Beginning of Destruction (short story)

Chapter 1



Explosions all around. A metal arm crashes into the ground, throwing up a plume of ash and dirt. Screams punctured the night. Screams of death. Screams of dread. Tim was sprinting; try to escape the complete madness. The screech of metal came at him from all angles, keeping pace with him effortlessly. Sheer terror was screaming at him to run faster, faster, but his body would not, could not, go any faster. Suddenly, the ground vanished from beneath him, and he started falling. His descent was abruptly stopped by the ground at the bottom of the small cliff he had fallen off of. As a sharp pain ripped its way through his hand, he realised that it had broken. Biting back the pain, he carried on running.

"Tim, get over here NOW!" His friend, Jack, was calling him. Four others were crouched behind him in the deserted building they had decided to hide in. Tim ran as quickly as he could towards him without severely hurting his hand.

"Tim, what happened to you?"

“I was running, fell off small cliff,” Tim said breathlessly. Another explosion. More screams penetrated the darkness. The group in the building with Tim pressed themselves against the wall, some crying. Tim looked over the wall. What he saw was complete devastation. It was like the world around him had been destroyed by an atomic bomb. There were no more recognizable buildings, no more landmarks. And that scared Tim. He had lived in this city, London, all his life. And now it seemed that it had never existed.

“GET DOWN!!” Tim ducked, just as two more explosions threw up dirt barely 10 metres away from the wall they were sheltering behind. A cloud of ash descended upon them, coating them in the blackness of the night. The others were almost invisible among the darkness that had enveloped the whole world around them. Almost as if the machines had detected the absolute despair emanating from the people in hiding, they moved on, leaving a pressing silence that seemed like it would never be broken. Everything was still. Tim thought that it must be what death felt like. Complete and utter silence. Suddenly, a scream punctured through the silence, echoing through the burnt-out shells of cars and buildings. Tim knew the machines would be back. They always were. It was just a matter of hours before they would come back, wreaking more devastation upon the world, killing thousands more. The armies of the world were trying to repel them, without much success. It was probably inevitable that the world would be destroyed. Some people chose to end their lives straight away.  Others chose to live on, in the slight, very slight, hope that they would come out of the horror that life had become alive.

"Tim, how the hell did you get away from that alive? They were right behind you!" Jack said, in a very disbelieving tone.

"If you want the honest answer, Jack, I have no clue..." Tim replied.

"Well, anyway Tim, we should get out of here. Look, the others are already leaving," Jack pointed at the doorway, or what seemed to be it. He was right; people were walking speedily out in to the open, trying to find some new cover for the inevitable return of the machines.

"Oh god, yeah." They walked out into the midst of what seemed to be living hell. Bodies were everywhere, often partially covered by rubble, crushing the bodies down. It was then that Tim realised that his and Jack's story was just one of millions, that everyone was going through the same thing, all over the world. As he was walking, thinking about what might be happening in other places, he tripped. Another sharp pain ripped through his hand. Tim let out a cry of pain.

"Oh crap, I forgot about your hand! Do you reckon it's broken? Jack asked.

"I think it is," Tim moaned. "Do you have anything that might work as a splint?"

"The only thing I have is a bit of bandage. I don't think it would cover it though..."

"I don't really care how long it is, I just need something!" Tim shouted.

"Alright, alright. Jeez, what got into you?

"I don't know...." Tim said. "I guess it's the pain..."

"Well, you're not the only one who's in pain!" Jack yelled.

"Alright! I'm sorry, OK? I know I'm not the only one, it just slipped out." Tim protested. Jack stopped suddenly, sitting down on the blackened remnants of a bench.

"ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!" Jack shouted, clenching his hands so tight his nails were almost breaking through his skin. "Why can't those things just leave us alone?"

"If you want the honest answer, I don't think anyone knows why, Jack. All that matters though is that they've come here, and are trying to destroy all life as we know it."

Jack was just sitting there, breathing heavily, which Tim knew meant he was trying to calm himself down. Jack sometimes gave in to his anger. It was something that he had been working on in the anger management classes he had before the machines got here.

