In The End | Novella | Beginning of the End

peered to the police car. Its lights distracted me with their strobing blue, but a thought came to mind; could the keys be inside? Could I figure out how to drive from what I’d seen Mum do so many times? It was only a year before I’d be doing it for real.
No. It was just an easier way to get killed or injured. I rushed from the doorway, heading over the road and back down the alley, out along the street made up of two rows of houses facing each other in a ring around the village.
I didn’t look to either side, my quick pace turning to a flat-out run. Soon I arrived to where our street met the road running right through the village and cutting the ring of houses in two.
Something made me slow before I came to the new tarmac; before I passed the houses to expose myself to whatever could be on either side.
I’d been right to slow.
Standing in the middle of the road, just back from the junction whilst leaving the houses on either side as a shield, I looked along the road heading out of the village to my left. A small group of soldiers in gas masks stood with long rifles looking across the view. Behind them were two Land Rovers parked at angles to block the road.
Despite the elation of seeing the saviours in green and brown camouflage, I didn’t run towards them waving my arms. Behind the soldiers and their four by fours, green army trucks with small robot-like arms mounted behind the cab headed our way, the line snaking down from the hill in a long convoy I couldn’t see the end of.
I watched as the first arrived at the roadblock, diverting off to the grass, bouncing up and down as they ignored the hedges, smashing through undergrowth to move around the side of the village.
The truck behind split off, heading the opposite way. The one behind did the same, each taking it in turns to go the opposite way to the one in front. On the bed of the trucks were large flat loads stacked up high on most, but every so often the cargo would be different, instead carrying large grey boxes.
As I watched, entranced at the flowing line, I saw a pair of trucks rock to a stop on either side of the roadblock. Two soldiers jumped out of each cab, then used the stowed arm to lift what looked like sheets of metal from the flatbed at the back. The one behind did the same, unloading the concrete cubes as more soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders guided the loads to the grass.
They weren’t acting strange or erratic. Perhaps the gas masks protected them from a toxic cloud or they hadn’t drunk the contaminated water.
About to rush over, waving my arms, out of the corner of my eye I saw movement, then heard a call. A woman; for a moment she was Mum. Same height, with a plump belly, but when I looked to the blonde hair down to her shoulders, the illusion vanished. She was someone else’s mum running towards the soldiers, waving her hands and calling out with such joy in her voice.
I let out a breath, relaxing from the initial disappointment, and raised my hands, about to call out so they could save me as well. But as I did, I turned, watching one of soldiers walking forward with his gun aimed in her direction. After a few steps, I heard a deep but muffled command.
I lowered my hands and something in my head made me take a step back to the cover of the brickwork. The rest of the soldiers stopped what they were doing, instead swinging their rifles from their shoulders to aim at the woman.
If they’d seen what I had, they were right to take care. They were right to slow her down and check her out before getting her to safety.
A loud crack shocked my ears, then a second, third and countless more rang out as I lurched backward to the shadow of the houses to my left for cover.
Leaning into the brick whilst I edged forward, I watched puffs of blood pop into the air as the woman reeled back with each shot until she collapsed to the road.
But how could this have happened? Was I still in England?
It had always been a place of democracy. Of policing by consent, according to my social studies class.
We weren’t in some third-world nation run by despots who hired mercenaries to do their evil deeds.
I felt my blood chill as I stared at the body.
Could the infection be bad enough that the only option was to kill us all rather than risk the rest of the country? Could it be bad enough not to look for survivors like me?
Staggering a step back along the house to make sure I was out of view, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, panting too hard to get the oxygen from the air. My head felt so light.
With runaway breath, I stared to the woman; just a pile of clothes I could barely see.
She didn’t move as I strained to look whilst peering past the stars raining down my vision as the darkness crept in from the edges. I felt as if I would die if I couldn’t control my breathing, despite what I already knew from the textbooks.
There was nothing I could do to stop my vision shrinking.
With the little control I had left, I dropped to my knees, falling most of the way before the darkness fell to leave me with what I hoped wasn’t my final thought.
Would they see me?

5
With a sharp breath, light poured in, the wall’s brick pattern coming into view as the brightness settled