Bombs of the anti-hero

What comes to mind when I say the word apocalypse? Perhaps it’s zombies. Maybe a nuclear explosion. You see, our minds go straight to the movie scenarios. But that’s not necessarily always the case. 

Government officials told us there was nothing to worry about. All of them told us that we just needed to keep our fingers crossed and that it would be over before we knew it. But then they called in the reinforcements. 

They ignored the scientists warning them of the danger. They ignored the pleas of the lower classes and locked themselves away in their mansions. We were left to fend for ourselves.

I was home with my daughter when it was announced on the news. She had just fallen asleep on my lap following a sleepless night because of a fever. Her brown curls were stuck to her face from sweating so much, and I was trying my best to remain calm, just as the doctor had told us to.

“Despite the efforts of officials, the city centre in London has been placed under immediate lockdown following a threat from anti-hero group: The Noire” The young presenter on the screen looked nervous, though seemed to keep her composure. Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke the name of the group, and pictures began to cover the screen showing the extent of the damage.

Famous London landmarks were surrounded by rubble, and the dust formed a cloud around what was left. Helicopters flying around it showed the fight going on below. They had called in the ‘secret service’ – a group which everyone in the country was aware existed, and were a specially trained, genetically modified and scientifically created group of ‘pseudo-humans’. 

Their genes were edited to create perfection. They were faster, stronger and healed faster. They even aged faster, though that could be controlled. The public were not allowed to know anything about their creation, until one of them rebelled. 

Omicron, named after the 15^th letter of the Greek alphabet, was not given the same treatment as the others, because at the time of his selection there was a security issue, so his training was postponed. 

Three years later, he decided that the system was corrupt. He never received the full regime, and so was always at least partially behind the others. There were many videos of him ranting about this to the media.

So, he gathered a following, and trained them to beat the secret service. He knew their weaknesses, though there supposedly weren’t any. But there were, and he won.

An apocalypse is an event of mass destruction, though we often view it as a time where most of the population is wiped out. So, whilst there weren’t as many deaths in England, the majority of buildings were levelled, and we were left on our own. Then they moved to the next place, gaining followers with every move. 

Soon enough, the whole world seemed to be in complete devastation. People were fleeing to the countryside in hopes of escaping the rubble of their lost memories, or the deaths of the loved ones caught in the attacks. 

My husband, daughter and I were safe in our house because of the location. We owned a small farm in the centre of Wales, so we took in a family who had escaped. They lived with us for two years until they learned the locations of the rest of their family, and then returned to them.

Nowadays, we had to hide any government supporters that passed through on parade days. 

Omicron soon took power, ruling through fear. He would have ‘parades’ every fortnight, and that included sending scouts out to every county to find those who opposed him and wipe out any societies that may be trying to meet.

It’s Thursday today. They are likely to show up at our door within the hour, so I make my way upstairs to Hope’s room. She has just turned 6, and a unicorn was painted on her bedroom door, courtesy of Mark, my husband.

When everything went down, she would sleep in our room at night, and nothing would calm her except a toy unicorn called ‘Mittens’. So, when she started getting bigger Mark painted a portrait of Mittens on the door to convince her to sleep in there. She has hardly joined us since.

Mark is plaiting her hair as I enter the room, and I smile at the picture in front of me, hoping that I never forget. He secures the hair with pink bobbles, and she grabs a headband with cat ears on it, sliding it onto her head. 

“Good morning, my love.” He says as he stands up and makes his way over to me, kissing me gently on the lips, earning a squeal of disgust from Hope. I laugh as I turn to her, just in time to catch her as she jumps at me. 

“Good morning Honey.” My voice is quiet as I place my lips against Hope’s forehead. She has her father’s hair, a fact I am extremely glad about. The brown strands tie back neatly, looking sleek in their restraints, whilst mine forms a messy bun on the top of my head, regardless of how hard I try to tame it.

I place hope back on her feet and she sets off down the stairs. Mark wraps his hands around my waist in a gentle embrace, and I lean into it, letting out a shaky breath.

“Parade day today.” I whisper, and he rubs my back gently.

“We have nothing to worry about, okay?” I nod in response, not trusting my voice to give a strong answer. 

Regardless of the fact we have not broken any rules, I always panic when it comes to parade day. They are constantly implementing new rules, and I am always scared that they are going to catch us out for a new rule that’s announcement hasn’t quite reached us yet.

“I love you.” I whisper, and his embrace tightens slightly.

“I love you too.” He kisses my forehead as we stand there, but a crashing noise downstairs brings us back to reality, followed by the floor shaking.

Hope’s name escapes my mouth, and we make eye contact for a split-second before we are sprinting down the stairs. 

There is glass everywhere, and I hear a scream from the stairway. I follow the whimpering noises, only to find a trail of blood. 

Hope is curled up in the corner, with glass sticking out of her arm and cheek. I reach my arms out, and she runs my way, but she stands on a piece of glass before she reaches me, letting out one more yelp, before I dart forward to catch her.

“Mark!” I yell and am met with no response. 

I carry her to the kitchen counter and glance out of the window as I wet a cloth. The plants seem to be parted, and the barn roof is beginning to concave. I scream out to my husband once more, before beginning to clean Hope’s wounds.

Mark comes running in, a gash on his cheek, dripping blood down his light blue shirt.

“Mark! What happened?” I rush to his side, leading him over to where I have Hope sat, and he winces as I tend to the deep wound.

“Bombs. In some nearby town. They were planning a rebellion.” He looks over at Hope, whose eyes are wide, and her cheeks tear-stained, “Some of the people in our village are rumoured to be involved.”

“Oh god, you don’t think tha-“ A second blow sends the three of us flying, and the entire world seems to go dark. 

The last thing I hear before I fade away is the sound of my family screaming out for me, and I lay there helpless as I succumb to the abyss.