"Alright...." Jack said, after a long period of silence. “I guess. Anyway, your bandage."

"Thanks...."

Tim carefully wrapped the bandage around his injured hand, taking care not to jog his hand.

"I guess we should get going again, if we're gonna make some decent ground..." Jack said.

"Yeah, I guess we should."

And so they started walking again, occasionally stumbling over the rough, uneven ground. 

Steadily moving through the bleak, hard to see roads. Eventually, as night wore on, the clouds of ash and dirt that had been blocking out the moon and its light cleared. With, the moonlight lighting their way, Tim and Jack made much better progress, no longer having to test the ground slightly with their feet to make sure they weren't about to fall down one of the many manholes that punctuated the inner streets of London. The bad point, however, of the moonlight, was that they got to see exactly what the machines had done to the city they had once both known and loved. The Houses of Parliament were ripped apart, Big Ben chopped roughly in half, the great bell lying shattered on the floor, never to ring its unique sound ever again.

"My god...." Tim whispered under his breath, shocked at the destruction the machines had caused. He had never imagined before that his beloved city would soon be lying in ruins, not even in his wildest dreams. It took all of the little strength he had left to carry on walking, to not fall to his knees and cry, to not kill himself at this moment to end the pain, to end the madness.

"Tim, what’s up man?" Jack asked. Tim started, realising his mouth had dropped open.

"Huh? Oh, nothing..."

"Seriously, man. What's up?"

"I guess it's just that we'll never see the London that we knew ever again. It’s kind of... strange." Tim said slowly.

"Yeah, I know. But I guess all we can do is wait and see what happens... Maybe it will all turn out OK..."

Tim grunted, not quite believing Jack's words, but at the same time not dismissing them. They began on their seemingly endless walk again, walking until their legs felt like pieces of metal, weighing them down until they stop to rest. A couple of minutes later, though, the heard a noise which filled them both with dread. It was the noise of the machines. They both instantly started looking around for some sort of cover, no matter how small, fuelled by the adrenaline that instantly started pulsing through their veins, eliminating the tiredness they had before.

"Look, stairs!" Tim shouted. They both ran over to them.

"They lead to a basement!" Jack yelled. "Quick, get in!" They ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"It's locked!" Jack shouted above the approaching noise.

"Break the glass then!" Tim shouted back. Jack looked around the ground to see if he could find anything to use. When he realised there was nothing to use, he gritted his teeth and smashed his elbow into the glass, grunting with satisfaction as it disintegrated into tiny shards. Tim dived in first, trying to ignore the spiking pain from his hand. Jack followed barely a second later, spotting a first-aid box hanging from the wall and running over to it to clean the giant gash smashing the glass had left on his elbow.

"Keep quiet..." Tim whispered, trying to get a fix on where the machines were coming from. Jack hunkered down against the wall, trying to keep his elbow away from the wall so it didn't press in the shards of glass he hadn't had time to pull out.

All of a sudden, the machines were on top of them, the explosions following them. Flickering light from the explosions lit up the room as if by a thousand candles. Vibrations from the impact ripped through the small room, causing shelves, pictures and bookcases to fall, smashing into pieces as they did so. Tim felt sad for the people whose home this had once been, all of their family heirlooms and treasures must have been destroyed already by the unrelenting machines. A particularly large piece of rubble fell through the ceiling at that point, causing Tim to dive out of the way, heart in his mouth. The rubble had left a giant crack in the cement floor. It quickly dawned in Tim that he might of be under that if he didn't notice the sound of it breaking through the ceiling. That was also when he realised that a moan of pain had come from Jack's direction. Tim's head snapped around. Jack had a piece of rubble crushing his leg, leaving his leg twisted at an abnormal angle.

"God....." Jack moaned, an edge of pain in his voice. "Please, Tim, get it off..."

"Alright, hold on" Tim crawled over on his hands and knees, keeping low to stop himself breathing the smoke that had slowly seeped into the basement. As soon as Tim reached Jack, an explosion occurred in the middle of the street, causing burning debris to sweep in through the smashed glass. From that moment, Tim knew they only had minutes before the wood in the basement was set alight, turning the basement into a large scale oven. Fuelled by adrenaline, he began tugging at the rubble, shifting it a couple of centimetres each time. After what seemed like hours, it finally slid off of Jack's legs, revealing the damage it had wreaked on Jack's left leg.



