March The 3rd 2013, Day 3
I stopped, my lungs were desperate for air and I’d been running for hours now, I needed a rest. I needed sleep. I needed an escape. I was on a hill overlooking the rest of London. And in the far distance I could see the crumbled remains of the Gherkin, still taller than most of the buildings in London.
Two days doesn’t sound like much does it? In fact for most people in circumstances close to normality two days would fly by. I’m not most people and this situation is nowhere near normality. BlueWater’s destroyed if you were wondering; the whole thing is just a pile of rubble. In these two days you realise how fragile not just humanity is, but the human body.
I could see, and hear, the heavy sounds of shell fire, the pounding of lead and the inhuman screams that follow. And trust me, I really do mean inhuman. As I watched two tanks passed along Oxford Street, ignoring the battered remains of Britain’s already dead shopping culture.
It’s at this time that you pat the tramps with the ‘The End is Nigh’ boards and say, actually, you got it right.
So much has happened. So much. The Mantis huh. It wasn’t a movie. I won’t describe them to you, you don’t need to know. You catch brief glimpses of them here and there though. The couple of people I talk to have said there are millions.
The Radio and T.V Stations are down but the rumours I do hear say that they’re everywhere. The soldiers say we should go to Birmingham. They said that we should avoid the roads and let the army do it’s job.
Its only been two days and already I pass people holding shotguns with drunken looks in their eyes. We’re falling apart at the seams and no one can stop it.
I heard a shout – a family of three are walking round the bottom of the hill away from London and they were calling to their child to not run off. All of them have big rucksacks probably filled with food and sleeping bags.
Time to hitch a ride.
I tried to get up but find I can’t, that my legs are glued to the floor. Like so many other times in those two days I felt fear, real fear. What happens if I can’t get up? Please! Please, god, whoever’s up there, help me! I beg you!
I shout out to the family below and they seem to shrink into themselves before noticing that it’s a human. Just a human.
“I CAN’T GET UP! PLEASE! I CAN’T GET UP!” I roar as loud as I can, and very tentatively the mother started to walk toward me. Thank you, dear lord thank you.
I tried to lift my legs again and find, to my relief that I can. I wobbled to my feet, slightly shaky and stumble around.
“Thank you. For a second I couldn’t get up.”
With a slightly fearful raised eyebrow the mother replied; “oh.”
She started walking down the hill to rejoin her husband and son but I shout after her.
“Where are you headed?!”
“Can I join you?!”
She had a hasty conversation with her husband and tensions ran very high.