead). My brother taught me the basics before he died, but I still had a lot to learn. And I still think hitting the satellite was a fluke.

Run, you idiot, run. Screamed my head.

But I didn't run. Instead, I listened.

I heard footsteps in the room. And coughing. And what sounded like a mix between a moan and a sob.

Someone was either badly hurt, or pretending.

Like I said before, a rule of survival is that you can't trust anyone. Even if it's a little boy stumbling towards you, clutching a toy, or someone you've known for years, you can't know for certain – And you can never know – that the little boy isn't one of them and there isn't a loaded gun behind their teddy bear.

What would you do? Take the chance that your friend is one of them or take the chance you've found another survivor? What odd would you bet your life on? The answer is despicable, horrible. But it isn't unthinkable. And if you think about it, it adds up to one thing: Little boy has to go.

I listened to the sound of sobbing, silently walking towards the door, being careful not to step on any glass and aiming my gun.

I turned the corner.

But the room was empty, except for a pair of deluxe speakers.

And to late– much to late– I realised what was going on.

Curiosity killed the cat. And now it killed me.

"Drop your weapon." I heard someone say from behind me.

I turned around.

The seconds stretched to minutes when I saw a boy stood there. He couldn't have been much older than me, wearing black clothes, grey boots. His dark hair was matted, his blue eyes harsh, his face covered in grime and he was aiming a gun at me, just as I was to him. 

"Drop it!" He yelled at me.

Like hell.

"Drop yours first." I spluttered, my voice croaky. I hadn't spoken aloud in weeks. And then something clicked.

"A-Alex?" I whispered. His eyes widened for a moment.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" He asked.

"My name is Izzy." I said. "I used to sit next to you in Chemistry, we'd always team up. At high school."

"At school?" He whispered, and for a moment all the harshness in his eyes disappeared, replaced with recognition. But then it returned, accompanied by anger.

"That was years ago, Izzy." He snarled. "I don't care who you are. Things have changed, and the past is the past."

"What do you want, Alex?" I spat.

"Supplies." He answered. "Your backpack."

I snorted internally. My backpack contained bottles of water, which there were a lot more of in the back of the store. It also contained a spare jacket, a few notebooks and some pens for drawing, and a packet of lolly snakes (the pink and orange ones were long gone). The only thing worth anything was a knife, but those were available in the kitchen section of every large store. Then there's a plastic bag stuffed with junk and pictures. My mom, dad and older brother. Along with my friends.

I slung my backpack off my shoulder, before removing the bag of photos. Alex's hand wavered.

"What's in there?" He asked.

"Photos." I said. "Do you really want these?"

"No." He said. "Hand over the bag."

I handed it to him, and he looked through the contents, a look of disgust on his face. He dropped the bag and kicked it away.

"There's nothing in here." He spat. And he walked towards me, putting his gun to my head. "You're no use to me. I guess I'll see you in hell."

"Hey Alex," I said. He glared at me.

"What?"

"You were right. The past is the past."

I raised my gun. He obviously hadn't expected me to do that, and he fumbled for the trigger on his weapon. I smashed the gun into his nose, breaking it. He fell to the ground, blood dribbling down his nose, and I kicked the weapon out of his hand, before pointing my gun to his head. He glared at me, his blue eyes murderous.

"I'll certainly see you in hell. And when I get there," I said. "I'll kill you again."

I pulled the trigger. I gave him a quick end. Better than what 99.9% of the population got. For some reason, memories of 'the Earth that was' popped into my head. School. Playing capture the flag. Reading. Playing sport. Sitting with my friends. And on Day Zero, watching as they got murdered. By people like Alex.

Day Zero brought out the worst in people. 'The Earth that was' is long gone.

I heaved the backpack over my shoulder, and made my way back down the road to my hideout. I didn't look back.