Chapter 2



It looked like his leg had been crushed between the plates of a car crusher. Tears began to drip from Jack's eyes as, he too, realised how bad it actually was. Tim barely noticed the sound of the machines slowly fading, so focused was he on Jack and what could be done to at least try and keep it from becoming infected and all of the other stuff that comes along with it. Tim spotted the first-aid kit lying open on the floor and grabbed it, sorting through the things that would be useless in this situation. The only things he found that would be remotely useful were bandages, scissors, and a piece of long plastic Tim could only imagine worked as a makeshift splint until an actual doctor could have a look at the wound. Tim grabbed all of them and got to work on doing the best he could he bandaging it up, trying to block out the regular moans of pain from Jack.

5 minutes later, Tim stepped away and looked over his handiwork. While it was no professional job, he hoped that it would last.

"Thanks, Tim...." Jack said slowly, trying to keep himself from looking at the blood still seeping into the bandage. Tim was, at the time, using the remaining piece of splint plastic to keeping his own injury, his hand, steady.

"Hmm? Oh, it's fine..." Tim said distractedly.

"No, I mean it, Tim. If you hadn't of been here, I would have probably died a long time ago."

"As would I, Jack. What I've done for you, you've probably done for me. And more." Tim suddenly felt a wave of heat on his back. The wooden things in the room had set alight.

"Quick, Jack! Pull yourself up with my arm!" Jack complied, letting Tim support him as they hobbled together towards the door. As soon as they reached the door, Tim raised his foot and kicked the door at the lock, breaking it and forcing the door outwards. As the door slammed against the concrete wall outside, they both felt an intense wave of heat on the backs. Together, they limped slowly up the stairs and out onto the destroyed street, the destroyed street of a destroyed city. 



They soon found shelter from the wind and the rain outside by tucking themselves beneath a ruined bus stop, Jack slowly easing himself in, trying not to move his leg too much. They were shivering, stunned by how cold it was after the momentary heat from the small fire inside the basement. That building now lay in utter ruin, all parts of it destroyed a piece of someone's life gone forever, never to come back again. Trying to get away from that thought, Tim fell asleep, Jack following soon after.

  A couple of hours later, a sound abruptly woke up Tim. A sound that instantly put him on full alert. The sound of light footfall, with the occasional splash as it hit the puddles that seemed to consume the desolate area. Tim gently shook Jack, waking him up.

"Do you hear that?" Tim whispered.

"Yeah.... But what could it be?"

"I'm gonna go look, stay here"

"Wait, Tim...." But Tim was already creeping out from the shelter as silently as he could towards the noise. As soon as he was a couple of metres away from the makeshift shelter, he realised just how big a mistake he may of just made. In those moments though, Tim thought he could make out a vaguely human shaped figure, but he had learnt in the time he had spent running never to trust anything or anyone but your friends and those you know. When he began looking again, he realised the shape had gone. At that moment, the cold, hard metal of a gun barrel pressed against his head.

"Stay still." A voice hissed through the night. Tim complied, keeping his body rigid so it wouldn't move.

"Who are you?" Tim asked, hoping he hadn't overstepped the proverbial mark.

"That's not important." The voice hissed back. Tim tried a different way.

"Look, all I've been trying to do is survive. I'm the same as you, running." Tim said, a little bit faster than he meant to. The pressure of the gun barrel reduced slightly, as the mystery person hesitated, then dissapitated altogether, a muffled sound indicating that the person had holstered their gun. A wave of relief flowed through Tim, although interrupted a little when he realised that the mystery person still had a gun.

"The name's Chuck, Chuck Webb" Chuck said.

"Tim." Tim replied, still nervous. Chuck was dressed in what seemed like army fatigues, the camouflage colours somehow standing out in the night.

