exclaimed.
"Before we go, I think we better raid the staff fridge and take bottles of water. We can toss them over the fence as we climb over."
Janine added, "We could just stay here, and get our food from the prisoners' cells. They all have food; there would be plenty of tea, coffee and water. I'm sure the prison has back-up generators. We could sleep in the bubble on a night, we—"
"We would go mad within a week. I could think of better places to go, besides, not too sure how long this place can go on until the electricity dies, and the generators won't last forever. If this thing is as bad as they say it is, it'll be like living in the dark ages. Could you spend your time on the wings in the darkness? Even in the daylight it's dark in here."
"At least we'll be alive."
Jamie shook his head, he didn't agree. "It's no way to live. Are you coming or not?"
Chapter Eight
David Pointer reached for the remote and put the TV onto standby, he had seen enough. He then looked to his shaken wife, Davina, who was clearly distraught and confused about the news that was finally being soaked up by her brain.
He asked in a soft voice that was coated in shock, "So what happens now?"
She shrugged her shoulders; she was hoping that he would have some answers.
He quickly stood to his feet, the room span once as he got to his feet too quickly. He looked over to his daughter, Isobel, who sat in the corner of the living room, innocently playing, oblivious to the catastrophe that was being broadcasted around the world.
He walked over to his daughter, stroked her blonde hair and kissed the back of her head; he then looked over to his wife. "Go upstairs, both of you get dressed."
"What about you?" Davina wiped her eyes.
"I'm gonna stay down here for a bit, get some food and water. We're going into the attic."
David walked over to his unopened living room blinds, and nervously placed his fingers inbetween them and carefully pulled them apart about two inches. The street was desolate; he shook his head. There doesn't seem to be anybody about.
David walked briskly around the house, as his wife and daughter began progressing upstairs. He checked the patio door in the back room; he pulled the blind down to the floor and struggled to move the leather couch against the door. As he dragged the couch toward the door, it had made a huge scratch on the wooden floor, an action that would normally anger Davina, but under the circumstances David was sure it was something he wasn't going to be in trouble for.
Satisfied that the back room was secured, he shut the door behind him, went to the reception area and made sure the front door was locked. He knew it wasn't that strong and recognised that this was probably the weak spot of the house. It was locked, and he moved everything that he could think of against the front door, TVs, tables...any kind of furniture that would cause an obstacle.
No wonder the street is empty. Millions of people across the UK, possibly the world, are, or have been, doing exactly what I'm doing now.
He went into the living room and kitchen to make sure windows had been secured, then went into the cupboard under the sink and began to fill bags with food, bottles of water, medication—he was practically emptying the cupboards. He had two rucksacks full of food and water, and took one upstairs where his wife stood in their daughter's bedroom. Isobel was now playing with her play-kitchen.
He dumped one bag onto the floor; the couple never uttered a word to one another, they just looked at each other briefly, and then he went back downstairs for the other bag. Once he returned, he grabbed the metal pole and opened the latch to the attic that was situated in Isobel's room, and pulled down the metal ladders. "I'll do my best to block off the downstairs. From now on, we use the upstairs only for washing, baths...obviously not sleeping, 'cos that would be too dangerous."
Davina queried, "What happens if they get in?" She was
Learning to Kill: Stories