"No need to be nervous just because I have a gun," Chuck said, seemingly being able to read Tim's mind. "I guess it's the way we, err, first encountered"

"Yeah, I guess so." Tim laughed nervously. Chuck took the gun out of its holster and held it at shoulder height.

"Feel free to have a look at my gun if you want. If it would make you less nervous of it." Tim took the gun. “It’s a Colt." Tim looked it over. The bright silver of the metal was visible even through the murky blackness of the night. The grip, however, was of the darkest black, almost invisible, making it look as if there was a hole through the middle of the grip. Tim held the grip, sliding his fingers into the space between the trigger and the trigger guard, noting how tailored for the hand it seemed to be, how easy it would be for the hand to rise up and spit out a bullet. A bullet of death. A bullet of destruction. A bullet of taking. Once Tim had glanced over it once one, he handed it back to Chuck, almost regretting it, wondering how he had become so attached to it within the scarce minute he had held it in his hands. Maybe it was the fact that he had the hope that it might solve his troubles. Act as a shield for himself and Jack. Protect them from the one danger that they, the whole world, faced.

"Tim?" That was Jack. Tim whirled around, wondering how Jack had managed to get this close to him without giving out a groan of pain that Tim would have heard. Tim realised that Jack had found a piece of wood that he was using as a makeshift crutch, although just where he had got it from Tim did not know. Making a mental note to ask him later, Tim walked quickly over to Jack, instantly sliding an arm underneath Jack's, supporting him more so that he didn't injure his leg any more than he already had done.

"Chuck, this is my friend Jack. We've been running from the machines together from the very first day." Jack raised his arm a little in greeting; Chuck merely gave a slight nod back. A long silence. Tim looked at Chuck, realising that he had a look on his face that looked like he was evaluating the risks of something, maybe of taking someone with a broken leg along with him.

"He's coming with us." Tim seemed to startle Chuck, making him visibly jump.

"No, I never said he couldn't. I was just seeing how close to dawn it was. Look, the sun's peeking up just over there." Chuck pointed. Tim slowly turned his head, still supporting Jack, and saw that it was indeed true. Already sunlight was beginning to race towards them, lighting up the ruined buildings, casting crazy patterns of light and shadow, something that could not be recreated. Warmth came with it, slowly but surely, banishing the night’s chills and horrors. They sat down, Jack rather awkwardly, on a chipped and dented curb, having their first proper rest in days, as the bus shelter was not the ideal place, being cold and damp. After about 5 minutes, Chuck broke the silence.

"We should get moving, we don't want to be caught out in the open with those, things, on the rampage." On Tim and Jack's faces, disbelief showed, but deep down in their hearts they knew that Chuck spoke the truth, as they had nearly been caught out in the open, and it ended in Jack having his leg crushed. Tim sighed.

"I guess we should..." Tim helped Jack up, and then they set of once again, trying to stay alive in the twisted nightmare the world had become.



Chapter 3



After a long walk, Chuck signalled for them to stop.

“Look, over there." Chuck pointed. Tim followed his finger, until his eyes rested upon one of the greatest buildings in London, albeit destroyed like all the other buildings. The still grand Houses of Parliament.

"What are we doing here?" Tim asked.

"The Houses of Parliament have some pretty hidden basements; the machines will never find us down there."

"How do you know?" Jack said quietly, trying to preserve the little strength he had left.

"I've been here once," Chuck said, a faraway look in his eyes."They took me down into some of them."

"Why did you get taken here? Who actually are you?" Jack asked, shifting his weight more to his uninjured side.

“I... It's a..."

"Yes?"

"It's a secret. I can't reveal my identity." Chuck looked away, as though he was ashamed of even saying those words.

"Why not, I mean what....?

"Jack," Tim interrupted." Stop. When, or if, he feels ready, he'll tell us, I'm sure. Now let’s get into these basements." Chuck leading, they forged a path through the rubble. And then, suddenly, as they were still searching, Tim heard something.

"Erm, Chuck, don't want to put any pressure on you or anything, but I think I hear the machines."

"The Trions, you mean." Chuck said, almost automatically. Then the full impact of Tim's words hit him. “Oh, no." Chuck's searching speed went even faster, as he desperately tried to find the basement door.

"They're called the Trions?" Tim asked, intriqued even though the machines, the Trions, were just about to come into view.

"Yes!" Chuck snapped. "Now shut up a second!" About 5 seconds later, Chuck let out a cry.

"Got it!" Tim and Jack quickly shuffled over to where Chuck was, looking down the stairway he had revealed. It was almost as dark as the night they had only recently left. Chuck pulled out a torch from nowhere.

"Come on guys, lets get going already." Chuck gently pushed Tim forwards, towards the darkness. "It'll be fine!" That instantly made Tim a lot more nervous then he was the second before. It made him think also about Chuck's unknown reason for going to the Houses of Parliament as well. Why had Chuck been so secretive? What did he really have to hide? Tim carried on wondering as he walked slowly down the stairs, guided by the light of Chuck's torch, supporting Jack as he had always done since the early night. rather unexpectedly, Tim hit the level floor a lot quicker than he had expected to.

"This isn't to deep is it?" Tim asked. Chuck merely gave an almost invisible shrug and began leading the way to another door, similar to the one that they had come in though.

"Does lead deeper?" Jack whispered. Chuck gave another shrug.

"You'll see for yourself in a minute." They began walking down another flight of stairs, this one much longer than the first. It was pitch black now, or would of been if not for the soft glow of the torch as it lit their way. Without the comforting warmth and light from the sun, Tim began to feel rather uncomfortable, and could sense that Jack felt the same, as he was fidgeting a lot. Finally, they emerged into what seemed like an weapons armoury.

"Deep enough for you, sires?" Chuck said sarcastically. Tim looked around in awe at the sheer range of weaponry in the small, 5 metre square room they had entered. Jack was the same, slowly looking from one end of the room to another.

"Also," Chuck added. " I saw the look on your face when you held my Colt. So here ya are, any pistol you like." Indeed there was. Colts, Magnums, Glocks, Berettas, Walthers. It seemed as if there was enough for every person living in London. Tim left Jack leaning against a wall, momentarily forgetting him. Tim looked over the guns, and instantly pulled out a single gun. An automatic Glock. He stood there for a moment, then grabbed another one for Jack, picking up ammo for both.

"Just in case" Tim said, as he handed one to Jack. He turned to Chuck, who was foraging for ammo for his Colt. "I guess we wait here now..."

Chuck looked up.

"Yeah. Give it about half an hour, then we'll begin making our way up topside." Tim glanced at Jack, who was looking very pale in the dim light of the torch.

"Jack, are you alright?" Tim asked, rushing over as Jack jumped at his words and winced in pain.

"Not really, Tim" Jack replied, remarkably calm for someone going through a great deal of pain. As Tim thought about what to say, Jack suddenly collapsed.

"Jack. Jack, what's wrong?" Tim asked, his voice filled with worry.

"Ahhh, my leg..." Jack moaned.

"Wait, Tim" Chuck broke in. " Where does it hurt, Jack?"

"Everywhere." Jack replied softly.

Chuck began peeling off the bandages that encased Jack's leg, Tim standing at his side.

"It's infected." Chuck said curtly.

"Already?" Tim cried. "But it only happened last night!"

" Doesn't matter" Chuck said. "Wounds that aren't sterilised properly become infected very fast, and with all the dirt and ash in the air, it's a wonder it lasted this long."

"Well can you do anything?" Jack asked, his voice getting slowly weaker.

"I can at least try." Chuck turned to Tim. "You better sit on the stairs up there, Tim. This isn't gonna be pretty..." It almost killed Tim to leave his friends side, but he did it anyway, not knowing how the situation would turn out.

The next 10 minutes seemed like 10 days. Finally, Chuck appeared at the bottom of the stairs, blood coating his hands.

"I think you better come down here, Tim. Jack wants to say..." Chuck seemed to choke on the words. "To say something to you." Tim was shaking his head as he walked down the stairs, trying to convince himself that Jack wasn't about to say goodbye. As he rounded the corner though, he realised that his worst fears had come true. Jack was sitting with his back to the wall, his face impossibly pale, and his body visibly shaking.

"Tim..." Jack voice sounded as if he was literally forcing himself to talk. “You’ve been a good friend..." Tim was crying now, unable to believe that his best friend would soon be gone.

"I'm sorry, Tim. Sorry to leave you like this."

"Don't say you’re sorry, Jack. You have nothing to be sorry about" Tim whispered. Jack gave out a whimper.

"Tim... Stay safe..." Jack’s eyes clouded over, and his head tilted back. Tim let his head fall over Jack's body, unable to stop the flood of tears. Tim was barely aware of Chuck standing in a dark corner of the room, an involuntary tear slowly making its way down his own cheek.

After Tim had finished crying over Jack's body, he was left with a slight headache and dried streaks of water covering his cheeks. Chuck was still standing in the same corner, unmoving, unblinking. Tim walked as calmly as he could over to Chuck.

"What now?" Tim asked with an edge of hardness in his voice.

"I guess we just go back up and carry on moving, we can't stay down here forever." For some reason, this angered Tim. Maybe it was the part of him wanting to bury Jack, leave some way to remember him.

"So, we just carry on?" Tim asked, his fists slowly clenching, his voice getting louder." Just, go off, like nothing ever happened!"

"Yeah, I guess..." Chuck replied uncertainly, almost shocked by Tim's sudden mood change.

"How can we! How can we just move on like nothing ever happened?" Tim yelled.

"I don't know, Tim! All I know is that we can't stay here forever!" This pushed Tim over the edge, and he swung a wild punch at Chuck, not caring at that moment for the consequences. Chuck dodged, retaliating with a fast kick to the stomach. Tim doubled over in pain, crying, but refusing to give up and look like a coward. He swung another punch, which Chuck blocked, then dodged Chuck's returning fist and landed a clean blow on his head, sending Chuck reeling, blood already trickling down his head. Chuck returned the blow, knocking Tim down to the floor and stunning him. The last thing Tim saw before he blacked out was Chuck walking towards the stairs, a stony look on his face.



How long it was until Tim regained consciousness, he didn't know. All that he knew was that he was alone, apart from Jack, and that he had a giant headache. Tim groaned as he sat up, as his head felt like it was splitting apart. Slowly, the events that happened came back to him. He felt a bizarre mix of rage and sadness, feeling like punching the wall and crawly into a ball and hiding away forever, crying until he could cry no more. Eventually, he realised that what Chuck said was what he should do. Tim didn't understand why he had acted in that way, kicking himself for what had happened. He had just removed the only help he had from his life. The only company. All he could do was get back up to ground level and continue on. While it hurt him to leave Jack like this, leaning against a wall, in a basement. He realised that was what had to be done, no matter how much it hurt him. Before he walked out though, he reached over and gently closed Jack's eyes, then left him in peace.

As Tim walked slowly up the stairs, back up to fresh air, so many things were racing through his mind it was hard to make sense of it all. The events of the last day and night were foremost in his thoughts though, refusing to leave his mind, no matter how much Tim willed it to. Eventually, Tim managed to shut off his thoughts in a way, so that they no longer plagued him like rats.

As he emerged into the bright light of the sun, he was momentarily blinded, probably as a result of spending a long time underground, in the deep darkness. Tim put his hand above his eyes, trying to shield them from the sun. Only then did he notice that he had a lot of dried blood spread across his forehead, making his small 'fight' with Chuck seem all the more worse for him. He began picking his way out of the ruins, determined to carry on, to show himself that he didn't need Chuck, to prove to himself he didn't need any company at all. From now on, he was a loner.



Tim walked up the stairs, which seemed to take a longer time than it took charging downwards, away from the machines. As the sunlight washed over him, his head began pounding, trying to get used to the burning light after the pitch blackness of the basement. Tim sat down as a wave of nausea came over him. Only then did he realise he had not eaten in around two days. His stomach began to rumble. Tim forced himself up, picked his way out of the twisted rubble, and began walking to the nearest store. At least, the nearest store he hoped was there.